#(trauma(?) + swearing + christian content(?))

[magicalbuffalotransformerman]

BC: d'you know if anyone's able to see the future?

PW: not entirely. the only character closest to holding an ability like seeing the future could be tricky, but i've not seen him here for a long while.

BC: damn. thanks, doc.

PW: my pleasure. have a nice night, bonecrusher.

[bonecrusher leaves patchwork's office.]

[taking a seat on one of the unusual seats in the kitchen, bonecrusher begins daydreaming. it's been a while since he'd been seen in any significant form on tumblr. mostly just looking at things he likes. maybe his time is coming. maybe it's already come and he's prolonging the inevitable. he doesn't know. he'd rather take ignorance to that.]

[A glow of red suddenly appears in bonecrusher's peripheral vision. he takes a look.]

{A nearly ten-foot suit of armor, with hints of glowing red and wings of pissed-off gold. They wield a crowbar, its tipped glowing red as well. The suit of armor stared deep into whatever soul Bonecrusher held within.}

[whatever this thing is, it's not tricky. bonecrusher feels a wave of dread wash over his frame.]

{Neither beings talked to one another; Bonecrusher, because he doesn't trust the other one, and Asbeel because they can not communicate.}

[should he attack? should he try and throw it out the window? what does he do about this one? why is he freaking out abo-]

{This is the wrong dimension. They should be facing the blue robot that reaches no higher than their knees. A 'Go-Pro', the mortals called it... whatever that is. Instead, they stare down the twin, glowing barrels o-}

[-but it looks like tricky... but it's not tricky... but it looks like tricky... but it's not tricky... but it looks like tricky... but it's n-]

{-he beige of his armor is sharp with rage and REEKS of caked blood where no cleaning tool can reach. Asbeel believes that this beast goes by the name of 'Bonecrusher', from what they've read from the Bible, but the Bible did n-}

[-what is with that crowbar? what's with the black armor? who IS that? -]

{- ...How did they know that? From one name, in the only book they've known, know that the name applied to this... this... thing? What...? Asbeel simply confuses themselves further. They cannot communicate. They want to greet this beast ahead. Th-}

[- he can feel his knees creaking. every inch of armor. spare follicles of remains within each panel. he does not want to do anything. he doesn't want to imagine anything about this mortally-shaped monster. it is not mortal. it is unknowable, its name lost to time-]

{-1', was it? 'V1' should be encountering the last of Hell's forces... and Gabriel... in Treachery. This room reminds Asbeel of Treachery... the outsides, at least. The insides look too human. Humanity always disgusted Asb-}

[-WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS THING??? god, okay. no. that's enough. bonecrusher gets out of his seat, and heads back to patchwork.]

...

{That was a pleasant 10 minutes. Asbeel's unseen eyes fly around the room they've found themselves in. Michael would love this room, what with the massive brick and its matching lever-type object, decorating its frontmost side. Asbeel at least assumes that.}

{As well, Asbeel's eyes grace the pleasantries of the 'pocket of Treachery' behind themselves. Quite the intriguing area. Asbeel dec-}

[bonecrusher returns, pointing at whatever that impostor happens to be. patchwork remains intrigued.]

PW: why, i believe that's an archangel. nothing to be afraid of. they certainly look terrifying, but... did they tell you to 'be not afraid'?

BC: ...no.

PW: mmm. 'asbeel', is it?

{Asbeel simply stares at the smaller - yet still massive - being.}

PW: ...they did write that asbeel cannot speak. how wonderful to see one in our kitchen, eh? [he equips a camera, pointing it at the archangel.]

{Asbeel's eyes measure the new object within the smaller one's hands. They believe it's called a projector... but it does not have the circles on top. They suppose it must be something else... a weapon. Asbeel holds out their crowbar.}

[the camera flashes.]

{Asbeel cannot see.}

PW: ...isn't that amazing? they even posed. look at that, eh, bo-

BC, pushing PW into his office: dude they're shaking let's go let's go let's go

{His speech fading into the noise, 'Bonecrusher' continued dragging the smaller one to somewhere Asbeel cannot hear. Now all that remains is the noise.}

{The noise that blinds.}

{Everything is gone. All that is... is white.}

{God.}

{Father. Please.}

{I need your help.}

{I want to talk.}

{I need to see.}

{O Holy Father, help me to see if you remain alive.}

{Please...}

{Gabriel?}

{GABRIEL! PLEASE! ANYONE!}

...

{...}

{...}

...

...

...

{...}

...

{Judecca.}

{Thank the Father, Asbeel is saved.}

{Looking onwards... oh. How pleasant.}

{Gabriel stood, pointing at Asbeel with Justice and Splendor.}

Gabriel: ... ... ... ... ... ...

{Asbeel drops their crowbar, collapsing to their knees.}

Gabriel: ...oh, thank you, my Holy Father. Thank you for finally pacifying them.

{Gabriel steps warily towards Asbeel, ginger on his toes. He'd not thought that Asbeel could ever cool themselves... but today marks the day that Judecca worked into his goals.}

{...then he hears their sobbing.}

[rottiens]

✫ AUGURIO┊ You hear him before you feel him, like the flash of lightning that warns of the arrival of a furious thunderclap. His deep voice breaks the silence and it seems that everything, even the dust particles stop for an instant.

word count. 13K

tags. (18+) — explicit content. maid!reader, reader with female anatomy (she/her), toji calls the reader kid/kiddo several times (sorry, can't stop using it), toji is a gentleman (not really) (he tries to be, I swear), toji canonical story, age gap (reader is 25+, toji is in his mid 30s), cw violence, reader is/was harassed by the Zenin clan, reader has family trauma (ofc), references to Christian religion, slow burn, soft toji, angsty, mutual masturbation, dirty talk.

notes. i love toji but i had never written anything official for him, at least something not so long. i didn't expect to write so much, in fact the first scene i started it with the idea of making a drabble but... oops. i got carried away (i love him sm), i hope you guys enjoy it as much as i did because despite being long i enjoyed writing every scene heh. divider creds: cafekitsune.

✫ title inspired by the song augurio by rosalía. read on ao3.

You hear him before you feel him, like the flash of lightning that warns of the arrival of a furious thunderclap. His deep voice breaks the silence and it seems that everything, even the dust particles stop for an instant.

Your body jerks at being taken by surprise, shivers run down your lower back and stop behind the back of your neck, ruffling the hair in that area. Afraid to turn around you remain static for a long second, thinking that maybe that way he would go away and ignore your presence, though to your misfortune that never happened.

"Are you deaf or something?" he asks reluctantly. 

You imagine him scratching the back of his neck as he says that, you wonder if he still has that habit.

"I'm fine," you say dryly, answering that and his previous question which had been 'Do you need help?' — Your hands are still frozen, stretched above your head with the edge of the heavy box barely touching your fingertips, pressing down.

Toji growls and ignoring your clear disinterest in his help, he takes a few short steps forward which send alerts to your head, putting you in a run or fight state. His footsteps are long and firm warning you that someone heavy is coming, and they stop right behind you where you can clearly feel the heat of his body burning through your clothes, the only sign that tells you along with a growl that he really was there and that this was not a figment of your vivid imagination.

Toji stretches his arms above your body taking advantage of his height to grab the box you are struggling so hard to reach and easily pulls it down from the cabinet, dropping it to the floor and the various cursed weapons inside slam against each other.

You don't know what to do or say, but you especially don't know what he wants. After having helped you against your will, in a task you were sure you could have completed alone, Toji adds nothing more. There is no sound, complaint or comment to let you know he is still there.

If it weren't for the warmth of his body you couldn't be sure there was another person next to you in that room. Toji, without his cursed energy to give him away was far worse than a ghost, there was no trace that he existed or ever existed unless you looked him in the face and made sure he was really there.

And after thinking about it and soaking in an awkward silence, you think you guess what he wants from you.

"Hm. Thank you." Though your words bounce off the walls with some degree of insecurity, you think you have pleased him, that he was looking for perhaps a bit of your gratitude, yet he says nothing until after an extended silence.

"Turn around."

You're used to following orders. "Pick that up." "Clean that up." "Shut your mouth." So the command doesn't surprise you; what does, instead, is who the words come from.

Toji Zenin left the clan years ago. Never officially, just one day you woke up and he wasn't there, there was one less dish to put on the table, there were fewer orders to follow and the same thing happened the next day and the next.

No one ever heard from him again, all you knew was from the rumors you heard from your masters. That the man had left the country, that he was now working for the mafia, that they found his body dumped in a dirty alley in Okinawa, so having him here, coming back to order you around as if he returned to the clan after so long fills you with uncertainty.

However you do it, you turn on your heels without making a single noise; credit to the years you have had to learn to be silent and go unnoticed all so as not to disturb and inconvenience the people you serve. You are in front of him and the first thing that strikes you is the sight of his chest, unlike how he used to dress when he lived here he wears a blue striped kimono which makes him look more formal and adult, which however baggy it is, shows how changed his body is now: more mature and bigger.

You raise your head a few inches to find his serious face staring back at you, his longer, somewhat disheveled hair partially covering his gaze and those blue eyes are as expressionless as ever.

You've never seen the scar on his lip so close, the memories of that day make you shudder but you swallow them in your throat like a hard pain pill.

You take the hem of your dress and raise the corners at the same time as you bend your knees in reverence, all this without moving too much because an unplanned movement would lead you straight to touch him.

"Sir. You’re back." You greet him, keeping a neutral tone in your voice. "Welcome home." It's the kindness you're forced to give to every single member of the clan, even if they're defectors who return without explanation. You were no one to ask questions, so you're left only to accept silently.

"I remember you," Toji says, maintaining eye contact. Confused, you frown and allow him to elaborate. "You were that girl."

There have been many girls, sir. That's what you want to say but you bite your tongue. Many of them ran away, many are gone and many were not strong enough to withstand the mistreatment. 

"I'm afraid you're wrong..." 

"Nah." Toji interrupts you by clicking his tongue, then he reaches out and seeing you squirm at the action, the attempt at a wicked smile peeks out of the corners of his mouth. "Easy there." His words accompany his thumb that lands on top of your eyebrow, caressing a small scar that you normally forget is there. His touch is rough, his skin is calloused, but the way he approaches you doesn't feel violent to you so you allow him to carve the skin some more. "You're that girl..., my cousin threw that crystal glass in your face."

His words trigger wild and violent memories that force you to turn your face away from him, Toji's hand hovering in the air as he slowly returns it to the sides of his legs. It was your first week serving the Zenin clan, you were around fifteen when your family sold you in exchange for your servitude. Painful memories come back to you, you remember how you fought, how you spat curses in front of the Zenin family and the more rebellious you were the worse they treated you, the scar on your eyebrow is just one of many.

You look at him again, unable to contain the rage that injects itself into your veins and ends up in your hands making you clench your fists tightly.

"I had wondered where all that anger had gone." Toji looks you up and down. "I guess it was just asleep."

"I have to take that box to the training room, I've already taken too long," you say, giving the box a sidelong glance.

All that anger you had swallowed until you became the good servant they wanted. That reduced the mistreatment, the yelling, the hitting, it served to make your stay here a less torturous one but seeing Toji back in front of you, with his inappropriate comments made that trunk full of pent up emotions open up.

Toji was the only one who treated you like another person. The only one who respected you and said Please and Thank you. The only one who stopped his cousin when he was not satisfied with the glass he had blown on your forehead, he took a glass to pounce on you, getting Toji a scar on his face that he shares with you.

He suffered almost the same fate as yours, only his family never sold him, on the contrary, they decided to keep him and use him as a pet to abuse and make fun of, until one day it stopped, until one day Toji never showed his face in his clan again until now.

You hated it.

You hated the fact that he could be free.

"So they finally broke you," Toji adds before you leave, just as your foot pushes on the door to help you open it.

"Why did you come back?" You ask without turning to look at him. 

"I stopped by to borrow a couple of tools," he says with a teasing tone. 

"Are you going to leave again?"

"Yes," he replies flatly. "Are you going to tell them I was here?"

Your fingers squeeze the box full of heavy weapons and you have to push it up closer to your chest so it doesn't slip.

"Have a good trip." That's all you say before you leave and venture out into the hallway.

The warm sun streams through the glass windows, dusk a few minutes away. Your feet grow heavier, you drag them under the floor, your fingers dig hard into the cardboard— You were jealous, irritated that Toji was lucky enough to come and go as he pleased, that no one knew when he was in or when he was leaving, that no one could guess what his next move was going to be. You envied his freedom.

The door to the training room bedroom hits the wall thanks to your kick, causing the three men in the center to scowl at you. The brunette one rushes at you to snatch the box from your hands, whispering a mumbled "Useless" that has your fingers clenching tighter.

"You may leave." Orders the older of them, but you don't move.

It was the first time you saw his face. He was a man of short stature and gray hair, he had wrinkles on his forehead, cheeks and neck and a long beard that reached to his collarbone. The other two were at least your age, you knew them well, they grew up with you but you had always been hidden under your fear that you never looked up beyond their bare feet or their shoes and now that you were soaking in their features and age difference, the idea that you could fight him for your freedom and beat him flashed in front of you.

"I-"

"Are you deaf? Leave the room."

The white-haired man walks towards you with the katana in one hand, his whole countenance indicating danger. His cursed energy spills all over the place making you feel insignificant. You have never taken a weapon in your hands before other than to clean them, you never fought, you didn't know what your limits or your strengths were but right now you are so high from the adrenaline rush buzzing in your bloodstream that you are sure you can stand up to him.

The old man stops in front of you with the tip of the sword grazing your throat.

"What will be one less maid?" He says and his apprentices laugh at a cruel and unfunny joke. 

You laugh with them, filled with a numbing peace. The old man pushes the tip closer, breaking the skin, tearing flesh and the warm liquid spills down your neck staining your white uniform and the pain makes you smile even more. You want to run away but your knees tremble, your feet don't respond. You have never been so close to freedom before so you succumb to that desire closing your eyelids and waiting with your arms at the end of your destiny, when the old man pushes the blade of the sword a little more there is not even pain, only euphoria for tasting the freedom you have longed for so much.

"Hey." Your eyes snap open and turn shakily to God's voice coming from the hallway. He's leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed and you hadn't realized you were crying until the salty taste numbs your tongue. "What are you guys doing?" He casually asks the men, though in reality his eyes are on you.

Your breathing becomes a whirlwind as you see him enter the room, you can't feel him, so it's as if it's all part of a vivid dream or a horrible nightmare. 

"Oh, look who's back!" Laughs one man.

"You're not welcome here," the other shouts as he spits on the floor and Toji moves into the space as if he owns the place. 

In the blink of an eye he knocks out the brown-haired man and leaves him spitting blood on the floor, then he pounces on the green-eyed blond and after an exchange of punches breaks his neck and drops his body on the floor with a crack of the wood that receives his body with a soft bounce.

Then he turns to the old man who, moving the katana away from you, wields it in Toji's direction. Without being able to blink you appreciate the difference in power between the men: between Toji, the younger ones and the old man, the latter being the one who gives Toji the most fight to defeat but after a while Toji leaves him lying on the ground, holding the wound that he had given the old man in the abdomen with his same sword.

When Toji approaches you you can't speak. 

“Are you all right?" He questions you but you can't stop shaking. Toji tears a piece of cloth from his kimono to tie it around your neck to stop the bleeding, the piece of cloth despite getting soaked right away manages to do its job successfully. "It's not going to help much. But it should hold until you can put something better on.” Then he adds, "Good luck."

And how if he never came, he leaves the room at a slow pace, leaving you with a massacre in front of you, blood under your feet, on your neck and staining the carpet.

And in the midst of the mist that was your life at that moment, a ray of light illuminated it, giving you the answer. He was your Savior.

Still in a state of stupor you put your hand to your neck and the feeling that you are in the present and in real life returns little by little, the wound starts to hurt, it hurts to swallow, it hurts to open and close your jaw. You leave the room holding your throat, looking for the trace of the man who had played the hero without knowing what you would do after having him in front of you.

"Zenin!" you shout, but your voice is barely more than a whisper and his huge body had crossed the hallway and turned right.

You move in his direction, you run shortening the distance and joining your destinies. You find him again a little closer to the gate, where to your surprise there were no guards guarding the entrance. The gigantic doors of the entrance to the Clan were wide open, unlike how you had imagined so many times in your dreams, savoring your escape, there was no wind, no noise, on the contrary. There was a silence in the scene that was almost uncomfortable, something different from how you had imagined the scene would be when escaping from your hell.

Toji's loud footsteps on the stones is all you can hear.

"Zenin!" you shout again, reminding your feet that they should keep moving forward.

Thanks to the quietness of the scene, Toji manages to hear you, turning to face you.

"Don't follow me," he warns. And you decide to ignore him completely, taking another unsure step forward as your body lurches slightly forward.

"You saved me." 

He scratches the back of his neck, indifferent to your words. "And I would have let you die there if I'd known you'd become a nuisance."

His cruel words provoke nothing in you, create no emotion in you. You don't stop, you don't stop looking at him as you feel the scar open up more each time you speak.

"But you didn't. Let me come with you." "That won't work. Go back inside." 

"Zenin, please."

Toji looked like an angel. The colors around him blended into a beautiful watercolor of whites and shades of green. Around him gave off a heavenly aura, it was the first time you could see his cursed energy and it was beautiful, a smile full of hope is drawn on your face.

"I go by Fushiguro now."

It's the last thing you hear, your fingers reach out to touch him but your hand is suspended in the air, held in time and it's all you remember before Toji turns his back on you and walks away from you and everything around you shatters. The bright lights go out, your knees falter and a cold annoying sweat settles on your palms and the back of your neck.

You can't see anything when your body hits the ground, everything is dark but you can feel it. The floor is neither warm nor safe, so Toji must have held you once more before you collapsed on the stones.

— / / / 

When you wake up it takes you a couple of extra minutes to open your eyes. Your whole body feels heavy like never before, you were used to physical labor but now it felt like you would collapse if you tried to stand up. The second thing you notice is that it is cold, but your body is warm so you drag your eyes until you notice the warm crimson red blanket tucking your body in a delicate way, it is at that moment that your eyes venture further to check where you are.

It was a room, you were in a bed that could hold at least two adults. With a soft blanket over you and a dim light coming from the left side. 

"You're awake." You are startled by the voice coming from the right, your heart flutters at the stranger whom it doesn't take you long to recognize. His appearance had now changed, he has his wet hair slicked back giving you a glimpse of his forehead. He had also changed his clothes, now wearing a black sweater that matches his pants of the same color. Toji is sitting on the edge of the bed staring at you, holding his jaw in a fist as his lips form an involuntary half pout. "You need to leave." Then he says, taking you by surprise.

Your mouth opens but only a whimper of pain comes out of it, your fingers search for your wound but you stumble over a bandage that you assume he had placed while you slept and suddenly you were very aware of it, of its texture against your skin and how tightly it squeezed your neck, so much so that it was hard for you to swallow.

You look at him with wide eyes and he clicks his tongue.

"You didn't lose much blood but I did what I could." You tilt your face in his direction, close your eyes briefly trying to ignore the pain. "Don't talk for now. You were sleeping all day but I need you to get out of here tomorrow, you'll be well enough in the morning."

Your eyes expand at the statement, you try to speak, create sentences, but your throat hurts and you have no choice but to be silent as you stir in the sheets and watch him stand up without you being able to interfere, stretching his back and arms until his muscles groan and thunder in a grunt of exhaustion vibrates his throat.

Ignoring your gaze that begs for him to stay a little longer, Toji leaves the room, turning on a night light next to the bedside table. Soon the floor is illuminated with a navy blue halo that runs along the bottom of the wall and you realize you are alone again as soon as you hear the door close with a soft knock. 

You are alone again. It's the thought that comes back into your head and rumbles against your skull. Of course this wasn't like when you were at the Zenin's house and were forced to sleep with other servants in a room smaller than this one, but even though the lighting gives you some peace of mind the darkness clings to your skin in a terrifying way. You are ten years old again when you believed there were monsters under your bed except this time you knew they were real but they were not fantasies, they were flesh and blood men who would probably be looking for you as they blamed you for slaughtering their men, even though they made sure you never had the strength to do it.

Suddenly it is all too much. The bandage on your neck seems to have hands and steals your oxygen squeezing against your throat, your lungs expand but don't bring air back with them and the light coming in from the street through the glass window gives way to shadows that form sinister figures on the wood of the floor. You bring your trembling fingers to your face and cover your eyes, your ears ringing from the blood that suddenly starts pumping your body uncontrollably, all this frenzy of panic drives you to push the blanket away from your body and makes you put your feet on the floor.

You're grateful to be on solid ground, to have something real under your feet. Crawling you flip the switch on and then fling open the door to face reality. 

Outside you become a little more familiar with the place you are in. Your eyes quickly scanning the place you realize you are in an apartment, one that carries the same vibes of the room you came from (a wooden floor covered in a rare carpet, walls with minimalist decor and by minimalist you mean non-existent), there is a murmur coming from somewhere so you lean your face forward letting yourself be guided by the muffled conversation.

Your path is lit by the dull light of a lamp that is not bright enough to illuminate the whole room, and not to mention the conversation going on somewhere in the apartment which doesn't seem to fit the scene, everything is so quiet that you can hear your own heart pumping, it doesn't seem like Toji left you behind just a couple of minutes ago, it seems as if he has disappeared, as if he has never been there and this was all a nightmare.

You walk cautiously around the apartment, taking an overview of something you could take to defend yourself in case you need it. Near the couch you find an empty beer bottle and grab it from the tip in the direction away from your body, as if it were a baseball bat.

You are afraid to call his name and there is someone else lurking among the darkness. Questions such as, did someone come in and hurt Toji and then come for you are formulated one after another in your head, creating a dozen scenarios in which you could die at the hand of a clan member tonight. 

Your ears guide you to a room in the background where you hear murmuring that is muffled by the noise of a television that as you step closer becomes clearer. Light escapes through a crack in a half-open door, you wet your lips before continuing and with your bare feet you push open the door, still holding the bottle and ready to strike.

"I can't have another person here!" 

"She’ll be gone in the morning!"

The pair of men who seemed to be carrying on an angry conversation fall silent at the groan of the door. Eyes fall on you and how ridiculous you must look with a bottle as a weapon that would be useless if they really wanted to attack you. One of them is Toji, you recognize him instantly. The other is wearing a brown suit and has a lit cigarette trapped between his fingers, the same build (maybe a little thinner) and height as Toji.

"What are you doing out of bed?" Toji scolds you wrinkling his nose, paying little attention to his friend who seems to be mentally choking him.

"Fear," you reply hoarsely.

Toji exchanges glances with the man and then turns back to you with a sigh. His footsteps go in your direction and you cling to the bottle raising it higher in a trembling grip, ready to throw it if necessary, however, Toji disarms you in a matter of seconds, your fingers remaining raised at his chest as you blink in humiliation.

In a second Toji takes your body and throws it over his shoulders along with a grunt as if it were a simple sack of potatoes, and walks with you all the way you had to walk towards him back to the room where he told you to stay.

He closes the door behind you with one foot and drops your body unkindly onto the mattress which bounces gently with your weight.

"Just tell me if you want to go out on the street tonight and I'll carry you myself and throw you out." You stare at him silently with deer eyes, your heart pounding with the same intensity as one and wishing you could be recovered so you could talk and explain to him everything that's going through your head. Faced with your state he sighs, brushing a couple of wild locks from his face, and sits back down where he was before, on the edge of the mattress. "Listen, kid, don't get us both kicked out. Just be good, okay?" 

You nod and realize his intentions as he is ready to leave as soon as he finishes speaking, but your hand comes forward and you stop him by clinging to his forearm.

"Stay," you beg. He shakes his head, turning away from your eyes. "Fear. Please."

There is desperation in your words, pain comes out of them followed by despair at not being able to speak as you normally would and advocate for your situation. Toji sighs resignedly and stands up to remove his shoes, then grabs the material of his sweater and pulls it off until his chest is exposed. Even with the little help from the light and battling the shadows you soak in his naked body, how worked his torso is and the few scars that the bluish hue of the lights reveal.

"Move aside," Toji says reluctantly and without complaint you do so, while burning with shame inside.

As soon as he settles in as best he can, you pull the covers back to cover you both. Toji holds his head with one hand and lets the other rest on his chest, you can't help but glance at him out of the corner of your eye.

"Man. Who?" you ask, seeking to hear him speak once more as Toji's voice brought you assurance.

"A friend." Toji responds dryly and reluctantly. You try to move closer to his warmth but he whines again, making the sound of a non-domestic animal. "No snuggling. Stay on your side." 

After a while where no one says anything else and where you can't fall asleep because if you do you are sure you will wake up there again, inside those four walls, you mumble a, "Thank you." To which Toji doesn't respond.

At some point you could no longer fight against the exhausting sleep or the heaviness of your muscles and ended up losing the battle of the watch. Light particles get trapped in your eyelashes which makes you blink rapidly welcoming a new day. The first thing you notice is how dry your throat is, the second is a pair of strong arms holding you prisoner, adrenaline shoots through your body before you can process what was happening.

Memories come flashing back to you. You remember what had happened a couple of hours ago and remember Toji telling you to stay on the side of the bed, which you did! Yet somehow your bodies end up entangled with each other, his arms holding you very close to him preventing you from escaping. His grip is strong, he encircles your waist and holds you close to his chest, one hand on your abdomen and the other near your collarbones and chest, his lower body is very close to you, so much so that as soon as you realize you can feel how hard he is a hot steam starts on your cheeks and spreads all over your face. 

You take a deep breath, then swallow saliva in a poor quest to hydrate your throat. Your fingers tap his arm near your neck.

"Zenin." You call out to him, something louder than a whisper, saying his name for some reason makes you feel warmer inside. "Toji?" you repeat his name and his face descends to your neck, his hot breath stumbles against your ear and a heavy sigh catches in your throat.

Toji lies there breathing, in a kind of trance that prevents him from waking up and his hand which was lying on your collarbone goes up to your neck where it takes hold of your throat and gently exerts pressure. You call his name again moaning from the pain, he grunts.

"What?" You never thought he could sound more morose than he already was, but apparently you were wrong. Morning Toji was a different being.

"No snuggling." You remind him with your eyes wide open, there was no way you could be asleep in the situation you were in. "You said." Your voice is still hurting, you sound hoarse. 

"I said you couldn't cuddle me," Toji protests, clinging tighter to your body. "I didn't say anything about me not being able to." As soon as he finishes speaking his face scrunches against the side of your throat and the strands of his hair tickle you, your shoulders shrug instinctively and he laughs as your abdomen tightens. "How did you sleep?" he asks, still with his face hidden. 

"Better." 

"Good." That's all he says before suddenly walking away from you. You don't move from your spot, your eyes fixed on the rocking chair in the corner that keeps a teddy bear on it, your heart beating a mile a minute as you listen to him wander into the room behind you. "I was serious when I said you had to go." He reminds you, which causes you to sit up in bed slowly creating a misshapen arch with your back.

"I have nowhere to go." Your voice sounds broken, but you can form longer sentences than yesterday without feeling like the wound is going to open at any moment.

Toji already knows and probably doesn't care, he took a lot of trouble getting you out of that prison so now you were on your own. But the idea of surviving on your own in a world you barely had any knowledge of is terrifying, all you've worried about for years is that the food wouldn't get cold before it reached the table and indulging the whims of each of the clan members.

An idea suddenly strikes you, a light bulb would appear above your head if it were in a cartoon. "I can cook," you say, just as Toji is walking in the direction of the exit.

"We don't need a maid."

His words hit you with a stark reality check. Being a servant is all you knew how to do, if you no longer had someone to serve, then what was your purpose?

The door opens and you dart out of bed straight to Toji's feet, your arms do a bear hug around one of his legs and you look up at him from below with messy hair and pleading eyes. 

"Please."

He groans, squeezing his eyes with his fingers, clearly frustrated with the situation, those same fingers cling to your forearms and help you to your feet. 

"I don't want to see you on your knees begging anyone ever again, you are free now." With that, he drags you out of the room and your feet can barely keep up with his strength, in the same hallway you walked down earlier you see the man in the same suit from last night eating something in the kitchen and waving at you, a greeting you would return if you weren't too busy.

Toji stops in front of a door and with an open palm pushes it open to reveal a bathroom.

"Wait here." He leaves you in the middle of the small bathroom, as you stare confusedly at the tiles. Toji soon returns with things in his hand which he pushes into your chest and you are forced to hold them so you don't drop them. "Get changed and take a shower, we don't have warm water." That's all he says to then turn his back on you and leave you to your fate.

At the edge of the bathtub there were only two things: a three-in-one shampoo with a white label and a mint essence liquid soap and after checking what you had in your hands you realized that they were Toji's things: A purple t-shirt with the name of some brand on the chest that you were sure you were going to outgrow and some dark shorts along with a pair of boxers of the same shade, this was way more than you would have gotten on your own (and it's not like you really love the uniform you're wearing) so you feel grateful because this was his way of showing you kindness.

The very cold water washed away the sweat and dirt from the previous disastrous day. You also took the opportunity to remove the bandage and wash your hair with the shampoo you had appropriated without permission. The wound in your throat had begun to heal since it was not so deep after all, but you had to be very careful not to hurt it since it still hurt when you moved too much. 

In the absence of a toothbrush you took two swigs of the mint mouthwash on top of the sink and walked out smelling like Toji which somehow filled you with tranquility. It doesn't take you long to find him, he was in the kitchen watching the news and spooning a spoonful of cereal into his mouth when he paused at the sight of you, a smile stretching his lips.

"You look weird." You didn't look weird. You looked like a female version of him but you decided to swallow the comment that would point this out and laugh softly instead. Toji pats the empty stool next to him which prompts you to move closer to him, a bowl of cereal was placed in front of the chair you now occupy of which you begin to eat from resting your eyes on the television and the grizzled gentleman reporting live on an accident that happened in the harbor.

All of this felt comforting but at the same time it was out of place. You? Eating cereal on a Sunday morning as if you were a normal young girl? You never had the chance to enjoy your teenage years or even have free time, you never knew what it was like to own a phone, go out to the park with friends, have a pet or even what it was like to have a crush on someone. All you have ever done is serve others, you dreamed of this day so much that one day you stopped wishing for it and accepted your destiny, you accepted that you would serve the Zenin clan until they didn't need you anymore, until your hair lost its color and they threw you out on the street.

But now you were here and you could go anywhere if you wanted to, although for some reason you were still there. And for some reason, Toji hadn't kicked you out.

Still in disbelief you stare at Toji, you see him chewing carelessly on his cereal while his eyes are fixed on the TV. His eyelashes are long, his lips thin and they were moist from the milk, dripping slightly, the scar moved every time he chewed. The features of his face were mature and indicative of how tired he is, dark circles under his eyes and a frown— all you saw was someone tired.

“What?" Toji wasn't looking at you, but of course he knew you were looking at him. You don't even stop to admire him the moment you answer him.

"What have you made of your life? Fushiguro? Is it official?"

"I got married, I had a son." Surprise is painted on your face, your eyelids twitch slowly but Toji doesn't give you time to speak. "She died some time later, I stuck to what I do best." His neck turns, leaving the gray-haired gentleman's voice as a way of softening what he will say next. "You want to know what I do for a living? I kill people… sorcerers." The last comes with intentions to scare you.

You don't move a muscle when he finishes his speech, on his face is drawn a macabre smile that tells you that you should be afraid of him but you are not.

"Your son?" you ask instead, spooning another spoonful of cereal into your mouth as you hold his gaze.

"He's fine." Toji replies simply, downplaying it, and you decide not to probe further for now, grateful that he's opened up a bit about his past with you.

Before you knew it you had finished eating, you had emptied your bowl almost completely, chewing and swallowing automatically.

Toji next to you leaves his stool to walk to the sink, undisguised you soak yourself in him cooling his face with the flow of water, running his wet hands through his hair and then with a towel that was nearby he dries his hands.

"I'm leaving."

"Work?"

"Yeah."

"Can I come with you?"

"Nope." You ignored him anyway and walked behind him. "Stop following me."

Still, you didn't. Because where else could you go? At least today would be the last day of your life where you could enjoy the present without worrying about what you have to do tomorrow.

Toji didn't do anything to stop you either, he let you down the stairs behind him and let you ride shotgun in an old blue car that was parked behind the building.

"This is your car?" your eyes examine the dashboard, your curious fingers didn't hold back from touching the radio and Toji tapped them gently getting your attention back to him.

"Don't touch." He was smiling, the scar was unbearably attractive. Your hands folded in your lap obediently. "Sometimes it is," he continued speaking, turning the steering wheel with one hand to take the corner.

For a couple of seconds all you hear on the radio is an annoying static noise, which from time to time quiets down to give way to a female voice that doesn't last long before it is shut off again by the annoying static.

The window pane is down and your face is outside the window, holding onto your own arms as the sun warms your face and the breeze ruffles your hair which is starting to dry. There are many people on the streets, some carrying ice cream in their hands and others walking their dogs which makes you smile once again as you contemplate every little detail in awe.

"Glass up and head in," complains Toji next to you. You move away from the window to examine him. 

"Will you ever stop being so grumpy?"

"Ugh?" Toji genuinely looks offended, raising an eyebrow as he exchanges glances with you and the road. You laugh.

"I don't think you know the word fun."

"And you do?" For that moment he looked at you longer than someone behind the wheel should.

"Aren't you ashamed that a maid knows how to have more fun than you?"

"I can't believe I'm seeing with my own eyes the life of the party. What were you doing, falling asleep at ten and playing with brooms?" you laugh against your will, your lips stretching until it hurts.

"Oh! So you do know how to make jokes."

"Shut up."

"Sir get your feet off the table, don't take your head out of the window, get out of my house."

"I would never say take your feet off the table because I don't care." 

“You don't clean?"

"Nah. That's Shiu's doing." So that was his name.

"That's why you need a maid," you tried to persuade him in a gentle tone.

"You're not going back to that house, kiddo. We'll only get in trouble," Toji warns earnestly as he drives around another of the city's numerous corners.

"Stop calling me that! I'm an adult, you know!" you protest, raising your voice.

"Really? I hadn't noticed," Toji replies sarcastically as he parks under the shade of a leafy tree and you realize you were in front of a school. "I need you to do something for me."

 "What do you want?"

Outside the school, children were walking out hand in hand with their parents as a teacher enthusiastically waved them off. You turned to face Toji, who peered through your window. You raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"No," you reply firmly, crossing your arms and sinking them into the breadth of your T-shirt. 

"Huh?" Toji arches an eyebrow.

"Are you thinking of kidnapping a child?" you ask indignantly, full of question marks in your voice.

Toji burst out laughing, laughing at a joke that you didn't think was funny at all.

"What?" His eyes narrowed until they were barely visible, and dramatically, he wiped an imaginary tear from one of his eyes. "No. Do you see the boy over there?" he pointed a long finger out into the street, and you followed his gaze.

"The one in the green T-shirt?" you asked, watching a chubby blond boy picking his nose.

"The one next to him," Toji corrected, pointing to another boy who was looking at the blond boy with a frown, clutching his backpack. You turned your neck to Toji. .

"The grumpy one?" you asked. "Your son?" You don't need his confirmation when he falls silent at the accusation. 

"Just go closer and make sure he’s okay," the man turned away from your curious gaze, and his hands tightened on the steering wheel, concentrating on the brown leaf-covered road.

"Okay?" you insisted.

"No bruises or anything like that," Toji mumbled through his teeth, downplaying it with a wave of his hand. However, you noticed a genuine concern in his words.

You looked again at the boy, who was still glaring in disgust at the others. The task you had been given made your heart beat fast.

"I'm sure he's fine," you say, still watching him.

"You wanted to come, so go. The car ride is not free, kid," Toji comments. 

"Stop calling me that. I have a name," you demand, your jaw tense and your teeth clenched, wanting him to look at you with the same admiration and respect with which you looked at him.

"I will if you go," Toji says, staring at you.

If this was your way of saying thank you for what he had done for you so far, then so be it. Your bottom lip quivered and his blue gaze intimidated you. After all, a deal's a deal. You got out of the car carefully, checking both sides of the street before crossing and starting to walk towards the school. Before you took another step, a man approached the boy, seeming to know him by the familiarity with which they treated each other. He was a man about your own age, tall and with white hair.

Reluctantly, he took the boy's hand and led him in the opposite direction of the school. You trotted back toward the car.

"Who was that?" you questioned Toji before even closing the door. 

"A friend," Toji replied laconically as he started the car again.

"So he's in good hands. If you're friends, why didn't you approach him?" 

"Hmm," Toji muttered, dodging. "Lots of questions."

"Why don't you approach him?" you insisted once again.

Toji sighed before replying sincerely, "This is my way of taking care of him." Despite your initial misgivings, you gradually felt content with his explanation, crossing your arms in momentary acceptance.

The day progressed, and Toji drove you to a nearby pier. He left you in the car while he walked away to ask some questions of some people in the area. From the window, you watched the reflection of the sun on the water and in it the blurry image of Toji grabbing the man in the boat by the shirt threatening to throw him into the sea. You shivered in your seat, focusing your whole body and senses in the direction of the fight but you didn't dare get out because you didn't want to disobey him (besides there wasn't much you could do). It was some time before Toji returned to the car, with a frown on his face and an expression that told you he hadn't gotten clear answers but told you he wasn't going to answer any of the questions you never asked.

Finally, Toji took you to a cozy ramen restaurant. You ate together in a quiet corner of the place, sharing in bits and pieces stories of his work and your memories of when you were a slave. As the evening progressed, the initial tension between you began to dissipate. You realized that, despite his rough exterior, Toji had a kind and protective side in his own way.

After a long day together, you returned home, the sun had set and the city lights were beginning to glow. Although more questions than answers had arisen, you were beginning to feel closer to Toji and the world around him.

— / / / 

"You're very quiet," Toji says after closing the apartment door behind you. He continues on his way without stopping to really check, straight to the switch where it allows the light bulb to chase away the gloomy shadows which you appreciate. "And I don't know if I like that or it scares me," he adds.

Toji is looking at you now at a safe distance for you because your thoughts became a mess when you had him close. A sudden chill fills you with shivers and you bring your hands up to your forearms to hug yourself, apparently you had forgotten to close a window.

"I've made a decision but I know you're going to laugh."

Toji licks his lips, the tip of his tongue brushing the scar erasing the birth of a smile, you look at him with raised eyebrows and unable to contain himself he lets out a snort followed by his hands raised to chest height in a sign of peace and surrender.

"Stop it," you ask.

"Please speak up," Toji encourages you, crossing his arms.

"I want you to train me." You pause, seeing no response from him you continue speaking with your throat strangely dry. "I want to learn from you and I want to kill the ringleaders of the Zenin clan.”

"You want revenge?" To your surprise his countenance was serious, with some muscle in his jaw clenched.

"Yes."

"Then I can't help you. Revenge is the worst emotion you can cling to in order to go on living."

You blink a couple of times in his direction, perplexed that as soon as he finished speaking he turned around and headed down the hallway to continue on his journey to wherever he was headed, your mouth opens and closes a couple of times until you perk up and take a step forward.

"What?!" you shout, confused.

"There is no point in seeking revenge."

Toji speaks without stopping walking, without raising his voice, moving to the direction where your room was. You chase after him with a vein throbbing in the sides of your head, you were so full of rage accumulated over so many years that your thoughts were clouded.

"You're going to give me moral lessons?”

"Listen." He turns, pointing an accusing finger at you and you force your feet to stop so fast you nearly collide with it. "I've lived under the shadow of revenge every day, it's one of the reasons I get up every morning and it's an emotion that consumes you, you don't want that for yourself."

"You don't know me. You can't know what I want," you point out.

"It doesn't take knowing you to read you like the back of my hand. You couldn't bear to kill a fly."

You clench your jaw hard until your teeth grind from the pressure, your back is tense and erect as if someone was pulling it up. You take a step forward and Toji seems to give you the same importance he would give a mosquito, he turns his back on you again and walks into your room.

He didn't know you, he had no idea what you were capable of doing, you had the ability to kill someone, you were sure of that.

You follow him through the door frame. With the little blue light bathing the place, you notice Toji with a naked torso, the black t-shirt was lying on the floor at his feet, you had caught him halfway through his fingers grabbing the loop of his pants to undo it and let it fall.

You gasp, covering your lips with one hand and your mouth fills with saliva. "What are you doing?" His skin looked smooth, marred by a scar near his left pec and another near the V that was blatantly marked above his pelvis, where a happy trail also began. "Get out of my room," you stammer, forcing yourself to focus on his eyes.

"This is my room." You lower your hand from your face slowly, at the revelation you can't help but take a wide look at the place, then up and down Toji. "And if you don't want to see me naked, I'd advise you to leave."

"We're not done talking."

"Yeah, we are," he replies. "I'm going to take a shower." Now you're the one crossing your arms.

"Train me," you demand. 

"I won't."

Before you can speak again he is pulling down his pants, your body as automatically turns away from him, fleeing from the flash of bare skin.

"Are you crazy?!"

"Ow come on, sweetheart. It's just a little skin. This just proves you're not ready for my training."

"How does seeing you naked have anything to do with training me!" He was crazy. Insane. Unhinged. And you worried that instead of pushing you away it would push you more into him.

"If you can't see a fucking dick, how are you going to have the stomach to cut someone's head off?"

You don't remember the last time you had felt so embarrassed. You were trembling but you had to show Toji how important this was to you, so against all odds you turned to see him. Your eyes went to his dick —which hung heavy and thick under the bush of hair above his pelvis— drawn by a magnetism stronger than your willpower, you swallowed your embarrassment and looked him in the face, your pussy wetting in the vastness of his shorts. Toji had a half smile on his face and you weren't sure if it was your nerves or the sudden dizziness, but you could see a pale shade of red on his cheeks.

"Fushiguro, please." Your fists were clenched as a way of keeping you bound to this present moment, your nails digging red-hot into your flesh forcing you not to wander back into the middle of her thighs.

"Let me take a shower," he sighs, chewing on a chuckle. "I'll be back soon and we can talk."

Toji moves away from your point of view and you don't move a muscle until you hear him close the bathroom door. You run to open a window, sticking your head out until the wind cools the heat from your cheeks. You pat your face gently with trembling fingers, then scrunch your eyes and sink your face into the palms of your hands and for a long minute you sigh at the scent of liquid soap, the shampoo in your hair and the smell of food that clung to your shirt thanks to the ramen restaurant.

Underneath the baggy T-shirt your nipples are hard, aching every time they brush against the thick fabric begging for some kind of release.

There was a lot of traffic on the street, every now and then you could hear the horn of a vehicle in the distance. You linger in the safety that space afforded you until Toji's voice shocks you by calling your name from behind, followed by an apology if his behavior earlier had made you uncomfortable but he needed to make a point.

You turn on your heels to look at him. Toji has a white towel wrapped around his hips, his chest as well as his hair are soaked with hundreds of water droplets that you would like to lick (you cross out that thought immediately), he runs his hand through his jet hair and you forget how to breathe, the room that starts to give off an unbearable heat closes in on you.

"I hear you, you needed to prove a point and that's okay." You lick your lips.

Toji starts wandering in the room, opens the closet and takes out some pajama pants.

"Shiu would have to be convinced that you can do the job." Your eyebrows raise to the sky slightly but you don't say anything. "And have him take you into his apartment until you can be somewhere else safe," Toji says, slipping into his pants still wearing the towel.

Wonderful, he had no boxers underneath. Which made his penis stand out shamelessly when he removed the towel altogether, the garment falling dangerously below his sharp hip bones.

"I can do the job." You force yourself to keep the thread of conversation going, scratching a nonexistent itch on your forehead.

"Good." Toji leaves the room with the towel in his hand, so you think he probably went to put it in the bathroom and you take the opportunity to let your legs rest from shaking and sit on the bed. "But you are free to leave at any time. I'm not going to force you to be here, Shiu either," Toji shouts from the hallway and as he speaks his voice gets closer until he materializes in the doorway.

"Thank you." That's all you can say at this point as he looks down on you. Toji makes a sound with his tongue and points to the hallway with his head.

"Do you want something to eat? We have cereal and..." he pauses, trying to remember more food list and a smile appears on your lips.

"I'm fine," you gently confess to him.

"We can order ramen or Chinese food. I'm starving, I think Shiu left his wallet." 

"I'm fine, Toji. Thank you," you repeat, still maintaining your smile.

Toji nods and leaves the room. You can breathe again, your chest feels squeezed by an invisible weight and you open and close your hand to make the sudden cramp go away.

You walk over to the window to take a last breath of the night air, the damp wind, the smell of smoke and the smell of freedom. Your lungs expand with the scent of street dirt.

You were free to go anywhere, to run away, to escape, to keep running, yet you decided to go back to Toji's bed. You lay your head on a pillow while hugging another to cheat the ghost of loneliness and pretend you were really with someone so it makes you feel safe— although you don't know how long it takes, but after trying to fall asleep watching the figures forming the light from the window on the floor mixed with the noise of the TV in the distance you realize you can't fall asleep, too scared and anxious to do so (if your savior wasn't around). 

So you pull the warm sheet away from your body and leave the room in the direction of where the noise from the television was coming from, where you now realize that it is a baseball game.

"Hey," Toji greets as he notices you approaching him. He contemplates your figure silently as he watches you drop your weight beside him, wearing nothing but his big old t-shirt, your thighs were in full view. "Can't sleep?" Toji was watching you out of the corner of his eye, you shake your head.

"You?" you ask, watching the game.

"I was thinking of sleeping on the couch."

"No," you whine. "It's your room, it's your bed, we can share it."

Toji snorts. "You know how I sleep, I almost strangled you this morning."

"That’s not true." You tear your eyes away from the television to focus on him, blue and green lights dance across his features, across his cheekbones and sharp jaw. For a second your gazes stumble and he focuses on your lips for the duration of a blink. "I mean you did but I don't mind." You chuckle at a bad joke, Toji makes the attempt at a laugh. "You'd be doing me a favor anyway."

"Don't say that, kid— [Name]," he corrects himself at once, turning his focus back to the game, you pat his bare shoulder in a sign of 'congratulations'. "You still have a lot to live for, there's a lot you haven't seen or known yet. Even I don't want to die."

"Don't say it like that," you scold him with a frown, still looking at him... admiring him. "You have a lot to live for, too."

"Nah."

"Stop it. You have your son."

"He hates me, [Name]," he says with a tone of bitterness, you stay quiet for a moment, soaking in the noise of the match narrator, fumbling what to say. You hadn't comforted anyone before, not even your fellow maidservants, you didn't know exactly what to do or what to say so you loosened your tongue.

"I don't think he hates you, Toji." You said his name with such compassion, his jaw tensed focusing his vision to the ground. "Even if he hates you, you're alive, you have a chance to make things right, to change, to be better."

Toji looks at you, rather looks at your mouth, not wanting to pretend this time. "I don't want to change."

"I don't believe you." He looks into your eyes and you hold his gaze, one of your hands going up to his face and cradling his jaw. After a few seconds you feel the weight of his bones in your hand, indicating to you that he had dropped into it. "You know why I don't believe you?" your thumb goes to his lip and Toji parts them for you, the hardness of your hand meets his scar above his mouth and he flinches, pulling back a little. "Because you got this by protecting me."

Toji takes your hand between his fingers and slowly lowers your hand to his lap, for a while he stands still and you can't figure out what it is you see in his eyes because no one has ever looked at you like that before.

"I'm sure there are good things in you." Toji can feel the pulse in your wrist, he could even swear he can hear your heart. Pumping and beating, rumbling in your ribs.

"Stop," Toji begs, unable to look at you.

Enveloped in the frenzy that engulfs you, you let go and take his face in your hand again and Toji drops into it like a puppy in need of attention. His face looks beautiful under the lights on the television, those pretty blue eyes covered in a heavy layer of glitter. They were the same eyes that looked down on you from upstairs in the hallway when he helped you to your feet after his cousin abused you, eyes full of compassion.

"Have you ever left the country?" The question rolls off your tongue.

That look full of longing changes for a second to one of confusion, anyway he answers. "No."

"Have you ever seen a live band?" 

"W- no," he chuckles.

"How long has it been since you've been to the sea?" This time he doesn't speak, you continue. "You still have many things to see, to live, don't take away the value of your life."

Toji gazes at you, closes his eyes for a moment trying to calm his inner storm but when he opens them again, long, heavy eyelashes fluttering like butterfly wings— you were still here. He feels the warmth of your hand against his still in his lap, feels the firm touch of your palm on his cheek, his lungs filling with his fragrance permeating you. It was not a dream.

Toji leans forward and you don't move a muscle even though he sees something tighten in your neck and your breathing stops for just an instant.

"Please, stop me." He thinks he says to himself but his words actually reach the surface, fly to your ears in a whisper.

Toji holds you in the same way you hold him, his fingers, bigger than yours and any other maid you've ever known caresses your cheek in the same way a butterfly would kiss a flower. And this simple fact is enough to make your stomach flare, your eyelids give way to nerves and you swallow a breath.

"Please..." Toji begs again in a breath, but this time his lips are on yours, not touching you directly but just enough to let you feel his warm exhale. You could taste the milk on his lips from the cereal he had eaten and this made you lick your lips, wandering if you could discover the taste of milk on his tongue as well. "I thought you had died."

"You rescued me. That memory kept me alive."

At your confession Toji finally cuts the distance and presses his lips to yours. Just a brush, something too fast to be considered a kiss, so in search of more you pounce on him.

Your grip leaves his neck to hug the back of his neck and pull him further into you. As the baseball game is interrupted by commercials behind your back, Toji squeezes your thighs and drags you over his lap stealing a groan of surprise.

His kisses are no longer on your mouth, they go in search of your jaw and the jugular vein in your neck. Toji feels it throbbing fast against his mouth, he bites down, you moan, and he swipes his thick, hot tongue across the area soothing the burning.

"Please, stop me." You hear the request for the third time. The prayer is needy and hungry.

"I'm not going to stop you."

Toji suddenly interrupts his actions to look at you. His hands are shakily tangled inside your/his shirt.

"I can't love you." He lies, as a last resort to get you to stay away from him. You are too precious for someone like him, being around him would only ruin you.

"I don’t care," —you interrupt the intrusive train of thought in your head— “I have love enough for both of us."

If revenge was the worst emotion you can cling to in order to go on living, then you would cling to the love and admiration you feel for him.

Although you can't deny that it hurt to hear him say that, it hurt more to respond to him, it hurt when his fingers pulled hard on your nipples kneading your breasts roughly and it hurt when his teeth dug into your lip and forced his tongue into your mouth (and you were right, he tasted like milk and honey). It took courage to swallow your emotions and not run away to your/his room but you understood, you understood when he tugged off your shirt and took one of your nipples into his mouth.

You understood that both Toji and you needed this. No matter how long it took him to forget his wife, you were going to be by his side with him, as a friend, as a lover....

"Ah, ngh!"

Or as his murderous partner.

Because that's what you deserve. Finally make your own decisions, screw it up, damage it or start over.

But you were free to choose and now you chose to watch Toji from above suck on your nipples like a hungry man while your hips as with life could rub against the growing erection. His hands squeezed your breasts as he licked one to return with the other and do the same pattern while you could do nothing but gasp with parted lips.

"Fuck," he cursed, harshly carving a hard nipple with his flat tongue. 

"More," you implored.

So Toji left your tits alone for a while, licking his lips with the same punishing tongue to wipe away the trace of saliva that had been left behind. Then he slipped a hand inside the boxers and his fingers met the puddle that was your pussy.

"Oh my… [Name]."

You wanted to run away, but instead you moved your hips and the friction of three fingers on your clitoris made you moan, made you repeat the action.

"I'm sorry." The apology came out of your mouth before you could understand what you were apologizing for.

It was like when you dropped a dish, when you were late in returning a weapon, when your clothes were not spotless. They were the words your mouth was most familiar with.

"Why?" Toji questions you, forcing you to speak despite your condition. 

Condition: three of his fingers oscillating in circles over your over-stimulated clit.

"I asked.. why are you apologizing." With every word his fingers tap your sticky pussy, his words hot on top of your throbbing temple.

You swallow dryly. "I'm sorry," you repeat.

"Stop apologizing," Toji growls, moving to your ear, gently biting the gristle. "Are you a virgin?" The question feels like a concern, not for him but for you, it sounded like Toji needed to know whether or not you'd had sex before to know how to proceed.

"No." You reply dryly.

'No, I had sex with a member of the Zenin clan once, twice who turned out to be an asshole’ — is the answer you cut off halfway, perhaps an explanation you would —or would not— give Toji later when his fingers weren't pushing inside you.

Thanks to your lubricated pussy one finger was able to enter without difficulty, then another until you felt so full inside that you clung to Toji's shoulders for stability, hugging your body to his body as he waits for you to adjust to the size.

"Are you okay?" he asks, depositing small kisses on your shoulder. 

"Hm hm!" you respond positively with your lip between your teeth.

Then his fingers push in and you groan, then out and soon you miss them and again that word Toji could get used to hearing all night comes from your lips.

"More." And he laughs, wrapped in the pleasure he gets from giving you pleasure.

Toji starts a specific rhythm, fucking you open with his big fingers as his fat thumb entertains your clit and his own cock throbs in the confines of his pajama pants, staining the fabric in a matter of seconds. You feel it resting heavy on his thigh, the thickness and size making you scratch his back wishing you had the courage to do something about it, that you had the courage to pull it out and do something else, yet you don't find the courage, it hides deep inside you as Toji pumps your pussy, in and out and faster and faster in rhythm with his moans. You are sure that if the TV were off the sticky sounds would be filling your ears in a way too embarrassing to process.

In that same rhythm Toji makes you have your first orgasm, it tears you apart and leaves you dizzy sinking your teeth into his flesh after he told you it was okay, that you could drown your screams on his shoulder, so you did, so much so that you are sure it will leave a mark. You think about apologizing but your brain mimics his raspy voice asking you not to apologize again.

For a moment you think you're going to pass out, your whole body is sore especially your thighs but it's a pain, satisfying? You wouldn't know exactly what words to put it in. You mumble his name a hundred times and he pulls you by your collar to have you facing him, your hair is tousled, your gaze confused and your lips slightly red, his cock is throbbing and in that moment he promises something to himself: he needs to make you cum again.

Above the noise of the sloppy kiss in which Toji grabs you and the narrator of the game shouting excitedly for a home run Toji hears keys in the door. Shiu, he concludes. So he grabs you by the thighs and walks with you to the room you share, no matter how much you complain about your weight or scream that you're going to fall. He doesn't release you from his grip until he throws you onto the mattress and he locks the door.

Toji takes a moment to admire your half naked body, his fingers are still soaked with you and he brings them to his mouth covering them with his drool as he walks towards you.

"There are so many things I want to show you," he says, crawling on the bed. "So many things I want to do to you." His scar rises along with the half-smile. His fingers hook into the elastic of your boxers and you moan as you stand completely naked in front of him, under the blue lights and moonlight.

You open your lips to complain but Toji places a finger over his: 'Shh' he makes a sound, then touches his ear, indicating you to pay attention to the footsteps outside which makes you keep quiet again.

Toji pounces on you, caging your body under his. Without breaking the connection of your lips together with one hand he helps your legs spread, one knee far apart from the other and he improves his position in the center. His covered cock is above your core, throbbing and begging for real attention, your fingers slide to the nape of his neck.

"Toji," you breathe. You don't remember the last time you had done so. 

However, "Sh." He shushes you again by sucking the salty skin on your neck.

Each time his hips rotated over you you had to roll your eyes, so overwhelmed with pleasure. Toji then slides his fingers through your navel and reaches your sensitive clit again, the touch is as soft as a feather and at the same time he unloads on you static that fills you with shivers.

Toji wonders if he could make you cum like this, him rubbing shamelessly over your folds while at the same time stimulating your most sensitive spot. His fingers go faster and your back arches, trying to run away from the pleasure, from how raw his rough touch feels on your vulnerable flesh.

Your fingers tangle around his wrist and between dry-mouthed stutters you ask him to stop for a while. And he does so reluctantly, kissing your sweaty temple and dropping his heavy body next to you with a creak of the mattress, his chest rising and falling and the sound of the city making itself present again.

Adrenaline begins to leave your bloodstream bringing with it guilt and shame, you wonder what Toji who hasn't said another word in the last five minutes is thinking so you turn to your side to get a better look at him. He has his eyes wide open, focused somewhere on the ceiling as he sucks in his own lower lip, you move your eyes over every inch of his body until you are on his hips and the obvious bulge between his thighs, after a while of watching you realize you can see it trembling.

"Does it hurt?" you ask him after licking the sweat off your upper lip. Toji seems to have been forcibly brought out of his trance.

"What thing?" He asks, looking at you.

"Your... hmph, your penis."

He laughs, "Yeah," he replies quietly. 

"I want to make you feel good."

Toji turns his head to soak you in, his eyes going to every corner of your face, then to your breasts for a moment.

"You don't have to," he speaks hoarsely, turning to your eyes.

Wordlessly, you reach down to his crotch, your fingers mimic a playful spider dancing over his navel and tangling in the trail of short hairs but Toji stops you, the grip is insecure and you stare at each other for what feels like a heavy eternity but finally he gives you the freedom to continue exploring while at the same time exhaling through his nose just like a raging bull.

You touch him through his pants and the muscles in his legs tighten, he pushes his hips up in an animal instinct to reach for more. You size it up and rub it as you watch him grow amidst the darkness, finally you get up the courage to reach into his pants and Toji helps you by pulling it down just enough so it doesn't bother you.

Half naked under your nose you breathe in the raw scent of sex that collects in a cloud-like form in the room. Toji is so hard and you take him between a weak fist, somewhat unsure, as if it’s going to bite you. Inexperienced you give a downward tug and Toji throws his head back with a curse and a choked grunt.

"More. Squeeze your hand just a little tighter," Toji says, encouraging himself to raise his head again to look at you giving him pleasure.

"Like this?"

"Yeah. The tip, just... God— fuck the tip with your hand, I'm so sensitive."

It takes you little time to learn what he likes, you learn quickly and he is pleased. Toji asks you to cradle his balls and you do so obediently, then spit on the shaft as he commands, saliva runs down the swollen pink head and slides easily to reach his full balls. Toji hunches his back and turns sideways to pay attention to you— now in front of him you had nowhere to escape.

Toji breathes on your open mouth, his fingers squeeze your ass, caress your thighs longingly and end up on your pussy, pressing on the soaked folds. For a while he stays still, just feeling your clit throbbing, it's as if he was waiting for you to stop him again, he wanted to be sure. He tentatively slips a finger in the middle of your labia and you mewl.

"You're so wet," he admits with bated breath as you continue to masturbate him. "I wanna fuck you so bad," he says, biting your lip and you close your eyes, a little dizzy now that your clit was being stimulated again. "My whole body needs it, I need to put my heavy cock in that pretty pussy of yours, [Name]. I want to— fuck me. I want to slap it with my cock, I'm sure I could make you cum with just that."

"Toji!" you scream the instant two fingers go inside you without warning, quickly assaulting your pussy, pumping it in and out. "F-fuck me, do it."

"What was that?" with a sinister smile breaking the darkness along with his scar, he longed to hear you speak again.

"Please." You respond assigned, your stomach clenching.

"Next time, baby." He deposits a fleeting kiss on your lips. "When I get condoms I'm gonna pound that pussy so good that all you're gonna remember is my name. Now..., fucking cum for me."

You couldn't breathe or respond because his mouth was on yours, stealing your breath and what little strength your limbs had left. Your whole body ached, you felt so full with those two fingers plus thumb rubbing your clit back and forth, your fist squeezes just a little on the head of his cock, your thumb slides over the cleft of the cockhead and Toji growls on your tongue, you swallow the vibrations and squeeze your eyes tightly shut letting yourself sink into the liquid stream that tucks your body, for a second you stop breathing but you open your eyes suddenly screaming his name and he shushes you again kissing you deeply, soon after Toji cums in your fist and on his own stomach, drops of cum fall on the mattress and Toji moves away to find a t-shirt of his to clean it and help you clean yourself.

"Come here," he says, but he doesn't really give you a choice because his arms were wrapped around your body, dragging you on top of him.

You sigh. Your face was crushed into his chest, his big hand playing with your hair. You didn't know what to say, you could hear his heart beating as fast as yours, you were tired and sore but never before had you felt happier than at this moment.

"Rest up, tomorrow will be your first day of training." Toji kisses the crown of your head and that's all you hear before you sink into a thick froth of dreams, where all you can appreciate is Toji's warm, naked body against yours and the soft sheets beneath your bodies.

[saintmachina]

One million dollar question: is it true that the Bible condems homosexuality? I had a discussion with two conservatives who sent me some verses that seem to confirm that but i don't know much about the context although i know this is important too

Let’s start here: why is this the million dollar question? Why does it matter what the Bible has to say about sex, or love, or human relationships? At the end of the day, it’s just a book, right?

Oceans of ink (and blood) have been spilled over not only what the Bible says, but what it does, how it functions. The course of empires, nations, and families have been shaped by the contents of this book, and from a historical and cultural perspective, it holds a lot of weight. But you didn’t ask about the sociological, you asked about the theological, so let’s explore. 

Different Christian traditions vary in their approach to scripture. For example: some Protestant denominations believe that the Bible is inspired, inerrant, and infallible. In this paradigm, God is the ultimate author of scripture working through human hands, and the resulting text is both without error and in no way deceptive or mistaken. Similarly, The Second Vatican Council decreed that “the books of Scripture must be acknowledged as teaching solidly, faithfully and without error that truth which God wanted put into sacred writings for the sake of salvation.” When a member of the clergy is ordained into the Episcopal Church they swear that they “do believe the Holy Scriptures of the Old and New Testaments to be the Word of God, and to contain all things necessary to salvation.”

Can you see how many of these points of doctrine overlap yet seek to distinguish themselves from one another? Theologians have spent lifetimes arguing over definitions, and even when they manage to settle on solid teachings, the way that the teaching is interpreted by the clergy and incorporated into the lives of the laity varies WIDELY. As much as systematic theology may try, humans aren’t systematic beings. We’re highly contextual: we only exist in relation to others, to history, to circumstance, and to the divine. We simply cannot call up God to confirm church teaching, and I think a lot of people cling excessively to the Bible as a result of the ache (dare I even say trauma) of being separated from God via space and time in the way we currently are.

God is here, but God is not here. God is within us, God is within the beloved, God is within the sea and sky and land, and yet we cannot grasp God to our bodies in the way we long to. In this earthly lifetime, we are forever enmeshed in God, yet forever distinct, and that is our great joy and our great tragedy.

So barring a direct spiritual experience or the actual second coming, we're left to sort through these things ourselves. And because humans are flawed, our interpretations will always be flawed. Even with the presence of the Holy Spirit in our lives guiding us.

When engaging with any sort of Biblical debate, it is essential that you have a strong understanding of what the Bible means to you, an an embodied individual living a brief little awful and wonderful life on Earth. Otherwise it's easy to get pushed around by other people’s convincing-sounding arguments and sound bites.

Here’s where I show my hand. As a confirmed Episcopalian I believe that reason, tradition, and scripture form the “three-legged stool” upon which the church stands, interdependent and interrelational to each other, but I’ve also like, lived a life outside of books. I’ve met God in grimy alleyways and frigid ocean waters and in bed with my lovers. So my stool is actually four-legged, because I think it’s essential to incorporate one’s personal experience of God into the mix as well. (I did not invent this: it’s called the Wesleyan quadrilateral, but the official Wesleyan quadrilateral insists that scripture must trump all other legs of the table in the case of a conflict which...*cynical noises*)

Please do not interpret this answer as me doing a hand-wavey "it's all vibes, man, we're all equally right and equally wrong", but I do absolutely think we have a responsibility as creatures to weigh the suffering and/or flourishing of our fellow creatures against teachings handed down through oral tradition, schisms, imperial takeover of faith, and translation and mistranslation. Do I believe the Bible is sacred, supernatural even, and that it contains all things necessary to find one's way to God, if that is the way God chooses to manifest to an individual in a given lifetime? Absolutely. Do I believe it is a priceless work of art and human achievement that captures ancient truths and the hopes of a people (as well as a record of their atrocities) through symbols, stories, and signs? Unto my death, I do.

However, I am wary of making an object of human creation, God-breathed though it may be, into an idol, and trapping God in its pages like God is some sort of exotic bug we can pin down with a sewing needle.

Finally, we have reached the homosexuality debate. One of my favorite sayings of Jesus is Matthew 5: 15-17: "Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep's clothing but inwardly are ravenous wolves. You will know them by their fruits. Are grapes gathered from thorns, or figs from thistles? In the same way, every good tree bears good fruit, but the bad tree bears bad fruit." In other words: look at what religious teachings have wrought in the world. When I look at homophobic interpretations of the Bible, I see destruction, abuse, suffering, neglect, alienation, spiritual decay, and death. When I look at theology that affirms the holiness of LGBTQ+ relationships, I see joy, laughter, community building, thoughtful care, blooming families, creativity, resilience, and compassion. I see the love of Christ at work in the world. I see the hands of a God who chose under no duress to take up residence in a human body, to drink wine with tax collectors and break bread with sex workers and carry urchin children around on his shoulders. That's my limited little pet interpretation, but hey, that's all any of us really have, at the end of the day.

So, I am absolutely happy to do a play-by-play breakdown of why those passages you were given (we queer Christians often call them "clobber passages" or "texts of terror") don't hold water in a theological, historical, and cultural context. We can talk about Jesus blessing the eunuch and the institution of Greek pederasty and Levitical purity laws and Paul because I've done that reading. I've spent my nights crying in self-hatred and leafing through doctrine books and arguing with my pastors and writing long grad school essays on the subjects. Send me the verses, if you can remember them, and I'll take a look. But it's worth noting that out of the entire Bible, I believe there are only six that explicitly condemn homosexuality AND I'm being generous and including Sodom and Gommorah here, which is a willful and ignorant misreading if I've ever seen one.

In the meantime, I recommend books by people smarter than me! Try Outside The Lines: How Embracing Queerness Will Transform Your Faith by Mihee Kim-Kort, or Does Jesus Really Love Me by Jeff Chu, or Transforming: The Bible and the Lives of Transgender Christians by Austen Hartke!

And take a breath, dear one. Breathe in God, in the droplets of water in the air and in the wind from the south. Breathe in the gift of life, and know that you are loved, now and unto the end of the age and even beyond then.

[kiwwia-wiwwia]

God Must Hate Me

A call to your mother goes horribly wrong. Luckily, Matt is there to help you pick up some of your broken pieces.

Listened to God Must Hate Me by Catie Turner and decided to project into my writing!

Matt murdock x reader, hurt/comfort, bisexual!reader Word count: 1.8k Warnings: swearing, religious trauma lol, self-loathing, implied CSA EDIT: I know Catholicism is a part of Christianity!!! This is just based on my parents and how they talked about other denominations :)

Your shoulders shook as you slid down the wall, silent sobs wracking your body. One hand was clutching your phone, the other clapped over your mouth, desperate to contain any noise that might slip out. Sinner, your mother had called you. Hedonist. Sodomite. Her words looped over and over in your mind, drowning out all other thoughts. 

You wouldn’t have called in the first place had it not been for your sister. She texted you the night before saying that she was back home caring for your elderly father who had caught the flu. She said that your mother wouldn’t stop talking about you, complaining that you never called, that she didn’t know anything about your life. You spent that night tossing and turning, contemplating whether it was worth getting back in contact with her. Your relationship with your mother had always been strained, considering the abuse you endured in your childhood, but you didn’t hate her. You couldn’t. You felt a sense of guilt in pushing her away, as if you were abandoning a debt you owed.

What pushed you over the edge was a text from your father this morning. 

Hi pumpkin. I miss your smile. I’m a little under the weather, and I’d love a visit from my girl. Hope all is well. Love, Dad.

Despite everything your mother had put both of you through, you and your father were always close. You had talked to Matt, sharing your dilemma. On one hand, you didn’t really want to speak to your mother. On the other hand, your father was getting old, and you didn’t know how many more visits you had with him. He had always been delicate, getting sick easily and hurting himself by accident. He was also the only person besides your sister who truly understood you until Matt, and you missed him.

“Give them a call,” Matt suggested. He looked so beautiful, his hair catching the sunlight from the window and his body draped over the armchair. His hand lazily grasped a mug, steam drifting up from the warm coffee. “If the call goes well, go over and visit. I’ll come with you, if you want.”

You chewed on your lip anxiously. “And… if it doesn’t go well?” Your fingers picked idly at the rug below you. You were seated on the floor, resting your head against his leg as you sipped your tea. This was your unofficial weekend tradition, the two of you seated in this position while you talked about… well, whatever you needed to talk about. Anything that didn’t get brought up during the week, a dream one of you had, a funny story you had from work. Mornings like this were sacred, the peace and domesticity somehow washing away any other worries. In these moments, nothing else existed except you and Matt, your own little corner of heaven.

He ran his hand through your hair, slowly and deliberately raking his fingers over your scalp until you sighed in contentment. “Then I’ll be here for that, too,” he hummed.

Now, you found yourself wishing you had never said anything in the first place. All you wanted was to talk to your parents, check up on them, maybe even test the waters of a possible visit. Instead, you were berated for your lifestyle, called a whore and a sinner and told you were destined for hell. 

“And how’s your love life? Have you finally found a nice man or are you still in your lesbian phase?” You bristled at the comment, knowing your mother never took your sexuality seriously. Your coming out had been a disaster and had resulted in you staying with a friend for two months because your mother couldn’t stand the sight of you. “I’m bisexual, mom, that’s not a phase. But… yeah, I met someone,” you admitted. Your mother scoffed on the other end of the line, which you pointedly chose to ignore. “His name is Matthew, he’s a lawyer here in Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Such an awful name for a city. Why do they call it that, anyways? It couldn’t have been heaven’s kitchen?” You kept quiet, doing your best to push off the inevitable argument as your mother plowed on. “It’s good that you’ve come to your senses and met a boy. Where does he work? Is he Christian? Does he want kids?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to keep the irritation out of your voice. “He runs his own firm, Nelson and Murdock, he’s actually over there right now to grab some paperwork. I don’t know if he wants kids, we haven’t really thought about it. I only just moved in with him, and no, he’s not Christian. He’s Catholic, goes to mass every week.” There was a long silence before your mother finally spoke again.

“You… you moved in? As in… you live together?” Her tone was as if you had just told her that you shoved someone off of a building. “Yeah, I was staying over so much that we figured it wasn’t worth spending money on an apartment I don’t live in.” You arched a brow at her sharp intake of breath. “Mom? You okay?”

“Honey,” she said, her words dripping with venom. “Are you having sex with this man? Before marriage?” You couldn’t help the choked laugh that escaped your throat. “Mom, it’s not the 1800’s anymore. People have sex and move in with each other, it isn’t a crazy concept. My sex life isn’t really any of your business, though.” She made a sound of indignation, her voice an octave higher than when she last spoke. “That is no way to talk to your mother! I can’t believe you would be such a sinner, after everything I worked so hard to teach you. This behavior is disgusting, you know that? Only whores engage in such hedonistic acts.”

You stiffened at her words, years of religious teachings and long hours spent in churches creeping into your mind. Memories of wooden switches and Sunday School songs wrapped their tendrils around your throat, threatening to choke you until you had to plead with God for mercy. You took a gulp of air, trying desperately to keep your voice steady as tears pricked your eyes. “Mom, I’m not going to let you make me feel bad for the way I live my life, especially regarding something as small as who I’m spending my nights with. I just called to see how you and dad are doing, but if you don’t want to talk to me, that’s fine. I have other things to do anyway.” Her voice pierced through your phone’s speaker before you could hang up, your name spat from her lips like it was something profane. “All I ever did was try to raise a nice Christian girl, and this is what I get in return? A slut that sleeps with women and men before she’s even married? A sodomite? And he’s Catholic! You know catholicism isn’t biblical, how many times have I told you to stay away from non-Christians?” Tears were streaming down your face at this point, recollection of the confession of your treatment at the hands of the local pastor resulting in beatings. For some reason, you could only form a response to the last part of her rant. “After all of that, catholicism doesn’t seem as bad,” you said dryly.

“If we weren’t on the phone I’d smack you across the face for that. Don’t bother calling again. I’m not interested in hearing the lifestyle of a hellbound heathen.” The call ended with a dull beep, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You distantly registered the sound of the door opening, footsteps coming down the hallway and making their way to where you were outside of the bedroom. Matt knelt in front of you, his unseeing eyes wide with concern. Your name fell from his lips as he cupped your face in his hand, lightly tracing his thumb along your cheek. “What happened? Was it your mom?” All you could do was nod as another sob escaped you. Desperate for some kind of comfort, you reached out your arms in a silent request. He complied without hesitation, drawing you into his chest and letting out a sad hum as you gripped his shirt, clinging to any semblance of stability.

“What do you need, love?” he asked softly, his fingers gently running up and down your spine. “Do you want to talk about it?” You instinctively shook your head and then paused, reconsidering. “I don’t… I don’t know why she still affects me the way she does,” you croaked. “It’s like every time we talk, I’m a scared little kid again.” Your voice dropped to a whisper, shame making your words thick. “She called me a whore, Matt. Called me a heathen for moving in with you, said I was going to hell. There was more, some sexuality stuff and Catholic-shaming you, but that was the main point.”

Matt went rigid, his fingers abruptly stopping their soothing motions on your back. When he spoke, his voice was dangerously low. “She’s wrong, love. You know those are just lies, right?” You shrugged helplessly, keeping your eyes trained on the ground as you shifted your position, opening up the space between the two of you. “I’m not religious. Not anymore, not after everything I went through in the church.” You sighed tiredly, scrubbing your hand down your face. “But being raised the way I was… it sticks, y’know? That belief system is a part of who I am, whether I want it to be or not, and I can’t help but think… what if she’s right? I mean, I’m not exactly a saint. Usually I’m pretty good at rationalizing all this stuff, but man, God must hate me. I’m such a bad person, Matt.”

He physically flinched at that. “Don’t ever call yourself that,” he seethed. You jerked your head up to look at him, his anger taking you by surprise. His words were sharp, his tone dripping barely-concealed anger. “You are not a bad person for living your life.” You made a noise of protest but he quickly cut you off. “I don’t know what they drilled into your head to make you hate yourself so much, but none of it is true. You’re the most wonderful, kind, selfless person I’ve ever met, and God help anyone who makes you think anything different.” He pressed a kiss into your forehead and you managed a small smile. “I love you. So much,” he breathed.

“I love you too. Thanks for trying to undo my religious trauma even though you have enough of it for all of Hell’s Kitchen. Sorry for crying on your shirt.” He chuckled at that, helping you to your feet. “Nothing to apologize for, love. Now, let’s go to the store. We need to buy some eggs.”

You arched a brow. “We have eggs in the fridge. What are you up to, Murdock?” He smiled, a mischievous glint in his eye. “We have a house to egg, of course. Don’t tell me you’re above petty revenge?” 

You laughed, the tension in your body draining. God, you loved this man. “Of course not. I’m a good heathen, after all.”

[dem1verse]

﹏ ❛ all you gotta do is call me.⠀⠀⠀äs nodt.

˖⁺ ⊹୨ ★ the one where you form a friendship with the malevolent enity.

content disclaimers ╱╱ gn!reader. young!reader. HEAVY religious trauma and themes. angst to comfort. vollstandig!äs nodt. mild body horror. wc: 830.

YOU HAVE (1) MESSAGE UNREAD !⠀⠀—⠀⠀“the 2nd halloween short of the month! this one may have been inspired by czs horror history analysis of the man who can't breath from insidious and i might have used my own religious trauma as a base for this. i wrote this with christianity in mind (mainly nigerian christianity). anyways, enjoy 💃🏾”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀YOU DON'T REMEMBER THE LAST TIME YOU PRAYED TO HIM.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀With the number of times you've been called an abomination before the eyes of the Almighty God, it's no surprise you'd see yourself as an unclean mix of flesh and blood who did nothing but wallow around. Sinner. Sodomite. Witch. Those were a few of many names that followed you around, hanging over you like a haunting veil of shame. Your relationship with your mother had always shown signs of strain, but you couldn't hate her. If anything, it was your fault for not being the ideal child, rebelling against the heavens. She was trying to guide you. Children of God don't act like this. Good children of God don't say that.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀God must hate me, you affirmed. The Lord God above would never approve of you. You swear he's looking down on you this moment, shaking his head in disappointment. Years and years of Christian sermons crept around in your mind, festering in your conscience. You'd be happy, they said. He's the only way, they said. You can depend on him. He'd be there when you called for him. Surely he'd comfort you in your darkest times. Where was he now? You silently cried out to the sky, tears already spilt and stained your cheeks, questioning your faith. That was the first time he showed up.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The second time he showed himself, you'd been jolted awake by a nightmare. You'd gone downstairs to grab a glass of cold water, leaving the sticky heat of your bed. As you opened the cabinet, you couldn't help but notice how cold it'd gotten, the frigid atmosphere making you shiver. That's when you saw it. The man in white. His long, brittle hair shone in the moonlight. His eyes were rolled at the back of his head, drawing tears of blood from his sockets. Your eyes widened in silent fear, shuddering at his appearance. He bore a long white cloak, a prominent and bloody stitch running from the middle of his throat to the bottom of the robe, revealing gory muscle and bone. And his mouth. His teeth were left in the open, lacking the protective soft appendages. His blue star halo hung on the top of his crown, shining brightly.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Your goblet had long hit the floor, bits of sharp glass scratching your feet and the floor. Your mother had caught wind of the incident, screaming at you for having broken such a fragile object. She ranted on, but you were too focused on the man standing behind her. Were your eyes deceiving you? Could she not see him? You silently went to your room, ignoring your mother's verbal vomiting and eager to forget the past event.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀By the time you saw him again, he spoke. You were alone, your mother leaving you home in favour of church service. You lay on your bed, feeling drained and sleepy. As you turned over on your back, you opened your eyes, only to be met with those same eerie scleras. You screamed, the apparition looming over you menacingly. Slowly, the man raised a pale, bony arm, and caressed your cheek, paying no attention to your crying and erratic movements. Being raised in a heavily prayerful home stuck with you, no matter who you grew up to be. You've always been taught to condemn the devil, resist temptation and you'd be blessed with favour and prosperity. Yet here you were, finding solace in a demonic entity. You soon stopped crying, the man's nurturing touch gradually lulling you to sleep.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀A fight with your mother was never pretty. Silence and dissociation were your sword and shield during those times. Heartbroken at her cruel words, you slammed your bedroom door, heaving and sobbing. The reason for my stagnation, she called you. Nothing could've prepared you for that moment, her mocking shattering your heart and breaking your resolve. Curling yourself up in a ball, you tried your best to give yourself the scarce bit of consolation you had left. Then you heard him. His heavy, raspy breathing. The only sound in your room besides your wailing. He extended his sickly white limb towards you. He took hold of you, his body no longer radiating the icy temperature. You felt like a baby in its mother's arms, the entity stroking your hair. He gave you the nurture and care you've been looking for this entire time. You were no longer going to look above for alleviation. God wasn't there for you when you needed him, so why call him again? On the other hand, the spirit held you in his grasp, emitting a sense of security.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀And in that moment, you came to an epiphany. You didn't whether you'd be thrown in hell or not, you could always count on the man in white to be there for you. Even when you were dead, and long gone, you could always count on him. You just had to call him.

DEMI'S POST-IT⠀❞⠀ok im actually kinda proud of myself for writing all of this in like, one night. i also may or may have not nearly started crying in the middle of writing this. i hope this helps somebody with some sort of trauma stemming from religion. kinda based this on my experiences in my life, the ending is kind of how im feeling currently.

template by @tinytowns! taglist: @ue-projectz

[mullytheclown]

ISTG THIS NEEDS TO STOP I NEED TO STOP MY KEISER ADDICTION-

Moar Keiser hcs!!!!! (Srry if these get dark I'm literally hyperfixating on him rn so I HAVE SUM DARK SHIT 😭😭)

TW FOR: Mentions if abuse, mentions of bullying, SH, religious trauma, and death

-He was a lonely child, and his parents treated him like shit and he was always bullied and harassed to all Hell at school (think beating the shit out of him, teachers not listening to him when he asks for help, getting called slurs and a "demon child", etc.) All he had was his computer and anime (He watched Sailor Moon and wanted to be a magical anime girl but his parents were the abusive Christian type sooo... Yeah...)

-He's a severe SH survivor (only stopped when he joined the dark carnival, no this isn't projection I swear-)

-He's rlly thin due to neglect (like, ribs through ribcage sorta thin)

-He's an AuDHD-er... Along with being hypersexual due to exposure to [CONTENT] as a kid (I SWEAR OFFICER THIS ISN'T PROJECTION I-)

-The way he joined the Dark Carnival was bittersweet... He died in a car crash at 23 years of age, on his way to see his first date that he met online (even if he survived, he would've been catfished) and his soul was GOING to be judged but Riddle decided to let him become a worker at the dark carnival to "live" a little since he barely got any chance to live when he was actually alive (He gets to run games and rides but sometimes he's the one punishing ppl after they get their fates decided on one of Carnage's games, he got to get a LOT of revenge)

HOLY SHIT THIS IS DARK OMG I NEED TO STOP WTF-

These are neat ^^

Also ur backstory of his childhood is cannon now (you get all the credit)

[deusluxuria]

random doppio headcanons from the trenches because i have like a billion fanfics but doubt i will ever post them anywhere

( Content Warnings: Drug use, stalking, gaslighting, abuse, torture, pregnancy. )

-The priest who adopted him in his infancy was named Gianni. The two had a good relationship. Gianni was an extremely compassionate person who loved and cared deeply for Doppio, and in turn, Doppio saw him as his own father. Doppio would even argue with anyone who referred to Gianni as an "adoptive parent," because he was more wonderful than any other father he could have had.

-Doppio learned a lot of skills in Gianni's church community. Singing, piano, carpentry, fencing, archery, self-defense. He is a sharp-shooter, and learning this from archery evolved into knife throwing and various other skills around weapons. Learning how to fight was his main hobby and he didn't do much else with his free time, which he had a lot of.

-Knows his way around a Christian bible, but doesn't really subscribe to such beliefs. If you wanted to be involved in the community and have a social life at all in Doppio's hometown, you'd have to go to church. It's really all there was. Doppio was a very friendly and loving soul to everyone in town, even gregarious, but he never fit in. He always found Christianity to be strange and hypocritical, but fortunately, Father Gianni was very open-minded and always encouraged Doppio to think for himself.

-Doppio's natural hair color is jet black.

-He has been smoking cigarettes since maybe age 14. He tried to keep it a secret from Gianni, but Gianni knew. Doppio started using much harder drugs in his young adulthood.

-Donatella was the one person he would regularly get high with. They would stay in the same room for days on end, not knowing which way was up or down.

-Doppio and Donatella are both transgender. Doppio was the one who carried and gave birth to Trish. He had never been so scared in his life when he found out he was pregnant, and he kept it a secret -- he was not close enough with Donatella to have a child with her, nor did he feel he could take care of a child. He started going into labor when the great fire started that wiped out his town. All he could do was walk down to the shore and hide in a cove, where he gave birth to Trish. The two were down there for three days before Doppio had no choice but to go back to the ruins of the town.

-Donatella's home had been mostly unaffected by the fires. Doppio left Trish on her doorstep, and his next move was to run away from Sardinia. But shortly after leaving Trish, he lost consciousness from internal bloodloss, and woke up in the hospital.

-The moment he was discharged, he ran away from Sardinia, with absolutely nothing but his bloodstained clothes. On his way to the middle of Italy, he could swear he kept seeing glimpses of someone who looked eerily like him.

-Diavolo is not the same person as Doppio, although he did brainwash Doppio into thinking that. Diavolo's real name is Livio Una, and he's Donatella's brother. He'd been completely obsessed with Doppio since before Doppio had met Donatella. After the fires in Sardinia, Diavolo had cosmetic surgery, dyed his hair, and copied the tattoos to look as much like a copy of Doppio is possible.

-Diavolo very effectively brainwashed Doppio into worshipping him and being obsessed with him. This gaslighting and abuse was largely the cause of Doppio's poor memory recall (in addition to other traumas). Diavolo made him forget Trish and Donatella.

-Diavolo first assigned Doppio to the assassination squad. Nobody seemed to like him there and were actively rotten to him, except for Risotto, Pesci, Sorbet, and Gelato. Risotto would note that he never saw Doppio use his Stand, though he was amazingly skilled with ordinary weapons.

-Risotto grew to like Doppio quite a bit. Perhaps even fell in love with him. Diavolo noticed, and out of malicious jealousy, dragged Doppio into being his informant, where the two of them would always be attached at the hip. Diavolo would then rarely allow Doppio out of his sight, and if he did, he always had to know what Doppio was doing.

-The first time Doppio saw a photo of Trish, although he didn't remember that she was his daughter, he had this overwhelming and painful feeling of loss. He asked Diavolo what he planned to do to her, and Diavolo was sure to punish him for even asking, saying it was none of Doppio's business and that Doppio must do what he says with no comment or question.

-The energy between Doppio and Diavolo is so potent that others can sense it when the two are in the same room. The two absolutely reek of toxic codependency, and it's very obvious they're frighteningly obsessed with each other. It makes everyone uncomfortable to be in the same room with them when they're together, and the same when one of them is on the phone with the other.

-Risotto was worried about Doppio. Always had been, since the first time he saw him with Diavolo. Risotto had already hated his boss, but knowing he was hurting Doppio made it that much more intense.

-Really, anybody who was around Doppio and cared enough to notice was worried about him, because he was very visibly not okay.

-Emporio is the son of Doppio and Pesci. Doppio survived the events at the colosseum, and after recovering, he ran away to the U.S.. He had briefly been in a secretive relationship with Pesci shortly before Pesci was killed by Buccellati's group. Doppio was arrested and confined in the Green Dolphin Street prison due to a misunderstanding that could not be cleared up due to his lack of identification, and how he couldn't connect to anyone from Passione at the time due to their massive personnel change after Diavolo's defeat. Doppio gave birth to Emporio in the prison, and used King Crimson to help hide him for years. Eventually, because of his Stand, Doppio was approached by Pucci. Feeling threatened by him because of his history with the very manipulative and abusive Diavolo, Doppio lashed out at Pucci to protect himself and Emporio. All Doppio was able to succeed in was protecting Emporio, but he himself perished.

[kingxlinkwrites]

PERSONAL FIC: Edge of a Knife Ch.1

Got a touch of GID/whump in here, but even if not, it's writing, so here it goes! I'm slowly working on this Supernatural fic, but feel free to read and ask questions if you have any. owo

Also, Lyn and Christian belong to @resonantcrimson <3

Content warnings for ENTIRE fic below. Content warnings for THIS CHAPTER in tags.

c/w: swearing, literally all things supernatural, emotional trauma, violence and physical trauma, character death

Summary: It all started with a paycheck. Lyn wants to find the Winchesters, her brother Christian is dying, and Gage has no idea what he's getting into. He certainly didn't know just how wild things would get upon actually finding the Winchesters, but things never seem to slow down once he and Lyn track the brothers down. It only gets weirder from there, but somehow...none of them can seem to stay away from each other for long.

--

“Well, that was fucking gross,” Gage comments idly as he wipes a glob of mud off of his face.

“What’d you expect?” Ashlyn—no, Lyn—replies, making a face when Gage flings the mud at her. “We went through a creek bed after a storm to get here. It’s supposed to be gross.”

“Correction, you made us go through a creek bed after a storm.”

“You wanted to go in the front, guns blazing, and probably get us killed, so yeah, I wanted to go through the damn creek bed.”

Gage sighs heavily as he starts to climb up the short cliff to the place in question. It was an old mansion, supposedly haunted by something very territorial, which shouldn't have been an issue…if the local kids would just stop agitating the fucking ghost. After the sheriff’s office locked up the gates, the only way in was through the muddy creek bed and up the cliff wall behind the massive building.

It’s not worth arguing with Lyn, he thinks. He just wants to get the job over with. She paid him enough to keep him going for another week or two, if he was careful, just to find these fucking Winchester brothers for her poor, sweet, stupid brother.

Sure, Gage felt bad for the little dude, lying in a hospital bed, probably on the verge of death…but the fuck did that have to do with him?

“This way,” he mutters when he reaches the top of the cliff, Lyn close behind him. “Door’s…open. Be ready.”

Lyn gives a short nod. Together, the two creep towards the open door, just in time for a body to come flying through it, slamming into Gage’s chest and knocking him back towards the cliff’s edge.

“DEAN!” A voice shouts after the body, perfectly in time with Lyn screaming for Gage.

Gage, on the other hand, hits the ground hard, skidding across the wet grass and wrestling with the aggressive figure on top of him. “Would you fucking cut it out—“ Gage starts to snap before the figure grabs him by the face, covering the smaller man’s mouth with one broad hand.

Gage has a split second to look up at the other man, able to take in his features for only a moment. He has the face of an angel, Gage thinks distantly, but there’s a fucking devil in his eyes.

The stranger lifts Gage’s head by the grip on his face and slams it back down into the dirt several times. Gage’s vision goes black, punctuated by Lyn and a third man screaming bloody murder.

And then he’s out.

[greenthena]

@vidavalor how can i say no to this? honestly, quite the tempter.

"Gotta go Up to get Down"

Can you even imagine the beginning of s3: we think we're seeing crowley's fall, but no. it's aziraphale's.

honestly, i don't think he's going to fall. but wouldn't that be a thing? (not really certain if i think "falling" is real or some mindgame orchestrated by the metatron....and that's a whole other rabbit hole that im definitely NOT going to be falling down at 2am. fuck.)

Free will and destiny

Oh! OH! *cracks knuckles* (which, admittedly, isn't as cool as rocking in one' chair like one's philosophy prof, but here we are.)

this is my...fuck, im gonna go here...its my achille's heel. precisely because my content focus back in the grad schools was in the classics and folktales (its a weird mix, but i had pretty much free reign to research what I wanted to and believe me when I say I took advantage of that fact) and the iliad and the odyssey and the influence of greek literature on western interpretations of the hebrew and christian scriptures. (i swear, i have a post-grad degree in eng lit, even if i type exclusively in run on sentences, because i am also adhd af.)

if an oracle gives you a reading, can your actions afterward be considered free will? if god replies to job's questions, can we still say she hasn't intervened? (she doesn't answer, just replies.)

by singling out one human or one angel (or one demon) the very action of choosing a vessel is an act of intervention. so if She wants to remain OUT of human/angelic outcomes, she's doing a poor job of it.

im with you in the "it's a game, not a plan." but i don't think she wants anything for them. "She'd like them all to be free of their understandable anxieties and traumas and to just be able to enjoy the universe She made for them." your argument is solid, don't get me wrong, but i think there's an equally compelling case to be made for the possibility that she just wants to shake the ant farm to see what happens.

IF god is morally good, then, yes. i could imagine that she wants these things for humans and beings in the go universe. for every being to live like the whale. i love that image, btw.

but if it's just a game? and if she can dip in and affect specific players at her discretion? that's....well, it's drawing in the problem of evil. why address certain players and not others? to advance a plan? no. she has no plan. it's a game. then to promote good in her creation? also, no. that's an offense to free will.

imagine that humanity is truly made in her image. that would make humans curious. humans want to know what happens if..... if we eat the apple. if we leave the garden. if we push the button that detonates the nukes. just like she's curious to know what happens when she allows free will.

i suppose it comes down to this: do you see god as curious or as good at her job? would she like "all to be free of their understandable anxieties and traumas and to just be able to enjoy the universe She made for them" or does she just want to witness the outcome of her creations' choices? shake the ant farm, if you will.

in*eff*able

oh, i do love this. alright. but if it CAN'T be fucked up...if determinism IS at play...is it free will? (I know, i know...destiny sparks motivation...sparks choice....sparks destiny)

and if our favorite ineffables are "made for one another" "meant for each other," does that cheapen their choices?

or does god's plan/game/thingy exist as a kind of scaffolding to ensure that, in the end, things turn out for the best? then what is the best? what god has determined is best for her creation? what her creation decides is best for themselves?

then we get ourselves tangled up once again in the issue that god chooses to whom she reveals herself and is therefore guilty of intervention.

Crowley has more faith in God than Aziraphale does

of course. because faith requires that we acknowledge doubt. otherwise its just shoving your fingers in your ears.

but the problem is that he KNOWS god exists. so it's clearly not a matter of faith in her existence. it's a matter of faith in her goodness.

crowley prays in s1 before aziraphale, questions god as to why she's "testing the humans to destruction." his prayer is genuine and vulnerable. we dont see anyone else pray with the conviction that crowley has. he believes he allowed to question her. and what a belief that is.

i guess ill end here before the wine properly sets in. you say she stacked the deck. alright, so if she's the dealer and the house and she's cheating in her hand, how is that free will?

and i guess that's why i think crowley is right to doubt her specifically. doubt her goodness. because if you've got an authority with that much power and they're manipulating the game? well, it's not really a game, is it? it's just cheating.

Wrong Boy

What Bildad the Shuite, Mr. Dalrymple and Warlock's birthday party can tell us about what's going on in the 2.06 Final 15. Another post in a series about how "The Metatron" with Aziraphale at the end of S2 is actually Satan.

Warlock Dowling. The kid Crowley and Aziraphale took care of for a few years, believing him to be The Antichrist. Not actually The Antichrist. The wrong boy.

Warlock's 11th Birthday Party. The reason why Crowley and Aziraphale were there was to try again to stop Armageddon. Hell was supposed to show up at the party. The Devil was sending a gift to his son-- a dog. The Hell Hound. The gift, once accepted by The Antichrist, was supposed to signal the start of Armageddon.

Crowley and Aziraphale were undercover at the party in an effort to stop Warlock from encountering and naming The Hell Hound and starting the end times as a result... but The Hell Hound was late. The moment that results in them realizing they got it all wrong starts out with dialogue that is referenced again in S2-- in relation to The Meeting Ball.

Aziraphale followed Crowley out to The Bentley, mortified by having put on a terrible magic show in front of Crowley. Crowley, though, was gentle and caring in his reply. He tried to reassure Aziraphale and gas him up a bit.

Aziraphale: "That was all a bit of a disaster, I'm afraid."

Crowley: "Nonsense. You gave them a party to remember. Last one they'll ever have, mind..."

As they're sitting in The Bentley and after communicating with Hell during this scene via the radio, they realize that they fucked it up. The kid they thought was the spawn of The Devil is not actually that. Warlock is not The Antichrist. They had the wrong boy this whole time.

Nonsense. The meaning of "balderdash" and "piffle"-- the words spoken by "The Metatron" when he first arrives in 2.06. The first word of what Crowley said to Aziraphale in the "wrong boy" scene.

The gift for the "son". The Hell Hound. The Coffee.

A disaster termed "a night to remember": The Titanic.

The Titanic. Big ship, first of its kind. Hit iceberg. Was thought to be unsinkable. Turns out, it could very much sink. Angels can be tempted. They can sink-- can fall-- to the bottom of the ocean floor. Aziraphale falling is "The Titanic" of his story and the story overall.

If Warlock's birthday party = The Meeting Ball, then Crowley and Aziraphale have the "wrong boy" once again at the end of S2.

Instead of Warlock being mistaken for The Devil's son, "The Metatron" is really The Devil... who appears in the form of the closest thing Aziraphale has to a father-- The Metatron.

"My Heart Will Go On." Theme song from the film 'Titanic' and on Aziraphale's playlist for S2. Uh oh...

Then, there's this:

"It will be a night to remember!" Aziraphale, describing his then-upcoming Meeting Ball in an episode-ending bit of important dialogue while pointing Upwards, foreshadowing both Crowley going Up and Aziraphale's "going Up to get Down" that happens at the end of this Titanic hitting the iceberg. Crowley will actually wind up trying to keep most of the partygoers from not remembering as much of the events of this party as possible... ironically, since Aziraphale says "a night to remember" to Crowley in reference to the kind thing Crowley said to him about the kids being happy to remember Warlock's birthday party.

The next morning, Crowley will use dialogue that references Warlock's birthday party again... either consciously or unconsciously. Either way, it's a dialogue reference to it for us to notice... and it makes sense that Warlock's party would fit into 2.06's Final 15 here because the dialogue we're talking about is from a scene that's actually after the party... and this is all taking place after, well, a party.

The dialogue shows up here:

Crowley: "Oh, I know you. Last time I saw you, you were a giant, floating head, mind."

Welcome to the only other scene in the series in which Crowley has used "mind" at the end of a sentence but for the casual time he did post-Warlock's birthday party. It's calling our attention to the late Hell Hound not arriving at that party... in the moment that "The Metatron" has just arrived here, in the aftermath of the mirrored party.

The Devil himself is here this time.

It might also be worth noting that when Crowley and Aziraphale figure out that Warlock is the wrong boy, it's because of Crowley having just spoken to Hell via the radio in The Bentley... which is also how Satan attacked Crowley in 1.01. Those two scenes are then tied together and both of them are in play in 2.06.

The show also takes pains to call the meeting a "party" several times. Besides Aziraphale saying "we're having a ball", the character who is of The Devil and whose actions let The Devil Himself into the bookshop-- Shax-- twice refers to what's going on as "a party." When she arrives: "how sweet-- they're having a party" and, later, she corrects Mr. Brown of Brown's World of Carpets when he says that what is going on is a meeting. She tells him that it's not a meeting because they were "dancing." That it's a party is referenced several times, further drawing correlation between the climax of S2 and Warlock's 11th Birthday Party.

Crowley-- a demon-- is called upon by "The Metatron" to identify him to everyone else after every single other being in the room fails to recognize him. Every single other being in the room besides Crowley is an angel and *all* of them fail to recognize this being as The Metatron. Every one of them. How can five angels fail to recognize the leader of Heaven? Maybe because that's not actually the leader of Heaven? Maybe because The Devil had to get someone he can control-- and we've seen that he can control Crowley in 1.01-- to tell everyone else that he's The Metatron... which is exactly what happens in this scene?

Crowley identifies the being in such a way that the other angels see him as The Metatron. No one questions him. Rather hilariously, since angels who don't like Crowley are in the room, everyone just believes him and takes what he says at face value. This includes Michael, who has now done this twice-- they also did this during the Job minisode, which we'll look at in a moment.

Michael (gloriously bitchy, asking THE question): "And who are you?"

The context clues suggesting this being's fake identity that led everyone to believe it after its reveal were planted by "The Metatron" upon his arrival... and that's familiar, too. We've seen that one before... Crowley did it earlier in the season.

Remember where we saw that and another significant who are you? one before?

Here, with Sitis:

Crowley gives Sitis suggestion as to who he will appear to be to her, even if they've never met before. Who is he? He's "an old friend, here to offer some comfort." Sitis is having A Day over here and is somewhat resistant at first to influence and she's never met this being before so she naturally has this question:

She's paralleling Michael in 2.06 here. All who are you and why are you interrupting me? I'm a bit busy over here... and what did Crowley say?

"You tell me." Crowley gave her the answer he wanted and when Sitis was resistant and Crowley needed to get to the kids to save them, he influenced her so she'd help him get to who he wanted instead of standing in his way. Crowley seeks to protect the kids, obviously. He has the opposite motivation of Satan in 2.06 but the methods are the same.

Sitis falls under Crowley's suggestion at "you tell me"-- she responds normally-enough but there's enough of her reaction at the start that shows that her mind is being influenced. She gets a little quiet, her eyes widen, she's staring for a brief moment... kinda like Crowley in the chair before he speaks in after "The Metatron"'s arrival in 2.06. Crowley was in Sitis' mind and made her say back to him what he'd told her to say:

"Bildad" quite literally means "old friend" so Sitis basically regurgitates Crowley's "just an old friend" by translating it into a name in her mind. Crowley's "sure" is comedic but this is also an example of Crowley using magical influence over someone-- one of two that happens in S2. In both times, Crowley's use of it is benign in overall intent but it's still not really with the full awareness of the person he's using it on.

This kind of power when used by The Devil, though? Yikes...

The second time we see Crowley do this is with Mister Dalrymple. And what did Crowley suggest-- at Aziraphale's request-- that Mister Dalrymple do? So that Aziraphale could have time to try to lure Mister Dalrymple into his way of thinking-- though the opposite wound up being true?

Invite them to stay and have a chat... over a drink.

A chat over a wee tipple of whiskey. That moment has a paralleling friend in 2.06, too...

A chinwag over a large oat milk latte with a dash/hefty jigger of almond syrup...

Now, we're also referencing The Resurrectionist minisode in The Final 15. You know, the one where Crowley is dragged back to Hell in Edinburgh... the same place Aziraphale went to alone during S2. When asked where Aziraphale was during that time by Shax, Crowley replied that Aziraphale was:

Stocktaking. In the basement. On the surface, this is an excuse Crowley gives Shax to explain why she can't see Aziraphale through the window of the shop while Aziraphale is in Edinburgh. Shax clearly doesn't buy it and tracks down Aziraphale in The Bentley on his way back from Scotland. But this is also a metaphor on two different levels.

The first is that Crowley was dragged back to Hell in Edinburgh in 1827 and that Hell is the basement of the whole Heaven/Hell skyscraper office situation. Edinburgh is Hell is "the basement" to Crowley. While Aziraphale was there, he was working on some of his trauma related to 1827-- taking stock of what he had and where he was at in order to move forward. Aziraphale going to Edinburgh actually is Aziraphale metaphorically "stocktaking in the basement"... it's just that it also potentially foreshadows that once Shax actually gets through that door, it's the start of how Aziraphale is going to wind up doing some further stocktaking in the actual basement that is Hell.

Jump back to Sitis for a moment. Why does Sitis say "Shuite"? It's more important than it seems.

We already looked at why she says "Bildad"-- it's because of Crowley's "old friend"-- but why does she say "the Shuite"? It's not what Crowley said this time, so much as what he did-- jumping into her mind.

Remember later when Crowley uses a homophone-- "Shu-ite" and "shoes"-- and cracks this joke:

Crowley says "shoes" and Michael says "the land of Shua" but Bildad is Bildad "the Shuite" because Sitis was trying to say the other word that's a homophone for "shoes" and "Shu-a" here: "shoo."

Was there was a part of Sitis that was aware of Crowley in her mind was telling him to get out, to leave, to go... or was the fact that she had been trying to get Crowley to leave before he influenced her a factor in how she came up with his identity?

It shows that a person under suggestion by a supernatural being in Good Omens is forced to say and do whatever that being is forcing them to say or do but they might have some mild level of resistance where their words are concerned, if they can find a way to do so. Crowley was not exerting a terribly powerful influence over Sitis because he prefers to not do this at all. But The Devil himself is not going to have any such qualms... and we've been shown in 1.01 that when he takes over Crowley, Crowley really can't resist the influence. Still, he might have been trying, since The Devil needed him to speak and it was Aziraphale in the crosshairs.

And, of course, back in 2.06, The Big Damn Villain Music in the score goes insane at this moment here when "The Metatron" looks at Crowley without Aziraphale noticing-- a look that can be interpreted not just as a glare but as instructions. It's what keeps Crowley in the bookshop. It furthers the suggestion that "The Metatron" is magically influencing Crowley and since Crowley's main contribution is to identify him as The Metatron, well... casts some serious doubt over the idea that this is anybody but the one being who can exert that kind of control over Crowley-- Satan.

Now, go back to Crowley and to "...last time I saw you, you were a giant, floating head, mind."

Aziraphale doesn't totally seem to realize it but the events of the previous night letting everyone into the bookshop has, well, let everyone into the bookshop. Aziraphale thinks of the bookshop as a safe haven where Crowley's concerned and, until The Meeting Ball, it was. But Shax allowed in tipped the dominoes and now means that the bookshop is now overrun, all of Hell can get in, and Crowley's no longer safe from Satan while inside the bookshop.

"...giant, floating head, mind" isn't just about Warlock's birthday party.

It's a reference to The Devil taking over Crowley's mind in 1.01.

It's a reference to that for us and, if Crowley is able to resist at all or is trying to on some level, then it's an equivalent to Sitis saying "Shuite" in an attempt to say "shoo"-- it's a word Crowley is choosing sneaking out in the influence that Satan has over him in that moment. He's screaming wrong boy wrong boy wrong boy and he's in my mind beneath the calmer way that Satan is having him identify him to everyone as The Metatron and hoping Aziraphale will get it.

Everyone believes Crowley when he says the being before them all is The Metatron because the reveal of it makes sense with the clues laid out by what "The Metatron" has said upon his arrival. Old British white guy-sounding being? Using old language-- "balderdash", "complete piffle"? Being a smarmy, patronizing dick towards Michael? Yeah, that sounds like The Metatron... enough that everyone doesn't stop to notice what else this being says the moment he has them all convinced. Phrases like "spit spot"... the signature line of the Hell-aligned 'Mary Poppins'... but we'll look at all the 'Mary Poppins' in end of S2 in another meta.

Back to our next bit of dialogue referencing signifying the presence of The Devil in 2.06. That is "go on." Whether this is just a clue to us from the other scene or whether it's also Crowley, trying to resist the influence to try to warn Aziraphale is interpretable but, either way, when Crowley stays put and doesn't seem to notice Aziraphale silently trying to get Crowley to come with him and The Metatron, there's this dialogue:

Crowley: "Go on. Day can't get any weirder."

Weird means strange, unexpected, unnatural... Something's wrong, something's wrong, something's wrong is what Crowley's basically saying. But it's the "go on" that's the real 👀 because of what it references from earlier in the season...

Remember this?

Crowley: "Go on. Have an ox rib."

Yeah, that's a direct dialogue comparison that calls what "The Metatron" is doing with Aziraphale temptation... which means "The Metatron" is The Devil.

Gabriel showed up in S2 and what he could remember was a quote from The Book of Job-- something God said that night Crowley and Aziraphale found her speaking "to Job" (really: to them, but it's unclear if they've figured that out yet.) God warned at the beginning of S2 that Aziraphale needs to remember the Job minisode something fierce for what's to come. He's being tested. He's being tempted. The Devil shows up in 2.06 to tempt him... and it parallels the ox rib scenes by both echoing and inverting it, like the mirror that it is.

Angels actually can be tempted but that's not really what Crowley was doing in Job's cellar. The ox rib scene is actually about consent. Let's look at the start of it.

As the storm started in 2500 B.C., Crowley started pouring wine. He poured two glasses and offered Aziraphale one. Aziraphale did not take it.

Aziraphale did not take it because Aziraphale, at the time, was not interested in wine. He didn't wish to drink. "The Metatron" manipulates Aziraphale's emotions when it comes to the coffee. He preys on Aziraphale's need to be polite and on how afraid Aziraphale is of The Metatron. Aziraphale has never had any such fear of Crowley-- he hilariously was pretty direct about his distaste for wine back in Job's cellar. The Devil gets Aziraphale to take the coffee by manipulating his trauma but Satan's minister Crowley? Back in 2500 BC? He didn't push Aziraphale to drink.

The ox rib scene is actually about choice and consent. It's important to Crowley that Aziraphale feel safe with him. When Aziraphale expresses that he doesn't want to drink and doesn't want to get drunk, Crowley is fine with that and offers food instead, pointing out that you can't get drunk on food. He's a little mischievous and dry when replying that "angels can't be tempted" to Aziraphale's question of whether or not Crowley was trying to tempt him but it's because he's actually not. He's trying to have a little date with the angel, not get him to fall to Hell. He likes him. He's amused that Aziraphale is finding the offers of food and drink to be tempting-- that he's into it and wants to give something a try. There's no manipulation, just the offer of it.

It's Aziraphale's own choice to try the ox rib. He chooses to take it.

He chooses to try something new and see things a little differently and spend some time with Crowley. It's a healthy choice. It's the polar opposite of the choice Aziraphale makes when The Devil offers him the one thing he wants: a way within his control to be with Crowley forever.

The conversations at Marguerite's that Aziraphale has in S2 are interconnected. He sits at a table there separately twice-- once with Crowley and once with The Devil. Again, Crowley offers Aziraphale a glass of wine-- this time now thousands of years after Aziraphale rejected the first offer of one. Aziraphale drinks now. He and Crowley have shared a thousand bottles of wine since.

They never get to food. Aziraphale doesn't actually eat in the present at all in S2. (Which is the whole damn problem lol.) Doesn't have an eccles cake. Doesn't dine at The Ritz. No vol-au-vents at The Meeting Ball. And, at Marguerite's, he doesn't have a glass of wine and a little late lunch with Crowley. He has one sip of tea in the present for the entirety of S2 before That Damn Coffee-- to try to teach Muriel to do what Aziraphale has actually been rejecting while being in his Heavenly feelings during S2. The healthy choice is actually some food, a glass of wine, and Crowley... not a trauma-loaded coffee from The Devil.

Crowley and Aziraphale joke about temptation where each other is concerned and it's off of the scene in Job's cellar. We've seen it in Rome in 41 AD and we've seen it in the S1 finale in 2019. This is what temptation between them looks like:

They can poke fun at the idea of it because their relationship is built on the idea that they see each other as individual people who make individual choices and that Heaven and Hell don't own them. They own themselves and they choose to share themselves with one another. It's the opposite of the manipulation of temptation, which is why it both parallels how Aziraphale falls prey to The Devil-- by how he does being the opposite of what he has with Crowley-- and why it's over Crowley that Aziraphale falls in the first place... not because loving him is "bad"... for the exact opposite of that. Because loving him is good and it's not loving him to try to find a solution to their problems by saying that the people who have harmed the two of them should come first. That's the point-- no nightingales.

Aziraphale doesn't want power. He doesn't want to run Heaven-- he rejected that first attempt to tempt him by The Devil. He doesn't want to go back. He wants to stay on Earth and live his life with Crowley and he wants so much to never be apart from Crowley. The two things that Aziraphale wants most in the world are both related to Crowley-- he wants to be with him forever and he wants Heaven to admit that they fucked up and that Crowley is good.

Aziraphale already knows Crowley is good. He loves him as he is. He's just furious at Heaven and at The Metatron for what they've done to the being he loves and he's incensed at God for allowing it. Aziraphale has been an angel this whole time and, in his mind, he's been powerless to do anything to fix this. He can't stop Crowley's pain over falling-- over the fact that he still feels like he's unforgivable in the eyes of God. He can't stop him from being hurt by Hell. And Aziraphale has had that rage on simmer for 6,000 years.

His every "I forgive you" is an attempt at, since he's an angel of Heaven, trying to give Crowley what he needs and can't get from Heaven... and Crowley knows it is but he hates it because what he truly wants and needs is just Aziraphale himself. Aziraphale's love is enough.

All Aziraphale wants is for Heaven to admit they fucked up because he thinks forgiveness from God will help Crowley. He thinks it will make this better:

If Crowley were an angel again, would that stop the pain that Aziraphale can't stop? Aziraphale wonders if it might. Because he can't stop it. He's tried. He's not enough. It's a lot of pain to watch the being you love still suffer and try to do what you can to make it stop but to not be enough-- Crowley and Aziraphale both know what that feels like.

The solution is not to run away and it's not to go to Heaven. It's to just make like Gabriel and Beez and choose to live their lives together. If enough people say "nah" to Armageddon, there's no Armageddon. You can't have a war without war. Aziraphale doesn't understand that at the end of S2 yet, though, so when The Devil shows up in the form of the abusive dad who never loved him and basically says:

You know, you were right-- we need people like you. The way you live isn't a sin. I made a mistake. You could come back to Heaven and show us how to be better-- how to do things your way. You could bring your husband. We can all be a family. He can be an angel again and you'll never again have to worry that you'll lose him. You can be together forever...

This is all Aziraphale has ever wanted. The angel who was losing his mind hosting a party for the first time the night before-- one where his human friends and Gabriel mingled together and where everyone knew Crowley was his and they got to dance together like everyone else-- well, that angel is tempted as all fuck.

He falls for (falls in love with) Crowley and he falls (falls from Heaven) for Crowley.

It started, in part, with an arrival at the door. Not "The Metatron"'s arrival. Bildad's much happier, paralleling one:

This is also a note to us: remember him-- Bildad the Shuite. It's important that we do if we want to understand what comes later when a group of people, some of them angels, can't recognize who just came through the door... for the second scene in this season.

Right on cue to ask the Big Damn Question in 2500 B.C. was the first arrival at the bookshop door in S2 and the character most representing Aziraphale's inner struggles in S2... and the one who had been sent away for his own good by the point that The Devil arrives in 2.06...

Gabriel, asking THAT question: "Aziraphale, who is this?"

Aziraphale:

He. Says. He. Is. God told Aziraphale to remember this but he seems to have forgotten that he and Crowley cloaked Crowley's real identity for greater good purposes but the opposite of that could just as easily happen. He didn't really listen to the messenger God sent him-- Gabriel, whose name literally means "messenger"-- when he told Aziraphale to remember Job and so Aziraphale didn't recognize The Devil when he, like Bildad before him, came through the door.

In a sweet way, it's because he so loves Crowley that he doesn't really see him as demonic and so couldn't make a connection between Bildad and "The Metatron."

The Body Swap. Crowley and Aziraphale each pretending to be one another to survive the end of S1. They fooled everyone around them by looking like someone they, technically, are not. In both cases, they were forced into suicide by Heaven/Hell-- by getting into a bath of holy water and by stepping into flames of hellfire-- and survived it because neither of them actually were who they said they were.

Aziraphale's fall parallels the body swap plot as it's a fall of despair.

"We call it 'The Second Coming'." Aziraphale knows who was really at the door in this moment. He knows that there is no Supreme Archangel job, no promises of safety and an eternal life with Crowley. There never was. He made the wrong choice. He let his despair rule him and now the fall he thought was coming in 2500 B.C. is actually here.

Upon realizing that he's been fooled-- has played himself for a sucker, as is the case with negative thought cycles-- Aziraphale steps into the elevator.

S1-- they save each other from being killed by Heaven and Hell in methods that look like forcing them to kill themselves.

S2-- Aziraphale effectively tries to kill himself by getting into the elevator, now knowing who it is who is holding open the door.

He knows the likelihood of his memories being erased is high, which makes choosing to get into the elevator a form of suicide.

Banana, fish, gorilla, shoelace, with a dash of nutmeg. Aziraphale's mantra. His magic words. In the bookshop attack and through the end of S2, though... a banana peel thrown at Maggie. Shax referencing "the sushi." Only the banana and the fish are here.

The Bananafish. A short story by J.D. Salinger about PTSD, trauma and suicide. After some short interactions with a girl representing a daughter-like figure to the main character (Maggie, in Good Omens, who kicks off Aziraphale's S2 plot and provides his motivations throughout)-- the seemingly-fine man who is actually a traumatized war veteran suffering from PTSD suddenly and quickly succumbs to the pain he carries around and the cycle of negative thoughts he suffers and shoots himself dead.

[teaveetamer]

I think other people, and maybe you too, have explained this before. As I've seen it, Edelstans like to pretend that they're pro LGBTQ by insisting the church of Seiros is the Catholic church (even when it actually uses Buddhism imagery like Nirvana/enlightenment etc). But in doing such, the stans conveniently ignore Rhea, Catherine and Shamir. I think this is also because to the stans, lesbian/bisexuality needs a young, cute waifu face attached (Egg) and that alone "counts" in their biased view

Real talk, wild but ever since the whole thing went down I've gotten some new followers and even some people willing to dig back through my old 2020 posts and it's wild because I swear I'm just repeating what myself and many others have been saying for years at this point about basically everything 3H discourse.

Anyways, to be fair, I do know there's a fair few queer folk who also hop on the Church of Seiros = homophobic train and I think that's just because so many queer people in America have significant trauma when it comes to religion, thanks to how America as a whole treats religion. That said, there's also a fair few straight fans who hop on that train as well as an excuse to, again, villify the characters they don't like and prop up the characters they do. And again, it comes down to being unable to discriminate your experiences from the content of the media you're consuming.

Here's my other rant about this: Assuming the Japanese devs, who come from a culture which follows Shinto or Buddhist beliefs primarily, would be specifically writing something to cater to your western world view instead of drawing from their own culture and experience is... certainly something. And not only are you dismissed if you point out the potential ties to Buddhism in the game, a portion of this fanbase actively mocks you for implying that Japanese people might integrate Japanese cultural concepts into their Japanese game. It's ridiculous that "hey, maybe this religion is drawing on Buddhist beliefs and NOT explicitly criticizing western Christianity" was ever a controversial take but, well, it's the year of our lord 2022 and Edelgard Discourse will never let us leave.

Anyway, I'm not going to go into the details of the CoS's ties to Buddhism, I believe @ezralahm did a whole thing on that already. I don't know nearly enough about the topic to do it justice.

[darlingbudsofrae]

Aaron Minyard Appreciation Post

Foxes Appreciation Series : 1 || 2 || 3 || 4 || 5 || 6 || 7 || 8 || 9 || 10 ||

It is a truth universally acknowledged that out of everyone of the foxes, Aaron Minyard is without a doubt, the most overlooked, underappreciated, and hated one in the fandom.

Just seeing the landmine that is twitter brings ache to my heart.

This kid isn’t appreciated enough and it personally insults me.

Aaron Minyard has a traumatizing past- an abusive and alcoholic mom, struggled through drug addiction-

And considering his deal with Andrew we can assume that he didn’t really have any friends or someone to confide to.

This kid probably repressed all this trauma and had a hard time opening about it because being surrounded mostly by shitty adults, who can blame him?

He also doesn’t believe in therapy. 

The fact that he went with Andrew to Betsy’s and yes he was blackmailed for it but still, like at that point, you can’t honestly blame him for not believing it’ll work or that him and Andrew could actually fix whatever their problem is when Andrew had probably been ignoring him his whole life unless necessary.

Point is, he went and despite the circumstances, I refuse to believe that there wasn’t some inkling there of hope of mending broken bones, y’know?

This kid has a shitty past and it doesn’t really justify his actions but the amount of consideration people go through with the other foxes for their misbehaviors while just dismissing Aaron as an asshole without giving that same courtesy really sucks.

Aaron is the perfect example of do nine good things and have sex under the bridge one time and people would remember you for the latter.

I really wish people would give him the same consideration as others, or at least leave him alone if they can’t muster that much courtesy.

What I really appreciate about Aaron’s characters, similar to the other foxes, is how he strive to have that life. 

Like with a shitty past, it’s understandable that the people around him always doubt him and think he amounts to nothing but what did Aaron do?

He went to university on an exy scholarship and goes to pre-med.

Pre-med. Biochemistry- I had that course once back in my freshman year and I swear it was an absolute nightmare.

Imagining Aaron Minyard taking that up for five years, acing it, and playing exy on the side- 

Respecc

Like, no, seriously- this kid is working so hard to have a decent life and despite everything, he’s right there fighting for it and I just respect that so much.

There is nothing more admirable on a character for me than making an effort despite life getting in the way.

Because Aaron Minyard could have easily given up. He could have easily given in to the expectations or lack thereof for him.

But kid freaking played on collegiate exy and aced biochem at the same time.

And it’s not like he just played exy because of the scholarship, he’s actually a pretty decent backliner.

We really need more exy plays content.

Also, his character is very complicated and a part of me is really sad that we didn’t get any of him more (for redemption arc and just stuff) and the other foxes in the books.

Oh well.

“Looks like you've managed to completely embarrass yourself in both languages.”

My child has a few lines and he’s still savage af.

Imagine the chaos he and Neil will bring if they were actually friends or something.

Probably the reason why they’re not-

And yeah he’s a bit homophobic and I will never condone that

But most people forget that AFTG was set in 2006 - 2007 in South Carolina when y’know- it wasn’t really uncommon.

And I know that still sucks and it doesn’t cancel out the things he said but the kid was 20 at that time.

He's still growing as a person.

Also, he grew up in the same environment as Nicky.

Heck, he lived there longer.

He was surrounded by conservative Christian homophobes and add that with a lack of awareness towards LGBTQIAP+ matters that time—

I'm just saying, homophobia is most of the times instilled by society and it could actually be unlearned. 

Also, while the rest of the foxes were all worried about Andrew hurting Neil, Aaron was the only one there who was worried about Neil hurting Andrew.

I said what I said. 

I said this once but out of all the I'm fine or indications of being fine given in AFTG (mostly by Neil, especially by Neil), it was actually Aaron's that made me sob.

Like that night at thanksgiving when there was blood everywhere and poor kid is trembling because he just freaking killed someone and someone was messing with his brother and everything was a freaking mess and he doesn't know anything—

But his brother was tied up and everything and the first thing Andrew asked for was about him and of course he had to assure him he was fine.

I cried, I freaking cried.

I can never also emphasize enough how Aaron Minyard took one look at Dr*ke and straight-up killed him. We do not talk enough about this.

No one appreciates this enough.

No, seriously, I saw someone recently say why we're hyping up a murderer (you think I'm kidding but nope this person took the time to list Aaron’s flaws and one of them was “murderer”)

Like yeah, violence was kind of normal in AFTG cuz y'know—

But he freaking killed Dr*ke. Like he actually ended that MF and that was hands down one of the best things that happened in the books.

MF deserved to die and Aaron delivered.

And this is Aaron Minyard we're talking about.

The normal twin.

Despite his shitty past, this kid doesn't do violence. The extent of killing Dr*ke is honestly freaking heavy.

Like we're talking about psychological here, how he just recently found out that this has been happening to Andrew for years.

In psychology, there's this thing where we feel guilty for the things that happened to someone close to us even if we have no correlation to it.

There's also the killing itself— the effects of that like the nightmares.

Somewhere in TKM, Katelyn told Neil that Aaron gets headaches and nightmares about that night.

But this MF is willing to do it again because of course he does.

This precious smol bean I can't—

Aaron Minyard truly deserves all the best and I just love him so much.

[deservedgrace]

i'm always going to say NTA with people talking about being mad about evangelical/christianity stuff. bottom line, if something affects you, it affects you. you don't have to be grateful just because it could be worse. you can always find someone who has it "worse". in addition, pain and trauma are subjective. something that causes lifelong, extensive harm for one person might be no big deal for another person.

and just to say it, my parents weren't the """best""" christians either. they also drank alcohol, they watched secular movies and listened to secular music, my mom swears like a sailor & my dad has always been more liberal. that doesn't translate to my experience with the religion at all though. my parents got to go when they wanted and leave when they wanted, they got to engage with it as adults with adult critical thinking skills and employ a "take what you like and leave the rest" attitude about it, they got to decide for themselves what rules were "real" and what rules were "encouraged", and they got to decide how, when, and in which way they got to engage with the content and sermons.

my experience with the church and religion as a whole was extremely different. my parents hid that they didn't take the religion all that seriously. i had to engage with it on my parent's terms, and far, far more frequently as i went to christian school and had bible class every single day in addition to church on sunday and youth group during the week. my media was restricted, not as badly as some people as i could watch and listen to some secular media, but the difference is really clear when i talk to anyone my age about "things """"we"""" all watched growing up". i was raised in it since birth, so they got to me before i had critical thinking skills and wasn't exposed to outside perspectives in any significant way until i was practically an adult. i took everything extremely seriously. i was told i had to listen to the adults telling me about god no matter what otherwise i'd risk going to hell. i was told questioning them was satan trying to speak through me. i believed them when they said i was horrible and sinful simply due to being a human. they taught me to dissociate from my "human needs" because they are "sinful" and i did it really fucking well. i thought that i had to be a good christian to be a good person. my parents and i had fully and completely different experiences with it.

i bring all this up to say, your experience with the religion is not just what your parents did or didn't do, and their experience is not your experience. just being in that environment can be damaging even if your parents didn't take it as seriously as most people. your experience not matching your parent's is common and doesn't dismiss your experience.

my old church is also a "love the sinner, hate the sin" church. both of my parents took me coming out relatively well but the environment they raised me in made me genuinely nervous about it. the difference between "kill all homosexuals" churches and "love the sinner hate the sin <3" churches is that the first church thinks they have the right to take care of us now and the other church thinks god has the right to take care of us later. i'm not claiming they're equally actively dangerous to queer folks but their underlying beliefs are functionally the same. so, so many of the "love the sinner hate the sin <3" churches don't actually think the first church is wrong, they just disagree with how they're going about it. it's completely understandable that you would feel unsafe coming out, "love the sinner, hate the sin" is not an affirming or safe environment for queer folks to be in. allowing someone to be raised in that environment at best shows a lack of understanding about exactly how damaging that rhetoric is, and those people often do not feel safe to come out to or be yourself around.

you are allowed to talk about how evangelicalism has affected you, and it's completely understandable to be upset about how it's affected your relationship with your parents. you don't have to wait for a level of "bad enough" to be upset about it either. if it's affecting you, it is "bad enough".

ATIA For Being Mad About This

TW’s for homophobia, transphobia, and young earth creationism It’s been a minute since I’ve posted about being an exvangelical and religious trauma. I am in a different place than I was when I started this blog and I wanted to focus more on stuff that made me happy, but recent events have pushed me to talk about this again so here we go. I don’t consider myself an ex Christian or atheist as I have had some time to reflect but I do agree with the label of exvangelical. I feel like being raised evangelical gave me a lot of self hatred and distrust which created a wedge between me and everyone else I knew.

I feel I can’t complain or am being ungrateful. My parents were, thankfully, not extremists or fundamentalists. They drank alcohol and enjoyed secular movies and music and mom is a liberal. I was allowed to play with dinosaurs and watch a lot of cartoons so I’ve had it better than a lot of people I’ve read stories from. Other times, I’m still really mad at how evangelicalism affected our relationship and my childhood. I was never homeschooled or sent to any religious camps for example, but I remember hating Vacation Bible school and wondering why I had to do it as it felt like more school during the middle of summer.

Dad loved going to these “hip” rock and roll churches, like the one above, that appealed to a Gen Xer like him and expected us to love the message. To me those places were full of plastic people with subtle bigotry and were no fun with the music causing a sensory overload for me. Many of them were those “love the sinner, hate the sin” kind of churches. He had us watch this TV show all the time called God Friended Me that, while less in your face than Pureflix movies, still held a negative view of non religious people. That made me a bit ashamed for doubting the faith because of how he viewed it as the wrong path.

I feel like almost all my “friends” have been fake. They were all kids and adults that my parents liked but I found them aggravating to be around. They would tell me I was wrong for liking dinosaurs or believing in evolution and that I should spend more time reading the Bible. Many of them were very homophobic and transphobic. The kids would all make jokes about “Adam and Steve” and the adults would gripe about how tough Christians had it in America while ranting about beating up trans people if they used the same bathroom as their kid. To a centrist like my dad, these were just different “opinions” I needed to respect but they caused me to be ashamed of my interests and created a lot of fear and self hatred for me. I always felt like an outcast, being neurodivergent, an adoptee, one of the few POC in that community and being the only one who wasn’t interested in “family, faith and football”.

While my parents have never been super hardcore about religion or anti LGBTQ, I still felt anger and distrust towards them because of the company they kept and their affiliation. Dad is still caused me a lot of distrust because of his need to yell in your face if you screwed up and his traditional beliefs about needing to be productive or the dad being owed respect. All that is why I never took him seriously when he told me “you know you can tell me anything”. I still felt ashamed for liking or talking about “girly” interests I had like Steven Universe, magical girls or Makoto Shinkai films because of that culture I was raised in. I still feel like I have to keep things I like private or get defensive of it because of the kids who would tell me “dinosaurs aren’t real” which hurts way more than some think when you’re 12 and just want to share what you like.

I never brought up religion when coming out to them as trans but that was one part of my distrust. I’m still salty about how dad ruined my coming out and made it about his feelings, telling me I was wrong for interpreting things he said like “god made you perfect” or I should have come out sooner when he did little to nothing to prove I could trust him. I feel like I should be happy because they accepted me but they still put me in an environment that created a lot of fear and self hatred for me. I don’t know if I really love or trust them or if I want a relationship with them. I’ve had good memories with them that were genuine, but I feel like our relationship has gotten more toxic over the last several years. I feel like I didn’t have genuine faith and was just following them because I am still confused about religion and what I really believe. Sometimes, I just want to run away and for a fresh start and there’s times I hate my mundane life and want something more than what I’ve been given.

@deservedgrace @scarletspider-lily

[fluffernuttermemes]

Assorted Metallica Starters

Sentence Starters pulled from assorted Metallica lyrics. Change pronouns and wording to your heart’s content. Content warnings for mentions of: death, injury imagery, Christianity, apocalypse, hunting or stalking, and trauma.

“Decide just what you believe.“

“I see faith in your eyes.”

“Broken is the promise.”

“The healing hand is held back by the deepened nail.”

“Follow the god that failed.”

“Find your peace, find your say, find the smooth road on your way“

“Trust you gave, and a child to save. Left you cold and [HIM/HER/THEM] in grave.”

“It feeds, it grows, it clouds all that you will know.”

“We hunt you down without mercy.”

“Feel our shift every move we trace.”

“We hunt you down without mercy, hunt you down all nightmare long.”

“Your luck runs out!”

“ Horrific memory twists the mind“

“Still alive?!”

“Still you run!”

“You hide, but will be found.”

“Release your grip without a sound“

“What’s to come? What’s to be?!”

“You crawl back into your obsession never to return.”

“This is your confession?”

“You rise, you fall, you're down then you rise again.”

“Broken, beat and scarred, but we die hard“

“The dawn, the death, the fight to the final breath...”

“The world has turned its back!”

“the days have turned pitch black.”

“The fire’s dead and gone.”

“So what now? Where go I?“

“You think it’s all said and done?”

“Assassinate the living flame.”

“Venom of a life insane bites into your fragile veins”

“The memory remains.”

“What don't kill you make you more strong.”

“Ash to ash, dust to dust, fade to black.”

“Better just stay down.“

“Mouth so full of lies.“

“Keep praying. Just keep waiting“

“But the sunshine never comes.”

“Just stay down this time.”

“Hide in yourself.”

“You’ll have your time.”

“God, I’ll make them pay!”

“Take it back one day.”

“I’ll splatter color on this gray.”

“The day is coming, Armageddon's near, Inferno's coming.“

“Save us from fate, save us from hate, save ourselves before it's too late.“

“Come to our need, hear our plea, save ourselves before the earth bleeds.“

“The day is dawning, the time is near.”

“Love is a four letter word and never spoken here.“

“I suffer this no longer.”

“I’ll put an end to this, I swear.”

“Let us have peace, let us have life, let us escape the cruel night.“

“Let us have time, let the sun shine, let us beware the deadly sign.“

“Fear in your eyes.”

“Bright is the moon, high in starlight. Chill in the air cold as steel tonight“

“It’s later than you realized.”

“Seek the wolf in thyself.“

“[HE/SHE/THEY] never gets respect.”

“Fuck it all and no regrets“

“I need a voice to let myself go free“

“I feel my world shake like an earthquake-- hard to see clear-- Is it me? Is it fear?“

“I'm madly in anger with you.”

“I want my anger to be healthy.“

“I need to set my anger free!”

[swordladywritesthings]

Kiss prompt 70 logicality?

70. Starting With A Kiss Meant To Be Gentle, Ending Up In Passion 

(this is the oldest ask in my inbox... sorry lol)

It’s a Good Morning

Pairing: logicality

Words: 2130 (i got too into it)

TWS: homophobia, using Christianity to defend homophobia, past homophobia within the church, mentions of violence, food (this sounds really bad but i promise this is mostly a fluff fic)

AN: I’m so sorry this took forever Tess! I swear this just started out as fluffy domestic glasses gays but then the ✨projection and past trauma✨ showed up to the party, so we went with it. If you’re sensitive to religion-based homophobia or homophobia in general, I’m using these lines -> ~~~~~~~~ to mark when the section talking about it begins and ends, or you could totally not read this fic at all, no hard feelings. Seriously, I care about y’all’s mental health. If you need to skip this one, there will be zero hurt feelings. Anyways, here’s the actual fic lol

  Logan couldn’t really explain it, but he had woken up in a good mood. 

   He had finished his work yesterday, so he had no assignments to grade or students to meet with over missing homework. As much as he loved his work, even he needed breaks. 

   Because he had nothing to catch up on, he allowed himself to sleep in a bit, waking up to sunshine spilling over his face. Slowly, he stretched out, giving a catlike yawn. Once he finished his stretch, he felt something shift next to him.

   Patton latched onto Logan’s torso, grumbling something about wanting to go back to sleep, and buried his face further in Logan’s shoulder. Logan chuckled softly, carding his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair. He always loved how he looked in the morning, sleepy eyes and pillow-tossed waves hanging in front of his face. Looking at him here in the morning sun, Logan felt himself falling in love all over again. 

   He pressed a gentle kiss to Patton’s forehead, making him scrunch up his face like a kitten as he wormed his way up to Logan’s face, nudging his nose into his cheek and silently demanding a proper kiss. Laughing a little, Logan obeyed, giving him a small kiss. 

   Patton whined petulantly when Logan began to pull away to get up, grabbing his arm and pulling gently. “Noooooo,” he said in a high-pitched tone. “Don’t get uuuuuup.”

   “Patton, mi corazón, if you want me to make you coffee and breakfast, I have to get up.”

   Patton huffed. “But that’s so far away,” he whined again, sitting up with Logan and planting his face into his collarbone, enjoying the warmth.

   “Would you like to come with me?”

   Patton nodded, and gathered the blanket around his shoulders as he stood up with Logan. 

Logan, gently taking his hand, led the two of them down the hall to the kitchen, pressing another kiss to Patton’s brow as he sat down at the table. He pulled away to start making the coffee, and Patton decided he didn’t want that much distance.

   As Logan replaced the filter in the machine and measured out the coffee grounds, Patton walked over and hugged him from behind, snaking his arms around his waist and pressing his face into his shoulder. Logan leaned back into the touch, humming in contentment as he continued the process of making the coffee. Once the machine was prepped and brewing, he turned around in Patton’s arms and put his hands on his shoulders lazily.

   “Feeling cuddly this morning, are we?” He asked teasingly, swaying them back and forth like they were in the middle of a slow dance.

   Patton’s pout was one to rival Virgil’s, and Logan wanted to laugh and cheer him up and kiss it off his face all at the same time.

   He led them in a sort of slow dance around the kitchen, Patton’s blanket trailing behind like a cape. To compensate for the lack of music, he began to sing under his breath, making Patton smile that sleepy smile that Logan adored so much. At that point, he couldn’t hold back anymore. Softly, he leant forward and pressed his lips to Patton’s, a gentle display of pure love and affection. Patton responded slowly, clearly still half-asleep. Logan chuckled, making Patton pull away.

   “No more kisses for you until you brush your teeth,” he said, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

   “What?” Logan squawked indignantly. “My breath is fine!”

   “It’s really not, firefly,” Patton laughed, making Logan’s heart do a triple flip in his chest. 

   He tried to kiss Patton again, only getting a hand on his chest and a burst of giggles that made him smile all the same.

   “I mean it! If you want kisses, you gotta brush your teeth first. Thems the rules, honeybee.”

   “It makes no sense to brush my teeth before breakfast! They’ll just get dirty again, and I’ll have to brush them all over again.” Now it was Logan’s turn to pout, making Patton giggle again and give him a quick kiss to make him smile.

   “Guess you can’t kiss me till after breakfast then, hmm?” He said, knowing exactly what he was doing. Logan huffed, then stalked away to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Patton heard him grumbling to his toothbrush, making him roll his eyes fondly. 

   Exactly two minutes later, Logan was back and immediately inserted himself into Patton’s arms. Giving a small kiss to the kiss of Patton’s nose, he pretended to be annoyed as he spoke. “Is that good enough for you, my dear?”

   Patton rolled his eyes affectionately. “Yes, my love, you are sufficiently un-stinkified.”

   “That’s not a word,” Logan remarked, even as he was leaning in to kiss Patton properly.

   The two of them stood there for a few long moments, sharing sweet kisses and affectionately teasing remarks. Eventually, though, Patton pulled himself out of Logan’s arms.

   “Can we have breakfast? I’m hungry.” Logan giggled a bit, then nodded.

   “That sounds like a good idea, but I really don’t feel like cooking. Would you like to go out for pancakes?” 

   Patton’s face lit up, and he nodded eagerly. “Yeah, that sounds good! We’ve gotta get dressed first, though. I have a feeling you don’t want to show up to the place in constellation PJs and a NASA shirt.” 

   Logan crossed his arms over his shirt self-consciously. “You have a point.”

      A few minutes later, Logan was dressed and sitting on the couch, looking at the news headlines on his phone. He had chosen a simple dark blue T-shirt and jeans, figuring he could go one day being unprofessional.

   Patton called out from the end of the hall, making Logan look up. “Ready?” He asked, tugging a shirt over his chest. It was bright yellow and had “bee kind” on the front. Logan had gotten it for him for his birthday last year, and it had quickly become one of Patton’s favorite shirts.

   Logan nodded, standing up from the couch and going over to the door. When Patton came up next to him, he took his hand, intertwining his fingers, and walked out toward their car.

   It was a short drive to the breakfast place, and soon they were headed into the building. Logan took his bag with him, which was unusual. He didn’t like taking it with him to places, afraid of misplacing something important. Though when Patton questioned him about it, he just flashed a smile and said “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Pat,” a bit too innocently for Patton’s liking. 

   They approached the host and asked for a table. The host smiled politely as he led them to their table, but his smile turned more genuine as he noticed their still intertwined hands. Once he had given them their menus and silverware and such, he bent down and spoke quietly, like he was sharing a secret with them. 

   “You two are a really cute couple, and I’m so happy you’re confident enough to hold hands in public. It gives me hope for my boyfriend and I.”

   Patton practically beamed and tightened his grip on Logan’s hand. Logan smiled too.

   “Thank you,” he took a quick moment to look at his nametag, which read ‘Koda’ “I’m hopeful for you and your boyfriend as well.”

   He nodded, and went on with taking their orders. Patton ordered the sweetest thing on the menu, a stack of pancakes with sprinkles and fruit. Logan went with a simple stack of pancakes, only smiling at Patton’s urging to spice it up a little. Koda left to deliver their orders to the kitchen, and they fell into a comfortable silence. Patton looked out the window and made faces of adoration at all the passing dogs, and Logan went back to reading the news, rubbing his thumb across the back of Patton’s knuckles occasionally.

      Koda came back with their food a few moments later. Patton clapped excitedly, thanking him with a huge smile. Logan also gave his thanks, though much calmer.

   Patton dug in, making contented noises as he ate. Logan, meanwhile, was rummaging around in his bag for something. He found what he was looking for, because quietly he pulled out a jar of Crofters and started spreading it on his pancakes.

   Patton, of course, burst into laughter.

   “Don’t laugh at me! It’s good!” Logan said defensively. 

   “Oh no, sweetheart, I’m not criticizing! You’re just… I just love you.” Patton responded, still laughing a little

   At this Logan blushed about as red as his Crofters. They both went back to eating, though Logan was a lot more flustered than before. They both finished eating quickly, wanting to get back home.

~~~~~~~~~~CONTENT WARNING~~~~~~~~~~~~

   On the drive home, they passed a group of people with signs. Logan’s jaw clenched and his hands tightened on the steering wheel, and Patton stared out the window at them. He caught sight of a “God Hates Gays” sign and instantly frowned.

   “Logan, stop the car.” He said, completely serious.

   This caught Logan off-guard. He risked a look away from the road to look at Patton. “That doesn’t seem like a very good idea, Patton.”

   “Stop the goddamn car.” He responded, clearly enraged.

   Logan sighed and pulled over, pulling the key from the ignition. He turned to face Patton, worry already clear on his face. “What’s the-” His sentence was cut off by Patton unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the door. He looked back into the car when Logan didn’t move.

   “Well, are you coming?”

   “This really doesn’t seem wise, Patton.”

   “I don’t care. They can’t just go around with signs like that. People like that screwed me up so much as a kid, there is no way in hell that I’m going to let them do that to any other kid.”

   Logan, seeing the conviction and anger in his eyes, simply nodded and got out of the car with him.

   Patton grabbed his hand and stomped up the sidewalk toward the protesters, dragging Logan behind him. The moment that they came close to the group, he spoke, his voice louder than Logan had ever heard it.

   “Hey! You can’t just stand around like this condemning people!”

   “The First Amendment says that we can,” one of the protesters said smugly, only making Patton angrier.

   “Screw the First Amendment! People like you screwed my life up by convincing me that who I am is wrong and unholy, which took me years to unlearn! There is no way in Hell that I’m going to stand by and let you do it to other people!”

   “Well that’s because it is wrong and unholy! The Bible says-”

   “Oh if you want to quote religion at me, please go ahead! I’ve got plenty of experience with that. Have you read John 8:7? “He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone.” Or maybe First Corinthians 13:13? “Now abide faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love.” You can’t just stand there and quote Bible verses at me, get a better defense!”

   The protester looked stunned, but scoffed. “What are you going to do about it, hit me?”

   “No,” Patton shouted, rising to his full height. “I’m going to do this.” With a quick pull, he pulled Logan to him and pressed a searing kiss to his lips. Logan barely had time to react before Patton was storming away, tugging Logan along with him and leaving the protesters in stunned silence.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

   The instant that they were back in the car, Patton started apologizing. 

   “I’m so sorry Logan, I don’t know what got into me!”

   “Patton-”

   “I was just so angry! How could they say those things?”

   “Patton-”

   “I know that wasn’t the right thing to do, but I couldn’t help myse-”

   His sentence was cut off by Logan launching himself over the center console and kissing him fiercely. Patton melted instantly, sliding his hands into Logan’s hair and pulling him closer, almost into his lap. Logan didn’t break the kiss for a long while, letting himself get caught up in the moment. When he did pull away, it was only because he needed to breathe.

   “You,” He said, breathless. “Are the bravest, most fearless, and the hottest person I have ever known. You, Patton Nitika, are insanely attractive when you’re shouting at homophobes.”

   Patton let out an almost hysterical giggle and kissed Logan again, cupping his face in his hands. “God, I love you.”

   “I assure you, mi corazón, the feeling is completely mutual. Are you ready to go home?”

   Patton nodded, and Logan pulled away, settling back into his seat. He started the car again and started driving home, feeling Patton’s eyes on him the entire time.

   Yeah, Logan was in a good mood today.

[nightcoremoon]

there's lots of tiny brained bad takes of the far left branding things as Bad™ based solely on their association to other things or certain aspects of part of their fanbase.

this isn't to discredit the shit idiot brain fungus plaguing everyone from centrists, the moderate right, the far right, and the alt right, and even some of the moderate left, where they label everything that isn't about a Cishet White Male American Capitalist Bootlicker who's stateist, ambiguously christian/atheist, neurotypical, able-bodied, has "aryan" facial attributes, is an insufferable asshole, and the like, as "SJW garbage".

but see, prejudice and judgment is bad even if it's not motivated by minority demographic. being a rude dismissive asshole is, you know, bad. maybe making fun of a furry or whatever isn't as bad as being a racist, but you're still a fucking dickhead either way. fuck both of you but fuck the racist more. I'll punch both of you but punch the racist twice (maybe a third time for good measure). do y'all understand what I'm trying to get at here with the tiers of badness? the shades of grey? the steps down the path of evil from "kind of rude" to "literally hitler"?

bigotry is not the only bad thing in the world. yeah it's one of the worst, but you can talk about other bad things without discrediting that, which I know is next to impossible for teenagers (or people who never bothered to mentally progress from such) to comprehend.

anyway what sparked this is all the fuckin joker memes. now I went into it expecting, you know, literally taxi driver 2 followed by a silly horror movie about a clown murdering people. which is what the joker of the comics is all about. if I never watched the movie and only saw, what, the killing murray scene, the stairway dancing scene, the trailers, and joaquin phoenix sitting in a padded room and laughing, that's exactly what I'd had gotten.

but like. I fucking watched it because my dad wanted to watch it with me and he fucking loves all things batman (except Ben Affleck). and wolverine but mostly batman. he's a comic nerd. so yeah I went to watch it with him.

and it was legitimately terrifying from a purely psychological perspective. it's LITERALLY the best scary movie I've ever seen without being horror in the slightest. the acting, the writing, the score, the pacing, the cinematography, it was well put together without being a moffat level overproduced mess. it was a good movie. you're allowed to not care for it or not like it but to objectively call it a bad movie is not only a logical fallacy (eye of the beholder) but it also discredits the opinion of every single person who didn't hate it and makes you come off as a pompous fucking asshole rather than having different tastes.

it's about a guy with severe mental trauma in a bad situation trying to make the best of it and care for his family and hold down a job but he gets fucked over from literally every angle and eventually he snaps and makes a mistake and kills the misogynist rich asshats on the train. oh fuck. he could have gone to the police and said self defense and go through the court system but wait, society in gotham doesn't allow for a clean system of justice when you aren't rich. so instead he proceeds to be a major creepazoid turned murdering lunatic blaming everyone else for his own bad situation instead of the whole deal where he did stupid shit like taking a gun into a fucking children's hospital and stuck his fingers inside a child's mouth and stealing shit and falling further down the rabbit hole. until finally, he says fuck it and seeks revenge. the whole bloody mess that follows is his own fault. he chose to kill people. he chose to murder for petty reasons. he made his decisions and he suffered the consequences for it. all of the festering rotten crime in the city spawned by waynecorp's supreme negligence heralded him as a hero and so begins batman's story.

arthur fleck is not a fucking hero. he is a villain through and through. his circumstances were unfortunate but he made the wrong decisions. the world fucked him over and he said okay and retaliated. joker is exactly the fucking same as breaking bad. arthur and walter white are both evil people through their own decisions. but they were once normal people. and that's the point. the scariest monsters in the world are usually the white men angry at the world for their own shortcomings. oswald. ruby. dahmer. bundy. gein. manson. klebold and harris. white. fleck. they're all the filth stuck in the gutter of society that, if left unchecked, has deadly results.

I'm not kidding at all when I say joker was an important movie for myself personally to see exactly when I saw it. because that first half, I'm not gonna lie, it got me. the therapy didn't work and then it was taken away. he didn't eat most days because he had to support his mother. the people he worked with were dickheads, the people he commuted with were dickheads, his boss was a dickhead, people treated him like garbage on the streets. he couldn't remember the trauma inflicted on him when he was a baby but it still warped every aspect of his life. he had aspirations but lacked the skills. he was sad. alone. empty. he was suicidal. he was me.

then he started killing people and using the neighbor girl as a tulpa and I realized oh no oh god oh shit OH FUCK I need to change from this. and I did.

joker is a perfect template of how not to react to the world when it kicks in your teeth. it's a perfect template of a dark movie. just enough to sympathize with the bad guy but not enough to excuse his actions. the opposite of star wars with kylo ren. a good movie. a good character. an amazing actor. a terrible person.

if you watched joker thinking you're watching the story of the protagonist, you're right, but if you conflate protagonist with the good guy, yeah you won't like the fucking movie because it'll leave a sour taste in your mouth. you'll feel slimy. disgusting. unless you're a megadouche shitlord piece of human fucking garbage who wants to cosplay arthur fleck because he's so damn cool like walter white and eric cartman and rick sanchez and bojack horseman and tyler durden and all those FUCKING HORRIBLE LOATHESOME HUMANS TO NEVER EVER TRY TO EMULATE OR YOU ARE AN UNEMPHATIC ASSHOLE AND A MORON TO BOOT.

if you hated the movie, that's fine. you're kinda supposed to hate it. and if you loved the movie, that's fine so long as you understand what the message was. but if it's one of your favorite movies of all time ever made holy shit please go to therapy jesus christ.

still the point of this post is, discrediting the movie as a steaming pile of shit is incredibly ignorant. and as for the "good movies made by white men are only liked by other white men and are therefore bad movies" thing... if y'all can thirst over eddie brock in the trainwreck of venom and admit that the standards of good movie vs bad movie are all subjective, you're a goddamn idiot if you can't apply the same logic and reason to every movie just because some white boys like edgy clowns (even tho joker is way less edgy than pennywise but go off) in abusive relationships with harlequins. oh and assflash newshole, I'm not a white man.

I swear this bandwagoning bullshit is exactly the same mentality as "hurr durr nickelback worst band ever" even though nickelback is ripe with musical talent underneath a few pop songs that they wrote for the record label as part of their career so they can make a fuckin living BECAUSE CAPITALISM IS THE ROOT OF ALL EVIL and also because of all the misogyny that bled its way into the music industry in the 2000s but that's a topic for another day. 'joker bad' and 'nickelback bad' are products of the same mental decay that social media wrought upon us all, inflicting mass mob mentality and incapacity for individualistic rational thought. which is exactly why there's a war between camp 'joker is bad' and 'joker is amazing' and nobody acknowledges the group in the middle that's like 'joker was good objectively but also terrible subjectively and content-wise'. polar. I could make a political statement and also say how the neoliberals and the fascists are at war while the people in the middle are caught in the crossfire and forced to fight like pawns on a chessboard, but the moderate right, dumbass centrists, pastel commies, and pockets of the moderate left, but that just throws everything into chaos.

tl;dr learn to think for yourselves omg

[aromaticspaceace]

Sometimes I hate my old religion with a passion.

TW: Swearing, descriptions of evangelical christian asshattery, transphobia, panic attacks, and horrible medical professionals incoming. 

I went to finally get "officially" tested for my self-diagnosed ADHD today, at one of the 3 places locally that does the testing. I had already given them my name as "Phillip" so my obviously-afab-ass was committed to the whole "visibly trans" thing before I walked through the door. (In retrospect, I should have listened to my gut telling me to get out when the receptionist/doctor's wife kept making me repeat "Phillip" over the phone as I tried to make the appointment, very transparently fishing for an afab name that I wasn't going to give her.) 

Finding this place was tricky to start with, since it was kind of in the middle of nowhere, behind one an industrial-park complex in one of those sketchy trailer-park-looking prebuilt houses. But when I finally did get there, this (goddamn MEDICAL) practices' waiting room was just. wall-to-wall evangelical Christian propaganda. A whole table full of Christian foreign-missionary support pamphlets. Kitschy religious cross-stitch posters on the walls. On the table next to the couch, a  huge collection of "BC" comic strips (that one with the neanderthals) but y'know, only the religious ones.

The radio was even on the ken-hamm-spewing local christian music station that was all I listened to when I was a Good Christian Kid, and that I had successfully avoided for an entire year up til now. One of those good old "construct your entire identity around Christ and hang all of your self-worth around the Church" songs was playing -- one of the ones I recognized from worship services that used to make me cry regularly.

and. well. I left my semi-culty evangelical church a couple of years ago and I'm 100% not over it. I still live with my firmly-evangelical parents, for crying out loud, and I still live with the constant guilt, the destroyed sense of self-worth, the trauma of questioning my own freaking perceptions of reality. There's a reason I've been picking and choosing when to expose myself to probably upsetting religious stuff, and trying like hell to avoid doing so without warning (like, say, 8:00 am on a normal Thursday morning).

So yeah, I had a panic attack in the waiting room, and nearly turned around and left right there. I was barely holding back tears, and I couldn't breathe deeply until I got into the (thankfully more neutral) doctor's office. The appointment itself could have gone worse, at least- only one vaguely apologetic reference from the doctor about him being a "not judge-y" religious person, presumably in response to me being A Genuine TransTM. There was a bit of misgendering in the next room talking about administrative stuff with his secretary, too, but nothing I couldn't deal with. The actual ADHD content was validating, and the guy knows his stuff -- but fuck--

I need this diagnosis soon because my ADHD is making college so, so fucking difficult right now, and proper medication and academic supports could start to unravel this shroud of depression and anxiety I've been living under. I have already paid these people serious money for the first appointment, so I probably can't back out now, and am not sure that I want to. Backing out would just put me at the mercy of the even longer waiting times for the other two places -- but this is going to be really shitty. I still have two appointments to get through before I'm done -- the last one is on December 10th, just under a month and a half away.

Seriously though? Why is coating your doctor's office in religious paraphernalia okay? I know most people wouldn't have the full-blown trauma reaction that I did. But it's at bare minimum unprofessional, and more honestly, unethical to offer MEDICAL CARE in one hand and MY TOTALLY-NOT-A-CULT RELIGION quietly in the other.

I'm just going to grin and bear it, but I need to feel like I've told someone what a freaking problem this was and why.