#like. the whole point of the religion is that you WILL sin (because you are human) but your sins can be forgiven

[secretariatess]

So this has been on my mind.

Jesus died for us when He didn't have to. I know many Christians acknowledge and embrace this truth.

He gave up His right. His right to talk away. His right to authority through the whole process. His right to life- something He had more than any of us.

And then we're called to be like Him.

To give up our own rights.

Including our right to be offended.

In this case, I'm specifically talking of Christian symbolism being used by nonChristians.

I know there are likely many more, but two that have come across my dash are the issues of the cross and the rainbow.

Firstly, the cross. Someone wearing the cross should not be an indication to us that someone is Christian. It should not. Yes, Christians will wear it because of its significance to them, but that is not what makes them Christian. It is their belief and surrender to God that makes them Christian, marked by their actions, their fruit. If you look at a cross on someone's neck and consider them first Christian that then has to be disproven, are you not judging on outward appearances? Is that what we are called as Christians to do? Did Jesus, did Paul say that- were we given no other indication? Show me the passage that says a person who wears the cross is a Christian.

And if that isn't your go-to assumption, why are you offended that it is on the neck of the unbeliever? Who gave you that right to be offended? For I find the answer to that is the culture of the world. It is the world that decided that people got to be offended that others outside of a religion would engage in its practices and symbolism. The world decided that. Not the Bible. Not Jesus. The world. What is it to you that someone chooses to wear the cross without professing faith? Are you like members of other religions, or are you a Christian? There are people sitting in the pews of your church pretending to be Christians- shouldn't that be a bigger concern? The unbeliever wearing the cross- shouldn't your concern be that they don't know Jesus? Who has time to be offended or disgruntled about the cross having secular purposes in a secular world?

Someone who has no faith does not diminish the cross for us. It can in fact be an opening point to what we were called to do; that is, to make Christlike disciples.

Secondly, the rainbow. Now, do I like what it's come to represent? Absolutely not. But they are not Christians. They are going to behave as nonChristians.

We do not need to "reclaim the rainbow." The rainbow already belongs to God. They can do what they like, but they can never steal the rainbow from God. The promise attached to it will always remain.

And if our focus is on the "reclaiming the rainbow", do you think that will bring us closer to reaching those, the people, who wave and wear the rainbow flag? Or will it just alienate us? I am not calling for acceptance of sinful acts. But most of them already know how the church at large feels about this- to the point where it has become a point of antagonizing for the church. They know it bugs us, and they throw it in our faces (generalizing "they"). Will "reclaiming the rainbow" stop them? No. It will just make the divide bigger, the gap we have to reach across wider. Because we will have put our focus on the wrong thing. We were not called to reclaim the rainbow. We were called to make Christlike disciples.

The Bible has already told us that we are going to be looked down on by the world. It has already told us that we're going to be hated, mocked, and disrespected.

Why, then, are we looking to demand their respect? Why call for them to back off from our religious symbols when we already know that the world is not going to like or respect us? They aren't going to treat us with the same respect as other religions, or culture. And we shouldn't expect them to, or demand that they do.

That's not our calling.

"It is our right-"

Jesus had every right to turn from the cross. But He put it aside to save the world.

The only ones who gave you the right to be offended and demand others to respect your religious symbols are those of the world.

If Jesus can set aside His right -a much bigger right- to live for our sakes, can we not set aside our "right" to be offended at the world to focus on the mission Jesus set before us?

[corvidcall]

look i hate christian hegemony as much as the next queer but you need to understand that stuff you learned in supernatural and good omens is not actually theology.

[devourable]

† church boy

[ sfw | tw : religion (not named but heavily implied), sacrilege, potential religious trauma? as well as general yandere content but it’s v tame ]

male yandere x gender neutral reader! only pronoun used for reader is ‘you’. i havent written like this in a very long time so i apologize if this is bad ;_;

abraham lived a simple life for the majority of his 21 years on this planet. he was born and raised in a religious household, the only son of a wealthy pastor, surrounded by typical bible-thumping folk who taught him that *** was above everything, above him, above the things he loved, and putting anything (or anyone) above his faith would surely result in his damnation. and his whole life, he believed that.

that was… until you entered his life.

it happened at a fundraiser he was volunteering at. it was any other day for the boy, handing out advertisements and chatting with everyone that came and went. an average, mundane event for him where he’d talk about the same things he did every day, smile, wave, everything that was expected of him.

after the last person in his line had left, he looked down to begin organizing his things so he could join the rest of the party. when he was shadowed by someone stepping in front of him again, he expected to see a familiar face — maybe someone that might’ve forgotten something? but when he looked up…

abraham’s breath caught in his throat. he swore the earth had stopped spinning the second your eyes locked.

whether if you were there because you shared the same religion, was dragged there by a friend/family member, or simply because there was free food, he had no clue - but it didn't matter. your looks, the way you moved, the sound of your voice — why was it all so... enchanting?

he couldn’t help the slight stutter in his words as he hastily offered you a pamphlet, quickly introducing himself and inquiring about you. what was your name? were you new to the church? why haven’t you met before?

the soft laugh you emitted as you spoke and the feeling of your skin grazing his felt like fire. and your name... oh, the poor boy didn’t even realize it, but he couldn’t help it — within moments of knowing you, he had grown totally enamored!

abraham found himself hovering by your side for the rest of the event. he was awkward, you’d quickly realize, but it was in that sort of sweet, inexperienced way. he was desperate to know you, to get closer to you, hoping that maybe if he could understand you, he’d figure out how to quell these intense feelings that had built within him — but to you and everyone else, he was simply making sure a new face wasn’t alone during the event. he was just being a good little pastor’s boy! that’s what he told himself too, over and over again.

he was being good by making you laugh. he was being good by giving you his number. and it was good that he grew elated by the idea of getting to see you again after this. he was a good person, so what if he was neglecting his duties to be around you? he did what he was supposed to all the time, surely he could be forgiven just this once.

right?

his obsession with you didn’t take long to blossom after that first meeting. you started to infiltrate every part of his life in one way or another. his prayers became tangled up with thoughts of you. rather than reading the bible, he’d reread the texts between the two of you while he waited for you to respond to them. when he went to church, he found himself scanning the pews in hopes of spotting you among the congregation rather than finding a seat right away. when service began, he couldn’t focus on the preaching taking place because he was too busy thinking of ways to see you again.

despite the utter adoration abraham had grown to feel for you.. at some point, for the first time in his life, he couldn’t help but wonder — was he becoming sinful? was he growing gluttonous for your attention? he couldn’t have been, he had been so devout his entire life! it was fine for him to miss a few services to see you as long as he made up for it later…

he couldn’t tell if you were an angel, as heaven-sent as he felt you to be, or if you were the embodiment of temptation, pulling him away from his faith and beckoning him to sin. were you both? could you be both? with the progression of his obsession with you, his conflicted feelings about his relationship with his faith grew alongside it.

maybe you just weren’t any good for him.

but your name and god seemed to always come up at the same time…

so maybe, it was a sign that he had someone new to worship.

[saudrag]

my take on the ending, especially aziraphale’s behaviour.

all this fandom talk “this couldn’t be our aziraphale”, “metatron put something in the coffee”, “everything in the end seems odd” really weirded me out. for me it’s equal to “i dont want all that complicated writing, for me the simple one is easier to process” like. i get it, really. but from writer’s point of view it sounds kinda… debasing. neil just gave us an amazing social problem analogy with organised religion slash abusive family and how it brainwashes & manipulates people who are so desperate to make any difference that they reach out to religion, their last instance. people abandon their loved ones for it, because they’re “unholy” and “sinful” and don’t want to join them.

there is that aziraphale/heaven parallel with nina and her ex. nina just realised that her ex was abusive and now she needs time to heal, but maggie would not abandon her, she would be right there.

it’s exactly what is happening and what will happen with azi in season 3.

aziraphale never truly left heaven, not in his mind, at least, and now, when he was the most vulnerable, heaven waved in front of his face with “you can come back, change everything and be with the person you love the most, so you can be all happy together” and azi just couldn’t say no to THAT. to his memory of angel!crowley, being so joyful and cheerful and happy with just bring able to create, to make beauty. what he didn’t realise is, that he was being manipulated. as a victim of brainwashing by my own parent for DECADES, I can tell you that azi couldn’t just “open his eyes” randomly and realise without something really PROFOUND happening to him. (that is remains for neil to tell us, what it will be).

for me it was separation, my parent’s fast decreasing mental health, and a LOT of outer influence (talks with my other parent, friends, discussions about the abuse of my other parent). the last straw was one of my visits.

we are yet to see it in s3.

aziraphale being an analogy for a victim of brainwashing by organised religion (“parents”) is a genius writing, something that you don’t see often in tv shows. but explaining his behaviour by “metatron just drugged him that’s why our angel is acting weird” is SO DEBASING and for aziraphale’s whole character, and for neil gaiman, and for me, as a victim

[sweaterkittensahoy]

Stop misappropriating the abuse and trauma cults use through purity culture for your stupid fucking shipping discourse? Holy fuck no wonder everyone hates this whole discourse.

Since when is "priests getting shuffled around after raping kids and kids being told they're sinful because they had bodily reactions to being SAd" comparable to "Bobo the clown said my ship was cringe"

I'm not gonna answer this with The Aristocrats, as a I threatened, because I want to make a very serious point to this anon:

Purity culture isn't just religious abuse. It is most widely connected to religious abuse. Including actions in the Catholic Church and all fundamentalist Christianity. It's entire existence is about terrifying and indoctrinating people into being fearful of their own actions and bodies so that they feel certain that moving out from the "umbrella of safety" (to use a fundamentalist term) will result in them being harmed in ways they can't imagine. This is generally happening at the same time as they are being harmed by those who are supposed to be keeping them safe from all those terrible, worldly evils. Like speaking up when you're being abused. Believing you are not responsible for the actions of a rapist, and many, many other things that any person with an ounce of self-worth and good sense (two things not allowed in fundamentalist circles) knows are true in abuse situations.

But the point of the purity culture as identity in the above-mentioned circles is to teach people from birth that they aren't to have their own feelings, ideas, or instincts. They are only to follow the feelings, ideas, and instincts on the approved list in order to stay within the structures they know and feel safe in even as they feel very unsafe.

That being said:

Purity culture can also exist WITHOUT a religious structure while still being about controlling the thoughts, feelings, and actions of everyone within it. In terms of fandom, purity culture is groups of people stating that if you write something uncomfortable or gross or immoral, then YOU must be uncomfortable or gross or immoral and therefore, not worthy of the safety and moral superiority of the group.

Purity culture without religion teaches black and white thinking, encourages thought policing, and shames anyone who steps outside of a very narrow definition of good and bad by turning an entire group of people against them for being "bad".

Just like in religious circles.

Just like in the cult of fundamentalism.

Purity culture is a term taken by fundamentalists and turned into a whole way of life because the goal of fundamentalism is to make people too scared to leave. Purity culture in fandom does the same thing. It uses fear and threats of abandonment/harassment to control the way people act because a group of people decided they didn't like something, so they must try and wipe it out rather than simply ignore it.

I am not mis-using the term because "Bobo the clown said my ship was cringe." My use of the term is intentional and precise because what is happening in fandom spaces now is non-religious purity culture cult thinking. My use of the term does not invalidate or water down the use of it in conversations about religious abuse and trauma. With or without religion, purity culture is a dangerous cult of "us vs them" that is built to demoralize and eradicate those deemed unworthy.

[narcissistshandler]

Can you do Hobie × sub religious male reader with a corruption kink ? Where it's like such a ego boost for him to be one who breaks down a good two shoes

𝗦𝗪𝗘𝗘𝗧 𝗦𝗜𝗡𝗡𝗘𝗥 𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗥𝗘𝗠𝗢𝗥𝗦𝗘

pairing. hobie brown x male reader

warnings. sub reader, handjob, anal sex, bottom!hobie, top!reader, religion, religious guilt, thinking about sin, insinuated homosexuality as sin, hell, etc, proceed with caution if christian religion is a sensitive subject for you.

a/n. Sorry for the delay in posting, my anxiety is killing me and I think this work will be a little disappointing for you

"Should I turn on the lights?"

"No, please no." Your breathy voice pleaded him and Hobie could only imagine what your face looked like in the darkness of the room. Were you blushing? Were your eyes closed as you pretended the fingers around your cock belonged to a woman, even with the calluses and hard skin? Were you wallowing in guilt or was pleasure all you could think about? What was going through your mind?

He desperately wanted to get inside your head and read your every thought.

"No? And how will I be able to see your face when I ride your cock?"

You sucked in a shaky breath through your teeth, cock twitching in Hobie's hand, murmuring, pleading, "Hobie." It was that simple to mess with you. A few dirty words, touches, like he knew no one had ever touched you before, and some profanity and soon, you'd be begging for him, proclaiming his name with the same need you called out for God. And when that happened it was always hard to pretend that the whole twisted situation didn't affect him as much as it actually did.

Hobie tightened his fingers around your cock, feeling how it pulsed, how each pull had you making quiet, self-conscious sounds, hips trying to rise for more contact despite the free hand pressing there and Hobie's weight on your legs made the task difficult. Your own fingers dug into Hobie's legs, nails digging in painfully. You wanted him so bad, you were eager for it, he know, you always were, no matter how many times you did it.

"Are you going to beg for it?" he teased, smiling where you couldn’t see.

"I-I need to?"

His thumb rubbed a tight circle over the bulbous head, eliciting a sound from the back of your throat; it wasn't a gentle touch, it was meant to hurt. Hobie loved the control he had over you. Maybe what you feared was true and he was a temptation sent by Satan to lead you astray, because Hobie truly loved knowing that no guilt and no fear of going to hell kept you from returning to his arms, night after night.

"P-please, Hobie," you asked, begged like a good, good boy. "Please... s-sit on my cock."

Hobie's laugh echoed through the dark room, the doors locked at your insistence, despite you both knowing that whoever you wanted to keep out of the room couldn't be stopped by mundane locks. Hobie's amusement might sound mean, but considering how your cock leaked into his hand, it didn't seem like it affected you much.

He stood up, eyes searching the shadows for the familiar lines of your face, to make sure your eyes were open and all your attention was on him. Keeping your member steady at the base, Hobie hovered over you, pointed knees spread across your sides, thighs flexing as he lowered himself until he felt the fat tip briefly grip the edge before sliding easily inside, stretching him like only you could.

A muscle in Hobie's thigh jumped, the skin warming with the familiar feeling of fullness. Your hands flew to his hips, making a choked moaning sound that made it seem like you was holding back to just not come right away.

"Oh, God, that feels good," Hobie moaned, rocking back and forth, taking his time, just enjoying how good it felt inside him. He had prepared himself for you, as he always did and yet, the shock that shot up his spine with the burn of the stretch threatened to bring him to an early orgasm.

You suddenly stood up, almost knocking Hobie off of you and slapped your mouths together. Eager to shut him up, so you wouldn't have to hear that name and remember your sins, sins you didn't regret. Hobie knew, he understood, but at least now you were looking at him, attention descending from his slender form, no breasts, no curves, his hard cock against your stomach and the place between his legs swallowing you whole. Not a woman on top of you and now, there was no way to pretend otherwise.

Your lips left his and moved down his neck at the same time Hobie put his feet on the mattress and began to move, moving up and down on your dick. Your mouth moved over his sweaty brown skin and in his pleasure-fogged mind, it wouldn't be until later when you left the bed still warm from the orgasm and once again lied that this would be the last time, that Hobie would understand the words you were repeating between sighs and moans.

Father, forgive me, for I have sinned.

Hobie would also remember then, that he couldn't hear a single drop of regret in your tone.

[humornaut]

Hey, @basil-daisy here.

I just wanted to drop by because there's something that has been eating my insides for a long time and I can't get it out of my head.

I wanna talk about the scenes in Black Space, more precisely the scenes in the Church of Something, both the Sunny route and Omori route, although the Omori route one was really the one that made me think.

Have you ever thought about how the scene where Omori finally finds and "saves" Basil in the Omori route feels strangely like... A wedding?

It's not only the bridal style way Omori catches Basil. It's the way Basil lightly complains about Omori being late, the way they stop as Omori gives Basil his flower crown back and how directly after the act is interrupted by Stranger, who objects the whole "thing". A spectacle a bunch of "guests" witness.

I was always really curious about the church symbolism. For example the way Basil is stuck at the top of the church. I've tried really hard not to think about what usually is in the same place in churches because that comparison is making me die inside, even if it weirdly makes sense (Basil died for your sins U^U).

Besides that we have Sunny's interesting relationship with religion. Mainly that he probably feels insanely guilty. He feels judged by all the religious statues, moreover the snow angels, which are also one of my favourites, don't need to have the game tell us Omori feels judged by them. You feel it just by looking at their eyes.

The fact that Basil is in a church of all places is so telling too. Besides masses churches are known for holding weddings and, well, funerals. And in case of Faraway town's church is has a graveyard right behind it, where Mari lies.

I wonder if the scene in the Omori route is supposed to feel like a wedding but also double as a funeral (considering it marks the end of Stranger and his admittance of defeat that is actually a premonition of Basil's death in real life). It's one of the few scenes between routes that changes drastically and what it represents is absolutely fascinating.

What is really interesting also is that in the Sunny route the scene feels is completely different. It no longer feels like wedding. If anything it is just Basil begging for forgiveness, which does of course ties well with religion. But he's not begging for God's forgiveness, no, he's begging for his best friend's forgiveness.

I imagine this might be another way of showing us that Basil idolises Sunny as well as telling us that Basil feels really bad (what an understatement).

I also question if the Omori route scene is there to mirror the Sweetheart marriage scene somewhat, but I think I would need to dwell a bit more on that to come reach a proper conclusion.

Anyway, I hope you're having a lovely day! 💜

Wow, this is a really good ask! I'm going to break it down into a few different parts.

The Symbolism of the Church of Something

I think you are right on the money in how things go down in the Church of Something in the Omori route. The entire scene does almost play out as a wedding! Not just as a marriage to Headspace Basil, but as a final marriage to Headspace in general. After Sunny moves, whether or not he ever finds out about the fate of the real Basil, he has wholly become Omori. Stranger's objection does represent the last vestige of Sunny's mind trying to stop him from doing this; after all, saving the real Basil is the only loose end that Sunny really feels a responsibility for in a way that he can fix. He may want to see his other friends again, but he doesn't feel guilty for not doing so, because he feels he doesn't deserve it. Basil's a different story, because he knows he did Basil wrong for the selfish reason of protecting himself from his past.

To deepen the significance of this "wedding to Headspace Basil, and with it, a marriage to the concept of Headspace itself", I also want to point out that there is an implication that the end of Black Space in the Sunny route is not an end to the loop of Headspace, which won't happen until Sunny decides to shatter the light bulb on the next night. There is Stranger dialogue in the hub area that makes clear that killing the Basil that has seen the truth in Red Space is something that usually happens, and when you go there, you can find multiple of Basil's bodies littering the area. Instead, it's the Omori route that "breaks the loop of Headspace", via Stranger choosing to attack Sunny for abandoning Basil and the others.

That's not even mentioning the things that happen after this in the Omori route.

The flower crown that Headspace Basil gives to Sunny in the last Headspace Night in the Omori route provides twice as much HEART as the next best charm in that department (with those charms being the the Pretty Bow, a charm tied to Aubrey, and the Tulip Hairstick, a charm tied to Omori). The use of the word "precious" is also used in the Sunny route, in the description for Basil's Photo Album:

All three of these charms are only accessible in the Omori route, as well. The Pretty Bow item is only receivable after defeating Abbi, and is explicitly described as "too flashy for your taste".

Finally, so long as we are talking about weddings in Headspace, there is another thing that we would be remiss not to talk about. To go along with your mention of the Snow Angels (who have another interesting connection that I will go over later), the charm that you get from completing this area is the Wedding Ring.

As I've mentioned before, there are three different charms that allow the wearer to start happy, and they generally have fairly romantic connotations. First is the daisy, which both you and I understand is likely tied to Basil, but also has a romantic connotation due to the context of being a reward for assisting a character acquire a gift for their crush.

The second is one that I would also tie to Basil.

The Heart String is such an interesting little item, and the way it is tied to Basil isn't as immediately obvious as the Daisy. First off, this item is really easy to miss. You have to grab it during the chase section within Humphrey, and you can't go back to grab it afterwards to get it. There is also another item in the same area: the Blender weapon for Hero. This item immediately sets off alarm bells in my head, because smoothies (the only snacks in the list that are made in a blender) are snacks that are pretty clearly tied to Basil. Why make these two items into two of the only completely miss-able items in the game? And it doesn't evade my notice that shortly before Humphrey, where you find these charms, you have the Branch Coral, who makes another connection to Basil using the romantic image of a string.

Finally, the wedding ring is tied to Basil in another way, and that is what's going on in the area that you find it. Obviously, there is a negative association between Headspace Basil and the cold/snow, but there's also the fact that the ascent up Snowglobe Mountain is reminiscent of the leadup to the Church of Something in general, with the stairs and the snow. And regarding the Snow Angels, aside from the religious connotations behind them, there is another neat association. Take a look:

this was pointed out by someone in a discord server that I am in, and I unfortunately do not remember who at this point. Let me know if you see this and want credit!

I would argue that this similarity was intentional, as an older version of the game had White Egret Orchids looking much different, though I can't find a beta picture of Basil's house at this exact moment. These Snow Angels serve much the same purpose as Stranger in this route: being embodiments of Sunny's guilt for abandoning Basil and refusing to take responsibility for his sins. This takes place on the final night before Sunny moves, the same night that the real Basil chooses to end his own life. These are his final thoughts following Sunny into his dreams (whether you take this as literal or figurative).

One last thought on Basil in the Omori route before moving on: the Basil Rush, and how it’s the most explicit the game ever gets about how Sunny imagines his Basil's closeness.

Like, oh my goodness. The TAG photos didn't even need to exist, but they were put in anyway! And a little detail that goes unnoticed a lot, is that the hand-holding TAG photo is one in which Omori has initiated it! I think part of the tragedy of the Omori route is that it is most player's second playthrough (if they ever play it at all) and it is when the idea of Sunny and Basil having romantic feelings for each other starts being implied way heavier than before. Congrats! You got some heavy romantic subtext between the two boys. One of them is dead in the real world because you didn't save him.

Moving on!

The Religious Connotations of Headspace Basil

You didn't want to go into it very heavily, but I will: among other things, Sunny's dreamworld has turned Headspace Basil into a Christ-like figure.

Of course, there is his position in the Church of Something, but that's not all. He constantly wears a Flower Crown (crown of thorns, anyone?). In fact, Omori has to give Basil the Flower Crown back in the very first Black Space area, the Watermelon Area, seemingly as a preface for what's going to be happening with Headspace Basil throughout that portion of the game.

Look at what he says during the hide and seek game:

There's also the fact that in the Sunny route, we are looking at a game that takes place over three days and three nights after Basil disappears from Headspace, which I'm sure I don't have to point out the significance of.

This is a connotation that Sunny is making himself. Basil did not choose to take on Sunny's sins in real life, he expected that they would always be together. It was Sunny that decided to throw the responsibility of both of their sins on Basil, by choosing to forget. Basil will literally die for Sunny's sins in the real world.

Which brings us to the Flower Crown that Basil gifts to Omori after being rescued. Whether Sunny knows it or not, Basil has decided to end his own suffering in the real world. By gifting the flower crown to Omori, Headspace Basil has symbolically indicated that the situation has been reversed. Basil is no longer suffering for Sunny's sins, but Sunny is about to start suffering for Basil's. We are told numerous times throughout the game that Headspace is on its last legs. It's running out of places to hide the truth. We see Black Space leaking through almost everywhere, and the Basil Rush ends in a direct reminder of the day of the incident.

All that is to say, Headspace is seemingly going to fail, and soon. Black Space has grown too strong. If you ask me, it's only a matter of time until news of the real Basil's death has reached Sunny in the real world, and that will be the tipping point. From there on, assuming Sunny even decides to go on after that point, he will be living with the same weight that Basil did for those four years after Sunny left him, and there won't be anyone to save him.

The Sunny Route and Sweetheart's Castle

Finally, you mentioned how the scene goes in the Sunny Route. It should be noted, right after Stranger merges with the version of Basil there is the first time in the entire game that a version of Basil in Sunny's head refers to Sunny exclusively as his best friend, and from that point on, we will see that repeated in Sunny's mind. The room that Omori and Basil fall into prior to Red Space is one that we will see during the truth sequence, but it also appears in the Omori route, in a manner that we should discuss, as it ties into what you said about Sweetheart's Castle being connected. After all, the room that Omori and Basil falls into is the same room that Sweetheart's Castle turns into once you accept the Keeper of the Castle's deal, as I noted in my post about Sweetheart's Castle previously.

Sweetheart herself represents Sunny; both in his quest for presenting a perfect version of himself and his broken understanding of love, both of others and himself. Spaceboy represents the more "Omori" part of him; someone claiming to be above his emotions, but ultimately ruled by them. He even changes his name while he is in a relationship with Sweetheart. From this interpretation, we can extrapolate that their wedding in the castle is a representation of the Omori route's ending, right down to ending up on Snowglobe Mountain.

I also want to point out what happens right after this. You don't immediately just jump on down to the Lost Library. You try to leave, but right before you exit the area, you get the cutscene showing Stranger on the stage, leading you into the hole, meaning you literally need to walk down the aisle of an area explicitly designed for a wedding to follow Stranger into the Lost Library.

Whether or not you interpret Sunny and Basil as having romantic feelings for each other, this seems very symbolic of the fact that accepting and following Stranger (who I have previously described as the individual in which Basil's love of Sunny resides, be it romantic or platonic) is how you get to the truth. It's as if Sweetheart and Spaceboy's wedding represented the ending of Black Space in the Omori route, while what happens right after represents the ending of Black Space in the Sunny route. And like most of the ways Sunny remembers aspects of his history, the library is tied to Basil. Where the real Basil would provide books for Sunny to read, Stranger leads him to an entire library filled with books depicting his memories, both good and bad.

I hope you found all this interesting! I haven't really gotten the chance to talk about these things before, since I haven't really found the motivation to talk about them in their own post before! I hope you have a wonderful day as well! Time to go back to packing for my flight tomorrow!

[mihai-florescu]

Kaname's mom and Subaru's dad (Kaname's idol fanatic mom jumping on stage and then falling to her death at Subaru's dad's concert, top solo idol at the peak of the industry, leading to uncovering of past misdeeds, his arrest, deteriorating health and death. Kaname isnt told what happened but knows he needs to be an idol because it's the thing his mom loved best, and Subaru spends his whole life under the threat of his dad's legacy, thinking he will meet the same fate as his dad. And yet he still chooses to pursue being an idol to make people smile, starting from his mom. In a funny twist of fate, decades later Kaname is attacked by the non special student body of Reimei when they're shown a video of his mom's sins being a catalyst of That Akehoshi's decline. But when a video accusing Subaru of being his dad's son is projected at the biggest idol event of the year, he is protected by the friends he's made, escaping the same fate.)

Madara's parents and Kanata's mom (Madara's parents with their numerous connections helping Kanata's mom fake her death to set her free, to escape the cult worshipping her. Madara spending his entire youth trying to destroy the cult and give Kanata back his humanity, feeling like he's failed because he couldn't do it on his own when it was never a task that could be done alone in the first place)

Izumi's parents (They're controlling Izumi throughout his childhood to follow their wishes and expectations of him, but Izumi chooses one thing for himself that they don't agree with - Makoto. Eventually he grows up to follow in his parents' footsteps by trying to control Makoto himself to protect him from potentially getting hurt)

Jun's dad and Nagisa's "dad" (Jun's dad raising him to be a solo super idol that can defeat Jin, but Jun only flourishes when he joins a unit with Hiyori and stops seeing being an idol as a duty. Similarly Nagisa being raised to be the next supreme idol, finding warmth and a family in his unit instead of being alone at the top)

Wataru and his adoptive parents (who didn't pay much attention to him, leading to Wataru constantly learning new tricks to outdo himself until eventually he couldn't be understood by those around him anymore...)

Arashi's parents (individualistic and uncaring, leading to her developing the big sis persona to not let others feel unsupported as she was growing up)

Tsumugi and his mom (who has failed, got scammed by religious organizations and brought trouble to the point of divorce, and despite it all, Tsumugi can't give up on her, his mom who was for a long time the only stable connection in his life. Tsumugi who learns the signs of a scam and to avoid them. Tsumugi who is in charge of the SNS at school where the students start railing against Kanata's religion and recognize him as a fake god. Tsumugi who develops a big bro helpful persona to make himself useful. Tsumugi who considers becoming a teacher because of it, who gets confronted by Natsume "the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, or have you forgotten that's the same vocation your mom failed at?" Tsumugi who is very much aware and had decided to make a separate path for himself, one continuing as an idol in Switch, even before Natsume's words.)

Man. Enstars characters and the relation to their parents, the expectations, subversions, accidental following in their footsteps etc. I couldve worded this entire post so much better and added more characters, but you get the gist. This is all just my understanding, if you think anything is off please let me know. And I did not mention every character so if you think I missed something important also share.

[ataraxiaspainting]

Hier Encore IV.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader.

[Hier Encore III.]

Synopsis: Yorknew Police Department Headquarters, 1995, April 10th. You are a director of public safety. The Phantom Troupe attacks the headquarters and takes you under the guise of a hostage situation. Even when the ransom is paid, you are never returned and assumed to be dead. After thirteen months of captivity, in 1996, on May 9th, you escape and try to learn how to live again somewhere far away from your captor. The payment of freedom comes with a steep cost, one that stains your hands so much that even if you drown them in bleach, the stain will remain there for the rest of your life.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, the reader is described as AFAB and uses she/her pronouns respectively, not SFW implications, misogynistic undertones (not from Chrollo), unhealthy relationships, manipulation o’clock, body transformation (not on the reader), references to religion, violence/gore, minor character death, and stalking.

Word Count: 5.9k.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Lacrimosa by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

4:00 A.M. by Taeko Onuki

My Girlfriend Is a Witch by October Country

Michelle by Sir Chloe

Sonne by Rammstein

Enemy by Imagine Dragons

Venus Fly Trap by MARINA

Maneater by Nelly Furtado

cult leader by KiNG MALA

Teacher’s Pet by Melanie Martinez 

“She looked like a vixen, and that’s what she was; she had all the instincts of a female fox. She was the proverbial predatory female. She had what she wanted, now, and she was content. There was just the getting completely away with it that counted.” – Gil Brewer, Sin for Me

iv. “I must be cruel, only to be kind.”

“Greetings.”

One emotion comes after another on Sebastian's face: confusion, fear, distrust, and many more.

“Hello.” His voice is tight. “Do you need something?” He asks, putting his hands on the doorframe as a precaution.

“I have just come to ask you a few questions.” Chrollo answers, his voice as calm and collected as always. He isn’t even looking at Sebaste, his focus is placed on the inside of the cottage. He knows that you are here.

“Like what?” Sebaste asks, his body tensing up.

“My dear, come out.” He calls out to you, his voice as soft as it usually is.

“I’m sorry?” Sebaste questions, his shoulders strained upwards. “I’m right here.”

Chrollo pays him no mind, instead still looking over Sebastian's shoulder. He hums, looking at one object in the living room at a time. The black sofa by the television was old with the bottom left corner of it torn, white stuffing no longer being covered there in that spot. The carpet below Sebastian’s feet, the colors fading because of age. The creaky poplar floorboards. The pots of plants where the kitchen’s checkered tiles and the living room’s wooden planks meet, where you are hiding. Your eyes meet and his eyes are as empty as ever, perhaps even emptier, like black holes in the ground that aim to swallow you whole.

“Come out, my love.” He repeats himself, his tone sickeningly sweet to the point of mockery.

“Excuse me?” Sebaste asks, his voice slightly cracking.

“Dearest.” His gaze is still on you. It is intense and you feel a pressure on your neck like you are being strangled by him. You can’t breathe.

“I’m here.” Sebaste moves his hands downwards on the doorframe. “I’m right here.” His eyebrows furrow. “I’m right here. Don’t ignore me.” He’s upset.

“Hmm.” He leans in slightly. “She hasn’t told you anything, has she?”

You can see Sebastian's feet through the leaves of the tall plants take a step or two back at Chrollo’s question. “What?”

He still is not making eye contact with Sebaste. “Honestly, I expected that you would have left her by now, or at the very least be on your knees begging for mercy from me. Little liar.” Once more, a gentle hum escapes his lips as he leans in, drawing himself nearer. “But that is alright.”

Sebastian's feet move backward yet again. “What?” He knows. “Hello? What are you talking about?”

Remaining composed, Chrollo gradually advances towards Sebaste. “My dear, aren’t you going to greet me? I missed you.”

As an innate response to his words, your muscles contract, causing your entire body to become rigid.

“Come on out,” Chrollo continues, his smile getting wider. “We haven’t seen each other for more than a year. It feels like a millennia since I saw you last. My heart still beats for you, though, and always will.”

“Leave,” You finally say, your voice almost as shaky as you are. “Go away.”

Sebaste and Chrollo are now both looking at you, but their gazes are different. Chrollo looks at you like a hunter looks at a slain doe or rabbit they are about to eat, while Sebaste looks at you with confusion and fear, for he knows what you are; a liar. “Come closer. Let me see you.”

You shake your head from side to side until your neck cramps and you feel slightly dizzy. “Leave, go away.” You repeat, your voice still shuddering. 

“I would take you more seriously if your voice was not quivering, beloved.”  You can perceive the mocking tone in his voice. “I want to see your beautiful face not covered by the foliage of a dying plant.” His smile is getting bigger and bigger by the second, you swear to yourself. “Come on now.”

Once more, you vigorously shake your head, refusing to comply. “Leave.”

Sebaste continues to call out, desperately trying to catch his attention, but he remains unfazed, humming to himself. Fear is evident in his expression and the urgency of his voice. Concern grips you, for both Sebaste and yourself.

“Come closer, please. Come greet me.”

You squirm behind the tall plant. “No, go away, leave.”

“I won’t.” His smile fades as he looks down at Sebastian's arms still holding onto the doorframe like it was their lifeline. It is actually, you realize.

Sebastian's face contorts into a frown, while he straightens his posture even further, assuming a defensive stance. “If all you are going to do is bother my girlfriend and not talk to me, you have to leave.”

“No.” Sebaste is finally acknowledged by him, but this time his voice lacks warmth, sounding firm and icy. “Step aside.”

The urge to run engulfs you. You want to run into the forest. You want to run until your feet bleed and your ankles are twisted and bruised.

“Why would I do that?” Sebaste hisses angrily. “Leave. All you are doing is being a creep to my girlfriend. Leave or I’ll call the police. Now.”

Chrollo simply leans in closer to Sebastian's ear. “Step aside. Please.”

Sebaste scowls. “Leave. Now.”

Run, run, run. Despite your determination to hold your ground, you start to relent under Chrollo's unrelenting gaze, eventually taking a step forward as instructed. “Ah, that’s better. Good.” As Chrollo's stare intensifies, you find yourself averting your gaze towards the ground, towards your bare feet. “Look at you, my poor thing. You have nothing more to say, don’t you?” He coos like a parent watching their baby take their first steps.

“I’m calling the police.”

Sebaste delves into the depths of his hoodie pocket, where his phone resides, leaving a portion of the doorway unguarded by his arm. The urge to plead with Sebaste, to convey the futility of it all, arises within you. However, you find yourself incapable of doing so. 

In one swift motion, Chrollo grabs the cell phone away from Sebastian’s hand and throws it on the ground, a loud smashing sound reaching your ears. It’s only more pronounced by a boot stomping and crushing it like it was some sort of bug.

“Come closer, dearest.” He says, and your feet move, your mind compliant. You move closer and closer, until you are a few feet behind Sebaste, who looks both fearful and confused.

“Call the police,” Sebaste tells you, the stress in his voice is more than obvious.

You just stare, emptily. There is no point in running over to the kitchen to grab your phone, because Chrollo is quick and thus would run quicker, quicker than you ever could. You, poor you, would fall in vain in the Spider’s hunt for the fly that made it out of the web alive.

“Call the police. [First], call the police.” You would love to appear as a saint, but bright crimson stains your hands and eats at your very being. The floorboards creak and crack beneath you as you walk closer and you hope that the planks will simply break and let you fall into an infinite void where you will never be sentenced for your crimes. 

“My lady of sorrows, as beautiful as ever.”

You should have hidden your tracks better.

“Call the police, [First].” You should have watched out for any targets on your back.

You should have watched out more for the eyes looking at you in the night because you only caught one pair. “Your love is like a warm summer’s day, and it will always be mine, all mine.”

You wanted a normal human life. You wanted a normal human death.

But you are caught in the Spider’s web and encased in silk yet again, so you can’t have either of those things. Now, all that you can have that you want is to cry.

“Call the police.” Sebastian's trembling voice echoes once more, filled with fear. Desperate to find solace, he reaches out for your hand, only to be met with the unexpected rejection of a slap. 

You’re so stupid. So, so stupid. Your brain feels numb like it is rotting away inside of you, slowly but surely.

“Call the police. [First]. Go get your phone and call the police.”

“All I want is to hold you in my arms and know that you are mine.” You hold everything Chrollo has ever said to you inside of you where your heart used to be. It weighs you down more than a broken heart ever would.

“[First]. Call the police. What’s wrong?”

The world is now monochrome once more. You feel the place where warmth used to be within you. But now all there is is ashes. There is nothing but ashes. Your lungs hurt from all the filth.

“Stop it.” Disgusting, you are disgusting, Chrollo is disgusting.

You wanted to see the whole world. But you are now back to being trapped in the spider’s web and you cannot do any of those things now. A butterfly with a hole in its wing caught in its web. 

“What’s wrong? Call the police. Go. Now.” Disgusting. “[First]?” Disgusting. “[First], why aren’t you doing anything?”

“Stop it.” Your voice cracks like how you wanted the floorboards to. “Just stop it.”

“Go get your phone.” Sebaste continues, deaf to what you are trying to tell him. “Go. Now. Go.”

Your head hurts. Your stomach hurts. You want your pajamas on. You want to sleep. You wish you never ran away because now hell will be unleashed on Sebaste and you as punishment. You wish you would have just made a pit stop in this town and continued being on the move. You wish you were more tactical. You wish you had never been born at all. Disgusting. You’re so disgusting and stupid and tired.

You find yourself uttering every part of it, stammering through the words, pausing to catch your breath, pleading for Sebastian's survival, hoping to just return to whatever luxurious penthouse or hotel room Chrollo is currently staying at, imploring to have a private conversation with Chrollo about this matter in his car, away from Sebaste.

As soon as you finish begging for Sebastian's life and open your eyes, you see the book in Chrollo’s hand. With the realization of what is about to happen, tears finally fall from your eyes onto your bare feet. 

The cry that escapes your lips is a unique one, unlike any other. It is choked, desperate, animalistic, raw, and undeniably genuine.

“Don’t! Please! Wait! Chrollo!”

Chrollo looks at you and you immediately shut up.

“What are you doing?” Sebaste asks, stepping away, his entire body shaking. “Answer me. What are you doing?”

Chrollo's gaze turns towards him, bearing a facial expression that ranks among the most dreadful you've ever witnessed.

He doesn’t respond with anything more than a hum and a quick turn of the pages.

You’re too afraid to speak.

You look at the floor and close your eyes again as you continue to cry.

You hate the book. He has never used it on you, but you know what it can do. Perhaps if Chrollo is in a good mood at the moment, Sebaste will merely have a curse placed upon him and he will go out the door with poor, wailing you, his grip on your wrist strong enough to almost break it. 

A foolish thought, you remind yourself.

Chrollo wasn’t known for his mercy, after all.

Sebaste is as good as dead.

Perhaps he is even worse than dead.

He could be tortured. Starved, eaten alive, poisoned, or has all of his bones broken bit by bit.

You are scared to open your eyes. But you are also scared to have them remain closed.

As you look at what is in front of you and ignore the noises around you, you deprive yourself of any mercy.

It is what you deserve.

“[First]?”

“Don’t.”

“[First], what is happening?” Sebaste points to Chrollo with a look of pure fear, his eyes looking like they are about to burst from their sockets. “What is he talking about?”

“I said don’t. Just stop.”

Sebaste stops in his place, his body shaking so much it looks like he is about to fall. “What?”

“I’m sorry.” It is a genuine apology. “But speaking will only make the pain worse for both of us.”

Chrollo hums again and nods at you, still flipping through the pages. Engaging in acts of rebellion will only exacerbate the situation.

The book stops turning and Chrollo points to a page. “I found it.”

His words are barely audible, drowned out by the piercing cries of anguish. Flashing lights; magenta, red, teal, and black.

Sable scales are sprouting from Sebastian's alabaster skin, each one covered in blood and pierced flesh.

His scleras are a shade of light coral. His eyelids are getting smaller and smaller by the second.

His irises get darker, almost to the hue of ink, matching the scales that are all over his body covered in little bits of torn skin. His knees collapse on themselves as you stand still, looking with both disgust and fear. His elbows fold as his arms lessen in length, his hands bonding with his clavicles. 

He is still screaming.

You want to tell him to stop, that there was no point. It’s already too late for either of you.

But you can’t.

You refuse to look at Chrollo, who is no doubt smiling at the horrifying tragedy unfolding in front of you two.

You just look at Sebaste with pitying, guilty eyes.

He does not look at you.

You deserve it, and he deserves to at least have that choice in the matter.

Whatever Chrollo is doing to him, there is no doubt in your mind that you deserve at least twice as bad of a fate.

But you don’t fear death. Not anymore. You know Chrollo does not plan to kill you, that death is not in the cards he is holding. He would never let go of his favorite toy. So, you fear the unknown. You fear whatever harrowing methods Chrollo is going to use on you. There is no doubt that they will be far more psychological than physical.

You sit and stay, like a good dog does, even though every fiber of your being is telling you to run out the back door and into the forest. So, you wait. You wait until he is done. You won’t speak or move unless you are told to. You give up all control and pretend to want to be dragged by a leash instead. You hide your true feelings behind a mask and not overplay your hand. That is how you become a dog.

Good girl.

Chrollo takes out a few Polaroid photographs from his suit pocket and lays them out on the table. One of them is the gore-stained walls of James’ apartment, his lower half the only part that is still whole. The second is Victor’s collapsed, untouched body on the wooden floorboards. The third is of your stalker’s rotting corpse in your abandoned shed, his head lowered and his partially gouged eyes swinging in the cool breeze. You can’t pretend to be better anymore. You can’t hide what you have done anymore. He knows.

You reach for the photos, grabbing them off the table then crumble them into balls, tearing them apart into shreds and watching them fall onto the ground.

Chrollo doesn’t stop you. He simply stares at the torn pieces that lay at your bare feet. He hums. It’s the most horrific sound you have ever heard. It is a mix of hilarity and hunger. When he smiles, his teeth look like a shark's. They are razorlike and look sharp enough to cut flesh, though they appear the same as yours. Although his appearance may deceive others into perceiving him as angelic, you are aware that he is anything but, just like yourself.

He knows. He knows.

Chrollo takes a step forward toward you but stops abruptly. He hums again. He looks upward towards your face and you make eye contact. Your brain starts screaming signals to run.

He knows of the lies that are the foundation of the makeup used to cover your hideous, real face. He knows of your sticky, sticky red hands, stained with crimson sin. He knows of the devil that lurks within the deepest confines of your heart. He knows that no exorcism or priest would be able to get rid of it. He knows that it will stay inside you until your last breath. He knows of the hidden transgressions within your soul, the deeds you committed to survive. The actions you took to elevate yourself above all others and everything else in this world.

He knows everything. He knows what you have done.

The stars twinkle no more. The moon has lost its luster. The night sky has broken apart. You cannot hide your wrongdoings from the scorching beams of the sun. Your skin burns. Everything hurts.

He knows.

He looks down at you like he is a king. Arrogant. Tenacious. He is not even a star to you. He is less than the small pieces of meteorites floating in the vast Milky Way, fading away more and more by the second. This life was too good to be true. You have failed and as a result, you have lost everything. 

You cover your head with your arms and run, tackling Chrollo to the ground. He falls onto the kitchen floor with a hard thump. You punch him, but your knuckle hurts as you do so, Chrollo’s face like an iron wall. You yelp in pain and withdraw your fist, using your other hand to pull out the knife from your sweatpants. You haven’t even made a dent into him, did he even feel anything?

Chrollo's laughter resonates as if he finds your actions incredibly amusing. He proceeds to articulate the harsh reality, a truth that is both unpleasant and acrid. “So, you were the one that committed those murders. As expected.”

No. No. No. No.

As you falter, Chrollo’s hands firmly grab the upper parts of your arms and push you off, the amount of power used being nearly enough to throw you against the glass cupboards of dishware and decorations. Instead, the back of your head collides with the wall next to the wooden back door, the paring knife flying out of your hand and landing a few inches away. A pained cry escapes your lips as your vision blurs for a second. He’s on top of you in an instant, his eyes dark and predatory, and your positions suddenly reversed. 

The blade, you have to get it back.

As you try to reach out for it, Chrollo grabs your wrist with an abnormal amount of strength. “I wouldn’t pick that up if I were you. It would only prove a point for me.”

Run. Run. Run. You have to run, like a small child running up the stairs when the lights are off, fearing what could be lurking in the dark. 

Life. Death. Free. Cage. Run. 

No, this can’t be happening, this is just a bad dream.

“Struggle all you like, we both know how this will end.”

“Shut up. I’m not going anywhere–”

“You are. You will stay wherever I place you because I am not falling for your tricks a second time, my little witch.”

No. This is just a bad dream. You close your eyes and try to wake up, shaking your head and begging for Chrollo to be just a figment of your imagination. You try and try, but you can still feel the crushing feeling of Chrollo’s grip on your bruised wrist and the weight of his body on top of yours. This is real, and this is happening.

Your mind goes blank as you open your eyes, your body being directed by raw, pure fear. Your forehead crashes into Chrollo’s, making him back up a few centimeters and let go of your wrist. Your torso crawls toward the blade like an animal whose legs are caught under a boulder or a bear trap. Your elbows bend and you try to move forward. You are just about to grab the knife when there is a yanking of your hair backward. You holler out as your spine is twisted peculiarly, your upper body facing downwards towards the knife while your lower body is facing upwards towards Chrollo. 

“Let go!”

“You certainly are stubborn.”

Your fist smacks him square in the jaw and he lets go. Your hand grips the knife, and you start swinging it around, blinded by emotion. You manage to cut into his right cheek as he spits out some blood from your punch. You try to gouge out one of his eyes, but his dexterity causes his head to duck just in time. Your body shakes with a mix of alarm and hate. You try to aim for the space between his eyes, but he grabs your wrist with one hand and your tricep with the other and starts twisting them in two different directions, making you wail. There is a sudden snap that is louder than your cries. You scream as you drop the knife and caress your broken arm. Chrollo grabs the blade and throws it far across the room. 

Chrollo’s body seems to relax a little, so you kick him in the face and try to clamber away from him. His nose bleeds, but it does not look broken. You are as desperate as a doe trying to escape the bullets of a hunter’s shotgun. 

Run. Run. Run. 

“You’re not being good. You’re not being good at all.”

Run. Run.

With the last bits of strength you have, you withstand the agonizing pain in your arm and kick Chrollo in the stomach with both of your legs, so hard that even you wince. He backs up as he chokes on his saliva. Some of the blood from his nose jumps onto your face and you can taste the flavor of metal. He falls backward and hugs his abdomen. He is off of you at long last. For the quick moment he is in pain, you stand up quickly, clutching your unusable limb. You run as fast as you can towards the paring knife. You bend down and grab it in a rush of panic. 

Run, rabbit. Run.

Chrollo pushes you down onto your stomach, your back facing him. He grabs your broken arm and pulls it, his foot on your spine to keep you there. It bends like rubber or bubblegum. You start to flail around like a fish out of water. You gasp for air as you cry out in pain. His other hand grabs the back of your head, raising it slightly before pushing it down hard onto the wooden planks. The life you have built for yourself, everything you have worked towards, the colorful, sweet world you have made, all shatters into splinters before your very eyes.

Picking pumpkins and apples to make decorations and cook into pies, harvesting sunflowers to put into glass vases around your cottage, going into the farmer’s market and smelling freshly roasted corn and baked goods, cookies, fried mushrooms, glazed yams, eggplant parmesan, learning to love someone for the first time.

It was all for nothing. It was all for nothing because Chrollo found you. Chrollo found you and enacted his revenge. You wail a strangled, desperate breath. A raw and real breath. 

You stop struggling at long last, like a toy that has run out of power from its battery. All that fighting and you have hardly made him use his true strength.

You are weak. You cannot go anywhere. You are a rabbit with nowhere to run. Murder. Death. Theft. Crime. Manipulation. Love. Chrollo’s blood is still in your mouth and it’s bitter and dry, like you had just eaten sand in a desert or oceanless beach. It chokes you, both physically and mentally.

No.

The fish that used to be Sebaste looks up at the ceiling, lying on its side. An unblinking, wide eye. Dull. Cloudy. Empty. Unforgiving. Confused. Weak. Its corpse lays before you two and starts to stink like the back of a butcher’s shop. 

I hate you.

That is what its eye tells you.

Traitor. Fool. Devil. Maneater. Tainted. Killer. Freak.

This is all your fault. Why did I have to die? Why are you still alive? You lied to me. You said you loved me. Liar. 

Liar. Liar. Liar.

Pathetic.

Your feet are still cold.

If only you could have died too. If only you could have died beside him. You don’t want to die in whatever hotel room or penthouse Chrollo will shove you in, within four suffocating walls and soft sheets that cost more than your monthly rent. You don’t want to die there, you want to die anywhere else. You are not ready to die. Tunnel vision overtakes you, with only one objective in mind.

Just stay alive.

Just stay alive.

That is your one wish to the stars above.

It hurts.

Everything hurts.

You are being burned alive by your desire to both live and die.

...

You don’t think before you do it.

You don’t try to stop yourself before, without any hesitation, your legs propel you forward, forcefully thrusting the backdoor open with your functioning arm. Anguish, fury, remorse, and sorrow engage in a fierce battle for dominance over your every move. As you dart deeper into the dark and densely packed forest behind your cottage, the only sounds you could hear are your own ragged breaths and pounding heart. It was as if the forest was trying to swallow you up, closing in with every passing step. No moonlight or stars pierced the thick layers of leaves and branches overhead.

The darkness is like a thick fog, blurring your sight and limiting your visibility. You could not see Chrollo behind you, but your instincts told you that he was. There was no hint of a breeze to take some of the edge off, with even the birds and chipmunks being completely silent.

The pain was excruciating. With every jostling step, your broken arm jolted around like a wooden toy, threatening to send you down to the ground any second as it kept getting caught in vines and hitting tree trunks. You could not afford to stop running.

You don’t see anyone following you.

Your feet are starting to bleed and leave a few red drops of blood with every rushed step you take. You don’t care about it because instinct has taken over your mind.

You trip over a large root on the ground and fall sideways right on your broken arm, making you scream from the intense pain shooting up. As you try to get up and caress your broken arm, you stumble downhill into a pile of dead leaves. 

Your mouth is full of them, making you hardly able to breathe as you spit them out. 

If it were any other time, you would have considered it funny.

But not now.

As you rise from the ground, your hand instinctively shields your mouth, preventing any inadvertent sound that may invite unwanted attention. The pursuit of Chrollo, if not already initiated, has undoubtedly commenced.

He’s after you. You know this. He came back into your newly rebuilt life and destroyed it right in front of your very eyes. 

You know he can hear you, but you cannot hear him. You never know of his presence until he is too close, that is how it always has been. That is how it is now. Chrollo has forever possessed superior speed, strength, intelligence, attractiveness, and wealth, making it impossible for anyone to ever match his prowess, even if they desired to do so.

You hate him.

You hate him, and he’s here for you again.

No.

How did he even find you?

Hisoka promised.

He promised you that your location would be undiscovered.

He lied to you, didn’t he?

Maybe lying isn’t the exact word.

Maybe he technically did keep his promise, because the Troupe didn’t show up in a matter of a few hours.

Chrollo showed up in a matter of nearly twenty four.

Your gasps for air and silenced cries are paired with a call of your name.

“Oh, you poor thing. Scared half to death.”

His words are as soft as they are cruel.

“Mater Dolorosa.”

You force yourself onto your feet again to run, sensing the voice behind you up the hill getting louder and louder. But when you move to run, you wince in pain and look down at your swollen red ankle.

It is so dark that you can’t see anything aside from yourself, the world around you being painted monochrome by the black night sky’s palette. 

There is nowhere to run, is there?

You have used up all of your luck getting this far, and have to pay the price.

You are out of time. You cannot dream of sweet escape anymore.

“Do you remember my touch? I touched you so sweetly. My darling girl.”

You would turn if you could, but the pain shooting out from your ankle prevents you doing so and almost makes you fall into the leaves again instead. “You took me away.” 

Moving in a circular motion, Chrollo gradually positions himself in your line of sight, his imposing figure standing tall before you. “It is a thief’s nature. I could not resist the temptation to steal you.”

Chrollo is a prime illustration of the extreme measures some individuals are willing to take in order to have you in their embrace. 

Your beauty has captivated every person you have encountered, evoking reverence from all. It is both a blessing and a curse, a double edged sword, both the thing that worships you and tortures you. 

Your sweatpants are covered in dirt stains and pieces of dried grass and leaves, your hoodie in a similarly horrible condition. Your hair had come undone, cascading in delicate wisps that obscured your vision, reminiscent of a spider's delicate web. There is nowhere to hide.

“Oh, how I love you.” Chrollo smiles and the way it reaches his eyes makes you squirm more. “Shall I enumerate the reasons why?”

…

The car ride was silent for a while. You would have preferred it if it stayed that way. But Chrollo could never stay quiet for long, even if you asked nicely, so he turned the dial of the radio and began humming along. In all the months you were with him, the only constant presence in your otherwise bleak, depressing life. 

The song he chose felt like yet another kick to the stomach. ABBA’s Lay All Your Love On Me. Of course he would play that.

As much as you hate doing so, you focus on the way your heart beats with each turn and bump along the road. He was calm, still so calm, even after this two year long escape. You are certain that this is the calm before the storm, and it was only a matter of time before everything came crashing down on you. More than what already had fallen. 

To claim that you were on edge would be an understatement. 

“Do you know what will happen now?”

With your heart pounding and mind consumed, you can't help but startle at his words, despite your readiness.

“...No.”

He lets out a small laugh, reducing the music's volume to a slightly muffled level.

It only makes you feel like you are about to go into cardiac arrest.

“You do, don’t you? You have always been a smart one.”

Your broken arm aches under the slight pressure of the seatbelt pressing against it, your ankle being only slightly cushioned by the insulated carpet beneath.

Chrollo has never hurt you before, aside from restraining you in the early days of your capture. Though, you know if you had blamed your ankle on him and told him, he would tell you it was your fault for running barefoot in the dark.

He hopefully will give you a brace or pillow for it when you both arrive back to wherever your temporary location is.

“My freedoms will be taken away.”

As he nods, a smile plays at the corners of his mouth, revealing a slightly sinister undertone that would easily deceive any unfamiliar observer.

“That is a start. But,” Pausing momentarily, he directs his gaze towards you, only to swiftly return his attention to the path that lies ahead. “What particularly? Give me an example, please.”

He is definitely planning something. Maybe you'll inquire about the source of his inquiry, or perhaps you'll force a trembling grin and pretend his question is nonsensical, aware that he's already aware of the freedoms you've gained during your time in confinement. Yet, he would persist then, and repeat his query. You could respond by acknowledging his authority to strip away any privilege he deems appropriate, a fact that both of you know to be true, but deep down, you understand that he desires a real, logical answer.

Whether this is a genuine question or something that will be used to mock you in a moment or two, you have no idea.

“A freedom like…” Your answer will probably be spawned into existence, making you wary of how to respond to his question, but you know you have to because you have no choice in this hell. “Like being able to move freely around.”

He only taps his fingers on the steering wheel in a melody unlike the one playing from the car’s speakers. “How so?” Welcome once again to the realm of eternal damnation.

You contemplate turning away from him and looking out the window instead. But that would cause you more physical pain from your arm moving against the car seat and more mental pain from you knowing you will not be able to go outside again for at least a while. That is, if you are ever allowed to go outside again. If you can ever escape again. He wants another answer. He is not satisfied. But, then again, when is he ever?

You don’t dare look away from him as he stares at you, not at the road, at you. You practically feel like your stomach is dropping out of your body and onto the insulated carpet, staining parts of it crimson red from the blood and a discolored version of its once licorice color from the stomach acid. 

“Go on,” You could imagine the feeling of his fingers and yours intertwining and starting to squeeze your throat. 

Thum, thum, thum. Bum, bum, bum. Dun, dun, dun.

“...Restraints.” You wish you could just dissolve like seafoam in the sea. “I’m not sure which ones you want to use. The metal ones or silk ones most likely.” The sensation of suffocation creeps in, as if the air itself has turned putrid and malevolent, weighing heavily on your chest. Your vocal cords are raspy, resembling the aftermath of regurgitating and subjecting them to the corrosive effects of gastric acid. “Maybe gag me or tie my legs together too. Or both, it depends on if you are in a good mood right now or not, right?”

He nods slowly, never taking his eyes off of you. His gaze feels unsettling, for there is no trace of anger in his eyes, yet you can sense his fury.

“That is one, yes. What else do you think will happen when we get back, my dear?”

The road is empty. There are no deer or geese or ducks crossing, only you and Chrollo. Animals have always had better judgment of human character, after all.

You hope that the place you are going to at least has a nice view.

“Tell me.”

[luceafarul-de-dimineata]

um if this doesn't make you uncomfortable

i saw your hc lucifer as orthodox christian and i have an interest in orthodox so can i request some hcs of lucifer as an orthodox christian (like his daily activities as orthodox christian, etc.)

again, if you are feeling uncomfortable, feel free to ignore this, i know many dont feel comfortable with topic of religion

(if you want age confirmation, im an legal adult)

I'm not uncomfortable with talking about my religion, but there's this itty bitty problem that comes up when you discuss orthodox christian traditions. Every countries orthodox traditions are different because, unlike catholic christianity with the pope, there's no authorithy over the whole religion. (There's patriarchs, but they're authorothy over their respective region, not the whole of orthodoxy. It's complicated and I do not have the full understanding on how the orthodox hierarchy works either.)

That's a long way of saying that I'll be writing Lucifer as specificly a romanian orthodox christian because that's the one I'm familiar with.

Lucifer being orthodox on main

There's a day every year when Lucifer will wash the feet of all his nobles. Since he's at the top of the food chain in his country (and in general), he's the one that has to wash the sins away from all his nobles. He used to do it to the patience as well, but they're too many since the war began.

Paradise Lost is the only country that celebrates Easter, but it's during the correct date and not the catholic date.

Easter Eve night is spent at the church where Lucifer sings a specific prayer before leading the atendees around the church three times. Every atendent has to hold a chicken or rooster as they circle the church and at the end they sacrifice the birds to the lord.

Not an orthodox thing exactly, but Lucifer loves decorating eggs with beads, kind of like this

During Easter everyone in Paradise Lost has to smash an egg with everyone else. (I have no idea how to explain it, just have a video. That's basicly it)

After Easter he greats all his nobles with "Hristos a înviat" ("Christ has been revived" kinda, I'm not a professional translator) and his nobles have to answer "Adevărat a înviat" ("True, he's been revived."). This goes on for a month

Moving on from Christmas, whenever a patient dies, Lucifer rushes to their room and lights candle.

No noble in Paradise Lost ever dies (thank you, Gamigin) but Lucifer has a whole ass plan prepared for the possibility of them dying. I talking casket measurements, a list of their favorite foods so he may give it out as pomană, the prayer he'll honor them with, everything

Whenever something bizarre or unorthodox (haha) happens, Lucifer will let out a quiet "Doamne fereşte" ("God forbid") and look at an icon (he has those in every room).

He was given a cross necklace when he was younger by God and he never takes it off. Will hiss at anyone that even tries to touch it.

Lucifer only wears red underwear. It's to prevent people from putting envy curses on him. If he's praising someone a lot, at some point he'll do the "pu pu pu să nu te deochi" ("[spitting noise] may I not curse you")

He sometimes calls his brothers by their hebrew names, that's Gavril, Mihail and Rafail. Kind of preferes calling them by those names, but he can go with the latin version as well.

I'mma be honest, these were the hardest headcanons to write for. There's so many romanian words that have no direct translation and all of them are related to religion in some way 😭😭😭 I didn't even bring up the strigoi or jumping over fire. I've been told before that I kind of need to tone down the use of Romanian on my blog since not everyone is from here, so I tried my best with translations.

[sukimas]

christianity as a whole is kind of weird to me because jesus died for your sins, right, but then you go on thinking that you can't sin anyway? am i understanding this correctly? i feel like the entire concept of rules for behavior goes kind of counter to jesus' sacrifice & the point of your religion?

[maristelina]

Amane Voice Drama Really Bad Translation

Please take my really bad translation with a truckload of salt. It's super incomplete. I was having troubles understanding what's going on because of my current anemia and uh episode. I wanted to share this because I want to see how close I got later when more competent people translates the Voice Drama.

Amane: We were disappointed in MILGRAM's judgement. We thought it could be a new world. You're quite something, always looking down on others from above. I'm pretty sure I told you not to be conceited. On top of that, you say something incomprehensible like not forgiving us.

How dare you say that. But we are magnanimous. Let's set aside time for dialogue with the warden once again. After all, our history is one that has been made through dialogue.

Es: Get to the point quickly. What's wrong, Amane? Don't think I can just overlook your drastically changed attitude and move on. It's the result of my judgment that you've become like this. The way you talk. You're like a completely different person at the moment. Everyone who is unforgiven is under the mental stress of hearing voices blaming their own sins. Is your change also due to that influence?

Amane: The ridiculous voices? Ah, we did indeed hear it. But, that's not a big deal because we have steadfast teachings. We have clear and sublime faith. No matter what is said from the outside, we won't be shaken.

Es: Faith. You're talking about the religion you believe in.

Amane: The power that Milgram possesses seems to be true. Have you also taken a peek at our faith?

Es: It was quite an abstract expression(??), but I judged that your killing of people was due to religious beliefs.

Amane: It's not murder; I simply administered punishment according to the doctrine.

Es: So you're saying it's not a sin.

Amane: Is faith a sin?

Es: Faith itself is free, and while many are non-religious, I understand that there are those who are saved by religion.

Amane: Is that so? Are the unforgiven prisoners lost? They might also need our faith.

Es: I'd rather you refrain from proselytizing within Milgram

Amane: Faith is free. Faith exists for the sake of those who are lost.

Es: We've gotten off-topic. So, what exactly are you now? You keep saying 'we,' does that mean you're not Amane Momose?

Amane: I am Momose Amane and yet not Momose Amane. I am a spokesperson for our faith. You said you won't forgive us. I think there's a need for dialogue and warning because you made a wrong judgment, so I am speaking as 'we.'

Es: So, in essence, I am speaking with the concept of your religion itself right now. Is that what you're saying?

Amane: You can think of it that way if you like. So, let's issue the warning again. Warden. Milgram made the decision not to forgive us.

Es: Ah, yes, that's correct.

Amane: As I said earlier, our actions are actions of faith???, and they don't amount to sin. Therefore, Milgram is wrong. People are getting killed in the prison. I understand that I'm breaking the law.

Es: As I said before, there are things more important than the law. This is Milgram. Such arbitrary rules cannot be accepted as a standard. Therefore, I won't forgive. That's all. Faith in religion is also free. However, your so-called doctrine cannot become the standard for overall sin.

Amane: Isn't Milgram trying to establish new standards precisely because foolish laws can't properly guide this world? Are you still bound by the law?

As a mere warden I have no way of knowing Milgram's philosophy. It's not because love is against the law. Your killing of people is not forgiven by Milgram. I simply made that judgment. The orders are to deny your doctrine.

Amane: If you don't change your mind, we can never forgive you either.

Es: What do you mean "we"? You make me laugh. What you're doing is simply murder. Whether you talk about it as a whole or sing it like a noble ideal, it's murder. Momose Amane. The one who killed was not "you all," it was you. Don't divert your eyes from your own actions by playing games.

Amane: I have a duty for God!

Es: So? What are you gonna do about it? / What would you do if that's the case?

Amane: I will never forgive you! I will definitely never forgive you!

Es: I'm saying that attacking me is pointless.

Amane: I will never forgive you!

Es: Weren't you taught that those scissors you got from the supply should not be directed at people?

Amane: According to the doctrine, the guards' insults towards us are fully subject to penalties. We won't forgive.

Es: It's poitnless, you might as well give up.

Amane: I won't forgive you! I won't forgive you!

Es: Attacks from prisoners to guards are not possible. It's Milgram's principle, but a certain multiple personality individual slipped through this rule. In other words, Milgram's prisoner classification focuses on the mind rather than the body, so if the mind is separate, the rule doesn't apply. It seems like they're struggling with a flawed rule.

Amane: I'll kill you! I will fucking kill you!

Es: Thanks to that flawed rule, it has been proven this way. The fact that you're wielding scissors now doesn't make you a god or a concept. You're just Amane, plain and simple. Quite literally, what you're doing is just a pretend game. It's trivial. This is what you wanted with Milgram, isn't it? A direct showdown.

Amane: SILENCE!

Es: What's wrong? Have you indeed desired to be treated like a child? In my opinion, the fact that you are a child is closely related to this matter. No matter what you assert, no matter how much you try to act mature, you are a child. It's an unchangeable fact.

Amane: You're also a child!

Es: I'm 15 years old, so in Puerto Rico and Haiti, I'm considered an adult. You're 12 years old, so you're a child in any country. You look frustrated.

Amane: I'M NOT A CHILD

Es: Either way is fine. Why? In the first place, there are two main reasons why children are given reduced sentences by law: the potential for rehabilitation and the influence of their environment, I believe. In this case, it's mainly the latter. As I mentioned before, early childhood is heavily impacted by parental upbringing, and the effects of the rearing environment are substantial. Children born into households that practice religion, for instance, grow up recognizing it as a rule of the world.

Amane: What are you trying to say?

Es: It's about how they feel that the doctrines of what is commonly known as a religion are everything in the world.

Amane: You are arguing against the idea that being underdeveloped due to being of a young age.

Es: Certainly, the ego was fully developed. However, because this ego was nurtured in a specialized environment isolated from society, the argument remains among us whether this is your sin or rather the sin of your parents' environment. Here, we assess the potential for rehabilitation, as I mentioned earlier.

Amane: W-well, what do you mean by "among us"? Isn't it me? Aren't we from the same country? The warden and I understand five years' worth. As for me being special, it's just that my environment is unique, and everyone else's is ordinary. There are people who have actually gone there. I've been told things like you're being deceived, it's not too late even now, or you're mentally unstable. They still treat me like a child after all. It's because I'm a child that they think I've been brainwashed. But that's not the case. Even I, as a child, understand everything. Please don't label people as unhappy. I'm fortunate to have been born to my parents. It's challenging, and sometimes it gets tight, but I'm happy to live under pure teachings. That's the path I want to take. I see, you all think it's brainwashing, don't you?

From my perspective, you all are also being brainwashed by the religion of mainstream values. Why do you blindly believe in it just because there are many people following it?

Es: I understand

Amane: It's only natural that those of us who haven't been acknowledged by society due to our small numbers would see the potential for a new world in Milgram.

Es: Yes, I understand well. That's why your doctrines aren't acknowledged. Teachings that affirm life are not permitted by my standards. Huh.

Amane: That is correct.

Es: Our judgement, huh? I'll take another look at your feelings. Next time, if you feel something even deeper there, I intend to accept it properly. It's like a direct showdown, isn't it? That's right.

Amane: If, in the end, you deny and don't forgive me or us, then at that time, I won't forgive you. No, that's not it. I won't forgive you. Evading responsibility for your actions through pretend play is the next line. Thanks, it's not just you. It's all of you. I said I won't forgive you. It's a direct showdown. You're not allowed to keep your hands clean.

Es: What are you talking about?

Amane: I suppose so. The warden refers to themselves as "you all." If it's you, then it's you.

Are you experiencing a headache? Are you alright, warden? Please stand up on your own. That's a trial given by God. It's a trial of pain/sickness. Escaping from it is the greatest evil according to our teachings. One of the Eight Principles, isn't it? It's not allowed for anyone, no matter who they are. People do tend to act that way. Like a devil among prisoners, trying to steal trials from others.

Kirisaki Shidou, his actions who is cutting and tearing, violating our taboos. I issued a warning. If they continue, I might have to intervene. Is it perhaps already too late?

Es: Shut up.

Amane: Resorting to violence, how childish

Es: Silence. I am the one who makes the rules here.

Amane: What sets us apart from you?

Es: I told you to shut up didn't I? Listen to what I say.

Amane: If the world you create is attractive to me, or perhaps.

Es: Prisoner #8, Sing your sins!

[vaspider]

Wait, I'm genuinely curious how can one be Jewish and atheist? /gen

Okay so, like, Christianity is a religion, right?

Judaism is a religion and a philosophy and a system of engaging with philosophy and a culture (actually like eight cultures holding hands in a trenchcoat) and a people in diaspora. It's a religion, sure, but it's a people first. My conversion certificate doesn't say that I "converted to Judaism" but that I joined the tribes of Israel (the people, not to be confused with the temporal nation), and I usually don't refer to myself as having converted but as having been adopted, ever since I heard a rabbi object to the term "convert" and explain why.

The Four Species of the Sukkot lulav and etrog have meanings tied to how we see our community:

The lulav (a frond from a date palm) has taste but no smell, symbolizing Jews who study Torah but don't perform mitzvaot.

The hadass (myrtle branch) has a good smell but no taste, and symbolizes Jews who perform mitzvaot but don't study Torah.

The aravah is a branch from a willow tree and has neither taste nor smell, symbolizing Jews who neither study Torah nor perform mitzvaot.

The etrog, a citrus fruit somewhat like a large lemon, has both taste and smell, and thus symbolizes Jews who both study Torah and perform mitzvaot.

A lulav and etrog is not kosher unless all 4 elements are present and tied together properly and in good repair, and thus a Jewish community is not complete without all 4 kinds of Jews.

Notice, too, that there's nothing in any of that about what those people believe. Belief just... isn't that big of a deal to us. It just isn't.

Christianity is very big on orthodoxy, which is to say, correct thought. That's the whole "if you think about it, it's as bad as doing it" view on the concept of sin/bad action. You can sin by thinking things.

That's not really, like, a thing for most lines of thought in Judaism. The focus in Judaism is more on orthopraxy or right action. What you think or believe doesn't matter so much -- it's what you do, whether you show up for your community when you're needed, take care of people, be involved.

But like. You can't even draw a line between Torah study and belief in G-d -- plenty of Jews study Torah without believing in G-d, because Torah study is not about belief either. It's a community bonding exercise where you discuss and argue this week's parsha, and through that you discuss how you want to live, what kind of community you are in, and what kind of person you want to be. You can read and study Torah alone, I guess, but it's not Torah study, not really.

As with all things in Judaism, it's a 2 Jews, 3 Opinions kinda thing, and someone could (and probably will) argue with the fine points of everything I've said, but the broad points are all largely applicable to most Jews.

Or, as @dadhoc says, "Judaism is a religion of one or fewer gods."

[tw1stedthicket]

You know what fucking sucks? Religion, particularly Christianity and its many forms, instills in you from birth that you are inherently unworthy, flawed to the point of unlovability, and your natural state is one of sinfulness and offensiveness to God and all that is good. You are systematically taught all your life that your worth comes in your redemption, and in the way you can let shame mold you into someone more subservient, obedient, and loyal to "God's path" or "God's ways". Your worthiness (all your self-worth, that is) is contingent on how much you can make up for the badness inside you, and become a vessel for light and God's power and whatnot. In the Mormon Church, I distinctly remember a leader very beloved by myself and many others, made his personal branding all about healing from your brokenness and how our lives can be meaningfully spent stumbling and stumbling and stumbling our way toward God again, and despite losing our way or even crawling on our hands and knees in despair or frustration, we are redeemed in our consistent "trying" for the right path and to be the right person/saint/disciple.

And then you deconstruct. However that comes about for you. The world opens up more, and you harbor more genuine feelings for others. You comprehend the limits of conditional love and perhaps glimpse at something more unconditional and free in the people who do accept you, and you feel real relief in their patience with you, that now there is so much more out here, and, and, and wow who knew that there could be so much joy in owning your choices and not having to be right and there is so much you were wrong about!! And...

There is so much you were wrong about.

And you see the gate open for you-- stretched wide with newfound possibilities, but surrounding it is so many fences. You have built up conditions around yourself and others your whole life. You still have maligned ways of understanding for some things, because embedded in you is patterns and ways of being from years, and even in your truest expression of who you are, you will find that you have been touched by what you were taught. And you were terribly wrong not in thought or opinion only but in your judgment. Your controlling. Your policing. Your defensiveness. Your need to be right. Your need to correct, to fix, to "save", to convert, even when you thought you were this vessel for light and the highest expression of love was in showing others "the right way to be" under the guise of sharing this love on a mission or unrelenting invitations or even your "example" -- you were enforcing the harshest punishment on others what you received from God: that others were not enough, and broken, and flawed.

And it feels like it was true that you are inherently sinful. That you shouldn't trust yourself. That your intuition is wrong. You are a cruel and uncaring person, and you could be domineering and unempathetic and disingenous even outside of it all, even when belief no longer burdens you, and you are in need of redemption. To fix yourself...to be worthy again.

It's hard to know and feel my way through what I need to do to make things right in a way that is not self-martyrdom, like falling before a cross and admitting your sins and expecting there to be a divine judgment received that may absolve you. The truth is, is people may not forgive you. Or if they do, they might not want you in their life again, or as closely as it was before. But you can't let shame be what motivates you or tempers you into the shape of someone contrite and pure because forgiveness is only as free as your sincere apology is, unconditionally, and...recognition that you had a choice, you are responsible for it even if not responsible for the driving factor behind it in your religious indoctrination, but you have to recognize you are *NOT* inherently flawed and unworthy. It's hard to believe that you are worthy either way of having friends, having trust, having connection, having authenticity. If you are also from a dysfunctional/abusive home, your boundaries and shame are even more blurred.

I wish I had more answers, but I think the truth is in what religion perverted: love can be the solid motivator for your change. My friendships helped me get out, the ones who chose to be patient with me. It's hard for me to not view their patience as generosity, like God's, when I was inherently undeserving of it, but I try to accept that what was more likely is that they had boundaries, and maybe that's more realistic and important than any notion of perfect, 'unconditional' love. I doubt they came to me with everything, all their thoughts or fullest self. I believe they more than likely said and did certain things to assauge me or learned what was off the table and what wasn't to talk about or do. But they also saw that I was lovable despite my flaws in a non-black and white way - holding space for contradictions like that as if it didn't mean damnation. Even the friends I have grown apart with have never treated me like I wasn't enough. That's not a concept to them. They may have drawn stricter boundaries for themselves, but they were kinder than any God I knew to always treat me with respect even in their distance, and in that way, it holds me more accountable because it acknowledges that I am capable of being a good person. An open-minded, nonjudgmental, caring, accepting person, even if imperfectly. But it's up to me and my choices. Maybe it's not about redemption, but trust. I know my deconstruction is going to probably be lifelong. I know I have so much to learn and experience. But I am grateful for the patience and love of people who saw me not through the lens of religion because they were the ones who helped me get out and get free and be the best version of myself. I hope I can rid myself of my shame and rather understand that the most important work in redemption is not about fashioning myself into an un-boundaried, unassuming, self-sacrificing, or overbearing "light" for a deity that cares only about my loyalty, with a kindness that is about changing people more than getting to just be human with them and accept them, with bludgeoning myself with amorphous and nebulous values of goodness and righteousness that have me putting on a mask to diffuse what is actually authentic about connection; that it is more so my duty and my privilege to get to *earn* the *trust* of other people through being the kind of person that I know I have had within me, perhaps not always embodied, but within me, all along -- not inherently bad, but worthy of love and friendship.

[countmothra]

More misc. Abbey operation thoughts because I’m insane.

• There is an Infirmary of sorts within the abbey that will deal with the populations more minor to moderate health problems. But for anything severe like broken bones and serious and chronic illnesses they go to the nearest hospital for licensed medical attention.

• The abbey also has a Nursery/Daycare area because there are obviously kids living in the abbey because some siblings of sin come into the church already with kids or choose to have kids.

•Speaking of which, and going off an old headcannon of mine. Children in the abbey are raised communally, sure they know who their parent(s) are but everyone pitches in regardless of if it’s their kid or not. Only exception is Emeritus kids, they are raised ONLY by their immediate family (parent/s, siblings, grandparents) to make sure they have as much exposure to their future role as possible.

• Some of the siblings plan activity nights. Be it making crafts, watching a movie or playing board games, it’s all meticulously planned with sign up sheets and a suggestion box.

•Every six months there is 100% a day where EVERYONE in the abbey is tasked with deep cleaning. Nobody is safe from cleaning day. Ghouls, siblings, papas, higher clergy member, everyone is put to work scrubbing every last stone in that abbey until it shines. The chapel of ritual stinks like dead human sacrifice and Sister Imperator is tired of it.

• Old lady knitting club. Just a bunch of the oldest sisters of sin knitting and talking shit. Imperator goes on Fridays to decompress and gossip.

•there are secret passages in the abbey that some of the teenage inhabitants of the abbey hide in to do the typical rebellious teenage things like smoke weed and drink the wine they stole off the altar.

•BIG! LIBRARY! Books, lots of ‘em! All over! Just a whole bunch of physical media meticulously stored in a library for anyone to use for any purpose. Books? Hell yeah! Vinyl records? Of course! Cassette tapes? You bet! CD’s? Whole section of them! Film reels? They may not be pristine but they got those too! VHS tapes, DVD’s, they have it all archived.

•jobs for each and every sibling and ghoul are posted on a bulletin board outside of imperators office, just in case anyone forgets.

•piggybacking off my last batch of headcannons, they definitely sell some of their excess produce when the Papas aren’t actively touring. Money is still coming in from albums and whatnot, sure, but it’s nice for the ministry to have that little extra cash.

•The papas teach some of the religion classes and it’s a gamble on who they teach because their class could be made up of adults just entering into the fold or literal toddlers who can’t even spell “cat” yet.

Which brings me to silly scenarios that have 100% happened because I said so.

• Primo had to teach toddlers once. They did not care about the simplified version of how Lucifer fell, all they cared about was the sick new monster truck in the toy chest. Primo did have to admit that this monster truck was pretty cool as it was one of the cars where you pull it back enough and it goes forward on its own. (You know what I’m talking about)

• The old ladies in the knitting club are old enough to remember when each of the Emeritus boys were born. So whenever a rumor spreads about one of those boys, they are the first ones to discuss it. “Did you hear that Nihils youngest boy got drunk and started doing the most bizarre things to the furniture?” “Terzo?” “No! The younger one! Copia I think his name is… oh I remember when he was just a tot…” these devolve into wandering down memory lane.

• When Imperator goes, it’s mostly to gossip and drink wine. She’ll maybe knit a scarf…maybe…

• Terzo taught a class of teens once, and never again. Two teen girls pointed out how damaged his skin was and that he did a shit job covering his grays with box dye. He never wants to do that again.

• During those big cleaning days twice a year, it’s never the chapel that’s the filthiest, it’s the ghouls quarters. It’s always the ghouls quarters.

[sleepnowmychild]

From no belief in particular to Helpol

Just because I find it interesting that so many helpol people and pagans in general seem to be ex-biblical religions, here’s a slightly different story for you.

I never grew up religious. My dad is actually very anti-religion because of the sheer amount of people who use religion as a weapon to discriminate, and the way many churches can become almost like a tiny cult. But my mums side of the family is Italian Christians (don’t ask me how my parents were even together at one point because I have no clue). So on one side I had my dad telling me to never trust a pastor and that he’d never let me set foot in a church and my Italian grandparents going all in on Christmas family reunions with the nativity scene set up and crosses on all their cards and church Christmas morning.

It made me very neutral. I didn’t care what existed, I was just a kid who was exited to pick grapes on our vineyard (which looking back, the fact I lived in a vineyard and made wine is very,,, hello Dionysus) and get days off school for Christmas holidays etc. I didn’t believe in the Christian god, but as a kid I did believe in an afterlife. I think because it’s easier to process that as a kid than death being just nothingness.

In primary school, we did a whole term in Greek mythology. My first ever myth was echo and narcissus and I still have the painted tea towel I made with echo on it for the art potion of that class. I got very obsessed, very quick, as undiagnosed autistic kids do. I loved mermaids and sirens, nymphs and the sailing part of all the war myths. I’ve always had this deep link to the water, not just the sea but rivers and lakes, any water you can swim in. You’d think I’d end up a Poseidon or Aphrodite devotee because of that huh? Point is I heard the Greek myths young, and because those myths also have Roman equivalents, when my Italian family heard I was obsessed I’d get the Roman version of the stories from them.

For years I was just mythology obsessed with no particular beliefs. I didn’t like how hardcore my Italian family was in their ‘everything is a sin’ mentality and I also felt it was a bit mean of my dad to say every single religious person is a monster. As I came to realise I was trans and bi at around 15, suddenly I was privy to the sheer amount of queerphobia in religion. Turned me away from most of them hardcore. But by the time I was 17, I’d stumbled on the reason those shops with the crystals and little mythology statues exist. Because the old gods of mythology were still worshipped.

I don’t actually remember when I got claimed by Hypnos, but he definitely claimed me. I’d always liked him as a concept because he’s much more chill than some of the more intense gods, but he slowly started creeping into my life when I’d see something and go ‘Hypnos would like that’ or I’d jokingly be like ‘I’m so tired, knock me out Hypnos’ and I WOULD fall asleep easier that night. I can’t exactly explain why, but I’ve got this deep connection to the river Lethe as well. Although not in the sense Lethe is a god, in the sense of its connections to Hypnos. Like there’s a siren of the Lethe inside me screaming to go back home.

In all honesty, there was never a solid moment I was like “I’m helpol now” it just kind of happened. The gods, especially Hypnos snuck into my life back in primary school and slowly made their presence more and more known over the years. And I was fine with that, because this is what my Roman ancestors would have been doing, and this is a religion that doesn’t hate me for being queer.

This got long, I’ll cut it short here. But that’s a perspective from someone who never grew up religious for you.