#I have a huge fear of hell BECAUSE of the religion

[sleepy-jirai-minori]

guys im gonna fucking kms

i have to go to a sermon that starts at like, 9 pm, i think? and i have to stay there till 1 am for new years..

i tried to tell my mom thats not working out for me or my little brother and that it only works for her and dad, and she was like,

"When it comes to the Bible, there are no questions, no arguements, no debates with me. You HAVE to go."

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

my mom always does this, i swear. stars above, she'd kill me first for being agnostic, that's what. but still, she literally, never listens.

if she wants to go somewhere, or if she wants to go do something, she does NOT care whether me or my little brother want to, or will benefit from it, but she drags us along anyways. Now, mind you, they have a youtube channel, where they livestream their sermons so people can watch it at home but it's like, nope, we HAVE to go in person even though these two children will be suffering in the morning.

i hate this. i hate how it's like, accepted to give your child no choice of religion, whatsoever. like, you have a religion? great! im your child? i have to follow the same religion as you? the same religion that gave me trauma and fear that literally makes me shake and cry at night? no thanks. but it's so accepted to like, force your child to accept your religion or your beliefs even if they don't want to, or if they don't like it. at least, that's what its like where i live. like, i shouldn't be afraid of my mom finding out. this sucks.

[disgruntled-detectives]

Some ramble that has been on my mind lately.

I’m a huge fan of John Finnemore’s writing and sketches. If you don’t know who he is, he’s an English comedy writer. He’s born and raised in the UK. And he has a radio sketch show called “John Finnemore’s Souvenir Programme” it’s a hilarious show and I highly recommend it. It’s made me laugh and honestly been a bright spot in dark times.

Occasionally, he has what he calls “meta sketches” where one person from the cast (there are five comedians in the JFSP cast) will address him about something in another sketch or make fun of him or something. And in one sketch, he pokes fun at Christianity. In the following meta-sketch, a cast member asks why he always makes fun of Christianity but not any other religion. And John responds with that Christianity is the religion he knows. He was born and raised in it and while he’s not a Christian, he recognizes how Christianity shapes British culture and always has. And it wouldn’t feel right to make fun of a religion he isn’t part of, and knows nothing about.

Then he says “actually the only other religion I know anything about is Judaism. And actually I’ve been thinking of a sketch idea based on a man I saw in London on a Saturday at a crossing patiently waiting for someone else to press the button so god wouldn’t he cross with him for working. And he’s perfectly right to believe that, but you can’t pretend there isn’t something a little funny about that.” And the sketch moves on.

This is the thing I’ve been thinking of. He said “the religion I know anything about would be Judaism” and then immediately in the *very next sentence* demonstrates a fundamental lack of knowledge about Judaism. In that “god would be cross with him for working” in that one sentence, he demonstrates so *clearly* the cultural Christianity that permeates western culture.

Because mostly…Jews *don’t* (can’t speak for all Jews obviously) believe G-d would be “cross at us” for violating the laws of Shabbat. We follow the laws out of a place of love. Not fear. We follow the laws because we believe they are part of the covenant G-d made with the Jewish people. We don’t believe in divine retribution. Like an orthodox Jewish woman I used to follow when I had TikTok said in a video, “if we break a commandment we don’t believe G-d is gonna strike us down or anything. We just acknowledge that we broke the commandment, say sorry, and then move on and try not to do it again.” And she has answered that question *numerous times* in numerous videos.

And Christians and former Christian’s have demonstrated time and time again that they fundamentally do not understand this. I was raised Christian. Catholic to be exact. And let me tell you, it’s fear. Not love that drives a lot of their rule following. Fear of going to hell and spending eternity being tortured and separated from g-d is a very real thing. They legit have something called “mortal sins” and missing Sunday Mass is one of them.

Because Judaism is a religion of orthopraxy. Not orthodoxy. In Judaism, what you do matters far far more than what you believe. You can be an atheist and an Orthodox Jew. Hell, I don’t eat pork. Do I think G-ds gonna be mad at me for eating bacon? No. Of course not. I don’t even really know if I believe in a G-d like that. I sorta flip flop between agnosticism and like a pantheist view. I don’t eat pork because I am a Jew. And it’s a commandment I chose to take on. Because I love being Jewish. Not out of fear.

Now I’m not saying this to hate on John Finnemore. Like I said. I am a huge fan of his work. I absolutely love Cabin Pressure, and JFSP, and Double Acts and just about anything else he’s written. I’m just saying this because it is clearly demonstrates the cultural Christian lens through which that people here in the west, including former Christian’s and now atheists like JF see the world.

So basically what I’m saying is that just because Judaism was the religion that Christianity sprang from, and you grew up Christian or even just in a Christian country in the west, does not mean that you know anything about us. It’s so easy to think you understand what Judaism is about because you’ve read “the Old Testament” and seen Fiddler on the Roof or something. And yet get even incredibly basic facts about Jewish worldview wrong because you haven’t grasped that Jews see the world completely differently. (Not to mention that 2000 years separate the split from Judaism of Christianity and Judaism developed and evolved on its own ever since. It’s a total and separate religion. But Christians tend to think we’re the exact same we were 2000 years ago. Which is why their minds are *blown* when we say that to us, Jesus is as irrelevant as Thor is. We literally do not care about your special boy. He may have been a Jew, but like…he’s a dude that lived over 2000 yrs ago.)

So basically what I’m saying is that if you are not Jewish, or at least put in serious work to learn about us, from us, you don’t actually know about Judaism like you think you do. Cultural Christianity permeates everything here in the west, and it’s a lot to unpack and unlearn.

[oceandolores]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 18

dbf!joel miller x female reader

"He's cold-blooded so it takes more time to bleed,"

summary: you spent the days with negan

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, pedophilia, cannibalism, human trafficking, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 18

masterlist!

previous | chapter 17

next | chapter 19

You’ve lost track of time. Days? Weeks? Maybe months? The lines between each are blurred into a gray, endless fog. It feels like a lifetime, every moment dragging in this hell, locked away in a basement where time itself has abandoned you. No sunlight. No air. No life.

Your skin has become paper-thin, ghostly pale, your hair longer now, wild and unkempt, hanging like threads of darkness around your face.

You can barely recognize yourself anymore. Who are you now? A hollow shell of the girl who once laughed under the Texas sun, free, warm, loved.

But now—now you are something else entirely. Your body bears the marks of your captivity—bruises, cuts, reminders of Negan’s rage.

Your muscles ache, protesting every movement as you sit huddled in a corner, shivering in the same clothes he left you with, now ragged and clinging to your bones.

You try to hold onto Joel's face in your mind, but it’s becoming harder. The image of him is fading like the light you once knew. You wonder if he's okay.

Is he searching for you? Does he even know where you are? The thought of him keeps you breathing, keeps your heart beating through the endless fear.

You imagine him finding you—saving you. His arms wrapping around you, holding you close, whispering that it's all over, that you’re safe again. But all you have are those thoughts, like distant stars barely visible in a night sky choked with clouds.

Here, there’s nothing but the endless cold concrete, the bucket in the corner, and the faint, rotting smell that clings to the air. You barely register it anymore.

You’ve learned to survive in this dark corner of hell, learned to please the man who holds your life in his hands. Negan. The name makes your skin crawl.

He took you, stole you away from everything, ripped your life apart. And for what? You still don’t understand why. Why you?

Negan comes every morning. At first, you refused to eat, refused to give him the satisfaction, but after the first time he beat you—after the sharp sting of his fist connecting with your ribs and the choking terror of his threats—you learned to obey.

Now, you force yourself to eat, to keep your body moving, even when you want to crawl into a dark hole and disappear forever. Survival. It’s the only thing left.

Sometimes, he’s sweet, too sweet, sickly almost, like a poisoned lullaby. He’ll apologize, say he didn’t mean it, that he only gets angry when you don’t listen.

Negan strokes your hair, his fingers weaving through the tangled strands, the sickly sweetness in his voice every time he speak to you sending chills down your spine.

You’ve learned to obey, to keep your head down, to be the good girl he expects—because when you’re not, when you step out of line, he turns into something else.

A storm, violent and unpredictable, his fists crashing down like thunder, his words sharp as lightning. The bruises on your skin, purpling and yellowing, are the remnants of his rage, each one a testament to how dangerous he can be.

And yet, beneath the horror, it feels hauntingly familiar. The blows, the threats, the control—it all pulls you back, back to a place you thought you’d escaped. Your father.

His memory clings to you, like a shadow that stretches across your life, refusing to fade. Even though he's dead, you can still feel him—his presence, his hands, his cruelty.

It's as if his spirit never really left, lingering in the dark corners of your mind, waiting to reemerge. You thought you were free of him, free of the suffocating grip he had on your life, but here, with Negan, it’s like you're back in his grasp all over again.

The abuse, the beatings—it’s the same cycle, a vicious loop that you can never seem to break.

You feel his hands around your neck, the phantom pressure tightening like a noose, choking the air from your lungs. He’s gone—dead and buried—but his grip remains. He’s still with you in every bruise, every whispered threat, every moment of fear.

He never truly left.

No matter how hard you try to forget him, to sever yourself from the past, he clings to you like a shadow, a ghost that refuses to leave. Your father—his voice is always there, whispering in the back of your mind, telling you that you are never enough, that you will never be free.

Even now, trapped in this basement, his presence lingers, as if he’s still wrapping his hands around your throat, suffocating you with the weight of his expectations and his violence.

You try to push him away, but it’s like he’s sewn into your skin, a part of you that you can never shed.

At night, the screams from above pierce the silence, wrenching you from whatever restless sleep you’ve fallen into. They are horrible, gut-wrenching screams—women’s screams.

The kind that seem to come from the deepest, most primal part of a person, like their very souls are being torn apart. You try not to think about what’s happening up there, but the screams fill the air, bouncing off the cold, damp concrete walls, wrapping around you like a suffocating fog.

And then there’s the sound that follows—the roar of a chainsaw tearing through the air, a sound so brutal, it feels like it’s cutting through the world itself.

After that? Nothing. Silence so deep, it presses on your chest, and you wonder what horrors have just been erased from existence.

You don’t ask him about it. You’re too afraid of what he might say. Too afraid of the truth.

But the stench in the air the next morning tells you everything you need to know. That thick, metallic odor of rot and iron—it settles in your throat, clinging to you, reminding you of the evil that lives in this house.

You know there is something sinister about Negan. You can feel it in your bones, hide under the smile and the words. You’ve always known.

And yet all you can do is pray. Pray that God will protect you, that somehow you will be spared from whatever horrors unfold above you.

When morning comes, Negan greets you like nothing has happened. He walks in with a grin stretched across his face, carrying breakfast like he’s done a hundred times before. His mood is light, almost cheerful, as if the darkness of the night doesn’t touch him.

“You’ve been such a good girl for me lately,” he says, his voice dripping with satisfaction, and it makes your skin crawl. But what choice do you have? He’s too strong. You’re too scared.

Survival means keeping him happy, following his rules, doing what he says, no matter how much it tears at your soul. So you nod and force yourself to smile, even though it feels like your face is cracking apart.

“I got something for you,” he says, and his hand slips into his pocket. For a second, your heart lurches with fear—you don’t know what he’ll pull out. But then, he shows it to you. A pen. And a small notebook.

“This’ll be good for you,” Negan says, placing them in front of you like a gift. “Thought maybe you could write. Draw. Whatever. Something to keep you sane down here.”

Sane. The word feels bitter on your tongue. Like it’s even possible to stay sane in this nightmare.

But you stare at the notebook, feeling its weight in your hands, and for the first time in what feels like an eternity, a flicker of something stirs inside you. The pen feels strange between your fingers, foreign, like you’ve forgotten how to even hold it.

You open the notebook, and the blank pages stretch out before you like a vast, empty desert—an expanse of nothingness that almost makes you dizzy. What could you even write? What words could you find to capture the hell you’re living?

But maybe that’s the point. Maybe the blankness is the only thing left that’s yours. Everything else has been taken from you—your freedom, your dignity, your body. But these pages, for now, are untouched. Clean. Yours to fill, if only for a moment.

“Thank you,” you whispered to him, your voice barely more than a breath. Negan smiled, satisfied with your obedience, his hand reaching out to touch your cheek. You flinched—just a little, barely noticeable—but he ignored it.

"Now I have some business to take care of," he said, his voice low and commanding. "You behave. Do not do anything you'll regret okay? Can you be a good girl for me again?"

You nodded, your throat tightening as you forced yourself to meet his eyes.

“Good fucking girl,” he said with a grin, the words dripping with his twisted affection. "I won’t be long," he added, standing up from the mattress, his heavy boots echoing across the floor as he walked to the door.

The sound of the basement door closing was like a tomb sealing shut, the click of multiple locks slotting into place one after another, leaving you buried in silence.

The notebook.

It became your only refuge after that, the one place where your mind could escape the prison of this basement. You wrote. You wrote endlessly, pouring your thoughts, your fears, your pain onto the pages like you were trying to bleed them out.

Every word, every line felt like a lifeline, as if the ink could tether you to some version of yourself that still existed somewhere beyond these walls.

You wrote to him.

Joel.

It felt like talking to him, like he was sitting beside you, like you could feel the warmth of his arm brushing against yours, steady and grounding.

You imagined his low voice, whispering comfort, his hand reaching out to hold yours, and for a moment, it felt real. But Joel wasn’t here. He wasn’t anywhere, and that truth was a cold, jagged edge cutting into your heart.

You missed him so much it ached, a raw pain that twisted inside you, relentless, like a knife lodged deep in your chest, twisting with every breath.

"Joel, please. I miss you. I miss you so much." The words scratched at the paper, desperate, spilling from your soul like a confession. You wrote as if your words could reach him, as if somehow the ink would find its way to him across the miles, across the darkness.

Ever since Joel saved you, pulled you from the wreckage of your old life, you clung to him like a lifeline. He was all you had, the only person you trusted, the only one who truly saw you. You were so dependent on him, as if the moment he stepped out of your sight, the ground beneath you would crack open and swallow you whole.

Without him, you were scared—terrified, really. Scared of the dark, of the silence, of the things Negan might do when he came back. But mostly, you were scared of how alone you felt without Joel. It was a loneliness that burrowed deep into your bones, sinking in like ice.

You wrote everything down, pouring your heart onto the page, as if the words would somehow keep you sane. The notebook became your only friend, your only lifeline.

Each stroke of the pen felt like a small rebellion, a way to remember who you were before this. You wrote about Joel—the way he used to look at you, his touch, his laugh. The life you had together. You wrote about the nights spent on the road, just the two of you, moving from town to town, motels, dusty highways, sunsets that belonged only to you both.

Those memories were sacred, and they felt so far away now, so unreachable. The thought of never feeling that freedom again—of never hearing his voice or feeling his hand in yours—crushed you.

You would give anything to go back, to be on the road with him again, just the two of you, against the world.

Every night, after you wrote, the tears came. Silent, aching sobs that wracked your body, shaking you to your core. You prayed through the tears, but even your prayers felt hollow, slipping into the void.

Negan had taken your Bible, the one Frank had given you, and without it, you felt like a part of you was missing. You couldn’t open its pages and find the comfort you once had.

Now, you prayed in the darkness, with nothing but your tears and your fear to keep you company.

"God, please, if You’re there, save him. Save Joel. Forgive him for whatever he’s done to protect me, to protect those he loves. Please… don’t let anything happen to him. Save him for me. I need him. I need him so much."

And then, through your prayers, in this place, in this basement that smells of damp stone and decay, you mourn them.

Your father and your mother.

But it isn’t just because they were your parents, or because you share the same blood running through your veins—no, it’s something deeper. You mourn what they became.

You mourn the lives they could have lived, the people they could have been if they hadn’t turned into things they were.

You mourn for the little boy your father once was, before life hardened him, before the world broke him into the man who used his fists instead of his words.

Somewhere, deep in the maze of your memories, you imagine him as a child—wide-eyed and innocent, before anger festered in his heart. A boy who might have been gentle once, kind even, before the weight of his own father’s hand crushed whatever light was in him.

You mourn for him because no child dreams of becoming the kind of man he did. No little boy dreams of being a tyrant in his own home.

And your mother—oh, you mourn her too. The little girl she once was, soft and full of hope, long before she learned to bend under the weight of your father’s cruelty.

You can almost see her, a girl with ribbons in her hair, laughing at some long-forgotten joy. But somewhere along the way, life taught her obedience.

It taught her that silence was safer than rebellion, that turning the other cheek meant survival. You mourn for the girl she used to be, the girl who lost her voice and her strength long before you ever knew her.

Some people are not meant to be parents.

That truth settles over you like a heavy, unshakable fog. Your father and mother—they were never meant to raise a child. They were broken long before you came into their lives, shattered pieces trying to fit into the roles they were handed.

They thought if they could survive the same cruelty from their parents, then you could too. They thought they were preparing you for a harsh world, just as they had been prepared, passing down the same legacy of pain and survival.

But some legacies are not meant to be carried.

Some cycles are meant to be broken.

And you—you never had a choice. The cruelest thing about childhood is that we cannot choose our parents.

We are born into the hands that hold us, for better or worse, and we carry their shadows long after we’ve escaped their grasp. You mourn not only for them but for yourself too.

For the little girl you were supposed to be, the happy child you never got the chance to become. The girl who should have danced in the sunlight instead of cowering in the dark.

The child who should have known love, who should have felt safe.

Your childhood died alongside them. Maybe not in the physical sense, but in spirit. It died when the first bruise bloomed on your skin, when the first cruel word cut deeper than any blade could.

You grieve for the girl who once dreamed of a family that didn’t hurt her, a girl who imagined a father’s arms as a place of safety, not violence.

You mourn her because she never had a chance. That girl, that innocence, was lost long ago, buried beneath years of fear and shame.

You feel it now—the weight of all that loss, all that mourning. It presses down on your chest, as heavy as the darkness around you. You mourn for them, for their broken childhoods, for what they became.

But mostly, you mourn for yourself. For the life you might have had, if only you had been born into different hands. Hands that didn’t hurt. Hands that didn’t break.

***

That night, after hours of scribbling your heart onto the pages, exhaustion pulled you into a restless sleep. The dream came slowly at first, like an old memory resurfacing, soft and warm. You were no longer trapped in the basement.

No, you were outside—underneath a sky full of stars, the air cool and fragrant like summer nights back when things were simple. And then, you saw him—Joel, standing in the distance, his silhouette familiar, strong, safe.

"Joel?" you whispered, your voice barely a breath, but he heard you. His head turned, and his eyes found yours, dark and full of something you hadn’t seen in so long. Hope.

You ran toward him, your feet barely touching the ground, heart pounding, tears springing to your eyes. He was here—he was really here. His arms opened just as you reached him, and you collapsed into his chest, your body trembling as he held you tight. You breathed him in, his scent, his warmth—everything you had missed. You clung to him, as if letting go meant losing him all over again.

"I found you, baby girl," Joel’s voice was a low, comforting rumble in your ear. "I told you I’d find you. I’m never leaving you again. Never."

Tears streamed down your face, your sobs muffled against his chest. You couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but hold him and feel the solidness of him, real and alive in your arms. The relief was overwhelming, like a weight lifting off your chest, letting you breathe again.

But then, something shifted. The warmth of his body faded, the stars overhead dimming, and suddenly, you were back in the basement. The air was thick with the stench of blood and sweat. You blinked, confused, trying to hold onto the warmth of Joel’s presence, but he wasn’t holding you anymore. He was on the floor, crumpled in front of you.

"No…" You whispered, shaking your head. "No, no, no…"

Joel lay motionless, blood pooling beneath his head, dripping from the corner of his mouth, his eyes closed, his face pale. "Joel!" Your scream tore through the room, your voice raw and desperate. "Get up! Please get up!"

You tried to move, tried to reach him, but your arms were bound behind your back, your body pressed against the cold concrete floor, facedown. You squirmed, panic rising in your chest like a tidal wave. The ropes bit into your wrists, leaving your skin raw, but you didn’t care. All you could see was Joel—lifeless, covered in blood.

"Joel! Please, get up!" you screamed again, your throat burning, but he didn’t move. He didn’t stir.

Through the blur of your tears, you saw him—Negan. He was standing over Joel, his face twisted into a cruel smile, his barbed-wire-covered baseball bat dripping with blood. Your heart lurched as Negan lifted the bat again, bringing it down with a sickening thud against Joel’s skull.

"Stop! Please, stop!" you begged, your voice breaking, tears streaming down your face. You cried and screamed until your voice gave out, until all that was left was a hoarse whisper. "Stop… please…"

But he didn’t stop. He kept swinging, over and over, each hit more brutal than the last. Joel’s body jerked with each blow, but he never opened his eyes. He was gone.

"JOEL!" You screamed one last time, your heart shattering in your chest as the world spun around you. Everything blurred—Joel’s lifeless body, Negan’s twisted grin, the blood, the bat, the horror of it all.

And then, just as suddenly, you woke up.

Gasping for breath, your chest heaving as you shot upright. Your heart pounded in your ears, your skin slick with cold sweat. It took you a moment to realize it was just a dream, just another nightmare. But it felt so real, so vivid, that for a moment, you couldn’t shake the image of Joel’s broken body from your mind.

You buried your face in your hands, trying to breathe, trying to calm the panic surging through you. The tears came again, hot and relentless, and you sobbed quietly, rocking yourself in the darkness.

"It was just a dream," you whispered, trying to convince yourself. But the fear was real. The pain was real. The helplessness of watching him die again and again—that was real.

Just as you were trying to steady yourself, trying to pull yourself back into the present, a voice cut through the silence.

"‘I miss you so much, Joel,’" Negan’s voice echoed in the darkness, cold and mocking. "'I pray for you every night. Please save me.'”

Your heart stopped. You turned slowly, the horror creeping back into your veins as you saw him—Negan, sitting at the edge of the room, your notebook in his hands. He was reading your words, your letters to Joel, the deepest parts of your soul, laid bare and exposed.

"I gotta say," he smirked, eyes glinting with something dark, "you really are somethin’ special, huh? Writing all these sweet nothings to your precious Joel. Too bad he ain't comin'."

Negan’s smirk widened as he caught the fear in your eyes, his steps deliberate as he approached you. You sat up quickly, your body instinctively recoiling from him as he lowered himself to the edge of the worn mattress. The small space between you felt suffocating. His presence swallowed the room, and your skin prickled, every nerve on high alert.

"What are you doing here?" Your voice came out shaky, a whisper laced with desperation.

Negan chuckled darkly, his gaze locking onto yours with a smug, possessive gleam. “Just checkin’ on you, doll,” he mocked, his tone syrupy and insincere, like the words themselves were dripping venom.

You could feel the tension coil in your stomach, your hands gripping the thin sheet as if it could somehow protect you. Negan’s chuckle echoed in the small space, and you saw something shift in his expression.

"You keep callin' for him," he said, his voice lower now, laced with a quiet fury. “In your sleep, you know that? You call his name. Joel.” The name left his lips like a curse, venomous and heavy.

Your breath hitched, your chest tightening as the weight of his words sank in.

"You keep thinkin' about another man, callin’ for him when you’re supposed to be mine,” Negan’s voice dripped with malice, and his eyes gleamed as he leaned closer, brushing his fingers lightly against your leg. You flinched instantly, your body recoiling at the touch, trembling.

"I don’t want what’s mine calling for someone else,” he whispered, his fingers tracing your skin in slow, taunting circles. You fought the urge to pull away, your body frozen in place, fear anchoring you.

You swallowed hard, your heart racing so fast it felt like it would leap out of your chest. Your mind scrambled for a way out, for something to say, but all you could feel was the dread crawling up your spine.

"I got you something,” he finally said, breaking the suffocating silence, his voice slick and dangerous. You blinked at him, confused, but too scared to respond.

He stood up, walking toward the door, leaving it wide open for just a moment. The fresh air from outside rushed in, cool against your skin. Your heart pounded in your ears as you stared at the open door, your mind racing. Could you run? Could you grab something—anything—and fight back? But the fear was paralyzing, locking your muscles, chaining your thoughts. You wanted to be brave, to fight, but all you could feel was the weight of his presence suffocating you.

Before you could think any further, Negan returned, the door shutting with a heavy thud that echoed in your chest. He held a package, neatly wrapped, and sat down beside you again, closer this time.

"Here," he said, handing it to you with a twisted grin. “Go on, open it. You finished your breakfast like a good girl.”

You hesitated, eyes darting from the package to his face, trying to gauge his intentions, but there was nothing but malice in his expression. Slowly, you took it, your fingers trembling as you peeled away the wrapping.

Inside, folded carefully, was a dress—a nightgown, white and beautiful, but as your fingers brushed the fabric, you realized how thin it was. Too thin. The kind that clung to every curve, every inch of skin visible underneath. The kind of dress meant to be seen.

Your throat tightened as the realization hit you. This wasn’t a gift. It was a trap.

"Now what do you say?" Negan's voice cut through your thoughts, sharp and expectant.

You swallowed the bile rising in your throat, forcing the words past your lips. “Thank you,” you whispered, hating the sound of your own voice, hating the way you had to play along.

Negan’s grin widened, his teeth gleaming in the dim light. “Good girl.”

Then, he leaned back, his eyes never leaving yours. “Now try it on,” he said, his tone casual, but there was a sinister edge to his voice.

You blinked, confused for a moment, before standing slowly, clutching the nightgown tightly to your chest. You moved toward the large wardrobe at the corner of the room, trying to hide behind it, but his voice stopped you cold.

"Where do you think you’re going?" Negan asked, his voice dripping with amusement. You turned back to face him, your heart sinking.

"To try it on," you stammered, your voice barely a whisper.

Negan’s eyes darkened as he shifted on the mattress, half reclining now, one arm propped lazily behind his head. His grin grew wider, more dangerous. “I said try it here... in front of me.”

Your blood ran cold. The room seemed to close in around you, the walls pressing tighter, suffocating you. You stood frozen, unable to comprehend what he was asking. What? you thought, your mind reeling, but you didn’t dare say it.

"You heard me," Negan said, his voice now edged with impatience, more of a threat than a request. “Try it here. Now.”

Your legs felt like they were made of lead as you took slow, reluctant steps back toward him, your hands trembling as you clutched the nightgown tighter to your chest. Your breath came in shallow gasps, your skin prickling with fear.

You moved to put the dress over your clothes, thinking maybe that would satisfy him. Maybe he would let you off this time.

But before you could pull it over your head, Negan’s voice cut through the air like a knife.

"What are you, fucking stupid?" he snapped, his tone sharp and cutting. “I said take off your clothes.”

The room spun. You felt like the floor had disappeared beneath you, the world crumbling away as the full weight of what he was asking—what he wanted��settled in your bones. You froze, your fingers clutching the fabric so tightly that your knuckles turned white.

The room spun. You felt like the floor had disappeared beneath you, the world crumbling away as the full weight of what he was asking—what he wanted—settled in your bones. You froze, your fingers clutching the fabric so tightly that your knuckles turned white.

"Don't make me say it again," he said, his voice low and commanding. The authority in his tone left no room for defiance. With a shaky nod, you surrendered to his demand, peeling off the clothes you’d worn for what felt like an eternity.

They were stained and tattered, memories of the darkness that had become your life. The cool air of the basement brushed against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his predatory gaze.

As you stood there in just your underwear, the vulnerability wrapped around you like a heavy cloak. "All of it," he commanded again, his eyes narrowing as he observed your hesitation.

You felt the tremors in your hands as you slowly removed your last layer, exposing your skin to him, a mix of fear and a desperate need to please overwhelming your senses.

Tears trickled down your cheeks, silent witnesses to the turmoil inside you. You turned away, unable to bear his hungry gaze as you slipped into the dress, its fabric a soft caress against your bare skin, but it was far too revealing, too intimate. This is basically lingerie, you thought, your heart racing as he took in your form.

“Such a beautiful little thing,” he purred, a twisted smile spreading across his face. “Now spin around for me. Let me see all of it.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, a frantic drumbeat as you turned slowly, the weight of his gaze burning into you.

The dress clung to you, exposing more than it concealed. “All of this is mine,” he said, stepping closer, the words dripping with ownership.

You froze as he closed the distance, his hands trailing down your body, a feather-light touch that sent shivers coursing through you. He brushed away the tears on your cheeks with the pad of his thumb, the juxtaposition of tenderness and menace leaving you paralyzed.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” His breath was warm against your neck, a stark reminder of the power he held over you. “You don’t like the gift?”

You couldn’t respond, fear stealing your voice. Instead, you stood still, feeling small under his scrutiny. He stepped behind you, and you could feel the heat radiating from his body, wrapping around you like a vice.

“Why do you want that man when you have me here, hm?” he murmured, his lips ghosting over your skin as he pressed gentle kisses to your neck, each one igniting a storm of emotions within you. “I can treat you better than him.”

Your heart ached, caught in a vice between longing and despair. The tears continued to fall, and you closed your eyes, allowing the warmth of his presence to envelop you, even as his actions sent icy dread through your veins.

You wanted to scream, to fight back against the helplessness swirling around you, but you were trapped in this moment, bound by fear. You bit your lip, trying to hold back the sobs that threatened to break free, the weight of it all pressing down on you, suffocating you.

His lips traced the sensitive skin of your neck, and every gentle caress turned into a reminder of the man you longed for—Joel. It was as if his presence was woven into your very essence, and now, here you were, lost in a nightmare that seemed to stretch endlessly.

With each passing second, you felt a chasm grow between your heart and your body, a space filled with fear and longing that you couldn't bridge.

When his fingers brushed against your breast, you flinched, instinctively moving away, but he followed with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

His eyes darkened, and for a moment, he looked at you like a storm brewing, full of anger and hurt. "What's wrong, hm? You don't want me?" The accusation in his voice stung like a whip, and your heart raced with a mix of dread and sorrow.

You shook your head, but he continued to advance, anger simmering beneath his skin. "Is that how you treat someone acting nice to you?" The slap was sudden, shocking, and it sent you crashing to the mattress. "Ungrateful bitch." The words cut deeper than the physical pain, sinking into your soul and planting seeds of doubt.

As you lay there, you felt your spirit fracture beneath the weight of his anger. You missed Joel’s strong arms, his gentle smile, the safety he once offered. Now, all you could feel was this relentless dread creeping in, wrapping around your throat, tightening with every ragged breath.

"Do you miss him? Or do you miss a dick, hm, little whore?" The cruel words hung in the air, a poisonous cloud that filled your lungs with despair. You shook your head, tears streaming down your face, each drop a silent plea for deliverance from this torment. "No, please... no."

But he didn’t hear your cries. Instead, the cool steel of his belt gripped your wrists, binding you in a way that made the world tilt beneath you. Your heart raced, pounding against your chest like a caged bird desperate to escape, a tempest of emotions swirling inside you.

“No, no, please,” you whispered, desperation clawing at your throat as Negan tightened the belt around your wrists, a cruel mockery of security. Each pull sent a shiver down your spine, not from cold but from the weight of what was to come.

When you screamed, the sound was swallowed by the suffocating silence of the room. A sharp pain flared across your cheek as his hand connected, the sting grounding you momentarily in the chaos.

Tears streamed down your face, a mixture of anger and helplessness flooding your senses. You could feel the fabric of your dress riding up as he unbuckled his jeans, the movement surreal against the horror unfolding.

“Stop! Please, don’t do this!” Your pleas felt like whispers lost in the wind, but they carried the weight of a thousand unspoken fears. You were trapped in this moment, suspended between defiance and despair, fighting against the reality that loomed over you.

“I can’t believe I haven’t tried you for this long,” he sneered, his words slicing through the air like a knife. “God, you must be special for that man to keep you for himself and took you away.” Each syllable was a taunt, a reminder of the love you held for another, twisted into a weapon against you.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he continued, his voice dripping with a sickening sweetness that made your skin crawl. “It will feel so much better than what that boy did.” The implication hung heavy in the air, suffocating. You were drowning in memories and fear, lost in a storm that threatened to pull you under.

The sharpness of his voice echoed in your mind, and your heart sank. He knew. He knew about Jamie, the scars etched deep within you, and the thought of it sent a fresh wave of nausea through your gut.

"No, no, no!" you screamed

"Stop! Stop, please!" You screamed as you cry, Negan still pinned down your head, "Shut the fuck up," he said.

You can feel that He positions himself from behind, the tip of his erection brushing against your butt. "STOP! PLEASE!" you shout, tears streaming down your cheeks. Negan grins wickedly, knowing full well the effect he has on you.

He entered you fast and hard, it hurts, but even then, all you can do was just scream and cry, scream and cry, "Fuck, you're so tight!" He groaned deeply as his pace quickened, rough, it hurt you.

“Please…” you whispered, your voice barely rising above the mattress that felt like a heavy weight pressing down on you, smothering any flicker of hope.

Tears flowed freely, soaking the fabric beneath your cheek as you surrendered to the wave of despair washing over you. Each sob felt like a prayer, a desperate plea to the universe to intervene, to turn back time, to rewrite the cruel script that had ensnared you.

“Joel... please... save me,” you begged into the void, hoping him to hear you, hoping he can feel you, that you are here, you're still here waiting him to save you, again.

You need him. You crave him. His strength, his warmth, the way his presence used to make you feel safe, even in the darkest corners of your mind.

***

Days blurred into nights. Negan came to you every evening, his shadow stretching long and cold against the walls as he descended into the basement.

Each time, it was the same—he would pin you down, and did it over and over and over and over again. If you fought back, it hurt more. His fists would meet your skin, and the bruises would bloom like dying flowers under his hands. So, you stopped fighting.

You learned to stay quiet, to turn your eyes toward the window while he took what he wanted. Sometimes you watched the way the trees outside swayed gently in the night breeze, imagining that you could drift away with them, become one with the wind. The numbness crept in, slow at first, then all at once, until you felt nothing at all.

In exchange for your silence, Negan began to “reward” you. Dresses, makeup, things that seemed like tokens of his twisted version of care.

The bruises hid beneath the fabric he chose, and your reflection in the mirror looked like someone you didn’t recognize—someone who had forgotten how to fight, how to scream.

Eventually, Negan moved you to his bed. It was no longer the cold, damp basement floor; instead, it was his bed—his space. He didn’t trust you with a room of your own, of course.

That would mean freedom, something he kept locked away just as tightly as the doors around this prison of a house. It wasn’t generosity that led him to this decision; it was control. He wanted you there, beside him, each night, a reminder that you belonged to him.

And he wanted you to believe it too.

Every touch, every forced intimacy, was his way of branding you, of forcing you to accept his twisted version of reality. You didn’t resist anymore—not after what happened the last time.

Your body had learned to be still, to let the moments pass. Fighting back brought only more pain. And so, you existed, a hollow shell of who you once were, doing what you had to in order to survive.

The house was a labyrinth, locked and fortified in ways that made it impossible to escape. You had tried once—how stupid and naïve you had been to think Negan wouldn’t expect it. There were locks on every door, cameras watching your every move, and nowhere to hide. You had thought maybe, just maybe, you could find a way out. But before you even made it to the front door, he was there. He’d known all along, watching, waiting. The punishment was swift, brutal.

He beat you until you could barely stand. Every strike felt like a sledgehammer to your soul, breaking something deep inside that you feared would never heal. And when you begged for forgiveness through sobs and screams, he looked at you with that same twisted smile. Like he enjoyed it.

After that, you learned. You couldn’t afford to be stupid again. The house was a jail, with walls thick and doors that were locked tighter than your own hope. The CCTV cameras were everywhere, unblinking eyes that saw everything.

Negan didn’t just want control over your body; he wanted your mind too. He played this sick game, pretending you were his partner, forcing you into the role of some perfect little housewife. It was all a game to him—house, husband, wife. He wanted you to take care of him now, as if that was your purpose. As if sparing you from more pain was his twisted version of kindness.

One thing you noticed. No more screams. You hadn’t heard any since he brought you upstairs, but you could still hear them in your mind, could still feel the weight of the chains that used to bind you down there. Negan had a room at the far end of the hall, with a thick iron door, always locked.

You didn’t know what was behind it, but you could guess. Based on everything else about him, the life he lived, the things you glimpsed in passing… you knew he wasn’t just a monster in private. He had power. He had wealth. He had a darkness that ran deeper than you could fathom.

Now, you played along with his sick fantasy. You made breakfast in the mornings, your hands moving through the motions, numb and mechanical. Eggs, toast, bacon sizzling in the pan.

You folded his laundry, cleaned the house, did everything you were asked to do, all with the heavy knowledge that you needed to survive. You needed to be smart.

You cracked eggs into the pan, the familiar sizzle filling the quiet space. Bacon followed, the scent swirling through the air, but your mind was miles away.

You let your hands move on autopilot, stirring, turning, arranging, while your thoughts drifted to Joel again. 

Where is he now? Does he even know I’m still alive? 

You didn’t know what day it was anymore. Time had become an illusion, slipping through your fingers like sand, impossible to hold onto.

Negan’s voice snapped you out of your reverie. He entered the kitchen, and you felt him before you saw him, his presence like a looming storm cloud.

He slapped your ass as he passed by, his lips finding your neck with a kiss that sent shivers down your spine, but not in the way you wanted.

It was always wrong, always forced, always laced with something dark that you couldn’t escape.

You set the plates down on the table, your movements mechanical as you sat across from him. Negan grinned as he took a bite of the scrambled eggs, then paused, his brow furrowing in annoyance.

“Why the hell do these taste sweet? Did you put cinnamon in them again?”

You froze, staring at him, your mind racing. You had done it on purpose, hoping the warmth of cinnamon would taste better, make him taste better.

“I told you not to do that,” he growled, his fist slamming down on the table. “I don’t understand why you like that damn spice so much."

“I... I’m sorry,” you stammered, trying to keep your voice steady, but the fear laced every syllable. You’d done it to survive, to cope, to feel something, anything other than the numbness that threatened to swallow you whole.

Negan shook his head, “We’re going on vacation,” he said casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Your heart skipped a beat. Vacation? You stared at him in disbelief, the word foreign on your tongue, like it didn’t belong here in this nightmare.

Negan never did this—never took you anywhere, never let you out of the house. You’d been trapped for so long, the idea of leaving, even for a moment, felt surreal.

“Vacation?” you echoed, unsure whether to feel fear or hope.

“Yeah, just need to get out for a while,” Negan replied, leaning back in his chair, completely at ease. “You’ve been good this month. You deserve a little reward.” His tone was calm, almost too calm, as if you should be grateful for this twisted gesture of kindness.

You nodded, a forced smile tugging at your lips as you turned away. Inside, your mind raced. A vacation—the word was a double-edged sword, dangling freedom just out of reach but with invisible strings attached.

You didn’t trust it. You didn’t trust him.

By the time you finished packing, your nerves were frayed. You zipped up the small suitcase Negan had given you, staring at the unfamiliar clothes inside.

Dresses, shoes, makeup—things he had forced upon you, things that felt like pieces of someone else’s life. You weren’t sure who you were anymore, let alone what this trip would mean. But for the first time in what felt like an eternity, you were leaving the house.

As you stepped outside, the air hit you like a wave, crisp and fresh against your skin. The sun was brighter than you remembered, almost painful as it splashed across the pavement.

You blinked against the light, scanning your surroundings, trying to memorize every detail—the street, the houses, the trees. Anything that might help you if you ever got a chance to run.

Negan locked the door behind you with a loud click, the sound startling you back to reality. He looked up, catching the way your eyes darted around the neighborhood, and his expression darkened. He stepped toward you, his presence looming like a shadow.

“Don’t even think about it,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “Try anything, and I’ll kill you. You know I will.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you nodded quickly, swallowing the lump in your throat. Any fleeting thought of escape vanished, crushed under the weight of his threat. He always meant what he said.

With a shove, Negan guided you toward the car, the one you recognized all too well. The first time you saw it parked in front of your house, it was just another car, another passerby.

You never knew then how much it would change everything, how much it would take from you. Now, it was like a cage on wheels.

As the car pulled away from the house, you watched the neighborhood disappear in the rearview mirror, your pulse quickening as each street faded behind you. 

You were leaving. But not the way you had dreamed.

Negan glanced over at you, smirking as if amused by the tension rolling off you. “You made it,” he said suddenly.

Your brows furrowed in confusion.

He chuckled, the sound bitter and low. “You made it to California. Without him.”

California.

The word hit you like a punch to the gut, leaving you breathless. No. No, California. This was the place you had always dreamed of settling down with Joel—the place you had whispered about in quiet moments together, imagining a life of peace and love far from the chaos of your old life.

And now, you were here.

But without Joel.

Your chest tightened, panic bubbling up as you realized just how far away you were from Joel. So far away from the life you wanted, from the man who promised to protect you, to love you.

Instead, you were trapped in this waking nightmare, every mile taking you further from the only person who could save you.

Negan’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. “We’ll go shopping first,” he said, eyes fixed on the road ahead. His tone was casual, almost light, as if this was just another normal day for him. But nothing about this felt normal to you.

You nodded stiffly, your mind spinning as the weight of the situation sank in. Shopping? Like everything wasn’t completely wrong? Your chest tightened further, your thoughts pulling you back to Joel—so far away now, so unreachable. You were losing yourself with every mile, every moment trapped with him.

Negan shifted in his seat, his eyes sliding over to you. You felt his gaze before you saw him reach out. When his fingers brushed against your cheek, you flinched instinctively, recoiling from his touch. His laugh was low and mocking, a cruel sound that made your skin crawl.

“Little girl’s scared,” he sneered, his voice soft but dripping with condescension. “Now, you don’t want people in public seeing you like that, do you? Looking all frightened, like I’m some monster.” His words were meant to soothe, but they came with an underlying threat, a warning that made your blood run cold. “Act like you’re my girlfriend. Because you are mine. And if you want to be safe... well, you know what to do.”

You swallowed the bile rising in your throat, your heart hammering in your chest as his words sank in. Mine. The way he said it, the possessiveness in his voice—it twisted something deep inside you, a sickening feeling that you couldn’t shake.

Negan leaned closer, his fingers tightening slightly on your jaw as he turned your face toward him. “Sweetheart,” he crooned, his tone shifting to something almost affectionate, but it was laced with menace. “You’re pale as a ghost. Put some fucking makeup on later, will ya? I can’t have you walking around looking like you’ve seen a damn corpse.”

You didn’t respond, too frozen to move, but he didn’t seem to care. He continued, eyes darkening as he spoke. “I’m gonna buy you some dresses. Nice ones. Make you look pretty for me. We’ll stay in a hotel for a day or two, just the two of us. Won’t that be nice?” His grin widened, and the weight of his words settled like stones in your stomach.

It wasn’t a question. It never was.

You forced yourself to nod, knowing better than to argue or resist. Not now. Not when you were so far from help, so far from him.

Negan led you through the brightly lit aisles of the mall, his large hand gripping yours, his presence as commanding and unsettling as ever. You kept your head down, trying not to draw attention to yourself. It had been so long since you’d been out in public like this, since you’d seen the outside world beyond the prison of his house. The colors and sounds of the mall felt jarring, almost unreal.

He’d been in control the entire time—picking out dresses, shoes, makeup—showering you with expensive, branded items you had no say in. Every time you hesitated or tried to speak, he would flash that same dangerous smile, and your voice would die in your throat. You just smiled and nodded, doing what you had to do to survive, to avoid provoking him.

Negan was wealthy, more than Joel. The things he bought were far beyond what you could ever imagine affording. He never flinched at the price tags, never hesitated to pick the most luxurious items. But the more he showered you with these things, the more you felt trapped, like he was putting a price on you, buying your compliance with each extravagant purchase.

But you could feel it deep down—something wasn’t right. Negan had never treated you like this before, never taken you out, never spoiled you with gifts. It was all too strange, too sudden. There was an unspoken tension in the air, something lurking behind his actions, behind the forced smiles and fake affection. He was up to something, and you knew better than to trust whatever game he was playing.

When the shopping was over, you climbed back into the car with him, your arms full of bags, your mind full of questions. But you kept quiet. There was no use in asking. Not when the answer would come on his terms.

The hotel room wasn’t what you expected. It was plain, with just a bed, a dresser, and a small bathroom—nothing fancy despite the luxury of the shopping trip. Negan set your bag down, full of the clothes he had bought for you, and locked the door behind him, the metallic click ringing ominously in your ears.

He motioned for you to sit on the edge of the bed, and you obeyed, your body moving on autopilot, fear guiding every step. The room felt colder now, the walls seeming to close in on you as the reality of the situation sank in.

Negan stood in front of you, his dark eyes watching you intently, that familiar threat lurking beneath his calm exterior. He waited for a moment before speaking, as if enjoying the tension hanging between you.

“We’re gonna get some dinner soon,” he said, his voice low and serious. “You put on the dress I bought you. Put some makeup on. Dress nice, dolled up—you understand me?”

You hesitated, confused by his sudden shift in tone, but you nodded. Of course, you nodded.

“I’ll be waiting in the restaurant downstairs,” he continued, leaning in closer until his face was inches from yours. His breath was hot against your skin as he spoke, “But listen to me carefully now...”

Your heart pounded in your chest as his expression darkened, his voice becoming more menacing. “There’s a friend of mine coming here. He’s gonna ask for you to come down to meet me, and you’re gonna act nice, okay? You’re gonna do exactly what I tell you to do.”

You stared at him, fear rising in your throat. A friend? What did he mean by that? Why was someone else involved? None of this made sense.

“And if you try anything...” Negan’s voice dropped to a growl, his grip on your face tightening. “If you even think about running or doing something stupid... I swear to God, I’ll chop you into pieces and ship you to that fucking old man of yours. You understand me?”

You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. You just nodded, too terrified to do anything else.

“Good girl,” he said, smiling that twisted smile again before letting go of your face.

Negan walked over to the small table by the window, where he pulled something out of his pocket—a small plastic bag filled with white powder. Your heart sank even further.

He tossed the bag onto the table, along with a couple of pills in a clear container. “Now, sweetheart,” he said, his voice dripping with dark amusement, “you're gonna have a little fun tonight. You’re gonna need this.”

You shook your head instinctively, fear shooting through your veins. “No, I don’t do th—”

Negan’s smile faded, replaced by a cold, threatening look. He stepped forward quickly, his large hand grabbing your face roughly, his fingers digging into your cheeks so hard it hurt.

“You think you get to say no to me? After everything I’ve done for you? You’re mine now, you don’t get to refuse me.” His voice was low, menacing.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you tried to shake your head, your voice trembling as you pleaded, “Please, I don’t want to—”

He squeezed your face tighter, cutting you off. “You’re going to take those fucking pills, and you’re going to snort this,” he snarled, his eyes flashing with cruelty.

Your heart raced as you stared at the drugs on the table. Panic swirled inside you, but the terror in Negan’s eyes, the violent way he held you, made you realize you had no choice.

You didn’t know what he was capable of, but you were sure he meant every word of his threat.

Negan let go of your face with a shove, and you stumbled backward, gasping for breath as your skin stung where his fingers had been. He stood there, towering over you, his presence suffocating. “Go on,” he said coldly, “take the pills. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

With shaking hands, you reached for the pills. They felt like poison between your fingers, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at Negan, not with the way he was staring at you.

You knew there was no way out of this. You could feel your soul breaking as you placed the pills on your tongue, forcing them down with a dry swallow.

“Good girl,” Negan said mockingly, watching your every move like a predator. He grabbed the bag of white powder, dumping some onto the table. Then, he handed you a rolled-up bill. “Now snort this. It’ll help loosen you up.”

Tears stung your eyes, but you didn’t move fast enough. He slammed his hand on the table, making you jump. “Do it!” he barked, his patience running thin.

You shakily took the bill, your mind racing with desperation. Every fiber of your being screamed against what was happening, but you were trapped—cornered.

Slowly, you leaned over the table, and as you inhaled the powder, you saw your friends do this, you have never take it before, your vision blurred with tears, your whole body shaking with fear and disgust.

Negan’s eyes darkened with satisfaction as he watched, a twisted grin spreading across his face. “That’s my girl. Now you’re ready for a good time,” he said, his voice dripping with venom.

He turned and headed the door, “Now, get ready. I’ll see you downstairs.”

The door shut behind him, and you were left alone in the silence of the room. The air felt suffocating, your mind racing with questions, with dread.

You stood up slowly, your body shaking as you moved toward your bag. The dress he had picked out for you lay on top, soft and elegant, but it felt like a costume—a mask you had to wear to get through this night.

With trembling hands, you picked it up and began to change, your mind going blank as you prepared yourself for what felt like the next step in Negan’s twisted game.

You stood in front of the mirror, your hands trembling as you smoothed down the dress Negan had chosen for you. It clung to your body in all the right places, elegant and far too glamorous for a simple dinner.

Your reflection stared back at you, but you barely recognized yourself—pale, hollowed-out eyes, with layers of makeup hiding the exhaustion, the fear. You were doing exactly what Negan had told you to do, like a puppet on strings, hoping that by following his orders, you could stay safe.

A knock on the door startled you. You grabbed your purse, your heart beating wildly in your chest. This was it. You were about to meet Negan’s "friend," the one he’d warned you about.

When you opened the door, your stomach dropped. The man standing in front of you was older, dressed in a suit, his graying hair slicked back, but there was something off about him. His eyes roamed over you, slow and deliberate, starting from your feet and lingering on every inch of your body. The smile on his face was thin, predatory.

“Hello, darling,” he greeted, his voice smooth, but it sent a shiver down your spine.

You forced a smile, your lips feeling like they might crack from the tension. “Just a second, I’ll get my purse,” you said, retreating into the room. You felt uneasy but tried to convince yourself it was nothing. Negan said you were going to meet him downstairs.

But then you heard it—the unmistakable click of the door closing and locking behind you. Your heart leapt into your throat, and you turned, seeing the man now standing inside the room, the door sealed shut. Panic rippled through you.

“What’s going on?” you asked, your voice shaky, trying to make sense of the situation. Maybe he was just being overzealous. Maybe he didn’t mean any harm.

But he smiled again, that same unsettling smile, and took a step forward. “Negan told you we were going downstairs, didn’t he?”

Your stomach twisted into knots. You forced yourself to nod, your voice barely a whisper. “Yes, he’s waiting for us…”

The man chuckled, low and mocking. “He used the old excuses, huh?” His eyes gleamed with something dark, something vile, as he continued to advance on you.

You stepped back instinctively, feeling the panic rise in your chest. “What are you doing?”

He didn’t answer, just kept coming closer, his steps deliberate. “You’re quite young,” he said, almost to himself, like he was studying you, enjoying your fear. “How old are you?”

You took another step back, the edge of the bed pressing against your calves. “What is going on? Where's Negan?” you tried again, your voice wavering with the growing dread.

But he just smiled wider. “It’s alright,” he said softly, like he was trying to soothe you. “Don’t be afraid. I’ll be quick.”

Your blood turned to ice. “What? What do you mean?”

He laughed again, a sick, twisted sound that made your skin crawl. “Of course he never told you. You thought this was just a nice little dinner date, didn’t you?” His voice dripped with condescension. “I heard you’re experienced with older men.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Your mind raced, trying to connect the dots, and then it clicked—the shopping, the hotel, the dress, this strange man, the way Negan had spoken to you before he left. This wasn’t just vacation.

“No,” you whispered, your breath catching in your throat. “No, no, you’ve got it wrong. Negan said—”

“I know what he said,” the man interrupted, stepping closer until he was towering over you. “But I paid a lot of money for you. You better be worth it.”

The realization slammed into you like a freight train. Negan hadn’t taken you out for dinner. He had sold you.

“No, no, no,” you muttered, shaking your head as the panic clawed at your insides. You turned to run, but his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist and yanking you back.

“Ooh, fiery, are we?” he sneered, his grip bruising as he pulled you closer. “I like that.”

“Let me go!” you screamed, thrashing in his hold, but he was stronger, and before you knew it, he had tossed you onto the bed. The soft mattress did nothing to cushion the impact, and your body hit with a thud, the air rushing from your lungs.

You scrambled, trying to push yourself up, but his weight was on you in an instant, pinning you down. His hands gripped your wrists, forcing them above your head as he loomed over you, his breath hot and sour against your face.

Your mind spiraled in a whirlwind of terror and disbelief. This couldn’t be happening. Not like this. You’d survived so much, endured so much, and now this? You felt the crushing weight of helplessness pressing down on you, suffocating you.

“No, please,” you begged, tears streaming down your face as your voice cracked. “Please don’t do this.”

"Please, I beg you, sir, please don't" you cry, no God, not this please, no.

He laughed again, that same cruel, mocking sound, and leaned closer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered,

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. This won’t take long.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, your mind racing for an escape, but there was none. You were trapped, powerless, and every second that passed felt like a step closer to losing yourself completely.

In that moment, all you could think about was Joel—his face, his touch, the way he’d promised to keep you safe. But now, you were so far from him, so far from everything you had ever wanted. And as the man’s weight pressed down on you, suffocating, you realized with chilling certainty that no one was coming to save you.

You were alone.

IM SORRY BUT THIS CHAPTER LAZY ASF, I SWEAR I WILL DO IT BETTER NEXT CHAPTERS, ENJOY!

[shushugan]

Oc - Ketr

Um, well, lets start with the fact that this is actually a fan-oc based on my friend's universe. In short, there are dudes with geometric figures instead of heads. Ketr is an abbreviation of his figure Triquetra (however, in this ref I simplified his head a little).

Triquetra has always been used for religious purposes. And surprisingly, Ketr is also a religious founder of his own triangular religion!

However, if he seems like an obedient dandelion, then no, not at all. Instead, he does all sorts of absolutely illegal things that contradict any faith. That is, after prayer he can leave the temple and, having gotten drunk, yell obscenities in all languages until the morning, wandering around the city on all fours. Or suddenly lose modesty and start flirting not only with womans. blackmail? date with gays? accidentally kill? fight? smoke???? He demonstrates all this without embarrassment, and then justifies himself with his religion. Ketr is based on real people who, after doing unacceptable things, still dare to say that they believe in God, etc.

God in Ketr's religion is a yellow one-eyed triangle like Bill Cipher. that's why its main attribute is yellow triangle

Ketr had 49 ex-bfs:))))))

One day he decided it would be a good idea to turn on the full volume of "baby shark remix phonk" during the main, final prayer.X)) This is bcoze he really likes sharks, he sleeps with a huge stuffed sharky, and, in principle, a shark is a sacred animal, even if it doesn't look like a triangle:3

he is completely irresponsible and too childish, he likes to shift organizational subtleties onto his colleagues, who have more to do than my fear of physics in school

his pupils can appear only when he has strong emotions (any).

character is completely humorous and does not aim to somehow portray religions or religious people in a bad light. It was created out of some of my anger at the fact that terrible people are justified by religion.

old ref with also suck rendering, but with the normal head

about his holy book:

the main meaning of religion is freedom. That is, it is absolute will over all actions. Religion makes a person freer, because everyone chooses their own path in life. however, as in the triangle, there are still three main rules: God, Sharks and Ketr. Do not touch them - and u will not be sent back to school to learn all geometry by heart (this is something like hell)

That is, literally God doesnt really care about u, u're just an uninteresting pawn. If u break the three main rules, u can answer to great in front of the three persons mentioned above. Despite the prescribed rules, priests are also trying to prescribe in religion what is forbidden in other faiths, because without this it would stand out as too “unrealistic”. This is precisely why Ketr's above actions create a bad opinion of him, bcoz his book was literally rewritten to fit the usual standard. moral is quite clear: even despite all ur belonging, u will still lack something.

People pray there to the Triangular God for giving everyone such great, boundless freedom.

Another funny fact is that the whole book is written in such a satirical language, as if it was written in a not very adequate state (and it is, in fact)

[sophieinwonderland]

I saw someone complaining about my post suggesting we start marketing tulpamancy to youths in religious conservative households, accusing me of wanting to use the same tactics as the fundamentalists. To which I'll say...

Duh.

In case anyone hasn't noticed, liberal Christianity is dying.

This isn't true of evangelicalism. And you know why that is?

Marketing!

Even if someone from their flock does leave, fundamentalists can convert more people. They are willing to convert more people. It's their sacred duty as Christians to save lost souls from Hell.

Liberal churches are too passive. They choose to be respectful of other faiths to such a fault that they don't like converting people to their religion or political ideologies. While fundamentalists were preaching that Donald Trump was a hero for God battling the demonic forces of the Left, the liberal Christian churches twiddled their thumbs doing nothing because meshing politics and religion is "wrong".

They don't convert people. They don't market their religion. They don't use their religious platforms to try to push for positive change for marginalized communities.

They don't do these things because they view these tactics as things the "bad" churches do. And they aren't wrong. These are the exact tactics that fundamentalists employ. But these tactics themselves aren't necessarily immoral. And importantly, these tactics are why the fundamentalists are winning.

This isn't just a problem with liberal churches but the Left as a whole, IMO.

I saw this image going around and I feel it actually sums up the problem nicely:

This is true in a lot of ways. It's obviously a huge problem with our purity tests. The fact that many people were fine abstaining to vote because our candidate wasn't perfect by their standards when the alternative was a fascist who literally promised to be a dictator on day 1 of his Presidency is a great example of this.

But so too is our fear of using the same tactics that our enemies do because of some misguided motion that doing so is immoral or makes us just as bad as them. The notion that "pushing your political views on people makes you just as bad as fascists" has turned modern liberals into an ineffective joke.

And this finally brings us to tulpamancy.

We have a practice that...

Practitioners overwhelmingly report positive mental health benefits from.

While there are a couple edge cases of people having negative reactions, these negative reactions are far less common than you'll find for, say, prescription drugs. We're talking about maybe 1-2% of tulpa systems. And many of those will be because of avoidable mistakes. (People making tulpas that are designed to be critical of them, for example.)

The fact that many tulpamancers will create opposite-gender tulpas means their tulpas are likely to experience some level of gender dysphoria while fronting. In theory, going from a cis singlet to what is essentially a genderfluid system should make tulpamancers more sympathetic to trans rights issues. Those who care enough about their tulpas will want their tulpas to be able to front with whatever gender they identify by. Therefore, a child of a fundamentalist Christian who becomes a tulpamancer is just a bit more likely to vote in support of trans rights.

This is largely a net positive all around.

And what is the price of doing nothing?

The vulnerable people who are looking for something to fill whatever gaps they believe they have inside them will find something to fill those gaps with. Every person we don't reach is someone that the right-wing fundamentalists and fascists can.

Let's be totally clear here. Vulnerable people exist. And if we're not the ones to exploit those vulnerabilities, the fascists will be. Abstaining from reaching out to people in need and offering something that could make their lives better doesn't protect the people in need. It just means someone else will target them instead and lead them down a worse path.

It's been said that the only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good people to do nothing. And sadly, a lot of liberals have made an ideology of doing nothing, so crippled in the terror that they might do the wrong thing that they avoid actions that both could help people in need and progress their political agendas at once.

[specialagentlokitty]

BAU headcannon: Reader who is Muslim and wears a Hijab

Please If your comfortable could you maybe write something where the BAU gets a new member who happens to be Muslim and wears a hijab, like what they would do or say if someone says something about it.... Or just in general how they would interact with her. - Anon💜

A/N: as I am not Muslim and I don’t know much about the culture or about wearing a hijab I’ve tried my best to write this as a headcannon, I hope it’s alright!

You’ll always be sure to get a warm welcome from Garcia, never fear because she’ll be happy to be your best friend from day one

Everybody else is happy to have a new helping hand on the team

The team, especially Hotch will try make any accommodations that you may need, especially for Muslim holidays

Thankfully Reid is well versed in many things, which means that he also knows exactly what to do in any kind of situation that may come up

There may be a lot of questions, the team don’t want to seem rude but they want to get to know as much about your religion as possible

At dinners, especially at Rossi’s you can be sure it is a 100% safe place and everything will be suitable for you

Undercover for whatever reason? Don’t worry you’ll always be paired with one of the ladies

They are extremely protective off you

They will not tolerate any discrimination against you

Someone’s says anything rude, offensive or racist? They’re ready to jump in

Derek is straight in front of you, telling whoever it is to start on him and see what happens

Emily is quick to shut them down, threatening them if she has to

JJ is right there beside Emily or Derek, ready to do whatever it takes to get this person away from you

Rossi is next to you, waiting for you to let him know he can jump in, he’ll be furious but he’ll follow your lead

Hotch is straight to getting ready to get this person fired, he doesn’t care about how far he has to dig in order to do it or how many heads he’s gotta go over

Reid isn’t much for confrontation but so help anybody who dares to speak ill to you, he will reign down hell of facts with some threats slipped in (and he’s already texted the whole team)

Garcia is immediately researching this person and any dirt on them she’s sending straight to your phone for you to use

After they’ll all check on you, make sure you’re okay and if they stepped out of line when defending you they will apologise

They know you can handle your own, but they don’t let any kid disrespect their family

They are all ready to join in on your holidays as well, learn about them and take part in them

They won’t make you take part in any holidays or events you don’t want to or can’t take part in

Rossi will learn to cook your dishes

Reid will learn how to speak and read your language so you aren’t alone (it wouldn’t surprise me if he already knows it though)

Garcia please oh please take her shopping with you, show her all your favourite outfits, show her EVERYTHING

JJ wants to know all about your home, your family, friends

They are all so down to go visit your family if you wanted them too, or come with you somewhere

You don’t feel comfortable going somewhere but need to go? Text anybody on the team and they’ll rock up so fast

They’re a huge family

Guess what?

You’re part of that family too

Oh and food

Please make them food, they’ll be so hyped to try your dishes

Be prepared for them wanted to help too, especially Rossi and Garcia

[wackywibrart]

OC-TOBER DAY 15 - MUSIC

Doing a text post for this one! I'll be grabbing some songs that fit the most for my ocs and the story they're in. They all have their own playlists, but these are the songs that stand out to me!

I'll be doing my Rings of Satyrs characters that I've done last Oc-Tober!

Rings of Satyrs Story The Mad Stone - Everything Everything Land of Broken Promises - IAMX Same Graves - The Ghost Club Dark Room - Foreign Figures The story of ROS is about mortals (and one angel) who were picked upon by Monarch Fatebringer, a sister of fate, to enter a life of godhood after a trivial part of their lives made them cross paths with her. All of them had been turned into Satyrs with the magical competent known as "Criti", or Sin Magic. These songs I feel represent this story the most, as these individuals have been given so much power with so many consequences bundled in them. ---

Cynder / Lord Umbry, god of Limbo and Chaos Self Care (So Frustrated) - Brick + Mortar The Love Club - Lorde Sober - FIDLAR Cynder is my persona, but is apart of the story! Their title is "Lord Umbry" and they are tasked with sorting the souls that are sent to Limbo. However, because of their genuine disinterest in the entire thing, they try their hardest to avoid the forced responsibilities and just live a normal mortal life. Least to say, the other satyrs need Cynder back in the rings to keep it operational. --- Lord Grumbry, god of Sloth and Gluttony Gimmie Love - Joji ice cold - half alive ft. Kimbra BS - Still Woozy Grumbry is a Grade A Goober. They're a down to earth god who is also just a hopeless romantic (I mean they have 3 partners right now!). One instance of their partners they didn't get to meet until decades later. Safe to say that was a highlight to a romantic like them <3 ---

Leige Vampbry, fallen angel and god of Greed and Deciet Losing my Religion - BELLSAINT What Have I Done - Anna Ternheim Mayday - Sohodolls Like said above, Vampbry is a fallen angel. Now as a satyr, they're the first of the satyr gods and hold most of the power and understanding of the rings. Their downfall came from falling for an unholy entity as an angel -- slowly bringing them down a path to unholiness. ---

Lady Cephabry, god of Lust and Envy Beautiful Fish - nil00 Los Ageless - St. Vincent Teeth - Lady Gaga Cephabry is the lady of all ladies. She's not afraid to flaunt her stuff and loves up keeping her rings to be in tip top shape! Hell's personal Atlantis needs it after all! Though, she is still a siren-esque monster at heart. Her beauty is known to kill... 😉 ---

Lord Embry, god of Wrath and Pride Appetite for Destruction - Vo Williams Wire - Worthikids Good L_ck (Yo_'re F_cked) - Celldweller Oh, this guy. Embry is a brute, a monster, but also a major loser. He's a giant fan of just getting into physical fights with others for the fun of it, smashing stuff with brute strength, and just messing with people. Behind closed doors, or if you got to know him, he can be a pretty goofy guy. ---

Monarch Fatebringer, god of Fear and Idolatry Heavenly Angel - Patience and Prudence Rule #21 Momento Mori - Fish in a Birdcage Godspeed - Shayfer James Fatebringer is the evil of all evils. She's a pure agent of death, envoking fear and seeking those to idolize her. She's also just a huge bitch that will toy with those she may need to pave her eldritch ways into corrupting the hearts of her followers. Least to say, not the greatest person to be around!

[triptychgrip]

When I think of all the time in my childhood that I was so caught up in fear over going to hell -- because, unfortunately, my parents didn't have the emotional maturity to understand how the Catholic indoctrination that permeated every part of our home life affected their (closeted) kid -- it fills me with rage. I was way too young to consent to "buying in" to the lifetime of anxiety/religious trauma that would follow me, and if I had the power to, I'd force the Church to pay for my therapy bills for the rest of my life (and every other queer kid's therapy bills, for that matter).

The rage compounds when I start to think about how much indoctrination has not only stolen from my life, but from entire populations and countries on a macro/global scale in terms of missionary work. Religious indoctrination seeped into my parents' lives too, when they were growing up in their native Sri Lanka. So many Catholic/Christian Sri Lankans don't even understand how they've been brainwashed into the cult of white saviorism: into believing that the country's ancestral Buddhism and other religions are "barbaric", and that had it not been for Catholic missionaries, that Sri Lanka in its totality would have just wasted away.

The paternalism is sickening, and there is still a huge narrative around the mandate of "saving" wayward people/countries that exists in traditional Catholic circles. No amount of reparations will be enough to account for the long-lasting damage indoctrination has wrought all over the world, and if you're interested in understanding even a tiny bit of what this damaging legacy has been, I'd highly recommend reading Unsettling Truths: The Ongoing, Dehumanizing Legacy of the Doctrine of Discovery, by Mark Charles and Soong Chan-Rah.

Join me in the rage.

[esther-dot]

Daenerys destroy everything she touches. It’s just INSANE just how much damage and chaos her incompetence, stupidity and entitlement has done to Astapor.

She took the city’s entire defense force, the Unsullied, with her when she left, with no real thought as to what will happen when you leave a power vacuum, and set up a council to govern the city that had absolutely no means to enforce its will or its laws. One of the men on the council is specified as being a “priest,” but since the clergy of the Ghiscari Harpy religion are only ever described as female (the Graces), it seems quite likely, if not outright definite, that she appointed someone to govern a city wherein he had zero cultural, social, religious or political authority.

She doesn’t leave military support to the council she leaves behind to rule and it was overthrown very quickly after she left, and the new king, Cleon, a tyrant, promptly reinstated slavery, kidnapping noble children and attempting to turn them into new Unsullied (this didn’t work, for obvious reasons).

Astapor ends up ridden with disease and famine the minute it falls under siege of the slavery-restoration alliance led by Yunkai, with competing claimants killing each other and trading power until they’re subsequently replaced. Daenerys learns about this once she’s set up in Meereen but doesn’t commit any forces to help, fearing that she’ll lose Meereen if she goes back to Astapor. Meanwhile, the Astapori practice cannibalism by lots and many eventually commit mass suicide. The pale mare plague wipes out a huge number of people (even refugees who make it to Meereen die of it in camps outside the city), and most of the rest are displaced refugees, killed when Yunkai eventually sacks the city, or re-enslaved. By the time Quentyn Martell arrives, it’s functionally ceased to exist. (A lot of people skip over Quentyn’s chapters in the fifth book, and in so doing miss how APPALLING the Astapor situation is.)

Astapor is a ghost town except for dead and dying people and enemy soldiers. A total blood bath. It’s absolutely obliterated, just on a longer timeline than a one-off firebombing.

The criticism of Daenerys’s actions in Astapor is not that she freed the slaves, it’s that after freeing the slaves she just left and abandoned them to their bloody fate. You cannot destroy a city’s government and economy and then walk away. Even if it is a terrible government, with an economy built on slavery, you have to stabilize things afterwards. Daenerys have a responsibility in kickstarting new industries and find a new form of PAID work for these people. And there’s also the fact that Daenerys herself is a slaver but that’s a discussion for another day.

(I know that GRRM has said that his books are not allegories for the Iraq war but the parallels and similarities are truly unsettling.)

Yeah, I’m gonna have to forbid talk about Quentyn. I just got teary eyed at the mere mention of him. 😂 I got attached quick and was horrified by his death. But yes, I agree, it was meant to show us how horrible the situation is. Absolute hell.

I actually thought Martin had compared it to Iraq because I've seen people say that, but you're right. This is the quote I found:

Q: A Dance With Dragons spends quite a lot of time in Essos, which is kind of the analog to Asia and the Middle East in the world the story takes place in, as opposed to Westeros, which seems to owe a lot to Western Europe. When I was reading about Dany, who has become a light-skinned, foreign ruler of an exotic land, it reminded me of The Man Who Would Be King, the Sean Connery and Michael Caine movie that is based on a Rudyard Kipling story. Do you think about these parallels — colonialism, the "white man's burden" — when you're writing? A: I've said many times I don't like thinly disguised allegory, but certain scenes do resonate over time. Other people have made the argument, which is more more contemporary, that it might have resonances with our current misadventures in Afghanistan and Iraq. I'm aware of the parallels, but I'm not trying to slap a coat of paint on the Iraq War and call it fantasy. (link)

I'm not sure how reliable this source is, but I also found this:

Finally, in a stunning revelation, when an audience member put the ridiculous question, “JRR Tolkien strenuously denied that his books were in any way an allegory for World War II, have you ever been accused of writing about climate change by proxy? You know, it being a bit of a thing in your works, the long Winter?” George replied, “No, I haven’t, not until now,” and continued, “Like Tolkien I do not write allegory, at least not intentionally. Obviously you live in the world and you’re affected by the world around you, so some things sink in on some level, but, if I really wanted to write about climate change in the 21st century I’d write a novel about climate change in the 21st century. Sometimes things happen that are hard to believe. You have to remember I’ve been writing these since 1991, in a couple of the recent books Daenerys Targaryen wielding the massive military superiority offered to her by three dragons has taken over a part of the world where the culture and ethos, and the very people are completely alien to her, and she’s having difficulty ruling this land once she conquered it. It did dawn on me when George W Bush started doing the same thing that some people might say, ‘Hmmm, George is commenting on the Iraq War’, but I swear to you I planned Dany’s thing long before George Bush planned the Iraq War, but I think both military adventures may come to the same end, but it’s not allegory.” (link)

This isn't about ASOIAF, but it feels relevant to this ask and some of the other anti Dany asks I've been getting. He said this after he saw Spielberg's War of the Worlds:

I kept thinking of the story as a metaphor for our invasion of Iraq… regular people trying to live their lives and survive as a technologically superior invader comes in and smashes their world all to hell. (That metaphor is very much implicit in the novel. H.G. was talking about the British imperialism of the Victorian Age, of course, not the American imperialism of the 21st century, but one of the strengths of science fiction is its ability to transcend the specifics of time and place and culture and assume new meanings for new audiences). (link)

So, I think just because he didn't have a specific invasion in mind, doesn't mean he wasn't criticizing the result of these actions or the ideology behind it. He writes a lot of material to showcase the horror of war, each generation has one that looms large in their minds, so we naturally relate it to that. He knows this, other writers do this, he as an audience member does it!

[runningw-thewolves]

Stray Kids X Fenrir Post (LONG POST)

(Cause why the Hell not?)

Today I found out that 1) someone made a Fenrir based tattoo sleeve design for Bang Chan and 2) not only has Bang Chan seen it, he has stated he might possibly get it. Now, I am a STAY, a Norse Pagan and a follower of Fenrir. I think you can figure out what my brain was doing processing all this.

(Also; THERE HAS BEEN HINTS TO NORSE MYTHOLOGY IN STRAY KIDS MUSIC VIDEOS!? STAY, do a wolf some assistance and pinpoint me to the videos and moments cause I NEED MY STRAY KIDS NORSE/VIKING CONTENT. Anyways...)

I am very Autistic when it comes to several of my favourite things coming together and creating a *chef's kiss* moment. This is no exception. It's why INK are my favourite band (metal, Emo and horror together? YES PLEASE) and now I have Stray Kids, Norse mythology AND LITERALLY MY FUCKING RELIGION? Holy fuck! *insert brain melt moment from Indiana Jones here*

So, I figured; let's talk about some of Stray Kids past works and Fenrir at the same time. Yep, a Stray Kids Fenrir themed playlist in the format of a Tumblr post by someone with Autism currently losing their damn mind.

Before we begin, let's get everyone acquainted who may be unfamiliar.

The Binding of Fenrir

'The Binding of Fenrir' is arguably the most famous tale involving Fenrir. Fenrir is the eldest child to Loki and Angrboda, his younger siblings being the Midgard Serpent, Jormungandr (who has beef with Thor, to keep it brief) and the future death Goddess, ruler and caretaker of the dead and arguably an important figure in Baldur's tragedy, Hel (or Hela).

Why was Odin interested in Fenrir? For one simple reason; he had been told a prophecy where a large and powerful wolf would kill him. I should point out this part of Odin and Fenrir's story is a very medieval trope of the paranoid king and his son destined to kill him. This case is no different; the downfall of the king is because of his own paranoia. Everything he does to try and prevent his downfall only solidifies it into existence. It's a common belief among many of us Heathens that Fenrir might have never considered going after Odin if Odin had just left Fenrir alone the whole time. Hell, there was the distinct possibility that Fenrir could've likely been an ally to Odin and the Aesir if it weren't for their fear and paranoia.

So, how does Fenrir get bound? Odin and a few others ride to the Iron Wood, the home of the Jotunn and Chieftess of the Chieftains of the Iron Wood, Angrboda, and forcefully take her children from her. Jormungandr strikes and either Odin or Thor (heavily debated) throws Jormungandr into the oceans of Midgard. Hel is immediately exiled from Asgard and sent to what is often dubbed 'Helheim'. Fenrir was kept in Asgard, primarily to keep an eye on him. He was scorned and mocked and treated with fear by the Gods, and no one dare approach him to feed him. Aside from one God; Tyr, the God of Justice. (Also a God of War himself but ssh.) Tyr befriended the young wolf and fed him.

Naturally, Fenrir grew. And very quickly. He soon domineered over the buildings of Asgard and the Gods grew paranoid of his strength and size. It was then decided for him to be bound. They tried on three separate occasions, telling Fenrir it was a game. The first time was some normal, ordinary chains. Fenrir broke those with a single movement of his paw. The second was a reinforced chain. These were a little tougher but they too were shattered. The Gods then got in contact with the Dwarves to create for them a special chain, named Gleipnir. This chain was presented to Fenrir, and its appearance - similar to that of a ribbon or thread - immediately made Fenrir suspicious. He only agreed to have himself bound if one person were to lose their hand should they go back on their word. Tyr was the one who offered (this is a HUGE deal, as Tyr is basically associated with business transactions, oaths and the likes. Loki even goes on to call this out in the poem 'Lokasenna' (Loki's Flyting)). Naturally, Fenrir is bound, he can't break free, Tyr loses an arm. Fenrir snaps at the laughing Gods' ankles and Odin shoves a sword through Fenrir's jaws. Fenrir will only be freed by the violent thrashing of his brother come Ragnarok, to which Fenrir will kill Odin. Some sources also say Fenrir eats the sun and moon, however this is a tricky subject as that act is often attested to two other wolves. There's plenty of theories but for this post, they are irrelevant.

Stray Kids Everywhere All Around The World

Stray Kids first became known by a survival TV show in late 2017. At the time, there was nine members. (For the sake of avoiding drama and cause the matter is done, I will be talking about Woojin but sticking to the facts. Everything from the drama was false (which I learned the hard way and am still trying to learn from); do not attempt to bring up the controversy in reblogs or replies or I will block you.) The members included (in order, starting with team leader then oldest to youngest); Bang Chan, Kim Woojin, Lee Minho, Seo Changbin, Hwang Hyunjin, Han Jisung, Lee Felix, Kim Seungmin, and Yang Jeongin. The group would debut in 2018 with the track "District 9". Upon debut, most of the members would continue using their names except for the following; Minho (would debut as Lee Know), Jisung (would debut as Han) and Jeongin (would debut as I.N.). Kim Woojin left the group in late 2019 around the time of the "Double Knot"/"Levanter" promotions. (Hence forth, Woojin is irrelevant. This is where we shall leave any mention of Woojin hence forth.

Stray Kids would go on to become a pretty big deal, even winning the competition TV show 'Kingdom' (let's not go over the whole MAMA bullshit, that would take a whole tray of paracetamol to get through), leading to the band being noticed by Ryan Reynolds and Hugh Jackman. In the past year, several of the members have appeared or modeled for various designer brands (ignoring the politics of this for now; good on them for their success however).

Bang Chan and Fenrir's Connection

As was mentioned in the TikTok I linked earlier, Bang Chan is the member of the group who was a trainee for the longest amount of time. Chan had been training under JYP Entertainment for seven years by the time of the pre-debut TV show. Chan has mentioned several times in the past the anger and sadness he felt, connecting with other trainees only for them to leave (either from being fired, changing career paths or debuting before him - this was especially noted to be the case with groups TWICE and GOT7, where Chan is friends with members of the groups and even shared a dorm room with members of GOT7). It's not hard to imagine the amount of pressure Chan was under to debut on the survival show. Or the amount of pressure he put on himself and the rest of Stray Kids. This amount of pressure would rear its head when members Lee Know and Felix were eliminated (but would be brought back later and debut with the group). A clip from Felix's elimination gives a glimpse into how hard Chan was on himself.

I will not speculate Chan's thoughts or feelings, but if you dig into it, you can come to some conclusions quickly based on the surrounding context and what we know about Chan and Felix's friendship post-debut.

Fenrir is bound and thus cannot be free to show his true strength and power, held back by the Gods for fear of what or who he could be. In essence, some could argue that this is what made Fenrir stronger and the wolf we know today but that comes with the ridiculous amount of pain and torture the wolf felt. Sure, he became stronger, but at what cost? I would say this is the same question to consider when talking about Chan and Fenrir. Sure, Chan is a wise and strong leader now, but what was the cost? He's made it clear that at one point before debut (and other members have backed this up), he actively avoided connecting with people cause of how many friendships he watched crumble for one reason or another. There's even a clip from a livestream where Chan was noticeably angry with staff and you can see the visible fear and awkwardness from the other members. Again, will not speculate on what any of it could mean, but it does point to something Fenrir and Chan may also have in common. When they are angry, they are

PISSED.

However, it's also important to keep in mind the sort of things Fenrir teaches and encourages from a Norse Pagan/Heathen perspective, so...

Fenrir in Norse Spirituality

A common name attributed to Fenrir is "breaker of chains". When we're talking about what this means from a spiritual standpoint, it means to free yourself from your past, free yourself from expectations or demands of others that holds you down and to let go and live free. For many, this can meaning learning how to cope with mental illness and trauma, learning how to manage (not control) one's anger, how to fuel emotions into actions and remain within the present and not think about the past or the future.

I've also heard many people describe Fenrir as a special kind of 'military boot camp' strict. This is the best way I can describe it; imagine, if you will, that you are a house. Fenrir is the property surveyor (the person who checks houses for faults). Fenrir will go around and tell you everything that isn't sturdy, that has cracks or other faults. Not out of malice, but because if you don't fix this, all it takes is one bad day and your self-worth comes crashing to the ground. Fenrir will even go out of his way to test these parts of yourself, again not out of malice but to make sure you can withstand it. Going back to the house metaphor; imagine Fenrir pointed out your foundations were made with weak cement, so you redo the foundations. Fenrir isn't convinced until he can push into it or stand on it and find it can withstand the weight. (This doesn't go into how our emotions fluctuate daily, but hopefully you get what I'm trying to say.)

Fenrir is also oftentimes seen as an example of justified rage. The rage of youth being mocked by their elders for simply being young. The rage Black people feel when another officer shoots yet another unarmed Black person. The rage LGBTQIA+ people feel when one of their own is killed or assaulted for simply being in love or expressing who they are. The rage women feel when men try to take advantage of or gaslight them into accepting lower. The rage of Indigenous people watching as their lands get bombed, farmed, and in general colonized and ripped of all its worth until nothing remains.

With all these factors in mind, let's finally get to the meet of this. The Stray Kids songs one (like myself) can associate with Fenrir. I will include lyrics, and you're more than welcome to reply or reblog with songs I may have missed. So, without further ado; let's get cracking! (Please note I will be using OT8 songs primarily for this post, again to avoid drama or anyone dogpiling about the controversy.)

'Placebo' (3RACHA original; 2017, Stray Kids original; 2018, re-recorded; 2021.)

"The positive belief that will even heal my wounds Keep going, the Placebo that works on me Honestly, there’s no need to be negative Trust myself, throw away those extra thoughts"

'Placebo' is a song essentially about relying on yourself to get through your challenges, while acknowledging what is currently making you feel weak. The fear and worry about wondering if you will actually make it, but telling yourself you can despite your worries, being your own friends in your darkest moments. Felix's verse I think is almost entirely applicable to Fenrir (Felix even says "drop these rusty chains" - remember, Fenrir was first bound by chains before Gleipnir.)

"Miroh" (original; 2019, re-recorded; 2020)

"Poison, trap, toadstool you can set them up I'll survive in the end, whatever it takes I know your traps, you set them up And I stomp on them tougher There's only one answer, you just have to open it"

"Miroh" (Korean word for 'maze') is an EDM-style song about persevering through the challenges you face, head held high, trusting your instincts and knowing that one way or another you have prepared for this moment and you will make it out the other side. The chorus starts with a line explaining that the narrator (Stray Kids) decided to go into the city (the challenges) themselves and know what is coming, are ready for it and know they can make it through the trial. The song also uses various animal sound effects, including a tiger's roar in the chorus, a hawk's caw and a bird-filled jungle soundscape. (Fenrir is often reported to be associated with swamps and mountains, so the inclusion of wild animal noises fits perfectly here.)

'Red Lights' (2021)

"No matter how hard I try to escape, there's no answer Until I fall asleep in the sun, even deeper I really wanna know, yeah I've already lost control"

This song is performed by Bang Chan and Hyunjin, and according to Genius the song "about compulsion and confusion of ego and about obsession about doing something". One would think, with the sexy sound and concept of the track, it would imply something of a sexy nature. However, it can also be about anything that someone can grow obsessed with. Another person, a feeling, an action, a moment, etc. The line "Tell me you hate me" makes me think of Fenrir talking to Tyr. The music video for the track also heavily features Chan and Hyunjin in chains, so one could also argue the obsession to be the desire to escape from their chains.

"MANIAC" (2022)

"The real self has been released (Yup, yup) Barely holding on (Yup, yup) After blinking once, back Again, back to cosplaying as what society Defines normal to be pow"

'MANIAC' is a song with a visible influence from Mary Shelley's 'Frankenstein' as it explores one's individual uniqueness, the expectations of society (which can delve into toxic perfectionism/happiness, conformity etc) and how we as a people have hidden our inner 'maniac' to fit in with the world. Even when in Asgard, surrounded by the Aesir and Vanir, Fenrir was always gonna be Fenrir. Just by his mere nature, he was deemed an outcast for being a larger and stronger wolf than they had encountered before, something that within itself isn't a crime. Fenrir would likely always be looked down upon if he showed discomfort, anger or any sort of negative emotion. In this song, Stray Kids basically asks the listener to open up their true self, live their authentic selves and enjoy the life they've been given, essentially; "shed the chains society has forced upon you."

"BEWARE" (original; 2018, re-recorded; 2020)

"My current state, the way I talk, my actions I know I shouldn't be like this But everything goes the opposite way I want you to understand me I don't know what will happen Again today, I'm barking"

Remember when I talked about Fenrir and justifiable rage and I brought up youth being angry with elders being condescending with them? This song is my 'case and point'. Going back to what I mentioned in 'MANIAC', no matter what Fenrir did the Aesir were likely not going to view him in a positive light. Ask any person who has tried to get on the good side of someone who couldn't care for them and you'll often find descriptions of growing tire, frustration and rage. Sometimes, we are going to encounter this in life - whether it be a boss who treats us poorly, a colleague/acquaintance/friend gossiping or lying about us behind our back, a family member who has expectations for you that you can't reach no matter what you try etc. Fenrir is no stranger to this; he experienced it firsthand living amongst the Aesir. That rage one feels in these moments is a healthy rage, a voice, which you will find is either being encouraged by Fenrir or is Fenrir himself, screaming at you "This isn't right, I shouldn't be treated like this!"

"SCARS" (2021)

"I'll never cry because I know that it'll never change I'll stay standing and endure it in an unknown place There will be many times I'll almost fall, but Alone, I reach out my hand, alone, I stand back up"

Sometimes, when we face hurdles in our lives we will feel sadness, sorrow or despair. If there's one thing I want to end this made tangent about, it's this; you will face challenges and it's OK to not be happy about it. It's alright to cry, to scream and wail and sob, to shed tears, feel fear, embarrassment, etc. It's alright if you need to punch a pillow or cry yourself to sleep. Remember; Chan probably did the same. For seven years. Fenrir probably did too, stuck within his personal Hell. But if there's one thing you should take from both of them, it's that you are stronger than you think you are. You can survive, you will survive. You will see the light on the other side one day; all it requires is fighting through the pain, even if that means crying from the hurt. We don't leave this life unscathed; we all will die with countless scars, both physical and mental. Be kind to yourself, know you are worthy of being alive right now, and you have the strength to push onwards. Carry the strength of Fenrir - and the strength of Bang Chan and Stray Kids - with you and remember you aren't alone fighting against the chains you've found yourself bound in.

(TLDR; an Autistic Norse Pagan loses were mind when were discovers a Fenrir tattoo design for Chan, goes on a long Stray Kids and Fenrir rant.)

[grits-galraisedinthesouth]

This headline had me rolling on the floor laughing: Bible-reading Pentagon commanders halted UFO research 'over fears aliens were demons'

A major figure in the Pentagon's UFO research agency claims that fundamentalist Christians within the establishment blocked him because they thought UFOs came from Hell

Pentagon commanders have clamped down on research into extraterrestrials because of their religious beliefs, it's claimed.

Leading UFO researcher Ron James says senior figures in the US government fear aliens are in fact demons. Ron, who is Director of Media Relations for UFO research group MUFON, claims there is “a very large contingent of people” within the Pentagon who opposed the work of the Advanced Aerospace Threat Identification Program [AATIP] because they think the UAPs regularly reported by US military sources are piloted by creatures from Hell.

He says he was told by Luis Elizondo, who has gone on record as being the boss of AATIP, it “was not just a little voice in The Pentagon…but a huge group of people thought the phenomenon that was being witnessed was demons”.

Ron James says Pentagon commanders blocked UFO research because ‘they thought aliens were demons’

US Air force engineer at Brit base heard ‘alien fingers scratching on plane canopy'

This fundamentalist Christian lobby within the US defence establishment “actually affected Elizondo’s ability to get funding, “ Ron says. Belief in both UFOs and the literal truth of the Bible is not entirely incompatible, he adds.

For example, Ron spoke to staunchly Christian US congressman Tim Burchett. “I sat down and interviewed him. His feeling was that if you look in the Bible and you look at Ezekiel building the wheel there's a lot of people that think that that was a spaceship”. He adds that His Holiness the Pope has officially acknowledged that there is life on other planets.

But the strong arm of religious fundamentalism within US political circles has actively hindered research into UFOs – and science generally, Ron says.

Representative Tim Burchett (R-TN) sees no conflict between UFO research and his staunch religious beliefs 

'Possessed' woman lifted huge exorcist with 'super-strength' and 'arms like concrete'

“I talked to John Brandenburg, a researcher who's done a lot of work about Mars," Ron told podcaster Julian Dorey," and he told me that he was working under classification as a physicist for a long time and he said there's a a big contingent that that extreme fundamental religion is governing what we are in investing our energy and our time”.

But while some authorities maintain that UFOs can’t be from another planet, Ron thinks they could be from another universe altogether.

“This guy came up with this thing called Quantum Jumping, his name was Burt Goldman.

"His theory is that there is another version of you existing in multiple realities but these realities all exist.

Some people believe UFOs are piloted by creatures from Hell

'Aliens took my sperm in sexual experiments – now I wonder if I have kids in space'

“Burt Goldman said that you can ‘quantum jump’ through certain meditation techniques and certain mental exercises and certain visualisation exercises and actually connect with these other versions of yourself – you can even bring something back from them”. Whether any of these versions of ourselves live in realities where demons are coasting through our skies in flying saucers was not mentioned.

[gaymingintrovert]

Ok huge rant about how I see religious trauma depicted in Good Omens and how I relate to it below the cut

Spoiler warning for the whole series

I want to preface this by saying I’m someone with what I consider to be fairly light religious trauma. I was treated fairly well in my church, but I still have trauma from different things. I see both Aziraphale and Crowley as having different types of religious trauma and they deal with it in very different ways.

Aziraphale likely doesn’t realize he has trauma. He deals with it by ignoring it and insisting that the abuse he faced was okay, thus continuing the cycle. He encourages Crowley back to heaven, regardless of how toxic it actually is. As we currently know him, Aziraphale is abusive. He doesn’t realize it, but that doesn’t make it okay. He needs to see that heaven is unhealthy. Right now, he acts like a parent who has been hurt by religion but refuses to accept it, and even encourages others to ignore their own abuse. When I was younger, this is how I felt. Truly afraid that if you did wrong, you’d suffer forever, and you have that same fear for your loved ones. He believes he’s doing the right thing, but he isn’t, and he needs to understand that. When I was younger, I needed to understand that even if I think I was doing good by trying to convert my friends, I was just hurting them. I learned that, and Aziraphale needs to learn that.

Edit to clarify my point about Aziraphale:

Aziraphale isn’t evil. Both him and Crowley operate in shades of grey (if nothing else, the graveyard minisode showed that). The thing that makes his actions in regards to heaven and trying to take Crowley back bad is that he keeps insisting and doesn’t realize what he’s doing is bad. If he knew what he was doing was hurting Crowley, he’d stop it without hesitation. Just wanted to clarify that I don’t believe either of them are completely good/evil because they aren’t. They’re much more complex than that.

Crowley deals with his trauma completely differently than Aziraphale and much more like me. He knows what causes his trauma and avoids it. He still doesn’t handle it in a particularly healthy way, but it’s not unhealthy to others like Aziraphale’s coping is. Crowley avoids both heaven and hell whenever he can, and on the rare occasion he doesn’t, he’s asking god questions very similar to what I’d ask when I was on the fence and leaving Christianity. The unhealthy part about his coping is that he doesn’t seem to realize he’s coping with trauma. It’s hard to tell at times if he understands that he has trauma or if his coping is an subconscious trauma response. Crowley needs to recognize his trauma and work through it in a more healthy way.

Long story short, the gay demon and angel need therapy. I’m sure I have more thoughts about this that I could ramble about episode by episode but I doubt most people want that (I could also tie in Crowley’s trans coding but this post is already long enough as is). Anyway this is how I’m coping after season 2. It’s going about as well as you think

[feral-cockroach]

warnings: mentions of christianity, trauma, religious trauma

living in the south and also in the path of totality of this eclipse AND being susceptible to religion-based psychosis has been fucking hell

the eclipse is in 2 days and i work customer service and an old fucking woman sat in the drive thru at my job and proseletized to me for literally ten fucking minutes about how the eclipse is a result of the stupid fucking queers and how the world is goijg to shit ad jesus is getting mad and how she hopes im ready for the rapture bc she is and the whole time shes keeping the Most Intense eye contact and im not allowed to shut the window on customers and ive had unfathomable amounts of sleepless nights being afraid that xtianity is true and im going to hell or that the rapture IS upon us and everyone i love is going to die and ive spent even more nights CONVINCED that the rapture was abt to happen or was actively happening and if i left my room/looked out a window i would see corpses stumbling past my house toward jesus and my mom would also go to jesus and jesus would look at me with so much scorn that he would literally melt my skin from my bones and condemn me to be alone for eternity

and it has taken YEARS to get over that trauma and fear and move on from those beliefs and i havet had an episode like that in ages but thats because i have made it a huge point of my lifw to avoid xtianity despite how prevalent it is here but if ever there was a trigger for it its this shit.

and she started the fuckinf conversation so innocently too she was like "are u ready for the eclipse? :) " ajd i was like "well i work that day so honestky not really" and then she launches into a speech ab how theyre letting kids out of school early and tons of places are shutting down early and how its for the best bc this is a sign of the rapture and its been so long since ive been around that kind of stuff that it took me aback so hard i literally took a half step away from the window and i felt like i was in church again.

fucking hate this place. and even when i get those intrusive tjoughts of how god or jesus hate me or think im unworthy and even if i did everything else right i would be condemned just for being queer i remind myself that thats not the teachings of jesus christ, thats the teachings of frauds who dont even know the book they use to beat others with. and if god would look at me, whos worst crimes are being queer and shoplifting from major corporations to help those that i love, and if he looks at me and decides i am less worthy of love and light and paradise than someone who was not queer and did not shoplift but did cause countless peoppe severe trauma and hoarded wealth and looked down on those different from him, and if he compares us and decides me to be worse by basis of queerness, then that is not a god that is worth worshipping. that is not a god worthy of godliness, of status, of power. that is just another man.

[braineater444]

Hi to the five people that still think about this blog. I’ve been writing a new fic and honestly idk if it will ever come out because it feels more personal than ever. It’s about Kokonoi if anyones reading this. But that’s not what I want to talk about. I need the anonymity and freedom to complain about all the emotions and thoughts this fic has brought out of me. This is a vent post about my personal life.

Recently, a couple months ago, I lost my virginity and got into my first ever relationship. I’m bipolar and I was manic when it happened and I feel so ashamed and I don’t know what to do or say.

I try to disengage from sentimentality, but I’ve always been sensitive about everything. I understand virginity isn’t important. I get that, but I was so scared and taken aback when it happened. I have this deep rooted fear of being alone and I didn’t know what to do. I kept letting them touch me and come into my home and I never said anything. Everything they did hurt so bad and still I wanted to be with them because it was the first time I’d been given such attention. The first time I went that far and I scrambled to hold it together. I told them I wanted to be in a relationship and I knew in my heart that I wasn’t ready for that, but I didn’t know any other choice.

Naturally, this doesn’t fell like it’s going well and I’m all torn up on the inside. I tried to break up with them once, but I felt to overcome by grief and stayed. We argue over things I wouldn’t consider to be huge issues. They can’t stand the things I say or do and they think I hate them. I’m not sure I don’t. But maybe a week ago I held them while they cried in my bed at 2 am. I was tired and already dozing off, but I stayed up because I didn’t want them to feel as if I didn’t care. I’m bad with affection so I let them cry for a while and didn’t ask questions after I realized they weren’t going to answer me. Then, I helped the best way I knew how. I brushed their hair, painted their nails, and put glitter under their eyes. I felt so sad and distraught the entire time.

My family adores them. They think my partner is funny. They’re right. My partner is wonderfully charismatic. Sometimes I’m jealous of how well they navigate socially. I’m no good with others, so I do most things alone. Hell, most of the time we argue over the phone and I just hang up and put my phone on do not disturb. I can’t navigate anything to do with others for the life of me. It’s a little funny.

Regardless, when it’s good, its good. When it’s bad it feels like the end. They do things I don’t do and want things I don’t want. It hurts my head and I never no what to think. They’re so beautiful, but so jealous. I feel like I’m being treated like the one who cheated on them, but I’m not. I was never the girl that cheated on them, but I feel like I’m being punished in her stead. I’m feeling things I’ve never felt before and it’s all so contradictory. I feel shredded.

Because the world is so dark right now, I can’t cry. I think it’s really selfish to do. But, my fashion and creative expression is all I have to cling on to right now. I’ve turned to the aesthetics of religion and movies about women who’ve lost it to wallow. I’ve been looking for beautiful mantillas and rosaries despite being agnostic on my best day and an atheist on my worst. I’ve been reaching for prayer candles and investing in stories of women suffering more and more. Sometimes, I think my pain is what binds me to womanhood. I used to question myself, but this pain is undoubtedly feminine. I feel both empty and full.

Several times I thought to say “I think we started having sex too soon, we should stop for a while.” And every time I can’t bring myself to do it. It feels like an arduous labor of love. I dreaded it in the beginning, but I think I’ve tricked myself into craving it. But I’m so confused because now my body betrays me when I tell myself I don’t want it. I don’t understand a single thing.

I don’t feel like myself anymore, but I’m not depressed or unhappy, just lost. I want to return to something and it feels like I’m grieving whatever that is. Surely it isn’t my downright awful girlhood. Or my hymen. Or the time before this where I was consistently alone. I’m confused and hurt.

It’s so weird to have one person’s undivided attention. I used to think this is what I wanted. I used to day dream about it. I knew it’d be hard, but this is more painful than I imagined. I tried talking to my friends, but I can’t be this blunt with them for fear of disparaging comments from people I adore. I just need a blank slate. Someone faceless and voiceless to talk to. I don’t have to pretend to be tough like I always do (even in the privacy of my own home) or pause to answer questions. I just need to talk.

With that, I’m sorry if my next fic (if it comes out) is more psychological than anything if you guys aren’t into that. With the mess in my head I couldn’t find another way. I need something self indulgent and ridiculous because I love my partner. I really do.

[tadpoles-and-daydreams]

(this is for research purposes (/gen this is for an english project) but I understand if it seems weird so feel free to ignore) (also dw I don't plan to mention specific people) what drew you to paganism/polytheism?

Oh this is SUCH a fun question. I was sitting down to do some readings and saw this in my askbox and just- I'll do this one first XD I apologize in advance, I'm gonna write a huge fucking essay because it's fun. First two paragraphs are more a history and context of how I got to paganism, the rest is more the aspects of paganism that drew me in!

So, this won't be an anti-Christian rant but I feel the need to say that part of it is, admittedly, that I grew up going to church with my grandmother. I loved that church, but I knew very well that they loved the IDEA of me. I was an undiagnosed auDHD queer kid who, at the time, was severely depressed. They loved the mask I put on, not the reality of me. I hadn't found acceptance in religion. I always was aware of paganism and witchcraft because of my parents and their practices, but really I grew up Christian. But that world- at least the way I was taught Christianity- was very small and harmful to me. Paganism not only understood me, not only accepted me, but enthusiastically embraced my oddities.

For a while, it was more an occasional hyperfixation than a practice I could put any effort or trust into. Witchcraft and paganism requires being in the present moment, something that I avoided like the plague because I was so afraid of my emotions. After some pretty intense experiences (if you want a little more explanation just DM, but I'd rather not post publicly bc it's pretty dark) taught me I could handle existing in the moment no matter how intense the emotions were, it suddenly opened up my practice in a whole new way. I wasn't afraid to be real with myself anymore.

Ultimately, I think that's what drew me to my own practices and religions; it's real. No, not in the "I'm the Right ReligionTM" way, but in the sense that I can be honest with myself in my practice. I can be real. I don't have to run away from the earth hoping for heaven, I don't have to pretend that having a body and mind is evil- I embrace my whole self. Paganism taught me it's okay to be myself no matter how strange I am, that the body and the life we live here and now is sacred. I don't have to fear the parts of me I was taught to reject as a child because those are "of the devil," I embrace them and give them compassion because I should never have been told that in the first place.

It also taught me that the world really is bigger than people tell you, just like I always felt it was. In my mom's words, "I thought it made so much more sense that the animals in Narnia talked. And some part of me that I kept very very secret thought that maybe they do in this world too, if you just know how to listen." The more I learn about my personal practice as a witch and pagan, the more I feel like that. "This just makes more sense."

Also, last thing because this is a HUGE ramble I swear I just fucking love witchcraft and paganism so much: The way I work with my deities makes more sense to me than the way most religions present gods. A god that is distant, powerful, and has the power to punish me if I step one toe out of line, would be no help to me at all. That's just one more authority figure to fear. My deities are kind, they accept the parts of myself that even I don't, and hell they're even funny- they sit with me when I want to cry or when I'm angry and they also watch my silly little shows with me. I feel their presence in casual activities. And to me that's so much more helpful than a god that's impersonal. The way a lot of religious deities work just... stress me out. I would never feel seen, not truly, and how would I know that they'd accept all of me? With my deities, I know they accept all of me. They've seen all of me.

Plus, on the less emotional side of things, paganism is just fucking FUN okay. Who else gets to say they watch anime with their god? Who else gets to say that their god, who is often perceived as formal and ruthless, makes dad jokes sometimes? I fuckin' love it here.

I hope this helps at all! It's very rambly but.... ehhhHHHH my feelings on paganism are rambly bc I like it :D

[hearth4days]

Everything for mizuki akiyama!!!! 😈😈😈😈

Sexuality

Sapphic

Gender

Amab transfem

Religion

Atheist

Childhood

Shockingly I am going to let them be a happy child. Very close with her mom and her older sister, never knew her dad. Their sister's several years older and taught them how to do makeup and sewing when they came out. Her family's very supportive and pretty close with each other. See I can write not angst

What scares them

Not gonna get into their fear of abandonment cuz that's every single event they have /hj. They really hate heights. Like, cannot stand up, feel dizzy hate heights

Music preferences

Listens to a lot of anime OSTs in her free time, outside of that she prefers slower nostalgic-feeling music?? I know what I mean but in sysnesthesia-speak, pale rose/dusty blue songs. They need to listen to the song they're editing for while they work on it though so they don't lose the vibe of the song

Quirk

Very sensitive tongue. They never eat their food any hotter than lukewarm. It disturbs many

Sleeping habits

Awful. Takes up to 3 naps a day. Doesn't go to bed until 4 in the morning. It's the depression

Disability

BPD, body dysmorphia

Love language

Gift giving. Very big on making dumb shit for people. Also likes quality time

Friendship headcanon

She avoids it like the plague. Lots less scary to ignore that you have no friends than to always stress about them maybe leaving

Angsty headcanon (tw suicide)

Kind of suspicious that they went to "sit around" alone on the roof. Rui was secretly the only suicide prevention they had. Like "okay well if Rui's not here guess I can jump". It's giving My R

Family

Sort of already did this one. They threw a coming out party. There was crying /pos

Hobbies

The most self indulgent video edits. Any time they're bored they just whip out a bunch of clips that look nice and slap it over the song they're looping that week

Side note hi this is Mizuki. Would you like to see a dumb video I edited I still find it really funny. No one else does

Clothes

They take it as a personal failure if they wear anything they did not adjust in some way. She got very sewing and fashion and have since redone basically their whole wardrobe to be as Gender as possible

Fighting/violence

They kind of pussy out of fighting most of the time since they're sort of used to being bullied. But if you talk shit about any of her friends consider yourself dead. An, Rui, and Akito especially since she has a special attachment to them and they go to school together

Desires/wishes

Really wants to learn how to write music, but Kanade always starts new projects before they have the chance to ask and they feel bad asking her to do any more work than she already does

What they're best at

Naturally good at photography

Food

Very fond of sweets. She keeps tiny chocolates at her desk to eat while she works

What they lie about

Again ignoring the gender shit because that's all sega wants to talk about. They love bullshitting people about what they do when they're not at school. She just lays in bed but she will make shit up

Romantic

Never dated anybody

Appearance

They do the fake freckles on their makeup. But white. For the drip yk

Anger

Doesn't get angry very easily, but she's a little scary when she is mad. In a rabid racoon kind of way. Will use teeth

Animal-related

Likes cats, but mostly for the aesthetic. Their favorite is sea turtles

Worst thing they've done

Probably just standard-fare lying to her mom about breaking something. Generally well-behaved outside of basically being a highschool dropout

Worst thing that happened to them

For sure the transphobia. Middle school is hell

Random headcanon

Huge photo-in-locket truther