#Love was the law. and RELIGION WAS TAUGHT

[xec0re]

Love was the law and religion was taught

🔆

[im-normal-about-everything]

"Love was the law and religion was taught"

Paul and Darry stopped talking for seemingly no reason. Only the two of them know why.

Dally lost it after Johnny died, he couldn't live without him.

Soda and Steve hang around the DX during their free time, their safe space, away from the gang and other people.

Two-Bit watches from afar as Darry gets close with Paul, loses him, and then isolates himself. Two-Bit knows, but he can't seem to bring it up.

Pony knows he's always been different from other greasers. He's always enjoyed the more 'feminine' activities and he's always stared at the male actors too long.

"I'm not bought"

They all fought for each other, no matter the context of their relationship.

[infernoflorys]

HEY TIDESTRIDER NATION. NEW GIGI PEREZ SONG IS AWESOME HUH.

[cr0wqui11]

Penny: “Love was the law”

Tammy: “And religion was taught”

Do you see the vision chat

[rockonfreakybro69]

I refuse to set myself, my body, my soul, my entire being on fire, just to keep what you CLAIM our religion to be warm.

[vomits0cutely]

When Marlene and Barty first heard “Love was the law, religion was taught”, they fell to their knees

[lizbetlovesbyler]

"I feel when I question, my skin starts to burn.

Why does my skin start to burn?"

[justa-personn]

love was the LAW and religion was TAUGHT.

[highquality-not]

so gay people how are we feeling after the release of fable

[watermel0ns-dumb-cringe]

she's so. fable / love was the law coded AUAGSJSH

[preciouspatriots]

seeing lots of love for sailor song by gigi perez (as deserved ofc) but needing more attention paid to please be rude

[ri4naaa]

hey um how come people see something poetic and automatically think of hozier. he's a good artist but like why don't we think of other people like ethel cain or something

[ratgirlcommunist]

Can’t stop thinking of how sad Jesus would be if he saw Christians today.

[hyikien]

what is it to feel the weight of destiny upon skin?

In the hush of Sunday mornings, beneath the arching spires of hope, I sought solace in the sacred. The church, with its hallowed halls and whispering prayers, was my refuge, a world bathed in light and certainty. But shadows danced with the flickering candles—a restless flicker, a silent insurgency in the heart of my faith.

What is it about the warmth of hands, the brush of shoulders, that ignites an inferno beneath my skin? I feel the burn, a caustic reminder each time our eyes meet. In the stillness of hymns, amidst a congregation that finds comfort in absolution, I am set ablaze, consumed in the labyrinth of what ifs. My heart trembles; it fights against the pulsing taboo that coils around every heartbeat.

“Why can’t you just see it for what it is?” they ask, oblivious to the way love sends signals that tear through piety like paper—fragile, urgent, needed. “It’s wrong, you know.” They don’t see the sharp edges of their certainty slicing into my tender heart. Each word knifes through the air, a verdict echoing against the stained glass that promises salvation.

“I feel lost,” I want to scream, but instead, it drips from my lips like a confession. “I’m lost amongst the verses that promise heaven while drowning me in hell.” My sanctuary transforms into a prison where every prayer becomes a silent plea for understanding, for belonging, for a kind of love that bends but doesn’t break.

And in the cacophony of misaligned destinies, my skin begins to rot under the weight of expectations. “You have to choose,” they say, as if choice weren’t a knife that cuts both ways, as if love didn’t exist in shades of grey. “Love is pure,” they preach, cloaking judgement in the guise of righteousness, yet they fail to see I’m bound to something that is not theirs to define.

In the dark corners of my heart, guilt festers. “You should pray more,” whispers the voice that haunts me, reminding me that sin is not just an act, but an existence. The bitter taste of shame mingles with the sacred wine, leaving a sour aftertaste on my tongue. “You must confess,” they urge, their conviction a casket for the truth I bury deeper within, afraid of its resurrection.

And yet, each Sunday, I return, bound by invisible chains to a ritual that no longer cradles my soul. The pulpit stands tall, an altar to traditions that drown the flickering flames of desire with extinguisher after extinguisher. “Keep your heart in check,” they warn, as though they could ever hold the weight of my aching truth—that the love I discovered in the silence of those shared moments is as real as the crimson hymnal, as intoxicating as life itself.

But the warmth of those stolen glances is often overrun by the chill of reality, a relentless frost that seeks to extinguish the flickering fire within me. "You know it's a sin," a voice whispers in the recess of my mind, haunting my every breath, every thought, questioning my worth, my place. As my heart races, I wonder if I am merely a ghost in my own body, wandering through life with a shameful secret tucked away in the fabric of my being.

“What if love is the sin we’re all led to believe is wrong?” I whisper to the emptiness, my voice trembling. “What if I can’t carry this weight anymore?” I stand at the crossroads of faith and desire, unsure which path leads to a salvation that feels like truth and which leads to a damnation filled with regret. The very essence of who I am hangs precariously on the edge, dangling between the desire to belong and the yearning to be free.

So, what is it to live in the chasm of conflicting truths, to navigate a destiny that feels predestined to break? As the incense lingers and the prayers rise, how do you choose between love and the promise of everlasting life?

-- @hyikien on insta!

[thewonder-ofwonders]

in light of recent events, fable by gigi perez is even more painful than it was before.

[mikey-way-enthusiast]

OH MY GODDDDS SHE DROPPED FABLE THIS IS NOT A DRILL SHE DROPPED FABLE 😨😨😨😨