#GIVE! THAT! BOY! SOME! CATHOLIC! GUILT!

[escapaldi]

#everyday i unwillingly learn something abt law that makes me kin him more

you can't hide in the tags what everyone's thinking

One lighthearted note of Law's backstory is that he was raised Catholic. Which means that Oda made catholicism Canon in his wacky pirate adventure. And I think that's hilarious.

I thought about the fact Law was raised catholic and went to a catholic school (as someone who did the same) but just now i realise that fucking makes Jesus canon in the One Piece universe

[nehswritesstuffs]

fly little seagull, that rock can be home - Part 2

With the rate at which I’m finishing these chapters, I highly doubt I’m going to get the next one done before *checks notes* mid-April at the earliest, so I’m sorry in advance. Good news I guess is that I recently also passed 41k overall and I am regretting my decisions lol

Chapter 1 [FFN/AO3]

With a backwater island located, a father and daughter adjust to their new life. [10,387 words; AU where Law tries to lead the quiet life Cora-san always wanted for him]

Business was slow.

It was not that there was a lack of need for a medical professional in Hinba or on Diura as a whole. As a matter of fact, it was clear that there was an intense need for one. It was simply that—aside from the handful of new patients he did see who were mostly around his age—the residents weren’t entirely trusting of the man who simply wandered in from parts unknown and it was becoming a problem.

“They’ll come around,” Svana said as she measured Law’s fingers. She was bored and decided that he needed gloves, so therefore was going to knit some that fit his curiously long hands. He had tried to turn her down, but before he could even get a word out Nauja had been gifted mittens of her own for when the snows began to fly, the girl now wearing them happily around the house as the adults stuck to the front sitting room.

“I’m more used like a novel pharmacy than anything,” he groused. ��How do you get them to listen to you?”

“I delivered over half the island’s population and haven’t lost a mother yet,” she shrugged. “They’re a prickly bunch—we tend to be so here in the South.”

“I knew this place felt like home,” he scoffed. She finished writing measurements and took some yarn and needles from her basket. “I’ve worked with guys from the South Blue before—I was well aware of what I was getting into.”

“Of course,” she agreed idly. Law wasn’t entirely certain he enjoyed the fact the island’s elderly midwife had attached herself to the clinic so readily. Boredom, perhaps? Wanting to make certain that the prior doctor’s spirit was not being trampled? If he didn’t know better, he would have guessed that there had been something between Svana and the old doctor, though that would have put such an age gap between them that he didn’t want to think of the logistics…

Just then, one of the small children who tended to run around nearby came barreling in through the front door, making Law jump in surprise; how in the hell were kids fucking with his Observational Haki? The child, however, looked out of breath, as though he had run the entire way from the school to there.

“Now what is this about?” Svana asked, barely even reacting to the boy’s sudden presence.

“There’s ships in the harbor!” the boy squeaked. “Traders!”

“Which ones?” she asked. The boy pondered for a moment as he took off his backpack.

“Books and stuff, but also house things!” He took a small box from his bag and shoved it in Law’s hands. “Miss Lanna at the shop told me to give this to you!”

“I never ordered anything… what is it…?”

“Mark-over,” the boy scoffed, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Some people use it when the traders are in town because of the sailors’ marks they got! She said you probably don’t have some for your hands. I guess it’s the stuff you have to mix…? But she said you could get some that matches your hands better if you talk to her.”

“Then I shall have to thank Miss Lanna next time I see her,” he nodded. The boy grinned, clearly proud of himself. “Now run along; I should put some of this on if I’m going to see what the traders brought.”

“Yes, sir!” The boy then zoomed out of the house as quickly as he entered it, leaving the two adults to exchange tired looks.

“Do you need me to show you?” Svana asked, gesturing to the makeup box.

“I’m a man of many talents,” he deadpanned. He stood and brought the box with him to the large infirmary, where he was able to mix the tint into the makeup with the help of the room’s strong lights until it was so close to his skin tone that he almost couldn’t tell the difference. Law thought of Cora-san as he began to brush the stuff over his hands and forearms, remembering the man’s routine that he had though of as silly at the time.

“Remember Law, you don’t need to pile it on too thick. Just enough to conceal will do.”

Fuck… it had seemed like so long ago… was it really that long? Cora-san had taught him a lot when they were running together, hadn’t he? Sometimes there was nothing to do but watch him. He would shave, put on makeup, fix his hair… usually right before they tried another hospital that he eventually would burn down. He didn’t think the medical networks they visited had fully recovered until just a year or so before he took the Polar Tang into the Grand Line…

A few spritzes of sealant and the job was complete. Law stared at his hands and arms, marveling at how different they looked without the ink being visible. He stared in the mirror as he fastened his shirt up to the second-to-topmost button, fingers trembling as he did so. Each done button made the man staring back at him more a ghost than anything, his father finally before him when he was done. Neither of his parents had tattoos that he had known of, and it reminded him partly of why he had gotten them to begin with—to stave off his brain going back to those days.

It was inevitable now; he planned on growing older than his father ever had the chance to be, and the man was certain to stare back at him from time to time for his troubles. How old would his parents be if they lived this long…? How much older than Cora-san had they been…? What would they think of him off in the middle of nowhere, playing pretend—

“Vaor! Vaor! Vaor!” His morbid thoughts took a back seat as he heard Nauja come looking for him, with her nearly throwing the door open with how excited she was. “Svana-ya said traders are here!” She stopped and stared at his hands and forearms, her head tilting to the side. “Where’d your tattoos go?”

“I covered them—can’t trust traders. Their reach is too long.”

“Since when do you know makeup?”

“You’ve seen photos of Cora-jiisan; the man made sure I can apply eyeliner in the dark.”

“Can you teach me how to do that?”

“Maybe when you’re a little older and we know your hand’s steady,” he offered. “Now come on; let’s go see what got brought into port.”

Nauja made her way to the front door while Law got his wallet from his office and left the clinic, Svana having already gone back to her own house. The pair went down to the docks and watched some of the merchants unload their ship with some of the other villagers. Law glanced over at one of the men standing there—a teacher from the school, if he recalled correctly, who looked to be about his age.

“How do we see what they got?” he asked.

“We have a couple empty spots where they set up shop—in the middle of summer, there’s often stalls,” the other man replied. He gestured down the main road, where someone was opening the shutters of what was likely a storefront. “You’re the new doctor, I take it?”

“Yeah. Tr—er…” He pretended to cough. “Sorry. Doctor Corasson Law. My daughter Nauja is the one that only shows up three times a week for morning sessions and twice for afternoons.”

“You’re good to make her go at all—her social skills have been improving the most from what I can tell. That you’d have to ask her main teacher; I just take her if there’s a coverage issue. I’m Seasbur Daisuke; Nauja’ll be in my class full-time in a couple years.”

“Thank you for looking after her.” He bowed his head slightly, Daisuke mirroring his movement. “She can be a little much.”

“Ah, she’s just a kid.”

“Yeah, but she’s my kid, so I know how much of a handful she can be.” He watched as the sailors continued to load boxes onto the cart. “What do they have, anyhow?”

“Stuff we can’t make here, mostly,” Daisuke explained. “Primarily manufactured goods, but there are some specialty imports and some different foods.” He paused for a moment, clearly mulling something over, before continuing. “Say, since I got you here and there’s still a while before they’re ready for business, my coworkers and I were wondering if we could talk to you about something.”

“Did Nauja—?”

“No, she’s fine. It has nothing to do with her, but figure might as well talk now while the kids are all distracted.” He motioned towards where the schoolhouse sat. Children were trickling out the front door, most of them bouncing and excited for what the traders possibly had for them as they headed towards the wharf.

Well, there was no time like the present, he guessed.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Law knuckled his left ear and stared at the small group in front of him. “You want me to teach what…?”

“Health class,” Jacks—the headmaster—repeated awkwardly. Both secretaries and all three teachers were there as well, each of them with a hopeful expression.

“You do realize that I don’t even know if the people on this island trust me yet to be their primary care physician, let alone teach their children anything related to the Human body.”

“Oh wait, that’s right, you also lived on the Grand Line—do you know anything about Fishfolk and Minks? To be thorough?”

Law pinched the bridge of his nose and pursed his lips for a moment, gathering himself. “I know my daughter just started and is on the young end, but what all do you teach here?”

“A bit of everything,” Rikki—one of the teachers—offered. “Reading, writing, math, geography, what we can of social studies, science, and history…”

“…and we add in things that would be useful for living on this island specifically,” another teacher—Dia—added. “This means often going outside the classroom for introductions to agriculture, animal husbandry, sailing, fishing, how to barter with merchants, placement with potential apprenticeships or further education off the island…”

“Wait: you can teach them about how sheep fuck but not about Humans?”

“It’d be nice if we didn’t have to teach them about Humans fucking,” Daisuke admitted. “I mean, you can also go over with them stuff about good hygiene and what to do when you’re sick and all that, but you’re an actual doctor… I think things might hit different coming from you.”

Whatever headache was going to result from this conversation was going to be troublesome.

“So… you want me to write a Health curriculum for ages six to sixteen purely because I am a doctor? Despite the fact I’m still a stranger? Don’t you ever have Svana-ya come in and talk to them or something…?”

“She does, but… my wife said that you trained for a while in Drum Kingdom before its downfall and then Water 7 after that—you’re much more qualified to talk about nitty-gritty medical matters.” Law stared at Jacks, unsure what in that to broach first. “My wife, Dervla, she’s the village leader. You know… the one that told you to set up shop in the old clinic.”

“Between talking to her and Svana, we’ve gotten an idea of the kind of person you are,” Daisuke added. Law exhaled heavily and was thankful that it was at least this and not, say, the entire village ganging up on him at once; he was right to suspect Svana as a possible font of information about him, though Dervla was a surprise. “We’re willing to give you a go, if you’re interested.”

“Might stave off some awkward conversations later,” Dia shrugged. “I’ve got the teenagers and the amount of things I’ve heard of getting stuck in places…”

“Alright, alright… fuck…” Law sighed. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly; this was a rare sort of opportunity to get in the good graces of the island’s inhabitants, and the sooner he could win their trust, the sooner he could blend into the background. “This would solve more problems than you’re telling me, I take it?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Jacks admitted. “Sometimes we draw straws and it’s still not enough.”

Law regretted his words before he even said them. “Then I guess I can put together something…”

The collective sigh amongst the staff was telling.

“Seas, thank you,” Jacks breathed. He shook Law’s hand with an unexpected force that wriggled the younger man’s arm and through into his body. “How long do you need to prepare the course?”

“I… uh…”

“Does three weeks sound good?”

“It…”

“Excellent—we’ll set up something for you to show us what you’ve come up with in the meantime!” Jacks seemed to be absolutely set on not giving Law a choice in the matter. “Alright, then we’ll see you towards the end of the month.”

What the actual fuck had he just gotten himself into?

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“Vaor, can I ask a question about before here?”

It was a few days later and Law glanced up from the coursework he was compiling to see Nauja was standing awkwardly in the doorway to his office in the clinic. He reached out with his Observation Haki—cutting down on his Devil Fruit was going to be a priority—and felt no one, prompting him to put the publication down. “What is it, famke? Is it about the crew?”

“Umm…” She looked down at her hands. “I just had a thought: why do you have things from Flevance? I thought they were dangerous.”

Oh.

“They were, but I was able to fix that,” he replied. Law beckoned his daughter over and she entered the office, climbing up into his lap. She was getting big for that, he realized, and wondered when it would need to stop entirely. “One of the first things we did when we got the Polar Tang was go to Flevance and look around at all the damage. We took some things I didn’t mind ruining and experimented to see if we could divorce the Amber Lead from things that had been treated with it. After that, I was able to take things from my home and made them safe for people to touch and carry so that I’d always have a bit of the good memories with me.”

“So… that’s why you have Oma and Opa’s rings?”

“Yeah.” He felt the weight of the twin loops sitting against his chest on their chain a little more prominently, glad for their presence. “It’s how I got a lot of things, actually.” Pausing, he wondered if he should continue, then thought he might as well. “Would you like to see?”

“Oooh! Yes please!” Nauja’s face brightened at the prospect, so Law opened a Room—damn it, he had to stop that—and replaced the medical journal with a boot-box he had brought with him from the Polar Tang, one with a cobbler’s stamp from a shop on the White City’s high street. It was one of the few things from the ship he’d taken that could not be shoved in a pack, along with a box of miscellaneous books and things, as well as the small chest from Nauja’s original home in Water 7. “Oh! This box!”

“Do you remember this?” She nodded as he lifted the lid and took out the envelopes of photographs, exposing the rest of the contents scattered across the bottom. “We couldn’t bring anything too hefty with us, being in a submarine and all, but we were able to reclaim some things like jewelry and other small items.”

“Oooh, like these!” Nauja marveled, taking a pair of wire-frame eyeglasses out. She held them up to her face and then wobbled—the lens’ strength was a surprise. “Opa had bad eyes.”

“Heh, yeah, and so far I’ve got Oma’s sight, so we’re keeping our fingers crossed,” Law explained. “This was the bell Tante Lami and I used when we were sick, and these are my parents’ name tags for their doctor’s coats at the hospital—it was easier some days to grab a spare from the hospital linen closet if theirs hadn’t made it through the wash—and this…”

“…what about this…?” She pulled a lumpy envelope out and frowned. “It’s heavier than the others.”

“That’s because it’s full of that jewelry I was talking about,” he said. He let her pour the contents out onto the desktop, only to see that it was a jumbled, tangled mess. “Maybe when you’re a bit older we can go through it. I don’t know what you’d like or not.”

“It’s a mess.”

“That’s what it does when someone doesn’t keep it all separated properly.” He then had an idea. “If you want, you can get them all apart, and then I can get you a box for it.”

“That’d be nice.” She poked at the lump, where a teardrop pendant sat shimmering in the light. “So you went with Penguin-ya and Shachi-ya and Bepo-ya to get these?”

“We left Bepo-ya on the ship as a control subject, but yeah, we did,” he confirmed. “The chemistry set we’d stolen before heading over came in handy.”

“I wish I could have seen Flevance in person,” Nauja said quietly, “you know, without the danger.”

“I know, my little seagull; I wish that too.” He pressed a kiss to her hair as he gave her a one-armed hug. “So much of it was white and pastels, even in nature, at such an amount that we should have seen Amber Lead coming earlier.” Letting his eyes go out of focus, Law’s memories slipped back nearly two decades and he swallowed hard. Had it really been that long…? Was his sister’s smile that old? His mother’s gentle voice? His father’s strong hands? The sisters’ guidance? Eventually, he felt Nauja’s hand wipe at his face—when did he start crying? “Thank you.”

“For what…?”

“Being here. Listening. Accepting. It means more than you realize.”

…and honestly? He knew it was more than he realized as well, but he wasn’t about to get into that. They instead began to untangle the knot in front of them, working right until the next patient came in through the front door.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

The morning chill settled over Hinba in a low mist as Nauja grabbed her Sora backpack and ran out the kitchen door into the pre-dawn air. She couldn’t figure out why it was this cold and no one was acting like it was unusual, but was glad that it seemed like it was supposed to be normal. She watched the sun creep over the ridge as she made her way to school, where it was clear she was one of the first ones there.

“Good morning, Miss Rikki!” she grinned as she ran into her classroom. None of the other students in her grades cluster had arrived yet, which was honestly fine by her. The woman at the head desk glanced up and smiled.

“My… aren’t you here early?” Miss Rikki chuckled.

“I wanted to know if I could use the lightbox!” Nauja said. “Vaor’s still using ours and won’t give it up.”

“Is that so?” The teacher went over to where the lightbox desk was and switched it on. “What sort of things are you learning about now?”

“The digestive system,” Nauja replied happily. She dug into her backpack and pulled out a looseleaf snail photo of exposed bowels from an injured Marine and placed it on the lightbox surface along with a piece of tracing paper over it. “Isn’t it cool?! I’m not learning everything about it yet, but I am learning about when some things go wrong, and I’m gonna draw a bunch of pictures of it!”

“That’s… lovely…” Miss Rikki grimaced. She watched as Nauja began tracing; no wonder the lightbox was in use at the girl’s house. “…and you’re… allowed to do this…? Encouraged…?”

“Oh, yes! It’s the only way I’m gonna be good at drawing them for real one day! At least to start!”

“Who in the hell did Jacks and Dervla contract,” Miss Rikki muttered. He then coughed, pretending to clear her throat, before addressing Nauja again. “What else do you have to draw?”

“Different kinds of bodies and body parts, but also everything else,” Nauja explained, not looking up from her work. “I can’t bring the naked-parts pictures, because we don’t know how people are here about naked stuff even if we are doctors, and I really shouldn’t have this here, but it’s cool, isn’t it?”

“It’s… not my favorite, but it’s good to see you so excited about your work, Nauja,” Miss Rikki said, forcing a smile. She did not even notice that some of the other students had made their way into the classroom until it was too late, with some of them crowding around the lightbox.

“Whoa, that’s cool!” Nauja looked over her shoulder and saw that a small handful of her classmates were now staring at what she was tracing. “Where’d you get that?!”

“One of the books I have to read for doctor stuff!” Nauja beamed. “It’s someone’s bowels exposed from a severe lass-er-ae-shun!”

“…a what…?”

“Their guts spilled out of a sword wound!”

The small children all oohed and aahed at the gory photo and in-process drawing while their teacher tried to not cry—she really had her work cut out for her with this one.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was early in the morning as Law woke up to the feeling of something cold burrowing its way under his blankets. He groaned and rolled over, seeing that Nauja and Professor Nanuk had joined him in the bed, the girl attempting to cuddle in close as she could to stave off the chill.

“Could you have waited half an hour more?” he groaned.

“’S cold…” she whined.

“Seas help me if I ever try to bring you to my Home Blue.” He adjusted the blankets so she was nearly completely covered, and him only up to his neck as he held her close. “It’s cold there like you wouldn’t believe.”

“I thought southern places in the Blues were supposed to be warm!”

“Not this far south; here we’re about the same distance from the Equator as Flevance was in the North,” he murmured. It had admittedly been a while since he was this consistently cold thanks to the Grand Line’s… peculiar weather patterns, not to mention the heat involved in the Polar Tang’s mechanics that made it a hotbox on the best of days. “You’re used to living in a ship that gets really warm.”

“I miss the others,” she replied sleepily. “I miss the Tang.”

“I know you do, kiddo.” He stroked her hair as he lowly hummed a few bars of something he thought he remembered from childhood. “They’re all really proud of you.”

“Yeah…?”

“Yeah.”

Law laid like that for about forty-five minutes—he didn’t want to risk oversleeping though he sure as hell wasn’t getting up yet—before carefully removing himself from the bed and leaving Nauja nestled in the warm blankets. He glanced out the window and chuckled to himself before getting dressed—it was going to be an interesting day.

Sure enough, Nauja was shuffling into the kitchen by the time he was whisking some eggs, a blanket still pulled tightly around her. “My birthday’s next month—it should be hot outside.”

“Too bad,” her father replied. “Say… what’s the weather look like?” She sat down on her chair and groaned. “Nauja… what’s it look like outside?” He watched as she slid off the chair and went to the window, her forehead softly hitting the glass pane before she actually bothered to look outside… and gasped.

“Wait… it snows here?!” She spun around to look at him, eyes wide.

“Why wouldn’t it snow here; we’re closer to the South Pole than we are to the Equator,” he chuckled. He saw how Nauja was almost vibrating in excitement and remembered something. “You weren’t this excited when we visited winter islands in the Grand Line.”

“Yeah, well, those always have snow and this place doesn’t!” she reasoned. “Do you think it’ll snow on my birthday?!”

“It might,” he said. “If you grew up in my homeland, it would be around the warmest day of the year.”

“…because we’re on opposite ends of the Blues, right?!” Good; she was awake enough to begin thinking critically again.

“That’s right,” he replied. “Now grab what you want in your omelette out of the fridge before I pour the eggs.”

“Oh! Yes, Vaor!” Nauja happily went into the fridge and found some leftover bacon, a cheese block, and some leeks and mushrooms that looked like they were about to wilt. “These, please!”

“Good, now go get dressed properly and maybe you can play in the snow a bit before heading off to school,” he said. She then remembered she was still in her pajamas! Nauja ran back to her room, returning when she was warmly dressed and ready to play. She was almost out the door when Law pulled her back in and stuck her on the chair—breakfast first. The entire omelette was downed in almost record time before she ran out and jumped directly into a snowbank. By the time Law went outside to join her, she was already red-faced and soaked to her skin—smiling brightly in the brief morning twilight—and he knew he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“Hey, do you want to come play with us?”

Nauja glanced up from the book she was just about to pack away, seeing two of her classmates, Carina and Magne, standing there hopefully. Miss Rikki looked like she was still handling other students as everyone packed up to go home.

“I can’t; I’ve got chores.”

“You can do them when you get back,” Carina said.

“Yeah, it’s nothing super-urgent, is it?” Magne asked.

“Well, no…” She slipped the book into her Sora backpack. “I have to sweep up the downstairs including the clinic, feed the Den-Den, and it’s my turn to change the linens in the infirmary and sanitize the medical instruments…”

“Wait, you have to do what?!” Magne marveled. Carina’s mouth dropped open in surprise as well.

“Sanitize medical instruments…? It involves boiling them and…”

“No, the Den-Den!” Carina interrupted. “I didn’t know you had a transponder snail!”

“We have it for emergencies,” Nauja replied. “Don’t people have them for emergencies…?”

“Miss Dervla, yeah, but not a lot of people have them,” Carina said. Mange nodded.

“I don’t think I’ve even seen one.”

“Then maybe if you come over, I can do my chores after we have some fun and you can see the Den-Den!”

“That sounds cool!” Mange grinned. The three children packed the rest of their things and ran out of the schoolhouse, heading down the street towards the clinic. They barreled into the kitchen, kicked off their shoes, and dropped their stuff on the floor, with Nauja poking her head into the corridor.

“Vaor! Back from school! I’ve got friends over!”

“As long as you get your work done,” Vaor replied unseen. It sounded like he was in the consultation room.

“Okay!”

Nauja then grabbed some lettuce from the fridge and led Carina and Magne up the back steps, to the smallest bedroom, which was kept as the private combination-office-and-library. Amongst the dozens of books and papers and the pair of desks, a terrarium sat on its own table with lush greenery and a low-powered heat lamp, a snail shell sitting on a rock.

“Whoa… so that’s a transponder snail…?” Carina marveled. “Why’s it hiding?”

“It does that when it’s sleeping because it’s not hooked up to anything right now,” Nauja explained. She broke the lettuce into tiny pieces and placed it in front of the snail. When it didn’t move, she lightly scratched the shell with her fingernail. “Hey, wake up. It’s food time.”

The snail didn’t move.

“Are you sure there’s one in there?” Magne asked.

“Yeah, I’ve fed it before. Sometimes you gotta…” She picked up the shell and shook it slightly…

Only to scream as the dead snail schlupped out of the shell and plopped onto the terrarium floor.

All three children screamed, in fact, as they ran out of the office and down the stairs. While Carina and Magne decided to grab their stuff and leave, Nauja went straight to the consultation room, where Vaor had one of the fishermen, Lars-ya, up on the examination bench as he looked in his ear.

“Do you have to keep barging in on appointments?” Vaor said through grit teeth. “This is unprofessional.”

“Vaor! Vaor! It’s a disaster! The Den-Den died!”

Vaor’s face scrunched in confusion. “What do you mean ‘the Den-Den died’? We’ve still got another ten years on that thing at the very least.”

“I picked it up and it just slid out of the shell and went plop on the rock!” she whimpered.

“Fuck,” Vaor cursed under his breath. He then looked at his patient with an expression that showed he wanted to scream. “Do you know if your wife can order transponder snails through her store?”

“Lanna can get her hands on a lot of things, but she can’t work miracles,” Lars-ya shrugged. “You can try to catch a snail, but even if you have the tech it doesn’t mean it’ll work.”

“Great,” Vaor sighed. “Just… don’t worry, famke. I’ll clean it up later.”

“…but I was supposed to feed it! I must not have in time…!”

“They just do that sometimes, like people; it’s nothing to worry about. Now let me finish here with Lars-ya, alright?”

“…but… but…!”

“Just go,” he insisted, trying to not sound cross. Nauja then ran up to her room and hid under her blankets, sobbing hysterically as she allowed the severity of the situation weigh on her. She had not seen more than five transponder snails since leaving the Polar Tang, which meant that they had needed to keep that one alive! What were they going to do?! She cried so much that she almost vomited, absolutely sick to her stomach as she curled around Professor Nanuk, trembling.

The little girl did not know how much time passed before she heard her door open and felt the mattress shift with new weight. She peeked out from her blankets to see Vaor sitting there with a mug of tea waiting for her, which she took and held under her face.

“It’s all gone now,” he said, scratching her scalp. “I already got rid of it.”

“Am…” she sniffled, “…am I in trouble…?”

“Not at all,” Vaor replied. “What I said in front of Lars-ya was the truth: these things happen. I’ll figure out how to replace it later, alright?”

She nodded.

“Alright. Now drink your tea and come downstairs for chores when you’re ready. How does fish and rice sound for dinner?”

A grunt.

“Bring your mug down when you’re done,” Vaor said. He then kissed her hair and left, allowing her time to calm down on her own. It took a while of her breathing in the hot steam from the mug before she was steady enough to drink—the thought of anyone from the Polar Tang trying to call them was sharp in her mind as she tried to tell herself that if Vaor said it was okay, then it was okay.

If Vaor said he was going to fix it, then he was going to fix it. Everything was fine. Nothing to worry about, right…? Right.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“What do you mean it can’t be done?!” Law gaped. He was standing in the general store the following day, the proprietor at least attempting to seem empathetic from behind the counter. “I need a snail to keep in contact with everyone from where we used to live! This is essential.”

“That’s all well and good, but properly-raised transponder snails are a rarity to come by in these waters,” Lanna replied calmly. “They’re often restricted to the super-wealthy and the emergency networks local leadership builds.”

“So what you’re saying is that the only person on the island who has a Den-Den Mushi is Dervla, and that’s only because she’s in charge?”

“Yeah. It’ll go to whomever succeeds her once she retires.”

“You barely get newspapers, it’s difficult to get books, and now you’re telling me that transponder snails are hard to come by?”

“You know how much of a hassle it is to get to this island,” she reminded him. “It impacts literally everything and everyone going in or out.” She watched as Law covered his face with his hands and took a deep breath—at least he was actively trying to not be a dick about it. “I know you’re probably used to more things being readily available from your time in Water 7, but this is the South Blue… not just that, but Diura… we used to sail three days to see a doctor between his yearly rounds before you showed up.”

“That’s inhumane.”

“That’s the trade-off we get for not being bothered,” Lanna shrugged. “Is there anything else you were looking for today? Maybe that’ll help.”

Law took a steadying breath—yeah, it was best to change subjects. “Do you know who is the best person to ask about woodcrafts?” She raised an eyebrow and he took a piece of paper from his pocket and showed it to her. “I want to know if anyone can copy this pattern.” The woman studied the paper curiously, taking in the intricate design of flowers, leaves, and grasses that had clearly been copied from a book.

“This Lvneelish?”

“No, but close enough,” Law replied. “It’s from a book on the North Blue that Dr. Ghar-Spartel had. My daughter mentioned she likes it, and I was wondering if I could get something like this on a jewelry box.”

“That is a good question; a lot of us are good with carving, but this is delicate work.” It was then that the chimes on the door rang and someone else walked in—a woman looking miserable in her last months of pregnancy. “Ah, Marla, just the woman I want to see.”

“Daisuke will not pass your daughter in geography if she keeps doodling in class and not turning in homework,” Marla groaned as though they’d had that precise conversation before. Lanna shook her head.

“It’s for the Doc.” She gestured towards Law with a jerk of her head. “Your dad still do woodcarving jobs on the side?”

“Last I checked.” Marla was passed the paper and she narrowed her eyes at it. “This is definitely a Northern design, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Law admitted, almost sheepish. “I haven’t properly met your father yet—do you think he can carve something like that on a small box?”

“We’re on break at the shipyard; let me get what I came here for and you can ask him yourself.”

“Her dad’s the best this side of the current,” Lanna smirked. “How about I just keep an eye out and an ear open for the other thing we talked about, hm?”

“Argued about what she can and can’t get, eh?” Marla wondered, a near-consoling tone to her voice. Law shrugged as she received a package and almost jumped out of his skin when she linked arms with him. “Come on—time’s wasting if you want this to be a secret. This is a secret for your daughter, right?”

“Uhh…”

The grin that crept across Marla’s face was nearly predatory, he decided, as he was forcefully dragged from the store. Hopefully it was going to be as pain-free as possible… though… his hopes were not exactly high.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was well after lunch when Law stepped into the schoolhouse, glad that the building was kept warmer than most. An entire week’s worth of new snow and it felt as though it was refusing to let up, which was great to only children and people who didn’t have to leave their own warm places. He left his hat on as he shed his bag and coat, putting them up on a visitors’ peg near the door as his thoughts were lost in the lessons he was going to teach that day. The oldest group had sexual consent, the little ones had hand-washing, and the middle group was—seas help him—getting into why bathing was important…

“So good to see you, Dr. Law,” purred a voice. He nearly jumped out of his skin, only to see that it was the younger of the secretaries, hidden by her desk’s position in regards to the door. Taking off his hat, he put his mittens in it before hanging it too on a peg.

“Same, Janka-ya,” he replied tersely. He honestly had few bits of leftover patience for niceties that particular day, but he was willing to perform if it kept him from being hounded with questions. Get in, teach the day’s lessons, then leave; that’s all he really wanted to do. “Are classes on time today?”

“They seem to be,” she replied. “I don’t think any are behind, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“A little,” he admitted. Law went over to the radiator and held his hands close to it, glad for the device’s intense warmth. “I want to get the oldest kids’ lesson done before they get sent off to their jobs.”

“Surely you don’t have to get to that immediately,” Janka frowned. Wait, no, that was more of a pout, wasn’t it? “You can wait here with me until Dia is ready with her group.”

“Don’t bother me, Janka-ya—I’ve got a lot I need to think about to keep the kids on their toes,” he replied. Which was true; he had only taught a handful of sessions thus far and the schoolchildren’s capacity for curiosity knew little bounds. His hands finally warmed up and he turned, only to see that Janka was now standing right next to him. How…? “What?”

“You cold?” she asked. What were her eyelashes doing? Was there something in her eyes…?

“If you haven’t noticed, it’s snowing outside,” he replied. “Usually that accompanies cold weather; I’m fine now.”

“Pity. I could help you warm up in the future. Maybe… if you come a little earlier…?”

“I have patients that need attending and a curriculum to keep on top of; I don’t have extra time.”

“You sure a curriculum is the only thing you need to keep on top of?” she asked. He tried to move and she blocked his way. “Maybe… you need something to be on top of you?”

Janka winked and suddenly everything clicked into place in Law’s brain—oh, fuck, she was flirting with him! He then noticed how he was essentially trapped between the wall, the heater, and the secretary who was sizing him up with very specific intent. Swallowing hard, he pressed himself against the wall, trying to stay as far from her as possible.

“That is very inappropriate, Janka-ya,” he replied shakily. “This is not the place for that.”

“Then maybe I can warm you up at my place…?” A grin crept across her face that made his chest feel tight and his stomach awful. “Your place…?”

Law’s brain felt as though it was shutting down. Seas, when was the last time someone propositioned him like this? Propositioned him at all?! It was before he had his homicidal aloof loner reputation as one of the most notorious Supernovas, that was for certain, and he absolutely hated how helpless he felt as he was cornered. Couldn’t use his Devil Fruit without questions, had no access to Conqueror’s Haki, he was afraid to even touch her…

“Dr. Law…? Are you, uh…?” Law looked towards an open door that had a small handful of teenagers gathered around it, staring at the scene as though they walked in on something private.

“Ah, class is in session! Excellent!” He slid along the wall until he was out of Janka’s grasp and grabbed his bag on the way in, not allowing himself a second to breathe until he was in the classroom with the door shut.

“You haven’t seen her with some of the traders, have you?” Dia, the teacher, groaned in exasperation. Law shook his head silently, the man still a bit in shock at the interaction. “I’ll talk to her.”

“Thanks,” Law squeaked. He then took a deep breath to calm himself and looked at the students. “Alright class, today we’re going to be talking about why what Miss Janka did was not okay. Everyone to your seats.”

At least he was able to do that.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Despite the nights beginning to grow longer, Law understood how fortunate he was that there had been extra rooms in the clinic’s living areas as soon as the air grew a chill. The clinic was likely built to accommodate two or three families so medical staff had no problem living on-site. What it meant for him, however, was that there was plenty of extra room to move about in the cold months, allowing for a room meant specifically for training.

“Right here, famke,” he said, bringing her through the motion of stabbing a practice dummy. Her knife was in one shaky hand, grip backward so the flat of the blade could rest along her forearm when not being embedded in someone’s torso. She frowned at it, not enjoying the movement.

“It’s hard to hold,” Nauja pouted. “Why can’t I hold it like normal?”

“You won’t always be able to grab it like normal,” he reasoned. “Sometimes you will have to grab it weird and not have time to adjust the grip.”

“Like when?”

“Like when you have to take the knife from someone’s sheath and bury it in their side.” Law then placed his hand over Nauja’s and pressed the tip of the knife against the dummy’s side. “Now, what will this hit?”

“The… ninth and tenth ribs,” she replied, brow furrowed as she thought. She then adjusted the knife. “This way will go between them and hit the left kidney and part of the stomach. The other side is the right kidney and the gall bladder.”

“Good, good.” He then let her adjust her grip and placed the knife tip back against the dummy’s side. “Thrusting up here hits what?”

“The spleen.”

“…and maybe…?”

“Maybe a… lung…?”

“Good.” Law then saw that Nauja was frowning as she stared at the knife in her hand. He could tell something was bothering her. “What is it?”

“I know this is in case someone tries to hurt me, but…” She crinkled her nose. “Aren’t we doctors? This feels a lot like how to kill.”

“Not at all,” he assured. “You need to know where things are in the body if you’re going to draw them, or treat them medically, or fight off someone without hitting a vital organ. That takes a lot of practice.”

“…but why would I need to know how to fight here?”

“You never can be too prepared.” Law pressed a kiss into her hair and let out a low chuckle. “Alright, now show me again where to stab to get under the sternum again.”

Nauja wrinkled her nose and placed the blade accordingly.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was finally Nauja’s birthday. Although it was still winter, the weather had warmed just enough to turn everything slightly slushier. Heavy, wet snow fell the entire day, encouraging Law to make the prudent decision to stay inside. At least Nauja herself didn’t mind, as she enjoyed days where she stayed in and was allowed to study alongside Law. He surprised her with umeboshi onigiri for lunch and Flevench-style pea soup for dinner, afterwards bringing the celebration into the front sitting room where a fire was already warming the hearth from “business hours”. Flexing his Devil Fruit for the first time that week, he shambled three wrapped packages onto the table next to the cake, which made his daughter gasp.

“Really?!” she marveled. He nodded silently, allowing her to pull the nearest package towards her and open it up: an art and drafting set filled with pens and pencils—regular and in colors—as well as a couple sketchbooks and some varied straight-edges, measuring utensils, and other miscellanea. “Wow! That’s so cool! Thanks!”

“Don’t thank me just yet; open the rest of them,” he chuckled. She pulled another package towards her and tore the paper off—a wooden box, decorated with an elaborate pattern that had been carved into the lid and sides.

“What is it?” she asked, tilting her head. She opened it carefully to find that it was lined with a blue velvet and had many different internal sections.

“It’s a jewelry box,” he explained. “Macksson Jan made it. We can put the things from the envelope in there to keep it nice.”

“…oh. Okay.”

Law watched as Nauja stared at the intricately-carved box, running her fingers lightly over the design. She sucked in a sniffle as tears began to well in her eyes. “Famke…?”

“Law-san… I don’t know what I did to deserve this,” she said quietly. She sniffled again and hiccuped before wiping tears away with the heel of her palm. “I’m just some kid Bepo-ya found…”

“Where did this come from?” he wondered aloud. His hand found the top of her head, where he began to scratch lightly at her scalp. She struggled to not cry and it made his heart feel both heavy and dangerously fragile. “I thought we’ve been through this.”

“I know… but…” She sniffled loudly, trying to suck up some snot back into her nose. “It’s hard…”

Ah. Something was making her rethink things, whether it was a difficult time adjusting, or maybe something someone said, or possibly even her own mind beginning to play tricks on her. She was a bit young for it, but then again… he had been when that first started himself. Children generally suffered from moods as they grew emotionally and she was being subject to one. The only thing now was how to get her out of it…

…and maybe… maybe it was good to have all the cards on the table. His daughter deserved that much, after all.

“Nauja?” He gently turned her face towards him and brushed away more tears. “Can I tell you something? Something I don’t know if I ever said out loud in words before?”

“Not… not even to my uncles?”

“No one on the Polar Tang knows this.”

The girl sat there and digested those words. Something no one else knew? No one at all? She placed the jewelry box down on the cushion next to Professor Nanuk and adjusted so that she was sitting cross-legged on the couch.

Please.

“When I was your age,” he began, each word measured and deliberate, “before I met Cora-san, before we knew Amber Lead was killing us, I went to church. My parents took your Tante Lami and I there once a week, most weeks, the last time being about a month before… before I lost them.”

“Church…?” She tilted her head curiously. “What’s that?”

“It’s a place for religion… for faith… for spirituality… for the part of us that can’t be mended with bandages and stitches and medicine… when done right, a church is a place where people can find peace, understand things in different ways, be a loving community, and be inspired to do good, if not there then elsewhere in their lives. It can augment mental and emotional therapy for some people and help keep them even-keeled between sessions. Again, when done right, it has the ability to be highly valuable.”

“Was it… not done right…?”

“I think it tried, which is the best most churches can do.” Law took a deep breath as he thought back to hardwood pews and soft candlelight; he could almost smell the sweet and heady mulberry incense and hear the bells and organ pipes in the rafters. “The church in Flevance would do things like talk about salvation—unconditional freedom and forgiveness in this life and the next—which wasn’t something I really understood. When you grow up privileged in a place where even the poor are wealthy by other countries’ standards, such a thing is a difficult concept to grasp, especially as a child. I was more concerned with other stuff… more irritated with other stuff…”

“Like what…?”

“‘Everything happens for a reason’,” he said, the words flowing over his tongue for the first time in so, so long. “The church ran the schools for younger students in Flevance and it was something the religious sisters and brothers we had as teachers said. Often. I didn’t believe it then and not for a long, long time after.”

“Why…? Were they mean?”

“They could have been, in another time or place, but no they were very nice. They loved all of us children the same whether we went to church or not, whether we believed what they said or not, and said that if we were to ever think of anything preached to us as true, it was that. We had to find our own way to make sense of it, but they encouraged us to take that phrase to heart.”

“So… everything…?” Nauja puzzled over that for a moment. “I thought things happen because people do or don’t do things.”

“You are correct, but it’s something they said to make us feel better here, to help make sense of things in here.” He tapped the middle of her chest with two fingers, then her forehead. “I thought they meant stuff like when Tante Lami got into my room and tore it apart in play, or when my parents had a patient who passed away unexpectedly, or when a classmate would break a bone after slipping on ice. That wasn’t it at all.”

“What was it?”

“It was preparing us, in case one of us would not find salvation with the others,” Law admitted quietly, his voice cracking slightly. “It doesn’t mean what happens is always right, or good, or that you will ever understand why; it’s hopefully something that clicks into place later on so that the past doesn’t weigh the better parts of you down. By thinking about it, you can move forward and not let ghosts haunt you.”

Nauja looked away, her gaze towards the art set on the table yet far-off and distant. Her father waited for her to say something, yet she did not.

“If I had not been the only one to live,” he continued, “then I would have never lost my faith in the good in the world. My rage would have never led me to Doflamingo or to my Devil Fruit. Amber Lead would have killed me if bullets and fire didn’t. I would have never had to relearn what was good with Cora-jiisan or the crew, I would have never gone on the journey I did, and I certainly would have never agreed to stop at the island we met on.” He watched as she drew up her legs and hugged her knees in an effort to become smaller. “I would have never known that you needed me like I needed Cora-jiisan, and I would have never realized that what he wanted was not for me to go headlong into a suicidal revenge mission, but to pass on the love he gave me.” Holding her gently by the shoulders, he waited until she looked back at him to continue. “I don’t know what forces brought us together if any did at all, but what I do know is that you are my reason, Trafalgar D. Water Lawsdottir Nauja. It doesn’t have to make sense to you just as much as it needs to make sense to me.”

Errant tears were now streaming down both their faces—too much more and things would become ugly.

“You lived,” he stated. “That’s what you did to deserve to inherit love. I lived, and that’s all I needed as well. If more people knew that, then maybe I could take you home to my family, or you might know first-hand how much of a klutz Cora-jiisan was. If more people understood… then the world might be different.”

“If there was a church here, would you take me?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“I…” he swallowed hard, “I don’t know.”

“Would you… go by yourself…?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did Oma and Opa and Tante Lami and Cora-jiisan find it? Salvation?”

“I like to think they did.” He leaned down and kissed the top of her head, where he lingered for a moment as he drew strength from her presence. “We’re here for a reason, famke, and so far, being your father and seeing you celebrate birthdays is enough for me. Now come on; open your last present.”

Nodding quietly, Nauja took the third parcel from the table and dragged it into her lap. She slid her fingers under an opening in the paper and stopped.

“I’m the only one in school who was adopted outside their blood-family,” she admitted. “A couple kids live with grandparents, and one girl lives with her aunt and uncle, but there’s no one else like us.”

“…and that too is for a reason.” He gently rubbed her back. “Come on. Open it.”

Nauja carefully tore at the paper and revealed a small stack of books that she quickly looked through: the newest Sora volume, a volume of reference poses, a collection of Northern folktales, and a book on unique localized architecture. She opened the last book and saw in the index not only a section on her father’s hometown, but hers as well. She stared at a photo of a canal full of gondolas and yagara bulls and sniffled.

“…as long as you need me, and longer still,” he murmured. She looked at him with watery eyes and he ruffled her hair. “So, what do you think?”

“Thank you, Vaor. I love them.” She then glanced over at the cake that was still sitting on the table and began to fidget. “Can we…?”

“We can,”  he replied. Nauja breathed a sigh of relied—something to solidly change the subject, and not only that, it was whole cake all to the two of them! It was perfect.

As they ate their cake, Law sat on the couch with a book of his own, while Nauja knelt in front of the table as she began to test her new drafting supplies and reference materials. He glanced over once in a while to see that she was paying close attention to the particular way that elevated canals worked. Had she lived next to one? He couldn’t remember…

Eventually, Law left Nauja in the sitting room as he went to put together some tea for her and pour a couple fingers of a gifted whisky for himself. Was he technically on-call? Yes, but if he couldn’t drink the stuff during a special occasion on a full stomach, when could he? He brought the teapot, their Sora mugs, and the whisky back on a tray, watching her nose wrinkle at the sight of his drink.

“That’s stinky,” she scowled.

“Your opa drank it, as did both of my opas,” he shrugged, sitting down to lean back into the couch. “I don’t expect you to like it—you didn’t even like that sip of beer Ikkaku-ya gave you.”

“Don’t remind me,” she cringed, pouring herself some tea. They took more cake to have with their drinks, both quiet as they continued their dessert in peace.

When he was nearly done with both cake and whisky, an odd feeling settled over Law. It was as though a weight shifted on his shoulders—not quite lifted and yet eased in a way. Two years prior, he would have not been able to predict that this was ever in his future. Seas, he wouldn’t’ve been able to predict it when he first saw Nauja, the girl nearly half-feral and malnourished from neglect, that she would be the entire reason behind his retirement. Now, after everything, she knew more about him than even Bepo. She understood him and his motivations in a way no one else did, even if it hadn’t all set in yet, and there was something… oddly reassuring about it.

Eventually, all children were likely to hit their limits and Nauja was no exception. He chuckled inwardly as her head bobbed in exhaustion, her fight to stay awake nearly valiant in a way.

“You can go to bed if you want,” he said. She shook her head.

“I wanna stay up,” she whined. Nauja abandoned her books and crawled up onto the sofa and cuddled into Law’s side. He let his arm drape around her and she hummed in happiness—the sharpness of the whisky, the smokiness of the fire, the fragrance of the tea, the sweetness of the leftover cake, the electricity and rumbles of the oncoming change in the storm, the warmth of each other and the flames… it was going to be a birthday she would never forget, and neither would he.

Eventually, the storm began to roll in and Law began to drift off himself. He imagined the smell of the fire as Cora-san’s cigarettes, as the fireplace in his parents’ house, as something warm and comforting beyond his daughter… a reality where some things went a little more his way…

Just before he was nearly asleep, a thudding pounding rocked the door, jolting both father and daughter awake. Law went to the door to open it, only for Daisuke to come in, supporting his wife Marla with one arm draped across his shoulders. While both were windwhipped and drenched from the heavy snowfall, she was clearly in pain, which set off alarm bells in Law’s mind.

“You have to help,” Daisuke said between heavy breaths. “She’s gone into labor.”

“Wait… where’s Svana-ya?”

“She’s seeing to her brother’s younger granddaughter,” Marla said. She took a deep breath as her hand went to her stomach. “This one wasn’t supposed to come until next month.”

“…but obstetrics isn’t exactly my field of expertise…”

“I don’t think this baby cares,” Daisuke replied as Law began to support Marla from her other side. He caught sight of Nauja peering at them from the couch and he blanched. “What about…?”

“Hey, famke, remember the illustrations about childbirth in our textbooks?”

“Yeah…?”

“Well get ready, because you’re going to help in-person.” Law led Marla and Daisuke back to the operating theater and helped sit the woman down before beginning to grab things off of shelves and out of cupboards. “Get Marla-ya one of the spare gowns; I don’t want her in those soaked clothes.”

“Yes, Vaor!” Nauja chirped. She scurried back out of the theater and down towards the linen cupboard, giving the adults precious seconds to themselves.

“When was the last time you helped deliver a kid?” Daisuke asked. Law shook his head.

“I can in theory, but it wasn’t part of my clinicals.” Which was the truth, but the ins and outs of his unorthodox medical training wasn’t something that really mattered at that moment.

“Not even for your own daughter’s birth?” Marla wondered as she peeled off her soaked jumper.

“Lot of reasons, long story, but we’re not going to talk about that now.” Nauja then returned with a fresh patient gown, which she shoved in Marla’s hands. “Alright, now get the lights and wash your hands really good.”

“Yes, sir!”

Daisuke shot Law one final incredulous look before Marla caught their attention again as a contraction caused her to hiss in pain. They left her side only to scrub in best they could, because there wasn’t long before the woman began full-on cussing.

What followed next was one of the most stressful hours of Law’s life. He was never going to admit that he’d only ever glanced at obstetrics in passing, with Penguin and Shachi’s giggling immaturity having been the most those texts had gotten use until he went over the topic with Nauja all those months ago. It made him glad he had, as both of them were thrown into the terrifying and messy situation headlong, for at least they were both somewhat (if poorly) prepared. Eventually, a baby cried its first cry and was nestled in his mother’s arms, Marla so relieved and exhausted she could barely speak.

“Storm,” she breathed. “I think that’s his name.”

“Not after your dad?” Daisuke smirked.

“No—his arrival was something to weather, like what’s going on outside.” She raised her eyes towards Law and Nauja, who were both beginning to crash as they cleaned up on waning adrenaline. “We’re doing fine; you two should go rest.”

“Marla-ya, I…”

“I’m a mom now and that means I can boss people around,” she joked. “In all seriousness, you look like you’re going to fall over.”

“We’re okay,” Nauja insisted. She rubbed at her eyes, the late hour getting to her. “We can stay up…”

“I’ll get you if we need anything, how about that?” Daisuke offered. Nauja nodded at that with a tiny squeak, while Law exhaled heavily. Fine—he had them there.

“We’ll be in the waiting room if you need us,” he said. Law then ushered Nauja out so that the new family could have some privacy, the pair finding their way back to the front sitting room. The fire in the hearth was nearly out, so he put a couple more logs on and made sure the flames caught before sitting down a bit too hard on the couch.

“Vaor…?” Nauja whispered as she joined him, cuddling in close.

“Hmm…?”

“We’re here because someone needed to help Storm be born, right? Is that the reason?”

“Maybe.” He smiled hazily at her and let out a chuckle low in his throat. “Slaap goed.”

“Sleep well,” she echoed, curling back up into his side. He wrapped his arm around her and they stayed like that until Daisuke woke them five hours later with food ready in the kitchen.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

A/N: I don’t know how many of you all realize how Catholic-coded Law is and when I say Catholic-coded I mean after a happy upbringing there was an awful event that made him lose his faith and question everything he’d known, only to slowly get back to accepting what he was brought up in and where he is currently, even if a lot of what he sees at-large makes him uncomfortable and by no means has erased the fury he once felt. My circumstances were (obviously) not the same, but a lot of the emotional journey that Law goes through via Flevance and Amber Lead really strikes a chord with me due to applicability with my own faith journey and that’s part of why I adore his character so much.

Also, just as a disclaimer, once I wrote Visiting Home [FFN/AO3], my brain went and decided that something similar probably happened in canon, so to me it’s my emotional support fanon, and by emotional support I mean crying happens a lot.

[undermostcorgi]

the media which consumes your entire soul at age 12 will forever be a part of you. this is an unavoidable consequence of living and you have to accept this fact. no matter how old you get, no matter how long it has been since you last saw its smug face peeking out from the bushes as it follows you, no matter if you think you have outrun it for good and that you're finally finally safe and you hardly even remember it exists anymore and your brain knows a few brief moments of true peace, it WILL catch up to you in your moment of weakness. and listen you don't want to hear this but sometimes this is necessary for your mental health. you will on instinct want to reject it and run away again but sometimes. sometimes you just need to watch that old show or listen to that silly song or read that weird book again as an adult and it will hurt you a little bit in various little ways but it will also heal you a little bit. you can call it nostalgia you can call it connecting with your inner child or whatever you want but just listen to me it WILL HAPPEN TO YOU TOO AT SOME POINT AND YOU HAVE TO BE PREPARED FOR THIS (i am forcibly dragged off the stage by security)

[slut4nicholas]

𝙊𝙃, 𝙁𝘼𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙍 𝙄 𝙃𝘼𝙑𝙀 𝙎𝙄𝙉𝙉𝙀𝘿 𝙄 | 𝙁𝘼𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙍 𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙍𝙇𝙄𝙀

a/n: i haven't started the show yet, so I'm not familiar with his character in this show. please forgive my cluelessness during this fic.

summary: the reader goes to the church to confess to the priest that she recently sinned. however, the father decides to have some fun of his own.

warnings: mention of religion, 18+, missionary, loss of virginity, oral(fem & m receiving) fingering, nipple play, praise kink, pet names like doll,sweetheart,baby, mentions of anal, spanking, degrading, corruption kink, almost caught

˖⋆࿐໋

growing up in a religious household, i have developed a deep appreciation for my catholic roots. whenever I feel overwhelmed by sadness, anger, or depression, I find solace in the church.

today i couldn't help but feel a tremendous amount of guilt. i found myself hanging out with a boy, and things got a bit physical. even though we didn't go too far, i couldn't help but feel ashamed. i had promised to wait until marriage, but these uncontrollable desires keep creeping up. i've decided to go to the church to talk to the father about my recent activities and confess my sins.

as i made my way to the church, i felt a mix of nervousness and anticipation. i'm meeting with father charlie, a young and attractive man who’s also the priest at the church, which is not something you typically expect in the church. i haven't had a chance to speak with him one-on-one yet, so im feeling a bit apprehensive about what our conversation will entail.

i open the big doors to the church to see it completely empty just to find charlie sitting down on one the church benches.

“hello there” he calls out.

"father, there's something weighing heavily on my heart that I need to share with you," i said as I hurried to sit next to him.

i can feel that irritating uneasy sensation in my stomach. I didn't even give him a proper greeting. the guilt was so overwhelming that it made me stumble over my words.

"what is it y/n?" he turns all of his attention towards me, his big brown eyes digging into mine, as if anticipating something significant.

“i don’t know who to talk to, i can’t talk to my parents about this especially my own father. i’ve been feeling really guil-“

he interrupted me with a gentle smile and placed his hand on my shoulder, assuring me that everything would be okay and letting me know that he was a safe person to talk to.

“father, i need to confess something. i kissed a boy, and he kissed me back. he started to touch me, but i stopped him. i made a promise to the lord, and i feel terrible for breaking it”

as the tears welled up in my eyes, i instinctively dropped my face into my hands, seeking refuge from the overwhelming emotions.

"hey, it's going to be okay," charlie said in a gentle, caring tone as he stroked my hair, trying to comfort me.

“now tell me, did you guys fuck?”

as those words reached my ears, i couldn't help but look up at him, shaking my head as the tears continued to fall.

oh no, i hope he's not going to make me feel even worse.

“no father i swear-“

"shh, no swearing in the church," he said, raising his finger to his lips with a smirk. the irony wasn't lost on him, considering he had just dropped the f-bomb.

it was so quiet for a whole minute, and I started feeling really awkward. i had come all this way hoping for some advice or comfort, but it seemed like he just didn't care.

as I stood up, charlie grabbed my arm, forcing me to sit back down. “i didn't say you could leave. where do you think you're going?”

he replied coldly, smirking, “always so forgiving. it's kind of pathetic”

i stared at him, utterly perplexed, not really sure what he was talking about.

“father, isn't forgiveness what the church is all about?”

“sometimes, but in this case, i really want you to show me how sorry you are. otherwise, you're just going to keep committing the same sin over and over again. you don't want that, right? you don't want your parents to find out how desperate their innocent little girl has become, do you?"

i couldn't believe what i was hearing from charlie. i never expected him to act this way, let alone say things like this. i was at a loss for words and didn't know how to react. all i could do was nod in agreement. the last thing i wanted was for my parents to find out.

“father, i think i should go”

"why are you suddenly so shy, doll?" his hand on my chin made me tilt my head to stare at him.

"you don't think i notice how you look at me during mass when I'm speaking on the stand? you've become so needy that you sometimes cross your legs to stop yourself from feeling those emotions you want to avoid so badly," he says while caressing my cheek, gently rubbing his thumb on my bottom lip.

"i know you think of me taking you to the point where you can't even think straight, cum dripping out of you while i use you for my pleasure. you don't think i notice that? the way you avoid eye contact with me”

“i don’t know what your talking about father”

charlie’s hand rested lightly on my thigh, sending a spark of electricity coursing through my body. as his fingers inched toward the top of my skirt, pushing the fabric up just a little, my breath caught in my throat. each slow movement seemed to stretch time, heightening my senses and igniting a thrilling tension i couldn't ignore.

it felt deceptively wrong—the kind of reckless abandon that sent a shiver down my spine—but the anticipation was intoxicating, and I craved more. my mind raced, caught between instinct and hesitation, as the warmth of his touch settled into a deep hunger, one i found increasingly impossible to resist.

i glanced up, searching his eyes for a sign, a cue that this was more than just a fleeting moment. we held a playful challenge, a promise of the passion we both knew was simmering beneath the surface. my heart raced with excitement and fear, the boundaries of right and wrong blurring into a sweet confusion. with every breath, i felt the world around us fade away, lost to the undeniable chemistry pulsing in the air. i didn’t want to stop it; I wanted to let go completely and dive headfirst into whatever was coming next.

“do you want this as much as I want this?" charlie's voice broke through the haze of my thoughts, causing my heart to race in an unholy rhythm. i felt his gaze resettle upon me, a weight both thrilling and terrifying. my mind was a jumble, each beat vying for clarity as i struggled to focus on anything but him.

his eyes—the deep pools of mischief and longing—held me captive, swaying me like a fragile leaf in a rising storm. the blueprint of his desires flickered behind those intense brown eyes, and my cheeks burned with a shameful blush. I could hear the hymns of the service fade into background noise, a distant echo that paled against the ferocity of this moment.

what was wrong with me? i shouldn’t be feeling this way, not here—certainly not in a house of worship. my skirt brushed against my legs, reminding me of the innocence i used to wear like armor, now discarded in the face of this ravenous yearning. charlie wanted me. craved me. it was a dangerous temptation that had taken root within me, whispering sweet nothings that urged me to give in.

the candlelit corners of the church bathed in shadows, the lure was overwhelming. each passing week at mass had been an exercise in restraint, a careful balancing act over a precipice of emotion. seeing him near the altar in his crisp shirt—as though god himself had stitched him together purely for me—seemed more sublimely wrong every time.

as his eyes swept over me, i wondered if he could sense the tension glittering between us, thick and electrifying like charged air before a storm. j licked my lips, torn between the sanctity of the aisle and the allure of his promise. "I need you, doll. I can't deny it anymore," he murmured like a sin freshly minted from temptation's forge.

i felt a tumultuous wave of conflicting emotions surging within me. the whispered prayers seemed empty as an overwhelming desire ignited like an uncontrollable inferno. "father” i gasped, but the air escaped me, filled with forbidden possibilities. despite everything, all i could focus on were his lips drawing nearer to mine, as if the world around us faded away, leaving only the intense magnetism between us.

in that sacred moment, beneath the flickering lights, surrounded by silence begging to be heard, we hovered on the brink of something vast and insatiable. would we give in? would grace curdle into passion? ignoring the whisper of consequence felt like my true struggle—should we tiptoe across this brittle line, or confess that hunger has only one unyielding answer? together.

as I processed what was happening, a surge of warmth enveloped me, and i found myself surrendering to the moment. his lips danced across the sensitive skin of my neck, light as a whisper but charging the air with electricity. a small moan escaped my lips, betraying the whirlwind of emotions stirring within me. i could feel his smirk, a secret shared just between us, brushing against my skin, simultaneously teasing and thrilling.

his hand roamed over my thigh, a firm yet gentle grip that sent a shiver cascading through my body. "that's it, such a good girl for me," he purred, his voice a low whisper that thrummed like a melody in my ears, both lustful and tender. each word dripped with a promise, igniting the fire kindling deep within me, blurring the boundaries between desire and surrender.

lost in this intoxicating closeness, i reveled in the sensations; the world beyond shifted and faded, leaving only his teasing caresses and the seductive intimacy that enveloped us—a balance of power and vulnerability, inviting me to cross the threshold into unknown territory.

"father, i really don’t think we should be doing this here. It just doesn’t feel right. what if we get caught?" i watched as charlie sighed, rubbing his forehead in frustration, clearly torn between desire and caution.

"you’re right," he replied, his voice low and raspy, "but it’s late, and I don’t think anyone’s going to wander into the church at this hour. just relax, sweetheart."

i hesitated for a moment, then nodded, the thrill of the forbidden sending a shiver down my spine. i reached out, intertwining my fingers with his, bringing his hand to my lips and sucking gently on his long fingers. his eyes locked onto mine, filled with a primal hunger that made my heart race. i could see it in his expression—the desperate need to claim me, to tear away any barrier between us.

the air was thick with anticipation, and i could almost feel the weight of his longing as he shifted closer, his breath coming in quick, shallow bursts. the dim light from the stained glass windows cast a soft glow around us, amplifying the intensity of the moment. i could sense the tension building, a thrilling mix of danger and desire, as he leaned in, caught in the magnetic pull that seemed to draw us together like moths to a flame.

we were on the edge of something wild and reckless, and in that sacred space, everything felt possible.

charlie withdrew his fingers, his intention clear as he replaced them with his warm, teasing tongue. it slipped into my mouth, exploring with a fervor that sent electric shivers through my entire body. he held my neck gently yet possessively, urging me closer, deeper, igniting a fire that burned between us.

i kissed him back with equal intensity, a thrilling battle for dominance that left us both breathless. the taste of him was intoxicating, a heady mixture of desire and urgency that made my heart race. every flick of his tongue ignited a wave of pleasure, pooling low in my belly and making it almost impossible to think straight.

the heat of the moment consumed me; i could feel my body responding instinctively to his every move. the sweet tension built inside me, and i knew i needed him—needed to feel him against me, to drown in that wild connection we shared. my panties were already soaked, a testament to the overwhelming desire coursing through my veins.

charlie pushes my panties to the side allowing his already wet fingers from my saliva to dance around my clothed heat growling like a predator hungry for its prey “let me show you how a real man is supposed to make you feel darling, those little boys wouldn’t know how to handle something so precious like you. i can make you feel so good you wouldn’t be able to walk straight for days”

as he pumps his fingers in out of me the sweet sounds filling up the quiet church was enough for the both of us to go crazy “more father please” he smirked at my neediness removing his fingers out of me putting them up to mouth to signaling me to suck the sweet juices off of his fingers then going back in for a quick rub of my clit

charlie stood up getting ready to unbuckle his pants but before he could even do that a voice filled up the quiet room which caused me to jump and act quick closing my legs and hiding my exposed area “father charlie i’ve been looking everywhere for you” an older lady shouts from across the room as she appears to be in desperate need of his help

he sighed and i took that as my sign to leave before we both do something we might regret later, charlie keeps his gaze on me the entire time “hi, ill be with you in a moment” he spoke up the lady stops in her tracks wondering what a young woman was doing here at almost midnight with the priest of the church she was curious but nothing crossed her mind as she was desperate to talk to the priest

charlie followed me out of the church closing the door behind us “this isn’t over sweetheart” he placed a kiss on my forehead as he walked back into the church.

˖⋆࿐໋

a/n: omggg i hope you guys like this!! i’ve spent almost a day and a half working on this just for you all especially the person who requested this, i will be making this into a little series since it was getting pretty long! anyways i really hope you guys enjoyed this, remember feel free to request anything!

[bengiyo]

Let Free the Curse of Taekwondo: We Are So Fucking Back

I am glad that we are all having a normal one in reaction to Hwang Da Seul's latest project (@chicademartinica, @dropthedemiurge, @shortpplfedup, @lurkingshan). I'm still meditating on the whole affair, but for now want to get into how Hwang Da Seul feels so compassionate to closeted men, and how I also am stuck on the removal of the cross (@my-rose-tinted-glasses).

Shan already linked back to The Knowing, and I keep thinking about how rare it is to see two boys who've already come to an understanding of themselves meeting each other, and also including a bully who knows himself. What stands out for me with Hwang Da Seul is how old the pains weighing on her characters feel each time.

Dohee has suffered the abuse of his father, abandonment of his mother, and dissolution of his closest friendship, and he's just pushing through to leave all of this. His pain is obvious and lived in. He doesn't have to sit around moping exclusively about how he feels, because it's ever present. Like anyone else living with chronic pain, you just have to do stuff while hurting a lot of the time.

Juyeong is so fascinating to me because his exuberance and passion makes it almost impossible to hide who he is, and I will always be a sucker for the characters who love so loudly that you can't turn it off. I also keep thinking about how he has been communicating his attraction through his eyes so often, and how he's made desire known through all of his careful flirting.

The building romance between them hits for me most because they're paying attention to each other. Dohee made food that he realized Juyeong would like, is careful about hurting him in their sparring matches, and went for the ice cream that Juyeong said he wanted. Juyeong heard Dohee say he wanted to see snow, and so he made snow for him!

Now, back to that cross. Rose's post and one @benkaben posted have been rattling around in my head for hours. We know that Juyeong's mom is a pastor, and that he's being sent here as essentially conversion therapy (as Shan already pointed out). It's not just that he takes the cross off before confessing, which clearly shows that he's setting everything associated with that aside. It's that he's also confessing through a wall. It's such a small detail in how you can set aside the weight of responsibility and guilt associated with your queerness, but you don't lose the cultural touchstones: for some Christians (I was raised Catholic) you confess your signs through a mild layer of anonymity by putting some sort of wall or separation between you and the priest. There's something so subversive about having Juyeong set down his cross but still confess his feelings like a Christian.

I am also curious where Hyeonho will feature in the rest of this story. It's clear that he and Dohee felt something between each other at some point, and that Hyeonho ran from it. He doesn't want Dohee to get hurt too badly, and he's observing the growing relationship between Dohee and Juyeong. I'm so happy this character exists, because it gives us three characters struggling with the pressures on them to be a certain way. If we had to have a character who will make ugly choices around that, it helps for it not to be part of the main pair, and it also shows that these boys have not been the only queers around that they knew of.

Finally, let me just thank Hwang Da Seul for not being precious about the kissing. I like that their first proper kiss was their second kiss, and I like that it was awkward. I loved them false starting multiple times, trying to make sure they weren't observed too closely (considering their history), and I like that they built back to it. I know that kissing early means we're in for much pain, but it's so nice to have a show not dance around the kissing, or have it be especially mild. I like when two boys like each other and go for it.

I'm so happy that Hwang Da Seul is back. Every time I watch her shows I feel like I'm talking to someone who understands what the inside of the closet looks and feels like. I always feel seen by her in a way that feels gentle. She lets me remember how scary and ugly all of that was without it being a triggering or jarring experience. Peak drama season is upon us, because we're also about to get Love in the Big City in just three days. See you all on the other side.

[mythica-ithaca]

the fact that I see some of y'all posting more about how important it is to vote for Biden than you ever have about Palestine just shows that you fucking "vote blue no matter who" people genuinely don't give a fuck about anyone but yourselves.

you only choose to speak up when YOUR hypothetical rights are threatened. you love to fear monger about how much hypothetically worse it would be under trump than acknowledge the actual atrocities that Biden is committing and condoning every single day. how exactly is he the "lesser" of two evils for?

do any of you actually look at the images coming out of gaza, or are you too fucking ~triggered~ to fully acknowledge other peoples suffering rather than your own. have you seen the video that came out recently of the little boy whose brain is exposed, about to be laid next to his dead family members, only to twitch and seize in his fathers arms as he screams and runs in horror to find a doctor, because his son is alive. his brain is literally falling out of his skull but he is still alive. that is one brief example of the most horrific shit you've ever seen in your life coming out daily for almost a year. how on this earth can you watch that and possibly claim that Biden is in any way shape or form "less" evil.

instead of demanding that the dnc force a different candidate, you're trying to guilt trip people who have actually seen the mutilated bodies of children on their timelines every single day and watched the press briefings of bidens administration denying genocide and defending Israel at the expense of literally everything else for the last 8 months, into voting for a man who supports it 100% and has not and will not be convinced otherwise.

this is where allowing them to push widely unpopular and centrist candidates has gotten us. it didn't work with Hillary in 2016. it BARELY worked in 2020. and hate to break it to you, but its probably not going to work again. so congrats. your "vote blue no matter who" rhetoric has got them thinking that they can push the most right leaning liberals on us and think that we'll vote for them just because they're in a blue tie instead of a red one.

if you care about democracy like you say you do, then the Democrats should be fucking TERRIFIED that you won't vote for them if they don't deliver. not constantly reassured that they can commit literal fucking genocide and still get your votes if they dangle abortion rights over your heads. you realize they see those posts too right? the ones that say "Yes! protest vote in the primary but make sure to actually vote for the guy in the general!!" like. you are literally telling them how performative your activism is.

if every election at this point is the one where democracy is on the line then we are already fucked. if they don't get it through their heads now that we will not support this shit, then every election to come will be between a fascist and a fascist who cares slightly less about whether gay people get married or not. but that's all you care about right? as long as your domestic policy is in your favor then the rest of the world can suffer at your tax dollars.

this isn't about morality voting. this is about recognizing that there is not actually a "lesser" of two evils in this situation, just because you think that the causes that you personally care about will be less affected one way or the other. because what if it was abortion rights? what catholic Joe Biden was firmly against abortion and was threatening to ban it completely and throw anyone getting or giving one in prison for murder. what if it was videos of lgbt people being slaughtered coming out every single day for a year. genuinely fucking ask yourself if you'd still be saying "vote blue no matter who" and that he's the "lesser" of two evils.

vote for whoever the fuck you want. and I do genuinely urge you to vote for the most progressive candidate you can for the house and senate and your local elections. but for the love of god, stop trying to convince people that there is, in any sense of the word, a "Lesser" evil in this situation. stop trying to absolve yourselves of the fact that you are CHOOSING evil. it's genuinely sick.

[buddierecs]

eddie diaz's moustache buddie fics

i am a secret lover of eddie's mustache so of course i am doing this :) this list has different rated fics, so please look at the rating make sure to kudos/comment on these amazing works :)

world war e(ddie's moustache) by: songbvrd "eddie is a little unhinged since christopher left. when buck gets yelled at for having facial hair, eddie makes a spectacle out of his own." word count: 19k rating: mature important tags: emotional infidelity, tommy kinard bashing, unhinged!eddie diaz, pre-relationship, mutual pining all my little words by: youbetsya "eddie: did you just send me an email?? buck: yeah lol eddie: why… I dont think you’ve ever emailed me actual words before. just stuff to print when your printer is broken buck: did you read it? eddie: not yet too busy trying to figure out why the fuck you’re emailing me buck: just read it dude 🙄" word count: 11k rating: teen and up important tags: texting, idiots in love, getting together, TW: suicidal thoughts to hurt, to heal, to hope by: brewrosemilk "...eddie, you think I'm going anywhere, you're fucking crazy." word count: 2.1k rating: teen and up important tags: getting together, first kiss just you know you'll taste me too by: teenytinytomlinson "eddie has a mustache, a cat, and a night out. buck gets a phone call, a near heart attack, and a whole new perspective." word count: 12k rating: explicit important tags: infidelity, getting together, gay!eddie diaz, jealous!evan buckley, anal sex, blow jobs, power bottom!eddie diaz one bright morning changes all things by: hispolestar "it's halloween, chris is heading back to texas for a few days and frank gives eddie therapy homework to do something for himself, to let himself want things. eddie enlists buck's help and something shifts between them in the following week." word count: 50k rating: explicit important tags: friends to lovers, infidelity, angst, tommy kinard bashing, therapy, panic attacks, demisexual!eddie diaz, anal sex, blow jobs, mirror sex, praise kink save a horse, ride a mustache by: bisexualbuckley "eddie gets a mustache. buck goes insane. there's some miscommunication. mustache smut ensues." word count: 7.1k rating: explicit important tags: miscommunication, established relationship, rimming, face-sitting, anal sex, riding, praise kink, come eating i'm in your grip by: thatbuddie "the one where eddie’s mustache makes buck lose his mind and get nipple piercings. and then eddie loses his mind about buck's nipple piercings. And then they lose their minds together." word count: 5.9k rating: explicit important tags: piercing, porn without plot, blow jobs, nipple play, come marking i can fix that by: 42hrb “what - what is that?” “what’s what?” eddie asked, but the smile tugging at his mouth, the smile that was just slightly obscured by the hottest mustache buck had ever fucking seen, told buck eddie knew exactly what he was talking about...." word count: 4.2k rating: mature important tags: handyman!eddie diaz, flirting, mutual pining, getting together, non-explicit sex one more can't hurt, right? by: eightpackdiaz "chris goes to texas for the summer. eddie adopts a bunch of cats about it." word count: 8.7k rating: teen and up important tags: cats, gay!eddie diaz, jealous!eddie diaz, tommy kinard bashing, boys in love, first kiss baby, i'm all outta words by: well-sussed "eddie works on feeling his feelings, frank has the patience of a saint, and the moustache is *seriously* doing it for buck." word count: 13k rating: teen and up important tags: gay priest, sexuality crisis, catholic guilt, idiots in love, mutual pining, soft!eddie diaz the mustache intervention by: xylodemon "so… what?" eddie asks. "this is some kind of intervention?" hen says, "yes, definitely." word count: 1.4k rating: not rated important tags: getting together, humour, crack it's not right (but it's okay) by: weewooforever "buck and eddie fuck nasty after tommy disappoints buck again." word count: 8.9k rating: explicit important tags: infidelity, idiots in love, getting together, possessive&bossy!eddie diaz anal sex, blow jobs, handjobs, praise kink

[carpkoinobori]

[†] thursday girl — giselle x reader

[𖤐] 1/1 [please be aware this is all fiction! none of this is real and idols behavior is not accurately represented.]

song(s): abbey - mitski | wife - mitski | goodbye, my danish sweetheart - mitski | circle - mitski | shame - mitski | once more to see you - mitski | thursday girl - mitski | pink in the night - mitski |

summary: you debut in SM’s newest girl group. The industry isn’t what you thought it’d be. It’ll be fine, right? or , more accurately: a girl’s guide to breaking all ten commandments.

pairing: giselle x aespa member!reader

to be honest the dynamic is more like the apple x the snake x eve

tags: angst, happy and open ending, literally just angst though, reader is raised catholic

wc: 7.3k

cw: dieting, eating disorders, religious trauma, catholic guilt, homophobia, internalized homophobia, comphet, mild implied sexual content, creepy variety show hosts and fans mentioned, the mortifying ordeal of being a girl

ex: not beta read, reader is third oldest/youngest - middle of five. reader’s stage name is Eve.

a/n: leaving this warning here. I was raised catholic. if you find negative mentions of organized religion upsetting, this one isn’t for you. NOT BETA READ ONCE AGAIN

psalm 32:1-5 Blessed is he whose transgressions are forgiven, whose sins are covered. Blessed is the man whose sin the Lord does not count against him, and in whose spirit is no deceit. When I kept silent, my bones wasted away through my groaning all day long. For day and night your hand was heavy upon me; my strength was sapped as in the heat of summer. Then I acknowledged my sin to you, and did not cover up my iniquity. I said, ‘I will confess my transgressions to the Lord’— and you forgave the guilt of my sin.

——————————————————————————————————— debut.

that’s what you’ve been working towards your entire life, what you hungered for, what you wanted.

since your early teen years, you’ve dreamed of debuting. You loved to perform, to sing, to dance— that’s why you were in your church’s choir group. The advent show, the way of the cross, everything— you were there.

did your parents approve of you being an idol? Absolutely not. They tried to convince you to settle down with one of the nice churchboys, the son of one of their friends. He was.. nice, okay looking. But you just didn’t like him. You dreamt of falling in love, being swept off your feet into happily ever after— but for most of your life, you had never even had a real crush! You must just not have found the right guy yet. It only counted when it was with a boy.

you auditioned for SM, and miraculously, you got in. Your days were spent training, dancing, weighing, singing, dancing, showcasing, singing, training, dancing, weighing— a cycle, really.

you met Yu Jimin and Kim Minjeong pretty early on, and you got along great with Jimin. She was catholic, and so were you! She wasn’t as dedicated as you, of course, but it was nice to have something in common.

you all didn’t get the chance to talk with Ning Yizhou a whole lot, even if she did share a dorm with minjeong. You dormed with jimin, but there was an empty bed.

that bed would be filled by one Aeri Uchinaga.

and from that day, your life would also be filled by aeri uchinaga.

The five of you were called to a meeting. You were a little worried, of course, clutching your silver cross chain and pressing the tip of it into your chest. A nervous habit.

“Hello girls,” the man began, the five of you sitting and fidgeting nervously.

“I have good news for you all. You five will be debuting as SM’s newest girl group, Aespa. Congratulations,” he smiled, and it felt like your world had just crumbled and rebuilt itself, three times over.

“We’ll begin thinking of your stage names soon, so feel free to give us some ideas. We’ll be waiting,” the man continued, and like that, the meeting ended.

you all had to celebrate, right?

The five of you met in your dorm, as minjeong didn’t want to bother the other trainee living there. You all begin thinking of stage names, and your eyes drifted to the figurine of Mary that sat on your nightstand. Jimin was thinking of using Katarina, her baptismal name, anyway! Your confirmation name could also work, but you weren’t sure.

“What if I used Mary?” You thought out loud, the other four girls turning their heads to glance at you, and the figure just behind you.

“Mary?” Jimin began. “Like, the Virgin Mary? Our Lady of Naju?” She questioned.

“Yes, I quite like the idea, don’t you?” The other girls knew you spoke a little formally, never really speaking in slang or impolitely in the slightest. It was your parents, after all. You had grown up in a secluded, small town in America, but your parents had taught you Korean, along with your own interest, reading books to perfect grammar. Sadly, that didn’t really teach you many informal words— not that your parents would allow that. You had to be a lady, of course.

“It seems a bit.. outdated, doesn’t it?” Aeri voiced, tentatively, and the other girls agreed with her. They began giving suggestions.

“What about Lily?” Jimin offered.

“Eden— no, maybe Eve?” minjeong hummed.

“Lilith!” Ning exclaimed, much to the amusement of the other girls.

“Ning, that’s similar to Lily, though, isn’t it?” Minjeong gave an amused half-smile.

“I guess so,�� she sighed.

“I like Eve,” Aeri voiced, and the other girls all mostly agreed, although more name suggestions were given out, for everyone.

You debuted with the names Karina, Giselle, Eve, Winter, and Ningning.

you said a prayer every morning and every night, with the rosary that was around the figurine. A small Our Father, a Hail Mary, an Act of Contrition— no matter what, you never missed your morning and nightly prayers, no matter how small. You attended mass on Sunday, and while you usually couldn’t go in person, you’d try to listen to it in the morning, before it was time for practice, or at night, before bed— it didn’t matter how much sleep you gave up for it.

You were moved into a group dorms a bit after debut, Black Mamba being a sensational hit. You dormed with aeri, while ning and minjeong dormed together, karina having pulled the leader and oldest card to secure the single-room.

You and aeri weren’t exactly close. There was no animosity, of course, you two just never really got the chance to talk. It was definitely by chance. Not because she made your heart beat just a little faster, your steps a little more uncoordinated, your words fail. It wasn’t that. It wasn’t that at all.

you just admired the other girl. It didn’t help that you two had more than one language in common— aeri had gone to an international school, you were raised in america. You just hadn't gotten the chance to approach her, that was all.

well, the first night before the debut stage, you couldn’t sleep. You tossed and turned, finally sitting up, when—

“Can’t sleep?” aeri’s voice was low with sleep, and she was speaking in english. You felt an uncomfortable skip in your heart.

“Oh, yes, I’m just a bit restless,” you laughed, definitely not nervously. “I am, too. Just a little,” she replied, making a pinching gesture with her fingers, and a smile.

“Why?” You asked, even if it was kind of a dumb question.

aeri was silent, for a beat. At one point, you started to wonder if she was even going to respond.

“I’m just kind of.. scared,” she admitted. “We’re gonna be on display to the whole world, and who knows what’ll happen?” She chuckled, throwing her arms up just a bit. “I’m just.. worried. And.. I mean obviously, I miss home,” she added.

you looked at her, slightly, turning your head just to glance at the dark haired girl. “I know,” you murmured. “I miss home too, even if it wasn’t.. the most exciting place. I just miss it,” you continued. You were just a little afraid you were speaking too quickly in english, but aeri seemed fine. “I mean, I understand. I miss my parents,” she agreed.

you wished you could say the same. It’s not that you didn’t love your parents, but they were a little.. much. They didn’t like the fact you hadn’t found a guy yet. They’d ask you if you.. liked girls. You denied it, you didn’t! You were steadfast in your faith, dedicated, you didn’t like girls. You couldn’t.

“I miss my friends, you know. Sometimes I worry I’ll forget english,” you admitted.

“Well,” aeri gave a grin. “I’ll talk to you in english all you want if you promise to talk to me in japanese,”

you didn’t even speak japanese, but for her? you’d learn.

You smiled. “Of course,”

the two of you tried your best to sleep, after that, but it was mostly you two continuing to talk about anything and everything.

You could tell aeri was going to be one of your best friends. A reminder of home, if anything.

the debut showcase went great, the song was a hit, everything was good.

you and aeri spoke before going to sleep every night— you’d even bought a book about japanese grammar, how to read, write and speak it. You tried your best, but aeri had a nice time correcting you. It was.. nice. You always loved to learn languages, and for some reason, having someone who spoke it already help you was.. a bit comforting, in a way.

you still prayed every night, and aeri would sometimes give you a look, but she never said anything.

everything was going great.

until the hate began

Every little thing you or your group did was criticized, nitpicked, blown out of proportion— and the stress was getting to you.

you had never handled stress very well. You didn’t have a reason to. There was really nothing for you to ever stress about— other than following god, of course, but that wasn’t stressful to you. You had no reason to be stressed about something like that! You were a good person, you hadn’t ever wanted to sin.

some of the comments were about your appearance. It started to chip away at you. The company was always happy when you lost weight, so why not just a little more? It’s not like it would kill you. you were three months into an eating disorder that you called a diet.

the second you got up, you’d pray as your sustenance, head to practice, do your schedules— the other girls would order lunch, you’d ask for a salad. No dressing, of course, you didn’t like the taste. then, as you’d all get to the dorm, again, if there was even an hour of free time, you’d head to the company gym. Sometimes, when you were just in a waiting room, or you couldn’t work out— you’d pace. Anything to keep moving, you just couldn’t sit still. It was taking over your mind.

you couldn’t even eat normally. Any food given to you on a variety show, any drink, anything— mentally, you were counting. You liked to be in the negatives, you liked to skip meals, anything to be better. This was for yourself, so people couldn’t comment on you. You started to come up with even more elaborate ways to prove you were okay, to be better, you practiced more, you stayed late, you slept in the practice room, at times. You begged the vocal coaches to tell you whether or not you were actually good, and as much as they said you were, you just couldn’t believe them.

it was starting to destroy you.

“y/n?” Aeri called, as you prayed right before bed. She stood by the open room door, looking at you with a concerned expression. Why would she be concerned?

“Yes?” You answered, setting down the rosary, putting it back around the statue of Mary that watched over you so carefully. Sometimes, you wondered if you’d made her proud. Maybe if you said the suffering was in the name of god, he’d forgive you. He’d forgive you for the things you had thought and done and wanted to do. He’d forgive you. You could punish yourself, already. You could pray for him to fix you quickly, maybe you could give up eating for lent entirely—

“You.. haven’t been sleeping here, lately. We haven’t gotten.. to talk,” aeri began, sitting down next to you, looking down at you from where she had sat on your bed, right next to where you knelt.

you had completely forgotten your promise. It had just slipped your mind, you never really were awake enough for it, lately, and—

“Are you okay? You’re kind of.. pale, and you have dark circles, and-“

“Oh, I’m fine,” you smiled, quickly. “It’s just.. lent,” you lied, quickly. “All catholics fast and give something up for lent, don’t worry,” you assured, waving a hand dismissively. While it was true, it didn’t call for someone to starve themselves. You were lying. That’s a sin. But it’s just a white lie, so they won’t worry, right? It’s okay, you told yourself.

“We’re worried about you,” aeri frowned, putting a hand on your shoulder, the weight making you go from a kneeling position to sitting with your legs crossed. “I’m worried about you,”

god damn aeri, and her kind personality, and her need to care for others, and she was just so good- she was such a good person, and here you were, about to ruin her, damn her to hell. You were a horrible, filthy, disgusting person. For some reason, your eyes grew hot, but you couldn’t cry. You simply stared at her, with wide eyes, like seeing god’s light, it blinded you. You wished she didn’t care about you. You wouldn’t blame her. Vaguely, you remembered the first commandment.

the first commandment. Exodus 20:1 I am the Lord your God.  You shall not have other gods beside me. You shall not make for yourself an idol or a likeness of anything in the heavens above or on the earth below or in the waters beneath the earth; you shall not bow down before them or serve them. For I, the Lord, your God, am a jealous God

“Aeri, I-” your voice cracked, and you were so determined not to cry, but you could feel your resolve breaking, because you were weak, you were weak to your vices and weak to aeri, you were so pathetic. The older girl let out a small sigh, sinking down onto the floor next to you, taking you into her arms. She was silent, for a bit, while you choked out words that were mostly incomprehensible. She ran a hand through your hair, and was a bit unsettled to feel how cold you were to the touch, but she pointedly ignored it.

“Y/n, you can’t let the words of those people get to you.. they won’t do you any good, and.. I know that’s hypocritical of me, I’m learning to ignore it too, but.. you can’t let it kill you like this,” she continued, voice soft. It made you sick how much you liked her comforting you. What would she do if she knew that you were so disgusting. You wanted aeri, you realized as you held her shirt, with some sense of finality hitting you. You didn’t want her to leave. You wanted her to hold you, and she wasn’t even aware of what you felt towards her. You were taking advantage of her. You were so disgusting.

“I’m sorry,” you croaked out, voice a little choked as you bit the inside of your cheek, trying not to cry. “I’m so sorry,” “It’s okay,” she said, a little confused on why you were apologizing, look of worry on her face. Not that you could see it. You had your head in the crook of her neck.

that’s why you were apologizing, really.

you were sorry that you loved her. You were sorry she wanted to help you. You she couldn’t fix you, no one could. you were defective, and wrong, and oh so selfish. Aeri was such a good person.

the presence of the statue on your nightstand caught your eye from the corner. You turned away. She shouldn’t have to see this.

you could feel the tears stinging at your eyes, the shame, the guilt, the hate— it was all too much. You needed to push aeri away, to get as far away from her as possible, to save what little integrity and goodness you had left—

but you didn’t.

you clutched her shirt tighter, breathed her in desperately, and let out a choked sound. You wanted to cry, but you screwed your eyes shut and bit your lip. The blood was heavy and sharp in your mouth.

You woke up the next day beyond exhausted, but in your bed and off the floor. You surmised that aeri had put you there. You held your head, and got down on your knees in front of your bed. You prayed.

“Mary, mother of God, please guide me away from sin, as you have for so many others. Help me to continue being steadfast in my faith, and to follow all commandments well. Allow me to be worthy of your son, and continue to protect me from sin. These thoughts have been given to me by the devil, as a challenge of my faith. Guide me out of temptation, and forgive my actions, in the Lord’s name, I ask for this mercy,”

you stood up. Your knees ached. Aeri was up, sitting cross legged on her bed, watching you with a concerned expression. “Why are you praying to Mary?” aeri asked, voice light but expression still a bit worried, if not a tad curious.

“Catholics pray to saints as well. Especially depending on their patronage— I mean, if I lose something, I usually pray to Saint Anthony,” you chuckled, explaining the concept.

“What’s Mary the patron Saint of?” aeri asked, softly, curiously.

“Many different things, depending on which version of her you choose to pray to. Our Lady of Lourdes is Mary, but when she appeared in Lourdes. She’s the patron saint of the sick. There’s Our Lady of Loreto, the patron Saint of pilots,”

“Which one do you have, then?”

“Our Lady of Sorrows,” you murmured, glancing towards the figure on your nightstand. The rosary was draped around her carefully. Her downcast, frowning face, her hands clasped together, the feeling of her porcelain eyes boring into your back nearly burned.

“What’s she the patron Saint of?”

“Sinners,”

the second commandment. Exodus 20:1-7 You shall not invoke the name of the Lord, your God, in vain. For the Lord will not leave unpunished anyone who invokes his name in vain.

practice that day went on for a long while. You were all practicing for next level. At one point, you took a small break, drinking water— your heart had been beating quite fast, that day, and your throat had been dry the entire practice.

during the beat change, it was nearly impossible for you to keep your eyes off aeri- or should you start calling her giselle, now? maybe it would be best to separate the two.

you shouldn’t be looking at aeri like that— but giselle was an idol. giselle was not your friend— she was someone untouchable, unattainable. It was okay to like her, to find her pretty, to want- no, no. You didn’t. You just envied her appearance, was all.

Your eyes were glued to her, the way she moved, her expression, everything, it was-

“Oh my God,” you mumbled, eyes locked onto her movements, before you heard the instructor call for you to get up and were immediately snapped out of your haze. You didn’t even remember the event before you went to sleep.

the third commandment. Exodus 20:1-11 Remember the sabbath day—keep it holy. Six days you may labor and do all your work, but the seventh day is a sabbath of the Lord your God.  You shall not do any work.  For in six days the Lord made the heavens and the earth, the sea and all that is in them; but on the seventh day he rested. That is why the Lord has blessed the sabbath day and made it holy.

It was Sunday. It was always a toss-up whether or not you’d have a schedule that day, and today you did not. You watched the six a.m. mass, while aeri slept a few feet away. You knelt when they knelt, stood when they stood, prayed when they prayed.

but you did not sing, no. That would wake aeri.

the girls usually used their rest days to sleep. You always woke up early. You were restless. You hated to sleep. In your dreams you’d see images of a life you could never live, of things you shouldn’t— couldn’t— do. You’d see aeri. No, not aeri— giselle. Aeri didn’t look your way on the stage, hold your gaze for a moment too long, send a wink. The company didn’t order aeri to hold you closer, smile at you more, intertwine your hands.

aeri would never look at you that way.

but giselle would.

you went to the practice room after you prayed. You rehearsed until you felt the world spin, your skin too hot- until you forgot about aeri, and giselle, and the figurine on your nightstand, and the pastor’s homilies, and the way your parents would never love you the same because of what you had done. You danced until your vision became blurry, so you couldn’t see your hands, so whatever or whoever you touched wasn’t your fault, so you couldn’t see their face. More likely, so you couldn’t see yourself, and the body you lived in. You danced until your ears rang, so you wouldn’t have to listen to the sounds, to how your members pleaded with you to stop doing this to yourself. Till you couldn’t hear the people telling you it wasn’t enough.

till you couldn’t hear yourself telling you it wasn’t enough.

till you couldn’t hear your parents words resounding in your head, the endless comments of it being unnatural, of being sent straight to the hellfire, to how it was the most hideous thing in the world.

till you didn’t hear the way fans leered after you, and your members— the stares they’d give you, as you walked, the way they’d clamber for you, so many hands reaching, reaching for you, to touch, to take. it ate you up inside, how badly you wanted to be pure. and how you knew, through it all, you never could be. they could imagine you any way, salivate, draw, take, write it in comments. They even had the confidence to say it out loud, passing comments on variety shows.

you danced till you could forget their words, their looks, what you knew so well that they thought, you danced till you thought your body would give out—

or, conversely, till the leader and main vocalist of red velvet opened the practice room door and rushed over to the the shaking body of their junior, nearly unable to breath, head in her hands and knees to her chest in the farthest corner of the room, brightly illuminated.

you wanted to assure them you were fine, but the cross chain you wore was too tight on your neck, the silver feeling like hot iron burning your throat. You swore if you looked down it would be burning into your skin, leaving a brand.

each breath felt like swallowing glass, and your eyes were unfocused, and your ears were ringing, and your body was screaming in protest of each movement, and your eyesight was blurring—

but you got up, bowed, apologized, assured them you were okay, thanked them, and left.

you had been lying a lot, lately. To your members, about how you were— to your managers, your staff, to your seniors, now. Lying was a sin. but you could excuse it, couldn’t you?

you hoped they wouldn’t mention it to your members.

the fourth commandment. Exodus 20:1-12 Honor your father and your mother, that you may have a long life in the land the Lord your God is giving you.

you rarely talked to your parents. You should call them, more. Or, more accurately, you should pick up their calls, more. Except, it was maddening. You hated talking to them. No matter how much you tried to convince yourself you didn’t, that they were your parents, and what they said was gospel, you couldn’t stand it. Their prying questions, asking how being an idol was, if you kept up with your faith, asking why the media would report on how “close” you were with your members— with Aeri. Asking why you had gotten so thin, and that you needed to gain weight. They would pick and pry at every little thing. You couldn’t stand it, you couldn’t-

the phone rang. Again. You picked up.

“Finally, you answer the phone, y/n,” the voice of your mother crackled, thousands of miles away.

“I’m sorry,” you respond, robotically, like a reflex. “I was in practice. We’re busy, since we’re preparing for a comeback,”

“You always have some excuse for us, don’t you? You can’t just talk to your parents? What a daughter, you are. We’re your parents, y/n, you should actually listen to us, more. I told you being an idol wouldn’t be good for you, and look at you now! Barely any respect for your parents, how horrible is that? I can’t believe you,” she ranted, going on and on about this and that and every failure and everything you should’ve done better.

“This is why I didn’t want you going away, I knew what it’d do to you.. we tried to fix you, but you are a sick, sick little girl,” she spat, accusingly. “You know what you did, you know what you did to this family— that I have to live with a daughter who’s-”

click.

You hung up.

her voice was so grating.

Your mother loved to spout silly little ideas, didn’t she? She was wrong. You didn’t do anything. You weren’t gay. You didn’t like girls, or a girl. They had just been confused. The reason you became an idol was because you loved to perform, not because it was your only way out— after they saw you with her. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t kiss her. You didn’t, you’d never-

the truth was that you had left your hometown because of an incident. Yes, you loved to perform, and being an idol was always on your mind. But you never thought you’d do it, how could you leave?

You soon found out what it was like to live outcasted, alone, treated like something wrong and filthy and horrible. Your parents didn’t help. So, you did what anyone would do— you ran away, off to Korea, off to the harsh idol system

because anything

anything

would be better than living with the guilt and shame, with the knowing eyes and hateful stares. anything would be better than being stuck in that suffocating smalll town, where everyone knew everyone, and all your secrets were magnified.

she had moved away, anyway. Her parents protected her. you protected yourself. You had to run.

so you did.

you had to kill that part of yourself, bury her more than six feet deep, deep enough so that the world would never find her.

You died the day your parents opened your bedroom door and found you with the daughter of a deacon, who helped at the church, who your parents had invited over for dinner, who they had been invited by for dinner. When they found you with the daughter of their friends.

they didn’t know whether to say if she corrupted you or you corrupted her.

they chose the latter, of course, they got to it first. They drove them out of town, blaming that girl for your transgressions. For your sin.

she kissed you, after all.

you just sat there and took it.

it wasn’t your fault, they said to the town. It was hers. You’re just too trusting and naïve.

if only they knew, the rest of the people. Your parents certainly did.

they forbid you from having any friends that were girls over, again.

and you understood. You knew. And you took it.

You killed that part of yourself, that day. Buried her, and tried to forget. But there’s dirt and blood on your hands and you’re still hollow. There’s nothing left of you, from before. Bright smiles and eyes, a cheery demeanor, giggling in secret with her- there’s none of that left.

You’re not a little kid anymore, a teenager with a crush, no.

You grew up. You had to.

and that little girl is dead.

dead and buried, underground.

you wished Aeri knew you when you were younger.

she would’ve loved the softer you.

the fifth commandment. Exodus 20:1-13 You shall not kill.

You know, there’s a reason priests and nuns can’t get married.

it’s because, allegedly, they’re married to god.

so, in that case, is it wrong for you, married to god since birth, by your parents— that anything, anyone other than a boy, was wrong?

you tried to understand, but you couldn’t. What was the consensus?

you knew, deep down. What you were was wrong.

and yet, you couldn’t stop. You tried. But you were weak, at heart. A sinner, with no control.

that was your downfall, you thought.

or maybe salvation.

You and Aeri were the last two in the practice room— you were near obsessive with your need to perfect choreography, and Aeri asked you for help, so— you were here. You had already released Next Level, but the practicing never stopped, obviously. You had to perfect it, make it yours, make it the best— so that’s where you were, right now.

it was late, honestly. Already dark out, and your other three members had long since left. You regretted saying yes to Aeri— you knew the choreography for next level, obviously, you knew the way Giselle moved made you feel something wrong, something dark and wanting. You tried to push it down, though— you ran through the moves together, you fixed some posturing and some other small timing issues, really, it was nothing major. You watched her run through those parts, and clenched your jaw.

you felt hot, and your hands itched to reach out and touch her. You couldn’t be making this up, could you? She was looking at you through the mirror, your flushed face barely visible from the darker corner you were sitting at. You swore you could see a smirk on Giselle’s face, for a split second, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

you hated it, hated how Giselle made you feel out of control, made you feel wanting, made that dark thing in you, shoved deep down, squirm and claw. You felt sick. You wanted her.

“I’ll be back,” you said, abruptly standing up and turning the door of the practice room, practically scrambling out. “Bathroom,” was what you supplied as reasoning, before you got out the door, rushing through the empty halls. They were weirdly eerie, at night.

you walked into the bathroom, the sound of your shoes clicking on the ground far too loud, the yellowed glow of the SM building’s bathrooms surrounding you. You gripped the sink, turning on the water and splashing some on your face. You felt dirty, and wrong. Your skin crawled in the suffocating space, the sound of running water driving you insane, the sound of your breathing almost too much. It seems you were in there for longer than you thought, though, as you stated into the mirror, lost in thought, knuckles turning white with the bruising grip you kept on the sink counter.

“Y/n?” Aeri called, opening the door.

You snapped your head to her— she was wearing just some white tanktop and sweatpants, with a black sports bra, but god.

Giselle walked over to you, with a concerned expression. “Are you okay? You’re breathing pretty hard,” she asked, walking closer, putting a hand on your hip, other hand touching your arm.

your composure snapped. You moved your hands to her face, holding it in them, looking at her with wide eyes. “Giselle, I-”

“Why are you calling me Giselle? That’s my stage name, y/n, just call me Aeri?” she said, a little confused and a little irritated. Why the hell were you calling her by her stage name?

you held her face a little tighter, taking in a sharp breath, mouth suddenly feeling dry.

“Aeri,” you murmured, voice low. You leaned in, and her eyes widened, slightly. She didn’t push you away, in fact, she met you in the middle, holding you tighter, moving her other hand to your waist, squeezing your hip, where she could feel the outline of your hipbone. You hated how much you needed her, the kiss messy and desperate, filled with an underlying sense of want and need.

“G- Aeri,” you mumbled, out of breath, panting against her mouth. You couldn’t reconcile the two, easily. Giselle was the one who was making you do this, right? Not Aeri, you didn’t like Aeri, right?

no, that wasn’t true. You liked Aeri. A lot more than you’d admit. You wanted her. You needed her. You couldn’t stop, now.

“Aeri, please-” you murmured, between kisses. They were more desperate, now, wanting, as she pushed you against the cold bathroom wall, the light flickering once. Twice. Three times.

“Yeah? What do you want?” She asked, lowly, eyes dark and pupils blown wide as she looked down at you.

“Lock the door,” you muttered, grabbing her wrist, tightly, and moving her hand upwards.

the sixth commandment. Exodus 20:1-14 You shall not commit adultery.

you and aeri never spoke about it.

but it became a thing, now.

you needed her like a drug, constantly wanting and waiting for the next time you could have her.

you and giselle shared a room, after all. you were pretty sure everyone knew. and by everyone you meant your members, of course. the public could never know, they’d ruin both your career and hers, and you couldn’t do that to her. you weren’t evil, just weak. just horrible, but not evil. you could never hurt her. you loved her, didn’t you? the way a friend doesn’t hurt a friend.

deep down, you knew. It was so much worse than that.

they couldn’t know the way you put concealer on, before practice. the way you were strangely hot and cold, terrified of her touch, but how the both of you would disappear into your room, or somewhere, together, always appearing back, more than a few minutes later, though the tension was always still there.

the way you had become a shell.

you were ashamed, really.

you felt so disgusting, all the time. here you were, dirty, filthy, robbing someone else, sullying them, damning her, all for your own selfish needs, desires, wants.

you had always wanted, too much.

giselle was your temptation and aeri was the sin, the collateral to the damage.

it’s not like she protested, either, the way giselle’s hands lingered, a beat too longer to be friendly. the way her fists would clench on those stupid variety shows, when the hosts mentioned your appearance, saying you were so pretty.

she hated how they’d look at you.

but you couldn’t see that, really.

you hated yourself, and you had stolen aeri’s sanctity.

it was giselle’s fault, though, you would think, sometimes.

but deep down, you knew the truth.

it was your doing. Your fault. You ruined everything you touched, everything you wanted would die and burn because you were a sinner. All because you couldn’t control yourself.

eve ate the apple, too, you’d think. but maybe, the snake wasn’t just the creature, no, but the whispers of lilith, beckoning her away, promising her everything she’d wanted. forbidden knowledge, godhood, becoming better— and maybe, even herself.

was biting the apple an act of naivety, of greed?

or the blind, blissful ignorance of trust? of love?

someone you loved wouldn’t damn you, would they?

but oh, you knew better. You knew.

you had stolen both of your chances of sanctity and holiness.

out of blind, ignorant, nearly all encompassing love.

it was love.

the seventh commandment. Exodus 20:1-15   You shall not steal.

The weeks went by, in this strange commitment.

you had just arrived back from yet another variety show, and Giselle was obviously annoyed at something. It was late, and everyone wanted to sleep. You made your way back to your room, the door open a crack—

giselle was changing into some sleep clothes. You didn’t really care which. the glimpse of her back, of skin, made you nearly feel ill. You shut the door, quickly, feeling like you couldn’t breathe. It made you feel sick.

you entered about a minute later, to see her scrolling on her phone, with a bored expression. You, instead, went and knelt in front of the small Mary statue you kept.

“Mary, mother of God, please hear my prayer. I’m asking you to give me the strength to-”

your breath hitched as you felt giselle put her hands on your shoulders, leaning into your back, feeling her smirk press against your neck.

“y/n,” she called, a mischievous lilt to her voice like this was a fucking game.

“y-yes?” was the reply.

Her hands moved, pressing along your collarbone.

“You know, I hate variety shows, sometimes,” she hummed, voice so unbelievably distracting. “I don’t like the way they talk about you,” she continued.

“I- I agree, I do, it’s quite-”

her blunt nails dug into your shoulder, slightly, as she pulled you back, just a bit, your back pressed to her front. Her head craned forward, to murmur into your ear. “It pisses me off,” she added.

of course, you tended to her anger. You had to, as penance.

later, when you were laying beside her, panting with tears in your eyes, saying anything that came to mind—

“I love you,” you choked out, reverently, like a prayer.

god never responded to those, usually. aeri didn’t love you back.

there’s no way god loved you. and aeri didn’t, either.

the eighth commandment Exodus 20:1-16 You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor.

“Tell me not to,” you begged, clutching onto giselle like a lifeline, holding her arms. “Tell me no, tell me not to love you. I can’t, I shouldn’t, I don’t want-”

girls never hungered. They never want, like a boy.

“And what if it’s what I want!” She spat back, acidly, pushing you off. “I love you, and I don’t know why you can’t accept that! I love you, not like a friend, or coworker, or whatever else you think! I’m in love with you, why can’t you get that!?” she asked, sharply, voice far too loud.

you didn’t know how to explain that you loved her, too, that you wished you could love her. You always wanted, so badly, to like a boy, and to love him, so you could hold his hand in public, and kiss him, and introduce him to your parents and they wouldn’t say a word, to be able to love him without just that fact being controversial, to love someone without it absolutely ruining your career. Idols couldn’t date, yes, but they’d survive if they were rumored to be with a man.

god forbid it was a girl.

you couldn’t ruin her career, or yours. You couldn’t damn her more, you couldn’t ruin everything, like you always did-

“I can’t,” you cried, desperately. “I’ll ruin everything, I’ll ruin you, I’d-”

“I don’t care!” she retorted. “I don’t care! I want you, and I love you. Is it that you can’t, or you won’t? You’re just scared,” she accused, rightly so.

“I am,” you admitted, pathetically. “I’m scared.”

She scoffed, clenching her fists. She turned, sharply, turning the door handle, wiping her eyes and slamming the room’s door.

You were alone.

god abandoned you, long ago.

you don’t know why it hurt more the second time.

the ninth commandment Exodus 20:1-17 You shall not covet your neighbor’s house. You shall not covet your neighbor’s wife, his ox or donkey, or anything that belongs to your neighbor.

it was a few days later, at night after an off day. You had been hiding in your room most of the day. Cowardly, yes, but the other members weren’t exactly thrilled with you. You couldn’t blame them. You were currently pretending to be asleep.

you heard aeri enter the room. She laid down, to sleep. The lights were off. It was dead silent. You turned.

“aeri,” you called. No response.

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry,” you continued, after surmising she was asleep. “I love you. I really do. I’m just so, so scared. I don’t know how to let myself love you. I feel wrong. I’m sorry. I want to. I don’t know how to love you how you deserve, I don’t even know how to love myself. Im weak and pathetic, really. If you knew the real me, I think you’d hate me,” you chuckled, without humor. “As long as you’re happy, though. I’ll be okay,” you murmured, finally.

“Im not happy, actually,” she informed, suddenly, and you felt your heart leap into your throat. “I love you, y/n. I don’t care if it’ll make everything more difficult, or if you think I’ll hate you. I won’t, by the way,”

you didn’t know how to respond. aeri did it, for you.

she got up, walked over to your bed, and made you sit up.

“so can you stop being scared? I love you, and-“

you cut her off.

you clutched her face, and kissed her, desperately. You felt tears well in your eyes, and this time, they fell. You pulled back.

“aeri, I love you, I love you so much. I love you, please forgive me. I’ll try, I swear. Please, just-”

she kissed you, again. nothing was completely fixed, yet, but you both loved each other. You were still scared, of course, but aeri had seen you at your worst, already, and was still here. so maybe, it was okay.

the tenth commandment. Genesis 1:1-Revelation 22:21 Love thy neighbor as I have loved you.

The last few weeks had been.. different.

You had started eating again, or, more frequently, was a better way to put it.

it was mostly because aeri had taken up cooking, and you could never say no to her, and it was kind of nice, really, to see her happy when you told her you liked the food.

you started to ignore the comments online, not even bothering to read them most of the time. You called your parents less, if that was even possible, and started talking with aeri and your members more.

it was nice, to have friends. To have people that you knew cared about you. It was nice to know that people didn’t view you as disgusting, or filthy, or wrong.

you had a hard time viewing yourself, differently, but if someone like aeri, someone so good, could stand you, then maybe, you weren’t as bad as your parents said you were. They were wrong about a lot, you’d come to learn.

on one of your breaks, you had found another statue.

it was of Saint Maria.

you put it next to the statue of Our Lady. You thought it fit, in a way.

you didn’t attend sunday mass, or hear it. You didn’t pray much, anymore, either. but you kept the statues as a reminder, of sorts.

aespa had been doing very well, as well, and you didn’t practice late into the night, as much, anymore.

all of you were currently deciding what takeout to order, and trying to pick a move. no one could really come to a final decision, and you watched the bickering amusedly. You got up, heading to the kitchen, filling a glass with water. Aeri appeared behind you, a sly smile on her face as she wrapped her arms around your waist. “Hey, y/n,” she hummed.

“Yeah?” you replied, turning your head. she had a smirk on her face.

“I got you somethinggg,” she grinned, tilting her head, a mischievous expression on her face, her hands clasped behind her back.

“what is it?”

she handed you a gold necklace, with rose quartz in the shape of a heart at the end, a bashful expression beginning to take place at your silence. “I didn’t know if you would like it, but it reminded me of you, so-”

“It’s perfect,” you interrupted, a genuine smile on your face. “Can you put it on for me?”

aeri removed the silver cross necklace you had worn for years, and years, placing it on the counter. She clasped the new necklace, the gold sitting pleasantly on your skin.

you turned to her, holding her face before kissing her, smiling into it. You left the chain on the counter, a smile plastered near permanently your face. “It’s beautiful, aeri, thank you,”

“Of course,” she replied, with a very self-satisfied grin on her face.

“I love you,” you added, wrapping your arms around her waist.

“I love you too, you sap,” she rolled her eyes, good naturedly, but still held you, too. “Come on, let’s go back— i’m not letting them watch a disney movie for the millionth time,”

“So what, you can watch Deadpool?” You teased, with a grin.

“Maybe,” she replied.

it was definitely certain, now, with the silver chain thrown in the garbage, easily.

you loved aeri uchinaga

and you hoped, prayed, even, that the rest of your life would be filled by aeri uchinaga.

A/N: hi guys… so I love aeri uchinaga btw. uhmm so basically the catholic version of the Ten Commandments the ninth commandment is separated into nine “don’t covet your neighbors wife” and ten “don’t covet your neighbors goods” but technically all Ten Commandments can be followed by following the one big rule which is “love thy neighbor as I have loved you” and basically symbolism forever eve breaks all nine commandments but follows the one big one which is like love everyone which means she never actually sinned she just thought she did because she is doomed yuri ☝️🤓

I LOVE TOXIC YURI AND DOOMED YURI FOREVERR pleek send asks+reqs btw I need ideas

[bucknastysbabe]

now, catholic school priest criston and aemonds twin. Criston is from a catholic family, wanted to be a priest since he was a little boy, going to the sunday mass with his mothet was like the highlight of his week, went into the seminary very young, never had a girlfriend, he is a good man alright. then aemonds twin, whos not catholic, not even christian, her dad doesnt even go to church but alicent is very catholic and she wanted her kids to go to catholic school. but shes a menace, a straight up gremlin, like aegon but a girl and not a loser (srry aegon ily). And criston is sure the devil sent her to tempt him and shes like but what if it was god the one who sent me for you??? And specially for you??? Like, as a treat?! 🤗

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 6k of filth and catholic guilt

Tags: 90’s catholic school setting, Criston had the Crisis, mutual masturbation, confession booth shenanigans, age difference, manipulation, teacher/student relationship, sexual tension, Targtower reader, Criston’s woe is me internal monologue, oral (f!receiving), multiple orgasms, pnv!sex, Jesus saw that Crispy, DESPERATION, priest kink, #imahorridcatholic

A/N: I made that priest edit and I’m proud also listened to talk by hozier for the entire last part. I’m a gremlin and made her her daeron’s twin.

Taglist: @fairysluna @aemonds-holy-milk @targaryenbarbie @arcielee @bambitas

Criston knew his purpose since the day he could recall. Nothing pleased him more than sitting in mass with his mother, going through Sunday school, getting ready to become an official Catholic. Confirmation was the one of the happiest days of his life.

Vocation became the forefront of Criston’s mind in school. He probably annoyed the hell out of Father Dondarrion, pestering the priest with questions upon questions about seminary. In the mean time, he was the best altar boy a Cole could be. A-team altar boy! Strong fumbled the bells every time, it repulsed Criston.

He did other school things such as tennis, won a state championship in that, got some offers for a spot on a college team. Then in the other season he played second base for the baseball team, won a state championship in that and received multiple offers to college teams. No, Criston had his mind made up. He could lead others to victory— through Christ’s love of course. He had to admit his father was quite pissed about the baseball team but he’d be okay. Criston had a little brother, he was athletic.

The young man had even tried dating, just to see if God called for Criston to instead populate the world and lead a family. Not tend to the flock of sheep. There was a plethora of girls but he fell for a devil.

Her name was Rhaenyra Targaryen and she left him in a puddle of tears. The rich girl couldn’t respect staying chaste until marriage. He was ready to give her a ring. The priest sniffed recalling her harsh words, “You, like, won’t even dry hump me? What’s the point?” At the time the young man was miffed, broken, distraught. Criston held a hand over his heart as he whispered tearily, “You want me to be your whore?”

Mind you, he was a foolish 17 year old. The man was tested with her, but he learned from the experience. Criston was obviously meant to be a priest. He prayed and prayed for God to reveal his path. The answer came in Father Dondarrion giving Criston a letter from the Archbishop himself, inviting the young man to join seminary.

Criston took his first vows at the tender age of 18. He spent the next seven years learning and perfecting his bond with God, ready to guide his brothers and sisters in Christ. He’d smile and wave off comments at his home parish, often elder women asking why such a handsome young man would devote his life to chastity.

He rarely thought much of it. Jerking off was a boring thing, simply a biological process Cole needed to take care of. He took no shame nor pleasure in it, not truly thinking of anything at all. It would lessen as he aged but currently Criston was twenty-five and a ‘hot blooded’ young man.

He got his first job as a teacher in a Catholic school. At the beginning, Father Criston Cole found a passion for teaching while on a mission trip. He was ecstatic for the job. A year later he was significantly less overzealous. Add some years later Criston found himself, well, bored. Agitated. Discontent if you will.

Lord knows he had to calm himself for these wayward children. After a long day the man would pour some scotch and wonder why the rich ones were the worst behaved. Especially the damn Targaryens— he thought he could escape from that name.

Rhaenyra’s father had remarried and they had five children. Rhaenyra had five herself, different fathers came the whispers. The two youngest apparently looked like her. Criston smirked into his glass, God was watching and protecting him even as a foolish kid. She left the church anyways, but the children were polite and well-behaved in class.

Alicent Hightower-Targaryen’s children were a handful. Aegon made Criston sick to his stomach, the idiot either drunk or high in class, flipping up skirts of poor girls. If the priest thought about the eldest too long he’d grow a headache. He chose not to dwell on the fact that the family generously paid for Aegon to graduate— like a twisted version of simony.

Then along came sweet Helaena, she made good marks but often had to be drawn back to attention, and he tried to stifle the bullying drawn to her strange nature. Aemond was another headache, in a good way. He seemed to fit the vocational lifestyle and bonded with Criston over it. Criston truly enjoyed discussing hot topics in the church with the smart lad.

Aemond just needed to let his anger go and let God in, Criston had to do the same, his temper could be stormy. Then Aemond graduated and went off to study the sciences. Criston frankly thought he was done. He forgot. The twins were seniors and signed into his year-long Papal History elective.

He was now 32, and God really had sent him a test this time. In the form of good-natured Daeron’s wily sister. He had to send her to the Headmaster’s office the first day! The pale-haired girl was wearing an…indecent…skirt. One to catch long shapely legs.

He huffed and downed the rest of his scotch. He knelt before his icon of Christ and prayed. ‘Please my loving lord, I am afraid you shall test me, but give me the strength to pass through this.’ He felt strange. This girl was trouble. Criston wiped his face and grabbed his scotch again, one more would do for the night. He hissed, “FuckingfuckfucksticksFUCK!” Eyes widening he apologized to the empty room, “Forgive me my lord, that was uncouth.”

It was November 1997. Father Cole thought about making a request to a parish to be their full-time priest. He suited up for the lovely worship of Mass, mood sour. Deacon Erryk was next to him, almost out of his seminary studies. Erryk hummed, “How’s the class this year?”

“A pain in my side. I have another Aegon Targaryen in the form of his youngest sister. She seeks to make me miserable.”

The man stifled a laugh and prodded, “Damn. Aegon was bad, he was in my class with you. My condolences Criston, pray that Mary will bless the girl with some sense.”

Criston grumbled, “Indeed.” He felt old. Erryk was about to be a priest now.

Mass went off good as gold, the younger altar boys falling into place easily. He could always see the believers and non-believers based on their actions. Some wouldn’t even stand when he entered the room, the cross bearer ignored too. If Criston could start throwing Holy Water he would, ingrates.

In the front row, Daeron and his sister sat. Criston tried not to grimace as he sat down in his chair. They’d have mass every Friday at the school. Confession on Tuesdays. Criston would teach a RCIA class next semester for those outside of the school at night.

She was staring at him, wearing another little dress with her button-up underneath the skinny straps. He could see her smokey eyeshadow and glossed lips, moving around a piece of gum. Daeron held himself in reverence, hands clasped. Criston turned away, he would not give the evil little blonde any satisfaction!

He shivered when she knelt and took the body of Christ, tongue lapping against his fingers with a licentious look. The priest almost yelped, moving onto the next. He was shaken for the rest of the ceremony. Maybe he should call for advice— no, no, they would think Cole some sort of deviant pedophile. That was a problem enough and she was merely being a temptress. ‘Son of a fucking BIIIIIIITCH’, he thought angrily. Then did the sign of the cross.

The beleaguered priest sat at his desk during his planning period, grading papers. The headphones on his head played some songs— his only vice. He loved ‘radical’ music. So Criston kept that little secret to himself. He liked to belt rock ballads. Only by himself in the rectory.

How embarrassing. A grown man of the cloth.

The door opening had Criston jerking his head up, hand flicking off his walkman. He raised a brow when it was the little Targaryen and her mother, livid by her expression and wild red hair. She shoved the girl in a seat and crossed her arms.

Criston stood up and greeted the frankly scary woman, “Miss Hightowergaryen, oh, Hightower-Targaryen yes!” He peeked at teary red eyes, deadpanning, “And you.” The senior scoffed, “Good to see you too Father.” He ignored her quip and cautiously asked, “What seems to be the problem?” Alicent raved, “She’s going off the wrong path, just like Aegon. Guess where Aegon is, tell Father Cole please!” She gave her daughter a sharp look.

The girl mumbled something before getting a pinch to her arm. She croaked, “He’s in rehab! Rehab! Alright there mom!” The younger curled in and hid under her blonde hair, streaked with some sort of red dye.

He frowned but couldn’t say he was quite surprised. Criston offered, “My apologies, may he find the light of His way soon. Occasionally some rejoin the church or convert after getting clean and sober. Is there an issue with my student Miss?”

Alicent sighed, calming a bit and taking a deep breath. She looked up, doe eyes wide and pleading. The mother asked, “Can we go into your private office for a second Father?” She stopped and hissed, “Don’t you move an inch!”

A roll of violet eyes was the answer, pouting lips turning further downward.

Criston perched on his desk and tried to soothe the woman, “Alicent, relax my old friend, what can I do for you?” He offered a look of sympathy, watching her pace and run a hand wildly through her hair. The woman stopped in place and whimpered, “She’s so lost, I can’t screw up another one of my babies. I need you to keep an eye on her, pray and guide, something…Something so I know I tried.”

She looked very tired, taking a sharp breath in to chew at her nails. Alicent rambled, “She was so good, her and Daeron were so good. Then she turned sixteen and something happened, I don’t know what, and it’s gotten worse. She hates Sunday mass, like Aegon and Rhaenyra. I don’t want to lose her forever to whatever this is, straying off the path.”

He nodded contemplatively, hand on his chin, thinking. Alicent was in a state of chronic stress, even back when they were all in school. She married Rhaenyra’s father so young, nineteen to be exact. He felt a need to protect the woman of God, just trying her best to lead her children to heaven since Viserys did not seem to be in the picture.

He swore, “I’ll do my best, you have my word Alicent. God bless you, let me bless you.” He prayed over her and the tenseness seemed to leave her shoulders. Alicent smiled softly and thanked Criston, the pair of them exiting the office.

Her daughter remained seated, looking more miserable by the second. She gazed up with curious eyes, mouth still set in a pout. Alicent beamed, “Father Criston will be keeping an eye on you and reporting to me, okay? You will behave and try to learn that the path of the righteous is never easy.”

She raised a brow, “So I’m going to have my priest follow me around? That’s uncool.”

Alicent stiffened and remarked, “No. You’ll come to him when in trouble. You’ll be spending lunch with him too so you don’t go off and smoke like a vagrant. We will go sign it in with the headmaster now. Get up.”

Criston had to hold his jaw closed. He definitely did not know what he was signing up for. Hail Mary, full of grace rambled off in his head. This would be a tumultuous year for sure— inked and sealed onto paper. God bless him.

“I guess we’ll be the best of friends now,” she snarled tearily.

Criston placed a hand on her shoulder and hummed, “God works in mysterious ways Targaryen.” Internally he was climbing a mountain and shouting at the heavens like some Bible prophet. He was feeling very Job-like at the moment.

First of all, he truly didn’t expect the girl to sit in his classroom during lunch. Criston raised a brow when she entered, slammed down her lunch and plopped down. She cocked her head and smiled, “Afternoon father.”

“Afternoon,” he replied, turning his gaze back upon the scripture he was annotating. Cole wanted to comment on her sudden chopping of that beautiful white-blonde hair, or the fact she smelled of minty cigarettes. She wasn’t supposed to be smoking.

It remained quiet until she blurted, “Do you smoke?”

Yes, in fact he did. But she didn’t need to know that. Criston murmured, “No I do not.” To which she lobbed back, “Is it not a sin to lie? I saw you in the parking lot! Also you smell like marlboros sometimes.” Her face turned bright red— like she had no control over her yapping.

Criston peeled off his glasses and sat back in his chair to level the girl with a stern look. He flatly stated, “Yes, good point, it was a sin for me to lie. Although as your teacher and priest I would not have you pick up bad habits,” he took a moment before asking, “How do I smell of cigarettes in class? Are you sniffing me?”

She stammered, “N-no! No! It’s just when you pass by, I don’t know, stop!”

Criston shook his head in concern, “Please do not sniff me in class, that’s, that’s strange.”

“I don’t sniff you! Quit saying that! Okay, enough of smoke talk! Hi how are you doing Father Cole?,” she animatedly gestured, eyes wild and cheeks pink.

He couldn’t help but snicker at her mad gestures. Snickers turned into genuine laughter, Criston slapping his desk a bit. A different hand slapping down on his desk made the man look up, donning a grin at her grumpy face. The littlest dragon hissed, “Ha-ha very funny. I asked you a question. Small talk, since I’m stuck here with you for lunch.”

Criston shrugged and replied, “Ask a better question, I don’t know how I’m doing half of the time. Especially having to babysit a legal adult.”

Her pout was endearing, the girl biting into her sandwich in an aggressive manner. She chewed and swallowed before blurting, “Is it true my half-sister dumped you in highschool?” Criston squawked in surprise, heaven on earth, how would she even get the knowledge? Rubbing the bridge of his nose he sighed.

“Yes, she dumped me. Didn’t want to stay chaste until marriage. That was a little personal don’t you think Miss Targaryen?”

She seemed to contemplate his words, sounding out her thoughts, “Now you’re a priest and she has like 2 baby daddies and a gay hubby. Cool. Love my family.” Her laugh was a sharp giggle, almost sarcastic in nature. Nothing like the torture of Aegon’s nonsensical shrieks.

Criston smiled a bit at the information, leaning back in his chair. He sucked on his teeth and asked her, “Why’d you cut off all your hair?” She narrowed her eyes and smiled, “I was wondering if you would make a comment, quote some scripture that shorter hair is for lesbians and therefore I’m going to hell.” The older man gaped and stared, almost choking at her blunt words.

“No- what? You’ve got some sort of an imagination!,” he sipped on a water bottle, offended she would assume he was that mean, “I think it fits you nicely, glad whatever dye you put in was lost in the chop.” He shook his head, muttering about lesbian scripture. She giggled again, content with flustering the priest.

Criston tried to hold off a headache as she yapped about school. He snorted a bit when she marked some of the students on the dot. Soon the bell rang and she packed up her lunch, swinging her backpack on. Stopping at the door she asked, “So what’s your poison of choice? I like the fancy camel ones.”

He stared blankly before deadpanning, “Marlboro reds, now begone Targaryen.”

Her endearing giggle echoed as she left, the door swinging shut. Criston sat back in his chair and sighed— she had spunk. He quite appreciated it. Maybe she was a gift to spice up his growing distaste of where his life was at.

His dark eyes widened. He’s got to be too young for a midlife crisis? Now he really wanted a cigarette.

Father Criston Cole was indeed having a mid-life crisis. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, fitting his clerical collar on. Peering closer he inspected his face. He was still relatively young looking, hair not showing any grays. Practicing a smile he immediately dropped the grin. Crows feet. Great.

The priest shivered at the slight wrinkles. Why did he care? He didn’t have anyone to impress. A cheeky smile and icy eyeshadow, choppy blonde hair flitted through his mind. Goodness gracious he was her teacher, her priest, went to school with the girl’s parent. A spiritual guide!

This was bad. The damn girl had him wrapped around her ringed pinky. Bringing her little gifts, letting the blonde stay after school to chit chat. One time he let her cry on his shoulder, upset about rumors swirling. Criston heard a lot in the classroom.

Slut, whore, burnout, bitch.

He didn’t want to know what the little dragon got up to in her spare time but his knuckles did whiten at the thought of her not treating her body as a temple. Letting stupid boys have their way. Not like he could help. He was a priest and the farthest he’d ever gotten was smooching Rhaenyra and grabbing her tit before freaking out.

He needed to pray. Pray away these sinful thoughts. Guilt wracked his chest. He couldn’t turn the girl away either— he made a promise to Alicent. On a better note, her grades and attendance had improved. Ali called him once to thank the priest for helping her daughter. Although the girl still was apprehensive about faith. He didn’t push the subject; she didn’t bring it up. Maybe sometime soon.

Brushing back his curls, Criston sprayed cologne on his dark garb. He bought it on a self-indulgent whim. Maybe to cover the cigarette smoke, truly to entice a certain favorite student. Instead he was pestered by other girls bringing treats and batting their eyes at him. The man of the cloth could care less about the others. He was hopelessly haunted by his agnostic, rebellious student.

The man prayed some, did a Hail Mary before smoking a cigarette or five with his coffee. He was jittery at school now, worried that somehow a teacher or the elder nun would run and declare him a sinful wretch. Locking himself in the office until class time seemed like a good option.

He tried to grade some papers, mind drifting off to the increasingly heavy burden on his shoulders. Something needed to give— he was afraid what that might be. Deacon Arryk gave the homily that morning mass since Criston was out of sorts. Trying to not stare when she knelt and took the body of Christ. Playfully flicking his fingers with that tongue and saying ‘amen’.

Thank the Trinity and the saints he was covered head to toe in thick vestments. Hiding his cock just brought to mind Criston’s change in habit. Jerking off wasn’t a mindless activity anymore. He imagined plump lips and her raspy voice, teasing him, so delightfully mean. Then he’d flip her around and- he usually came with a pathetic noise by that point in the fantasy.

He pressed his fingers into his temples, groaning aloud. Doomed. Eternal hell. Purgatory sentence maximum if he got lucky. The second bell of the day woke the man from his racing mind. Criston straightened up and popped some gum in. Mary take pity on his soul. Satan himself was testing Criston. Although he couldn’t help but think she was anything but demonic.

The next day the tired priest had to attend confession for two hours. Usually it wasn’t a laborious affair; most of the kids who attended were the devout sort and only had some venial sins. Daeron Targaryen was a regular attendee, his twin was not.

He thought he was done for the day, sighing in relief. The two hours were up. Until the curtain swished and someone entered. The brunette thought to groan and hit his head on the wood. Fuck him— sorry, forgiveness please Lord for the profanity.

Criston’s eyes widened when he heard a familiar voice. That lilting, teasing, raspy voice that was the specter of the nightmares and fantasies. He could faintly see the outline of her, that damn silvery blonde hair.

“Uhhh, bless me father for I have sinned. It’s been, uh, one year since my last confession?” She made the sign of the cross, bracelets jingling. Criston could snort— blondie was obviously reading off a note card. She remained quiet afterward.

He prodded, “Go on child.”

She huffed, “I’ve lied, slandered, gossiped about others. I’m inattentive in mass. I don’t respect my parents. I’ve been ungrateful, taking the lords body out of a state of grace. Obviously I’m egotistical, depraved of thoughts, I’m selfish.”

Father Cole swallowed.

She laughed blithely, “I could probably keep going except for mortal sins? I steal, sneak, deceive, suffer from jealousy and envy. Bad bad envy. Always want what I can’t have, y’know?”

He wanted to ask her to clarify…but had a feeling.

The twin’s voice lowered to a purr, “I think you’re waiting for the grand finale. I’m lustful, wanton, perform unnatural acts of sex. Inordinate affection, especially for men who are sworn to another. I defile myself to the thought of him.”

Criston gripped his black slacks roughly, cock swelling so fast he was pretty sure his vision had spots in it. He discreetly tried to readjust himself, swallowing back a whine. The man was no better than a horny boy— denying the pleasures of the flesh for so long.

“I’m a fornicator. Not lately. I can’t stop touching myself to the thought of him.”

The priest hadn’t stopped rubbing himself, biting on his bottom lip to shut up as she rambled on. Oh, it felt so goddamn good he was panting. Meanwhile from the other side he could hear her shifting, voice growing breathier as she talked.

“I think about him touching me, kissing me, those pretty lips and dark eyes only for me. I fucking hate when other girls talk to him— I slashed one’s t-tires.”

“No swearing,” Criston grunted.

“Sorry, where was I? I came so hard the other day wondering what his cock would feel like inside of me. I don’t know if y- he would last long but I’d keep riding, oh mmh!,” her breath hitched and he could hear slick noises from beyond the screen. She was touching herself in the booth. Touching herself. In the booth.

He leaned back, head thumping against the wood, practically humping his hand. Criston whined through his nose, mouth hanging open. The man was a goddamn mess, pleading, “You’d ride him huh? Until he got ready again?”

“Mhmmm, yeah, I’d put his pretty cock in my mouth until I felt him get hard. Hah, what do you think he would do to me?”

Oh holy spirits, he had no clue? Everything? He’d do anything? He drew on his fantasies and the dirty mag a boy brought to class once. Criston went home and asked forgiveness for seeing the woman…doing that.

His voice was much more desperate than he expected, tan cheeks turning a shade of darker red. Criston rambled, “I, oh heavens, he would do whatever she asked, maybe, maybe, put his mouth on her.”

He must have said the right thing, her breath quickened and he could see the outline of her arm moving faster. Emboldened, Cole practically whined, “He’d lick and suck at her until she was crying and grabbing his hair, ohfuckinghellfires!” Criston’s cock throbbed and twitched as he cursed and shoved a hand down his slacks.

“Yeah? Yeah? He’d eat me out? Suck on my clit, slip some f-fingers inside? I’d want it so bad,” she whimpered shakily. The priest panted and popped the button so he could fist himself easier, moaning shamelessly, scrunching his eyes closed.

The blonde’s voice was muffled, “Mmm- I’d take such good care of him, he could e-eat me out but I’d ride his cock until he couldn’t cum anymore, F-father please!” Criston could hear her squeal and his dark hair fell into his face as he curled inward. He babbled uselessly, rubbing himself as spurt after spurt of seed wetted his briefs.

There was a heavy feeling in the confession booth. The pair panted, sitting in silence. Shame poured over Criston like a bucket of ice. He quickly rearranged himself to not look like someone who just had the most intense orgasm of his life. The priest wanted to talk, truly, but he had no words.

So he bolted, ignoring her calls of his name. Criston kept moving, heading toward the rectory, he’d have to call out. Everything was spinning and he needed to just, just, he didn’t know. The stickiness in his pants was worsening the horrid feeling of being a pervert, he should’ve just sent her away. He will end this immediately tomorrow, for both of their souls if he hasn’t doomed them.

She didn’t appear for lunch. Did appear for class, eyes blazing into Criston’s head. Daeron even coughed and shoved her. She was glaring, not writing a damn thing as he lectured about the battle of Lepanto. The priest’s palms began to sweat. He wished the clock would go quicker.

“I’ll get a ride home, don’t worry about me Dare,” she said after the bell rung, students packing up their bags. Daeron raised an eyebrow but shrugged, moving on. One girl attempted to approach Criston with some papers in hand.

The dragon hissed something and shoulder checked the girl— Criston reluctantly scolding the blonde. Like it mattered, the other girl hightailed it out of his classroom. Pale eyes landed upon his own dark orbs, a strange look on her face.

“Office,” she said. Cole wasn’t in the position to deny. He tossed and turned all night, fighting whether to say fuck it and hang up the cassock or dismiss her and never speak of it again. When she was in his presence it leaned toward the former.

Criston walked in first, closing the blinds while she followed him. The man’s head jerked up when he heard the sound of the door locking. Little Miss Targaryen was wearing a particularly form fitting version of the school uniform, tits pushed up under the white button-down. Suddenly Criston was swallowing drool.

She snapped, “Sit down.”

He grabbed her shoulders and shook the senior a bit, leaning down to growl, “Do you even know what the hell you’re getting into? This could ruin us both! You aren’t going to order me around, I’m the damn adult here, I swore to your mother!” He sounded desperate, weary.

She sneered up at him, unphased, “Sit down or I’ll leave and pretend this never occurred. I know you want it, you want me,” she yanked at his white collar, “Mommy doesn’t have to know, Father.”

Why Criston was like a dog at a damn eighteen year old’s commands? He wasn’t quite sure. His tongue was glued down anyways, only huffing as he perched on the chair. She padded closer, smelling of vanilla and some other perfume. He bit off a whine when she sat on his desk, thighs spreading, giving the priest a view of her lacy skimp of underwear.

“Fucking hell baby,” he pled, hands aching to touch.

“What? You sure were enjoying yourself yesterday.”

He moaned, “We shouldn’t— this could cost us our souls. The deceiver is manipulating us, a test. I lost my wits yesterday.” Criston’s fingertips dug into his leaner thighs, eyes flicking between her pretty smirk and the peak of baby pink panties. The girl hummed sadly, faux pout setting his heart to aching something fierce.

“What if it isn’t the devil? What if I’m just a gift, for you, just for you Father,” she leaned in to his face, “Think outside your little imposed box. Don’t you feel this?” She snatched one of his hands, pressing it upon her beating heart, her soft breast.

He looked guiltily to the side. Criston whispered, “If you were a gift then why is are my feelings so wanton and lustful?”

Purple eyes rolled. She hiked the skirt up, exposing pale thighs and her cute underwear. Criston whimpered under his breath, hand still on her breast, squeezing. The girl moaned, “Chaste love, no, I think he sent me just for you, maybe you had the wrong calling?” Criston threw caution to the wind— the festering in his head grew, rotting away his senses.

He’d already fucked up. Her points were making more sense by the second. Why not enjoy life before he spent the afterlife in torment? He peered at his favorite and rasped, “Show me what to do, putting my mouth on you. Can I touch you?” The brunette internally cringed at his whiny tone. She smiled victoriously, breath delightfully hitching, manicured hands unbuttoning her top.

Criston grabbed ahold of those pretty thighs, marveling at how smooth they were as he pulled them forward until her ass was the only thing perched on his desk. She squeaked and grabbed onto his dark hair, cheeks going blotchy with pink spots. The priest figured he’d have a little instinct, something long denied festering along with his sinful thoughts.

Right now he was face to face with her cunt and Criston had lost his bravado, brown eyes peering up at her. She smirked knowing she had the upper hand again. The Targaryen laughed, “Alright, panties off first Father. Do you even know female anatomy?”

He blushed darkly, ignoring the comment and yanking down those pretty panties. They matched her bra, her breasts spilling out of the push-up with heavy breath. He stuffed the lace underwear selfishly in his pocket. Criston gritted his jaw, cock pressing painfully hard against the fly of his pants. She was glistening, swollen, something he could only conjure up and still get it wrong.

“The clit is the nub at the top,” she breathed.

Criston searched her eyes with his own, abashed at the lack of knowledge before delving his face between silky thighs. He moaned pitifully, embracing the natural scent, her hand in his curls. The man lapped at her sopping hole, excitedly delving his tongue inside, already obsessed with the sweet nectar.

“Fffuck,” she whined, thighs tensing around his neck. Criston’s nose bumped against her clitoris, reminding him of the ‘magic spot’ he’d heard girls giggle about between class changes. He licked his way upward, moaning, ignoring his own need. Pink lips sealed around her button, tentatively suckling.

The blonde jerked and mewled, “Criston, Criston, yes Father!”

He flicked his tongue against the button, big hands keeping those strong thighs from closing. She was trying to scoot away from his onslaught on her, whining and shivering. Criston pulled back to rumble, “All that talk and you’re running from my tongue now little girl?”

“M’gonna fucking cum,” she half-sobbed.

The priest wasn’t going to give up. He kept his attentions on that bundle, even slipping two fingers inside her pussy, exploring until she keened again. More and more slick covered his chin and fingers, utterly lost in this divine feeling. The blonde’s legs were shaking now, breath coming in short sobs. She babbled something, one hand white knuckling the desk, the other knotted into Criston’s hair.

He wished he could have saved her shrill cry of his name as Criston pushed the younger woman over that edge. She gushed and spasmed, finally pushing him away to settle down. Her makeup was smudged, hair a fucking mess. Cole thought she never looked prettier.

He was goddamn insane over her and he knew it. The devil long had his claws gripped into the priest. The man just lied and ignored until he couldn’t. Criston grabbed her and placed her on his thighs, cock pulsing, him reaching down to relieve pressure.

The blonde wrapped her arms round his neck, pretty pink nipples exposed now, the push-up doing nothing to help. She plastered herself to his body, lips mouthing across his neck, murmuring, “You learn quick, s’good.” Criston rubbed at her back, slipping a hand down to her a handful of her cute ass.

She pulled back, pale eyes roving Criston’s face. He stared in a daze as she spoke in a sultry, raspy tone, “You’re so hard, wanna fuck you, lemme fuck you Father.” He couldn’t help but moan long and low at her desperate plea. His cock was fit to burst, straining his briefs now.

“I want it, I want it,” he gasped.

In a flurry of movement he yanked off the collar, it would sicken him to have it on. She pulled at the buttons, pausing to unhook her bra, Criston shoving down his pants and underwear. She moaned, placing hands on his chest and sliding down trim stomach until a little hand grabbed his ruddy cock.

He made a strangled noise, eyes rolling up in his head. No wonder people did this— sin was utterly sweet. Criston panted her name, about to guide her hips onto him. He paused, brows furrowing. The deceiver himself spoke through her voice, “I’m on birth control, doesn’t matter.”

That’s all he needed to hear, roughly lifting her to guide his cock into that slick pussy. Criston made a gutted noise as she slipped onto him. Warm, wet, so goddamn snug and gently ridged. He whined, straight up whined, “Don’t move, don’t move, baby baby oh— haaah!”

She purred and pressed soft tits against Criston, their shallow breathing intermingling. The female whispered softly, petting his shoulders and arms, “S’okay, breathe, relax.”

Criston shook from head to toe, exhaling sharply, pitiful noises escaping a raw throat. He pressed his swollen lips to her forehead, forcing rapid breathing to a calmer state. Still, still, the brunettes balls throbbed and twitched.

He was gonna fuck her dammit. He’d gotten this damn far, his darkest desire to fuck and fill her up after more than two pumps would kill Cole. She teased, hands back on his chest, playing with his medals, “You can do it Father, you’re not so twitchy.”

He shook his head silently, focusing on the task at hand. Father Criston Cole could never deny his sweet little dragon. She’d started squirming and whining on his lap, slick soaking his loins. He took a tentative thrust upwards, lashes fluttering.

The dam broke loose.

Criston fucked and groped, lips messily smacking against her pretty plump pout. She rode him in earnest, meeting him thrust for thrust. The chair squeaked, they moaned, grunted, cried out, a feral quality to the sacred act. He was soaking in the slaps of skin, her hitches of breath, chanting his name like a damn litany.

Criston grabbed onto her hips, planting his feet on the floor, biting his lip and scrunching eyes tight. He was moaning and moaning, drool slipping out between searing kisses. His balls were drawing tight— pounding with the need of his release.

He shoved her upwards onto the desk, thrusting brutally as she cried in ecstasy. Criston pled, “M’gonna cum, c-can’t stop, oh fuck.” She cried, “Yesyesyes don’t you dare stop, m’close!” The older man felt his balls slapping against her ass, eyes rolling up again.

His orgasm hit him like a ton of bricks, Cole mouthing at perky tits, moaning as his release soaked her pussy. It was like he was floating. She bit down on her hand to muffle a wail, arching into him, cunt convulsing and wetting him further.

But Criston couldn’t stop. He kept fucking through the oversensitive pain, sounding like he was in agony as he pounded into her. Their mixed releases made everything slide easier, his turgid cock not softening. He babbled, “Not done, another baby, take it for me, take me please.”

The blonde’s only response was clinging to his tan body, nails digging into his shoulders, legs wrapped tight around his waist. She sobbed harder, “Do it do it— oh my God!” Criston whined her name through his nose, drunk off the feeling, not even aware of the blasphemy.

The office grew hot, noises of flesh and high sounds filling the small space. He couldn’t shut the fuck up either, rambling, “Wet baby, can’t help myself, gotta do it, fuck it all! M’still full up, gotta stuff you baby, how can I hngh not?” He reached down between them to circle haphazardly at her abused clit, the pretty thing writhing on his dick.

Another peak was approaching, he was already leaking, ready to empty another load deep inside her eager pussy. She tightened around him as he pinched her clit, crying real tears now, his name on her tongue like a broken record. Criston wetly cried into her fragrant neck, shoving himself deep inside to give her that last load.

He made a noise, she made a noise, everything growing foggy and distant.

Next thing he recalled was his demon, angel, twisted boon cuddled in his lap, tits still out. They were a sticky mess and he hoarsely asked, “How, ugh, long?”

“A couple of minutes. You went a little dumb there and I had to get your limp ass back into this chair,” she pressed her head into his chest, Criston naturally setting his chin on her head. His hands were slowly moving up and down her flanks. He still felt a bit dumb, dazed from the intense situation.

“You,” he swallowed, “Are a gift…I believe.”

She smiled softly, pecking his lips. The Targaryen mumbled, “We need to get ourselves together, I need a ride home.” Criston nodded, clinging tighter to her frame. He stammered, “O-okay, discuss this another time?”

“Sure, but after I show you what a blow job feels like.”

He didn’t object. The collar sat out of his sight, anything he once cherished gone from his mind. She took that place. He was irrevocably, obsessively infatuated. “I’ll have to leave my position after this year,” he murmured. She looked at him, a concerned look on dainty features.

“I think I’ll be around, will you?”

He remained silent, answer obvious in the air. He’d get down on his knees again and beg to never lose this gem. Fucked up from the get-go. For once, Criston Cole didn’t care. He kissed her instead.

[hiwelcometothemonstersancturary]

order in which the Smiling Critters refer to Angel as their parent, in my save everyone AU:

Dogday, by accident, while everyone is still inside. He's so embarassed by it, poor boy;

Bobby. After her rescue she hears Poppy referring to Angel as mother and goes "🥺 mom????????", and Angel just has to go with it because the majority of the toys are calling them either mom or dad by this point;

Craftycorn is next! She's very shy, VERY quietly asking Angel if she can call them dad because they helped her feel safe enough to sleep. After that she's SO HAPPY about finally having someone to take care of her!

After this, Dogday uses both mom and dad for Angel, without feeling embarrassed anymore:

Hoppy. Girlie is bedridden for the first month and Angel is always there for her, she's already all "I wish I could call them dad without it being weird" until she hears Dogday saying it. She's VERY protective of Angel and that becomes a bit worse because "THAT'S MY PARENT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT".

Kickin is all like "I appreciate the fact you're taking care of me but like Im independent, I lived through things you can only dream off, Im not calling you dad like Im a kid" and then 3 weeks of accidentally using both mom and dad for Angel later he's crying his eyes out as he finally just. Stops trying to play tough guy because he's now in a safe environment and can be vulnerable and safe.

Bubba doesn't see Angel as an actual parental figure until, much like Kickin, he realizes he's in a safe environment and Angel is his caretaker regardless of what may happen. Bubba is weirded out for some time because he's so used to never having someone looking out for him, and then Angel gently tells him to slow things down because he just had a burn out and needs to treat his mind because yes, he is traumatized, and Bubba. Straight up asks if they see him as not just a "kid" but their kid. And its complicated, but Angel agrees with the idea, and then Bubba warms up to the idea and stops calling them "sir/ma'am" and goes with "father/mother".

Picky is desperate to call Angel mom since day 1, but she feels SO guilty for seeing them like that because all the other critters are basically their kid, and who's Picky to interfere after she tried to eat some of them? And, okay, they accepted her apologies and they want to be her friends again, but should she insert herself into the little family just like that? Its Bubba who finally convinces her that she's not an intruder, and then she's all "mom, do you want to see how the garden is doing?" and is always so happy when Angel doesn't correct her.

Catnap. He has 13 layers of unresolved trauma and religious guilt, and for him to stop viewing Angel as his savior but as the only human he can trust Picky is already trying out baking a pie with Mommy Long Legs to celebrate Mother's Day with Angel. His relationship with the Prototype getting better and him finally calling him Father, alongside Dogday, Crafty and Bobby helping him stop feeling so guilty all the time is what helps the most, but he still views Angel as better than human because what else could forgive him? But when his relationship with Hoppy starts improving is when he, very hesitantly, starts thinking about calling Angel "Mother" (he already has a dad). When he finally tries that for the first time Angel lowkey is this close to crying, but they just give him a big hug. Catnap is also close to crying because he thinks he made a mistake at first, but Angel helps calm him down.

Unrelated but one time one of Angel's friends came over to visit and heard Catnap calling them "mother", and then later asked Angel if they had anything to do with Catnap's "father", because last thing they knew Catnap was having a catholic moment involving Angel and would NEVER think of them as a parent, right????? Angel's response was a simple "I know my family is weird but what the fuck, girl!". They still laugh about it to this day.

Also:

Dogday, Bobby, Crafty, Hoppy and Bubba use both mom and dad for Angel;

Kickin has a preference for calling them dad;

Picky has a preference for calling them mom;

Catnap refers to Angel EXCLUSIVELY as mom in order to avoid confusion.

Prototype refers to Angel as "the mother/father", "the caretaker" and "the parent", even when talking to the other toys. "Call the parent for that" is something he frequently says. For Catnap he says "call your mother".

[roronoas4nji]

Sanji is a drag queen who always uses elements of Catholic aesthetics in her costumes, especially Our Lady. Never in a disrespectful way, since her performances only talk about feelings, usually things that afflict him. And he sees in her, as a mother, a certain comfort. Not to mention that it is a great connection to his real profession: as a priest.

Zoro sometimes gets temporary work as a security guard when he needs money and his friend Ace called him to replace him one night. He accepted without asking any questions beforehand, without being surprised when he came across an LGBT club hidden in the quiet town. He didn't even turn towards the stage, remaining completely focused on his work. Until a voice surprised him.

Sanji is a priest in a parish with few faithful, having been given this position after the death of the previous priest. His father forced him to start on this path, as soon as Vinsmoke discovered that the blond was kissing one of his classmates at the boys' boarding school. He didn't want to follow the religious life, however, he also didn't have the strength to fight against it.

His small attempts at secret relationships never went ahead. Sanji thought that either way, with or without the weight of the cassock, he would never be loved. Therefore, in this way, his existence would at least serve some good for others: he could help them. He stopped dating for good and dedicated himself body and soul to both versions of his personality, giving himself completely. His best friend was the one who recommended him to one of her social projects. Robin is a businesswoman who welcomes LGBT artists and tries to help them in their careers. She was the one who encouraged him to try performing, suggesting her bar as a stage. On Fridays, the audience becomes select, with only regulars who eagerly await the special club. After much convincing, Sanji agreed, as long as his appearance was unrecognizable.

Zoro was called on one of those Fridays, which did not arouse his interest in the slightest. However, when Sanji took the stage, singing in French his laments for Christian guilt, even he, who was the opposite of sacred, could not resist. Zoro had to turn his back to see who owned the beautiful voice.

And for someone who never cared about glitter or anything like that, he was quite enchanted.

[sharpth1ng]

Since the photo of the pope on Stu’s fridge has been discovered I’ve seen a lot of takes about how Stu would definitely have religious guilt and would have more issues with his feelings for Billy. I want to be clear I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that take, it’s definitely something to explore if it interests you but it also flattens the breadth of responses to a religious upbringing and religious trauma. There are so many ways a person might respond to that kind of experience and it doesn’t just stop with internalized guilt.

What about the people who just kind of never fall in line? They’re punished for it over and over but it doesn’t make the religion make sense to them. And maybe they learn over time hide their disbelief, they learn to be quiet at church and hide their same sex partners but the moment they’re 18 they are gone.

What about the people who believed when they were young and have had an experience to change that? Maybe they saw religion used to justify the mistreatment of a sibling or a friend, and they thought “if there is a god, they wouldn’t think this is right”.

What about the ones that swing hard in the opposite direction? The ones so angry with the beliefs instilled in them that they do almost anything they can to enrage their religious family? They may not even be doing this intentionally, but teenage rebellion is teenage rebellion, and if your family is catholic then Catholicism might be what you rebel against. What better way to rebel against the anti gay religion than to kiss another boy? Do you know how many queer pagans and Satanists I know who have a history of religious trauma?

Have you ever felt so mistreated by someone or something, so deeply wronged, that almost anything they disapprove of becomes enticing? I definitely have.

And here’s the thing with Stu, he might have a religious family but he sure does talk about sex a lot. Unabashedly too. He spends the night at his girlfriends house, and she confirms that they have sex. He fills his house with people, feeds them booze, and kills a bunch of them. This isn’t giving me the picture of a fearful catholic son.

Before I saw the pope picture I had already been writing Stu’s family as conservative and religious. He definitely grew up with the idea that sex is a sin and gay sex is even worse. But he’s not a guy that likes authority. He likes sensory pleasure and chaos, and at least some of that is a rejection of his upbringing. Dude watches slasher movies and raunchy comedies like clerks. He fucks and he talks openly about it. He gets drunk and he directs his best friend to go take his girlfriends virginity in his parents bed.

He’s rebelling.

To me? Yeah he might have been the kind of kid who had religious fears and guilts when he was younger. He’s definitely been baptized and his family probably still makes him go to church sometimes. But he’s not isolated. It’s the mid 90s and he has access to more media than kids did ever before. He’s had access to alternative view points, narratives that contradict the ones instilled in him when he was young.

And the 90s are a time characterized by a loud rejection of convention. Grunge rocker Kurt Cobain wears dresses, the riot grrl movement is in full swing, and people are getting really into modern forms of paganism. It’s popular to reject your parents beliefs.

There’s an interview with Neve Campbell where she talks about how she thinks Billy and Stu were partly motivated by the rage of being unable to be themselves in Woodsboro and I think that works really well here. What better what to say a fuck you to your religious parents than to have buttsex with a pretty dude and kill a bunch of people?

Again, this is just the way I see the character. There’s nothing wrong with different interpretations and fandom would be boring if we all saw these characters in the exact same way. But yeah just an alternative way to look at it.

[sunnysideaeggs]

uuuuh okay thoughts about S2E1 (disclaimer: SPOILERS! and some unpopular opinions bc i WILL be criticizing alicent). most of these i had during my watch yesterday, and now i’m elaborating on them after more thinking about it. looooong post ahead

okay i liked the new intro. i will miss the blood pouring but i think the tapestries are a more visual way to convey targaryen history.

my favorite parts were the shot of vhagar and balerion in the field of fire(? idk they were eating men (green dragon black dragon !!!), the jaehaerys and alysanne portrait, alicent and rhaenyra and aegon and rhaenyra crowned side by side. beautiful.

also, the blood beneath the thread !!! targaryen history is written in blood. never forget this.

i dont particularly like jace being at the wall. it makes little sense to me, especially because the north is massive and i don’t think that cregan would like to make a procession to the wall just because a prince is there. i liked the tidbits though: jon going to the watch is a tradition he followed unknowingly :)

show me more political jace please, he’s cool.

‘surely torrhen would’ve rather died instead of bending the knee unless he believed aegon could bring unity to the 7K’ jace pls 💀

it’s funny that in one scene rhaenys and daemon had more tension and chemistry than all the scenes of daemon with adult rhaenyra. maybe what he needs is a GILF to put him in his place? lmao

LAENA MENTION LETS GOOOOO

‘make it a son for a son’ referring to aemond? alicent has no bone to pick here be fr i can smell bleach for the whitewashing a mile away

i also have issue with the writers’ choice of making rhaenyra ignore her physical needs and spend apparently days riding on dragon back and doing jumps and that when she just had a miscarriage. it’s canon that she was in bed rest for half a year because the loss of visenya took a toll on her body. it will be dumb and criticized if she’s fine to disappear for weeks but not to fight.

alyn velaryon? ok i’m mad bc corlys literally knows this dude is his son ???

i love how we all pretend that corlys and rhaenys were particularly interested in the strong boys. idk i can’t really care about that anymore

ow is helaena sewing alicent a dress? please tell me it’s not a shroud

AEGON APPEARED WOOO 🍳✨

‘where’s jaehaerys? where are his lessons?’ my man doesn’t know to what school his kids go lol

also he can recognize the twins apart with only seeing them :)✨ cute

aegon wanted jaehaerys in his council !!!! he’s making sure jae KNOWS he’s his heir and he’s on aegon’s mind

oh hel is comfortable enough with him to tell him about her prophecies, i’m just afraid that no one understand her

‘the rats’ NOOOOO

aegon is always like ‘😐❔’ around her lol

‘the queen is an enduring mystery’ he’s a poet i love him

alicole pussyeating but at what cost

why does criston has that empty look in his eyes, he had the same look in his scene with rhaenyra

where is all the raw emotion between them from last season? it’s giving cersei and lancel when it should be cersei and jaime. no deep gazes, no catholic guilt, something’s amiss

jaehaerys and egg </3 my feels they’re so cute

okay i have a bone to pick here because why is tyland being treated like a joke? i can get past jaehaerys toying with him because he’s a child, but aegon respected his allies (that’s a big part about him) and would never antagonize them in that way. it’s given rhaenyra and lady redwyne when we know both characters differ the most in the way they treat their subjects.

also, this is TYLAND LANNISTER, the most employed guy ever. he literally put his skin on the fire for his team, he’s loyal and he’s the best ally the greens could’ve asked for. if anyone is to thank for the death of the dragons, it’s him. put some respect on his name because this is the finance bro to end all finance bros.

also he’s always saying important things: the treasure in the green council, jason’s moves here. please listen to him!

another thing i dislike is the way important political moves are being brushed off. the treasure is a big big matter. it should be said explicitly what the council is doing about it being the focus of the scene. i’m sure most casual viewers didn’t catch that the comedic relief is making big money moves that will backfire later.

but anyways jaehaerys is so cute hehe

happy father’s day to aegon targaryen and aegon targaryen only

okay i’m rewatching the jaehaerys and tyland scene and i love tyland’s accent, and how polite he is to the little prince

go aemond in the council !!!

‘you do not have a seat in this council’ okay alicent please stfu. i disliked her demeanor since she was chastising aegon and tyland but this is too much. remember you do not have a seat either.

and no she doesn’t: she’s queen mother, not queen regent. aegon is an able adult and can rule without her help. i know the only council we had was with cersei but that’s because joffrey and tommen were under westeros’ age of majority. that alicent is there is out of aegon’s kindness and the council members’ respect.

also why would she be mad that the brothers are brothering ??? girl you wanted them to be on each other’s side

SUNFYRE MENTION LETS GOOOO

‘we must proceed cautiously’ i think all caution must be thrown overboard here. i know they want to portray A/R as the ‘voices of reason’ being pushed to war and all but sometimes violence is necessary to prevent more violence. what tywin said about murdering a dozen people in a dinner and a thousand in battle.

i’m tired of this aemond slander. he did it, but he’s innocent your grace

why larys kinda…

ok i love his voice

oh so now every move of alicent is seen by larys. she knows that he knows. neat.

why do the handmaidens wear green? they should wear gold ☀️

okay i initially thought syrax was sunfyre because of the pink of his wings. i hope sunfyre is golden smh

it’s neat that we remember than no matter what side we’re on, for the common people dragons are a source of fear and caution. the fishermen are loyal to rhaenyra yet they will run away from her when she’s on syrax because they don’t trust a dragon.

rhaenyra’s pain is so deep, i really empathized with her. absolutely devastating. her expression, her grabbing the cape, everything

emma is so fucking talented for real, making me feel for the death of a character i dislike

(oh how the mourning of a woman for her child will cause thousands of mothers mourning their children the same)

‘aegon the magnanimous’ when your homie gives you a ridiculous nickname

my boy sits and listens to his subjects, calls them by their names and tells them not to be afraid. hello jerard what can i do 4 u? :)

i love how egg is like ‘yea whatever take ur sheep jerard pls like me’

okay i dislike otto here. aegon is obviously into crowd pleasing (a secret tool that will be useful later) and for once it’s okay. jerard will go home with his sheep and be a diehard aegon supporter and raise his kids to be the same, tell his friends about the king’s generosity. i think otto should know better than to angry the population in time of war, even if you can’t make the flock whole, give the man grain or coin so he can feed his family and the effort of going to the king’s house.

hugh? like hugh hammer? ooooh

‘our victory depends on the efforts of the smallfolk’ close enough welcome back princess diana

another otto slander moment here. i don’t think it’s wise to chastise the king (an adult, mind you) and putting himself in between of aegon and the court like that. did we saw otto with viserys? he sat by his side and whispered his advice in a discreet manner. he didn’t try and strongarmed his king in front of dozens of people. that’s not a smart way of doing things. it’s called soft power for a reason

also, i think the directors were trying to make otto parallel tywin in that joffrey in the throne scene, but tywin was explicitly trying to get joffrey to be more involved in the council and the two were alone. give it to aegon, let him have his fun in public and manipulate him in private, that is the way. doing dumb shit like that only makes aegon look like a kid and otto like a shameless powergrabbing dude

one thing i appreciate is that aegon has his own court. he has his lads-in-waiting, he has a few ladies following behind, and that’s how a king should be. we always saw the royal kids isolated (joff, tommen, rhaenyra only had alicent) when in reality most important people will have a flock of people accompanying them every day.

now that’s what i’m talking about. larys is all about being subtle, honey trapping his way to power. that’s how the game of thrones is played. while aegon will not agree with him just like that (because larys gives him the oogies), i’m sure he will remember larys’ words.

‘as viserys wished’ oh don’t speak of him fuck what he wants

an ally would not sit there and cut her legs at the table of men? girl you do that yourself

alicent, the problem is not otto undermining you, is both of you yapping about shit aegon and aemond not care about and winning empty victories lol

aegon will probably forget about jerard next episode, but will not forget feeling his wings being cut by otto. aemond remained in the council room but will remember alicent wanting him gone.

i wish alicent and otto believed more on their kids/grandkids

mysaria apparition yay

‘you speak of highborn games, i am common born’ tell him girl

daemon don’t put your hands on women challenge: impossible

chemistry with mysaria? uuuuh

i love how everyone reminds erryk of arryk like ‘ayo where ur bro at?’ a matching set is not matching, it’s giving the parent trap

‘i want aemond targaryen’ okay at least she knows who to blame. i want to see more of vengeful rhaenyra, let women be mad

daemon going for aemond instead of for jaehaerys is such a cheap move smh, whitewashing at its finest

jaecarys and rhaenyra :(

is it too insensitive to say that jace’s hair looks great? you’re serving cunt? your brother just died and you’re serving cunt?

ow alerie florent :((((

FUCK VISERYS TARGARYEN

i really like the symbolic funeral. that shot of rhaena crying over the fire? chills

is it me or they changed joffrey’s actor? idk

uuuuh alicent idk if that’s empathy or weakness 🙃

once again i don’t think it’s neat that they show blood being a normal goldcloak. he was discharged dishonorably for femicide. be honest

cheese’s actor kinda looks like joaquin phoenix

‘i want aemond targaryen’ i hate this fucking show.

ROSBY AND STOKEWORTH MENTION LETS GOOO

criston agreeing with aemond in private but backing alicent in public is the medieval version of ‘yea kid ur right but i don’t wanna fight with your mom’

criston looks so tired :(

‘her grace speaks with two tongues’ SAY YOUR TRUTH AEMOND

it is vain to try and blame aemond for starting the war when the war was brewing since before he was born. rhaenyra wouldn’t give up her claim, daemon wouldn’t accept it. if rhaenyra ascended, the targtowers die. there’s not another version of this story

‘she holds love for our enemy, that makes her a fool’ that makes her a traitor. especially after the events of tonight. do we think rhaenyra has a designated green supporter that tries to get her to the green’s side? why would the greens have a rhaenyra cheerleader then?

gods forbid something happens and otto is not there 🙄 control freak

i like how they’re making aemond more rage-filled. careful ewan your book!aemond is showing

‘aegon the strong’ ‘my nephews have already taken that one’ but egg 💀💀💀

i really love how aegon has his court. he’s protected by the throne’s swords AND his homies got his back

the true king can sit however he likes. he lounges on the swords and they’re as soft as pillows to him. pretenders can’t relate.

in a deeper level, it shows how he’s comfortable both in the throne and surrounded by people. he has high trust. kinghood is a tool he doesn’t have any training on but he holds it like a natural

aegon truly trusts aemond. i love that for them. if they make aemond to be treacherous i’ll cry

AEGON THE DRAGONCOCK 🐲 rip leon estermont you would’ve loved shitposting

also why the ratcatchers are just walking around the keep? are they in the tunnels or in plain sight?

the kick to the doggie :( i really hope they didn’t really kick a dog for that

unrelated but i really need the rats around the red keep to mean something like larys skinchanging into them. they can’t be a red herring or just blood and cheese. they have too many shots

again, why are they out and about? isn’t it weird to see dudes in the middle of the night?

helaena’s maid looks like emma stone and she has really good eyebrows. i’m pretty sure she knows something (larys agent ofc)

how do we go from searching for aemond to threatening helaena? whyyyyyyy

oh right we had to blame the smallfolk for being soooo greedy and wicked and stupid that you tell them kill a great warrior and they kill a baby. because daemon can’t ever order a baby killed amiright?

the little beds noooooo :( baby jaehaerys

okay i was expecting more of helaena. in the books she’s described as pleading, begging, crying and so on. phia is killing it with the eye expressions but she looks stiff in comparison with only her necklace. even trying to bargain more (my husband can give you everything and more), some more tears, some stuttering would fit show!helaena’s too. that’s on the directors tho

i also dislike the choice that anyone can just barge in the room, literally they had to make the castle desert instead of blood and cheese waiting for hel in alicent’s rooms. i know someone is going to make the point of ‘why didn’t helaena scream or run?’ and yes partly. guess we had to slander alicent in another way right?

but alas, i am thankful that a prediction of the scene didn’t came true: no children being forcefully stripped. that would’ve sent me over the edge. they implied it but no child actors were harmed in this episode

omg the sounds of the head cutting and jaehaerys’ muffled sounds i wanna cry

helaena is so lost and the castle is a maze and nobody’s there and she’s lost lost lost and running with jaehaera i can’t

did she saw a vision there? when she stopped and went to alicent’s room

imagine going to comfort for your mom and she’s at it

‘return to your post lord commander’ why didn’t you criston? 🙃

also it didn’t pass me by that aegon has THREE kingsguards in addition to his four homies and his own sword. helaena had none. even if he was off duty and he’s sworn to alicent and not helaena, the lord commander is not commanding

THREE maids at the start of the episode doing absolutely nothing and none here? i’m so mad

‘they killed the boy’ :(((((

also why is helaena so disconnected? like why is she ‘able’ or is she in shock? i hope if they don’t make her go insane with pain like in the book she gets a revenge arc where she goes on dreamfyre, she deserves it.

i hope aegon kills them all.

[octopiys]

Cw: blood/murder, body horror, mentions of catholic guilt

Witch!Johnny who has no idea of what he's doing.

His nights since "Simon" has returned have been restless, dreamless, and he's always woken up feeling.... unfinished. There was was always unease in his chest, buried deep, like the feeling of forgetting something. His days don't go by much easier.

His work is mostly on the computer, and there are sometimes where he must go into the offices, bring Gary some leftovers from the night before, fill out some files, and head on home.

Today, though, is different. He spends his time searching through every record their office had, trying to find any semblance of what he's seen.

Witch!Johnny, who's beginning to think the lack of sleep has made him go insane. Maybe he's making it up. He feels more comfortable gaslighting himself into believing that a storm pushed over the tree in his backyard, than-

NCO!Gary who finds Johnny asleep at his usually empty desk. There were numerous tabs pulled up on his computer, of age old chat forums and supernatural sightings from years ago, blogs that had gone cold. He smirks, shaking his head with the roll of his eyes as he pats Johnny on the back, trying to wake him up.

NCO!Johnny who wakes with a jolt. Gary looks slightly concerned, he must've fallen asleep again. He apologizes, and shuts down his computer. He's just felt so tired recently.

Witch!Johnny, who comes home to Ms. Riley, pacing anxiously on his front step, who's eyes light up when she sees him. She looks tired too.

"Oh, John, thank goodness- Mozzie's run away, and Tommy's coming in tonight, I was gonna ask if you can keep an eye out for him!" She pleads and he agrees, equally worried for Mozzie, short for Mozart, which is short for Mozzarella, who's been the Riley dog as long as he can remember. How the little rat dog escaped bequeaths him, but he promises to double check his wildlife traps tomorrow when he takes the cart around to collect them.

NCO!Johnny who ensured that his traps were practically harmless to the environment, not a doubt in the world that Mozzie had gotten into one of his raccoon cages.

Witch!Johnny who locks his doors twice tonight.

Fae!Simon, who thinks it's rather hot. The weather, that is.

It's a peculiar thought to have when some humans flesh and blood lies mangled beneath him. There was a soft inkling of recognition in the base of his skull, a little tendril that beckoned him to destroy it, and so he did. The heated metal bits that were fired at him had little effect. They could not hurt him now.

They could not hurt him anymore.

What used to be the wriggling mass under him had called him something odd, whispered it like a True Name, and it was. It hit a notch in the tendrils of his heart, and he sprung. This man had wronged him before, and used his true name to do so. Yet, when he said it, it didn't entirely feel like his.

Like something else shared it.

So it must've not been his after all.

He turns, the earth warm beneath his feet as the sun rose high in the sky.

What is a Simon, anyhow?

Witch!Johnny, who dreams tonight. He's a kid again, pouring over his nan's old books while she bakes too salty cookies in the kitchen. He never complained, and she gave him a handful of chocolate chips to munch on while the cookies were in the oven. Simon would be coming over later, and he too, would not complain about the cookies. Johnny would give him a chocolate chip for his bravery.

His Nan bumbles up to him, her chest puffing proudly that the boy is following in her footsteps. "Did ah ev'r tell ya 'boot my lil' Jackie?"

"Yes, Nan," He'd always say in response.

"Aye, but y' dinnae ever listen!" Something sharp lurks beneath her words, like sharp rocks that you take notice of when you finally take the training wheels off of your bike. "When ah was a wee lass, my lil broder, Jackie, was too curious for his own good. Born with caul, too, if ye can believe. Mam would call us in fer dinner, and she'd send me ou' ta find him. He loved the woods, that boy, and the life inside o' it. Real sweet lil' thing, too. Broke his heart anytime Mam squished a bug, and God forbid he stepped on one o' em on his own! I found him, one night, sittin' just inside o' the trees. There were mushrooms all 'round him, like somethin' had died just up under th' roots. An' ah knew then, I think. But ah ran inside and got me Mam, cus he would nae answer when ah called 'im. She came out with th' shears-" She pokes him in the side with a wooden spoon for extra measure, and he giggles, despite the tragedy of the story. "An' cuts up all o' the mushrooms, an' he sits up, and walks back inside."

"What then, nan?" He asks, always too eager for his own good.

"Thought ye said ye heard o' this one?" She teases him, before turning away and continuing. "He was so quiet after tha'. Made me sad, cus he would nae talk aboot anythin'. Like a switch had been triggered. He stepped on a bug he found that night. And another one, after that. His eyes were so cold." She trailed off, sounding almost sad, which seemed impossible to Johnny, because his Nan was never upset. "Me Mam turned him out the next week. Told him that she wanted her boy back. She warded the creature off with those shears up there, an I never saw 'im again." She hums, like this was an everyday occurrence as she gestures to the old sheers hanging in the window.

Witch!Johnny asks, no longer a child. "What was it, Nan?"

His Nan just smiles, before looking down at the book. "Seems like ye found one o' yer own, have ye nae?"

Witch!Johnny who looks down at the old book, where written in ancient ink across the top was the header: Changeling.

Witch!Johnny, who sits up in a cold sweat. His clock read 3:13. Unlucky. Somewhere in his former catholic brain, an alarm bell rang.

The curses of the law lifted by becoming the curse.

Did he still have that book?

He'd found one of his own. He spills out of his bed, racing to his bookshelf.

He blows dust off the cover and flips through it until he's satisfied, eyes settling on the thinning paper. Changelings. Was he right?

Deep-seated unease settles inside of him as he read, mentally ticking off boxes.

For it is written.

Pointed teeth. Cold eyes. Personality change. Precious, precious, precious. Did he play any instruments? No. Not Simon. He barely talked anymore. Barely ate, that he knew of.

Changeling, changeling, changeling.

The man that lives down the street, who came back rugged from war. The man who was not the person he grew up with. The Simon who came back. He should've known. Oh, his grandma must be turning in her grave right now, or laughing at his stupidity. He drops the book, hands shaking.

The Ghost that replaced Simon Riley was a Changeling.

Cursed is everyone who hangs in the trees.

Last part | Next part

Inspired by Meet Me In The Woods by Lord Huron

Taglist: @whorangi1104 @impossible-to-pronounce @the-only-universe-here

(If your blog is here but the tag doesn't work, there's a good chance your blog is accidentally hidden! Lmk if that's the case :) )

Any questions? My ask box is open!! <3

[blissfulip]

—Legion

On AO3

Priest!Viktor x F!demon!reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Priest Kink, Blasphemy, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Flagellation, Demon Sex, Demon Summoning, Demon/Human Relationships, demon reader, AU - Canon Divergence, Post medieval era, Dubious Science, Church Sex, Roman Catholicism, Catholic Guilt, Improper Use of Catholic Rituals, Shameless Smut, Masturbation, No use of Y/N, third person.

Cw: mentions of Child SA, allusions to the witch trials

Words: 3.1k

[A/N: Sorry for making the bishop so annoying I made myself angry proof-reading this lmao (let me know if you want to be tagged or removed in future fic updates!)]

Tags: @ihopeinevergetsoberr @chemical-killjoy @jinxed-jk @bobobomao @queen-of-elves @thedustybunny @syren201 @thayfass @thehistoriangirl @hypocritic-trash-baby @zaunitearchives

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II.

Noon had started to crack, and Viktor sat still at the edge of his bed, his left leg throbbing with a persistent ache and guilt consuming him as he grappled with the weight of his recent actions. His mind swirled in a tumult of self-condemnation and regret as the looming certainty of facing Father Isidore when he would eventually be called up to the kitchen for lunch weighed over him.

How could he, entrusted with the guidance of others, find himself so lost in the labyrinth of his own sin? It was so easy, too, to feel like the absolutions he offered were hollow, his own inability to forgive himself casting a shadow over the sanctity of his role. And amidst this turmoil, the relentless ache in his left leg—probably due to kneeling for a prolonged stretch of time, but that in the wake of what he had just done felt more akin to divine punishment—served as a reminder of his frailty, both physical and spiritual. 

But pain is purification, suffering gives way to redemption, and penitence is salvation, so isn’t pleasure the correct response after all? If martyrdom is the ultimate act of love, then why shouldn’t agony be met with enjoyment? That was the lie Viktor soothed himself with before deciding to be a step ahead of the altar boys and make his way to the kitchen. 

-----------------------------

His leg protested with each step, but it seemed insignificant compared to the stinging feeling on his back now that he had the rough fabric rubbing against it. What lingered wasn’t nearly as pleasant as before; however, he felt undeserving of making a fuss about it, it being a punishment—ironically—for a self-inflicted punishment that he shouldn’t have delighted in. 

As he entered, the comforting scent of freshly brewed coffee greeted him, mingling with the faint aroma of incense that clung to his robes and clashing with the uninviting presence of Father Isidore, who sat at the table, steaming cup in hand. 

“Viktor, my son,” he exclaimed in a voice that sounded sweet and as sticky and treacherous as molasses, “I trust you have...repented.”

Viktor clenched his jaw, a wave of trepidation washing over him as he felt his judgmental gaze on him. Viktor severely disliked the special way Father Isidore enunciated; emphasis on certain words never seemed like enough for him; he always made it a point to hiss and spit; his lips thinned out and tense like he was holding in a growl. It didn’t match his childlike guise, and this made Viktor weary of him ever since he was a kid. 

“I have,” he replied tersely, taking a seat opposite his superior’s robust presence. 

"It seems, however, that some of us struggle more than others with the concept of self-control," he remarked, his words dripping with a subtle veil of aggression.

Viktor's stomach churned with resentment. "I am aware of my shortcomings, Father," he retorted, his voice tinged with bitterness. 

“Don’t misunderstand me, son. It is never my intention to prohibit your studies or peg your enthusiasm for learning; you know our monastery has always valued knowledge of the great arts.”

“Until it challenges one of your universal truths, that is.”

“Precisely, are you trying to imply we should challenge the dogma?” 

Viktor stayed silent. 

“Tell me, do you think you are above us all?” 

“Of course I don’t, father.” but he did, and this whole lecture was starting to get old. 

“Then you must clearly think you are above sin. So holy and pure that you are able to read such heretic words and not be tempted by them?” He said this as he got closer to Viktor, his face slowly turning beet red: “unde et corda filiorum hominum implentur malitia et contemptu in vita sua et post haec ad inferos deducentur.”

And then he did the same eyebrow raise he used to do when Viktor was a child, and he was testing his knowledge of the scripture. Viktor sighed, partly in defeat but mostly in annoyance. 

“‘Hence the hearts of the sons of men are filled with malice and contempt in their lives, and after this they are brought down to hell’,” he answered as he instinctively leaned back on the chair, the scorching sensation reminding him why it was a terrible idea. 

“I can tell you are in pain; why must you still be so stubborn, even when you are enduring your penitence on the flesh?” 

“I see no malice in curiosity.”

“Even when you intentionally seek the words of miscreants, knowing full well the danger it presents?”

“I don’t seek dangerous ideals; the universe is, and I simply try to understand it.”

“You are lost, Viktor.” Father Isidore’s lips curled up into a grin of contempt, a show of mockery that made it clear his concern for Viktor’s soul came from a place of scorn. 

“Temptatio vos non adprehendat nisi humana, something something, and God will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear and, eh, I forgot what comes after,” Viktor recited, quiet but defiant. 

“To me, you are nothing but a test of resilience, Viktor. If I have to tear you down myself to build you back up as a God-honoring servant, I will.” He said this as he visibly struggled to disguise his frustration. “Come, I would like you to meet someone.”

--------------------------------

As they made their way through the narrow streets of the small town, the bustling activity of the market greeted them. Vibrant stalls lined the cobblestone paths, their displays of fresh produce and handmade goods drawing Viktor’s attention. All the while, he wondered who this mysterious person and possible weapon of torture would be. 

Father Isidore walked with an air of authority, his presence commanding respect as he exchanged warm greetings with anyone who crossed their path. Soon they came upon an elderly woman sitting by a small table, adorned with a meager assortment of goods. Her weathered face bore the deep lines of a life well-lived, yet her eyes sparkled with a warmth that belied her frailty. She smiled weakly as they approached, her gnarled hands clasped tightly in her lap.

"Good morning, Father!" called out an elderly woman, her face lighting up with a smile as she approached. "Blessings be upon you." 

He gave back a smile that could've fooled anyone, but Viktor couldn't shake the feeling that there was something calculated in his demeanor. "And to you as well, my dear," Father Isidore replied, his tone tinged with a hint of forced sincerity. "How are you faring today?"

"Oh, just getting by as best I can, Father," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "Times have been hard, but the Lord provides."

"Indeed, He does, and speaking of such, have you been able to fulfill your tithe to the church this month?”

The elderly woman's smile faltered slightly, her gaze dropping to her lap as she fidgeted with the worn fabric of her apron. "I... I'm afraid not, Father," she admitted, her voice barely audible. "Things have been tight lately, with the harvest being poor and all."

His expression hardened imperceptibly, though his tone remained gentle as he pressed the issue. "I understand, my dear," he continued. "But you must remember the importance of supporting the church, especially in these trying times. Perhaps there is something else you could sacrifice to ensure your tithe is met."

Viktor watched in silent anger as the elderly woman's shoulders slumped in resignation, her eyes downcast as she nodded in reluctant agreement. Despite his own discomfort, he couldn't help but feel a surge of rage at the ease with which Father Isidore exploited the vulnerability of this woman for the sake of the church's coffers.

“If I may, Lucida,” Viktor interjected. Different from his superior, he knew the members of their community; he had taken time to know them and had offered his friendship along with his guidance. “You must be forgetting; your daughter has already come to offer lithe on behalf of your family.”

This was a lie, but be it because Lucida’s age was betraying her memory or because she had taken the hint of what Viktor was doing, it didn’t matter. Her mouth shaped into a round O as she nodded at both of them. Father Isidor looked at Viktor with suspicion but did not press the issue any further either, simply dragging Viktor by his free arm to continue on their way. 

A modest house was nestled along the path. Father Isidore announced himself with a drawn-out knock on the solid wood of the door, and the figure of a weary woman appeared as the door peered open. When she saw the men, her feeble demeanor swiftly morphed into visible uneasiness. 

Viktor knew her; she had been at the cathedral at least once, and multiple times she had made herself present at Viktor’s masses in the small town parish. She had never reacted this way to him before, so Viktor knew it was the man beside him who was causing this woman concern. 

“Father Isidore, I’m sorry; I did not expect to see you here,” she cried out, trying to hide the tremble in her voice. 

“Fret not, dear; I haven’t come to collect her yet; I simply wanted Viktor to meet her.” He scrutinized the inside of the house from where he stood before gently pushing the woman aside to enter the house, uninvited. Viktor gave her quiet apologies and small awkward smiles, following close behind him when she gave him a sign to invite him in. 

The woman took them to the other side of the small house; there, the threshold of what seemed to have been a door in the past separated this expanse from the rest of the house. In the dimly lit chamber, a young teenage girl sat on the edge of her bed, her long black twin braids cascading down her shoulders like a dark veil, so dark that if you looked at it under the right light, it might even look blue.

Her posture was slumped, and her slender frame seemed to wilt under an invisible weight. The room around her felt heavy with silence, broken only by the faint sound of her shallow breaths. She looked up to look at them as the three entered, but her once vibrant eyes, now dulled and distant, gazed blankly ahead, unfocused and unseeing. 

“Darling, Father Isidore has come to see you; will you say hi to him and his friend?” Her mother asked delicately as she sat down on the bed next to her. Viktor was stumped; he didn’t remember seeing this girl at any of the functions before or around the town as he ran errands. The girl’s hands lay limply in her lap, fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the faded bedspread as she looked at Father Isidore. 

And very subtly, her once empty gaze welled up with noticeable rage. 

“What do you want, sheep?” Her voice sounded so sweet, yet her words were so filled with venom.

“Careful now; I’m not here to take you yet, but I might change my mind if you decide to get nervy with me.” 

She squinted slightly before giving Father Isidore an empty smirk and snapping her head quickly to look directly at Viktor. “Are you in trouble too? I’m only ever used as an example.” 

“I-eh, I’m not sure.” Viktor pondered her words for a short second: “An example?”

“For what not to do.” She scoffed; she now seemed unaffected by their presence, giggling at Viktor’s confused expression, like he had told her a joke. “What did you do? Illegal medicine?” she asked, and she continued when she received no response. “You’re a priest; did you lay with a woman? Oh, oh, oh, a man, perhaps?”

The amusement in her tone was not enough to cut the tension in the air. Viktor wondered why no one seemed to care about what she was saying, but he figured Father Isidore was attempting to make a point out of this, and her mother was too afraid to do anything that might upset the bishop. 

“I would ask you if you touched a child, but they care considerably less about that than they do about banned...That’s it, isn’t it? You—” She said, now wiggling her feet like she had reverted to an earlier stage of her life. “—are a man of science; I can see in your eyes that you know what heliocentrism is.” She giggled her way through those words and looked at Viktor with wide eyes, awaiting a response. 

A tense silence hung in the air, broken only by the soft shuffle of feet on the worn floorboards as the mother stood by the door, her expression wrought with fear, while Father Isidore's features were etched with thinly veiled frustration.

Suddenly, the girl spoke, her voice soft but tinged with defiance. "You can't stop me, fawner," she said, her words cutting through the heavy silence like a knife. "I won't let you."

Father Isidore's eyes narrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line, as he shot the girl a warning glare. "Enough," he admonished. "You know the consequences of disobedience, and you know what awaits you; don’t make an effort to rush your departure."

With a sense of urgency, the mother hurriedly ushered them toward the door, pleading and apologizing on her daughter’s behalf, and in the onslaught of their departure, Viktor felt a small object slip into his hand. Startled, he glanced down only to see the girl’s swift fingers pressing something into his palm and a pair of brazen eyes that quickly snuck back onto the bed, unnoticed. 

He didn’t dare to look, not as long as he had eyes on him, so he clenched his fist around it, as if something told him he ought not to lose it. Viktor's mind raced with questions, his confusion mounting with each hurried step as they silently walked the path back to the parish. As they climbed the small steps to go inside the building, the bishop spoke. 

“She is being taken to undergo a trial for witchcraft, but I’m sure what you saw made that evident.”

“She doesn’t look like a witch.”

“What do witches look like, son?”

“Wretched, evil, hateful...”

“And is it not evil to go against the dogma of our faith? Is it not wretched to seek deranged ideals like ‘heliocentrism’ and ‘geokinesis’, mad, truly mad things for someone who is fearful of God to believe, and especially wicked for a woman to believe?”

Viktor did not answer. 

“God has great plans for you, Viktor. Do not stray from your path, and you’ll be able to avoid an end like hers” He said, punctuating the last word with a hefty—and ignobly intentional—pat on his back. 

The wounds, still fresh and tender, protested vehemently against the sudden contact, each movement a reminder of the agony that plagued him. He visibly winced and took a sharp breath through gritted teeth, doing his best to suppress the urge to cry out in pain. But it wasn't just the physical discomfort that gnawed at him. Beneath the surface, a simmering anger had been bubbling. 

-----------------------------------

Alone again in the confines of his quarters, Viktor sank to his knees in front of the small wooden crucifix that adorned the wall. His hands trembled as he clasped them together in prayer, his lips moving silently in fervent entreaty. 

“Pater Noster qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum…” He began automatically, but he didn’t know what he had prayed for. 

When the prayer ended, there was silence.

“Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum, benedicta tu in mulieribus…” He started once again, perhaps a mother would pity him.

Silence. 

Anger burned within him like a smoldering ember. The rotund face of Father Isidore plagued his inner thoughts. How could a man of God, a shepherd of the faithful, wield his power with such callous disregard?

But beneath the anger lay a deeper, more insidious emotion: guilt. Guilt for his own weakness, for his depravity, for his inability to rise above the turmoil and find solace in his faith. With a frustrated sigh, Viktor bowed his head lower, his hands clenching into fists as he fought to contain the tempest raging within him. 

"Why?" he whispered, his voice barely audible in the silence of the room. "Why do I pray, day after day, only to be met with silence? Have I been forsaken, abandoned by the very God I serve?"

But as the echoes of his words faded into the darkness, there came no answer, and in that moment of profound solitude, Viktor felt more alone than ever before, until he remembered the small object he had managed to slip into his robes. 

A brass coin, small and thin enough that he could break it with his bare hands if he was not careful. It appeared to have worn off with time, the original color having faded into a dark green, corroded shade. As he held it up to the dim candlelight, the symbol etched into its surface seemed to shimmer—a circle with small letters around its circumference that he couldn’t read. In it there was a smaller circle, and inside of it, even smaller, a strange swirly shape with five triangles on its flat top and a cross in the very center. 

He knew, deep inside, that he recognized what he knew to be the symbol of a creature of darkness and forbidden knowledge. His instincts screamed at him to cast it aside, to rid himself of its tainted influence, but a curious fascination held him captive. In a surge of frustration and desperation, Viktor closed his eyes and clasped the coin tightly in his hands, his lips moving in silent prayer.

“God has failed me; let this be the time I am acknowledged.” For a long moment, nothing happened. The silence stretched on, broken only by the soft whisper of his own breath. But then, just as Viktor's hope began to wane, he felt a strange warmth emanating from the coin, spreading through his fingertips. 

Like a heavy shroud enveloping the room, suffusing the air with palpable tension, the atmosphere shifted, thickening with an otherworldly energy that seemed to hum with ancient power. A chill ran down Viktor's spine when he felt a small hand on his shoulder. As he summoned the courage to gaze upon the figure behind him, he found himself confronted by a sight that defied all comprehension.

The figure of a woman, alluring and terrible but terrifyingly familiar, stood before him. A surge of primal terror mixed with a morbid fascination compelled him to stand his ground, and then he heard her voice. 

“Curious, very curious.” She whispered. 

[miriam-heddy]

Ryan Guzman's gotten so much better at talking about all this. I mean, compared to 2020? He's really had an intellectual glow-up.

On being Mexican...

"The reason I’ve spoken more and more about being Mexican is the fact that I’m white-passing, so a lot of people assume that I’m more white than not... So now let me make it a staple... Let me make a direct connection that no, I’m Mexican. I want the world to know: don’t be speaking ill about mi gente in my vicinity, or else, you’re going to get some feedback.”

On Catholic guilt...

“I have my own relationship with Catholic guilt. I was an altar boy and I went to the seminary for a couple of weeks and realized, you know, not for me. And I think, it’s so ingrained in the culture that it’s synonymous now to us, which is kind of crazy to me now that I’ve gone back into my own heritage and understood that was never where we came from. ”

Read the whole thing. It's a good interview.

More in this vein here: https://www.tumblr.com/stagefoureddiediaz/762088451583672320/everything-ryan-says-is-so-considered-and