#and my parents never really talked about god or religion except for if it was a holiday

[primrosebitch]

I wish I could believe in like anything supernatural or like witchcraft or the greek gods because it's so interesting and fascinating and cool but my brain is very like scientific(?) in that without real evidence i can't believe anything like that, evidence as in i personally see or experience it not like hard evidence that like scientifically proves it exists, i just need to see it for myself.

I was also raised catholic and idk if i ever believed in god, like it's hard to remember how i felt about god when i was in elementary school because of how long it's been but from what i can remember i think i kinda just went along with it and didn't really think to hard about if god exists but i also remember that i never really believed that praying would do anything and i never really took being religious or god too seriously so i think that although i never really thought about it back then i didn't really ever truly believe in god

[pearl-the-artist]

(You called for me) Gabriel / Reader Oneshot

Ok please be patient with me on this. I spent over 24 hours in a car on a trip to Russia a few days ago and it made me do something I've never dared to before: write a fanfic. On my humble Samsung notes.

If this isn't a total flop I might make more? I dunno? Maybe hop on ao3?

Criticism and feedback is appreciated ok thank youuu have fun

Another restless night, another hour spent lying in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling above you. The room was shrouded in the comforting night air, more illuminated than usual by the soft glow of the full moon outside.

You look at the clock on your nightstand; precisely midnight. Two hours after your drunken father came home again, letting his pent-up frustrations and anger out on you in a one sided yelling match. Of course, as usual, neither was your mother of any support; only giving you that same disapproving, disdainful glare. You were never really welcome, not even in your own home- your parents biggest mistake lingering around only to weigh them down, and remind them of what they could've had. Or so they've told you, many, many times before. Tonight was no exception.

When the broadcasts first announced the new threat infesting the county, "alternates" they called them, you were, admittedly, both terrified and somewhat relieved. You were never really one to believe in the supernatural, but who knows, your parents were just superstitious enough to maybe fall for their schemes.

The first announcement had been around, what, a year ago now? Not much had really changed admittedly, although the population had begun falling drastically since then.

Your parents had of course used this opportunity to also confiscate your phone, the CRT TV in your room and old little MP3 player gifted to you by a relative, god forbid you let an alternate in to potentially threaten them, your own safety not even really a point for consideration to them.

Living with your parents was already hell, but getting by without your favourite albums and shows? Torture.

So tonight when you lied in bed unable to fall asleep, your mind wandering as usual, it may have wandered a little too far.

You recalled something you overheard your parents talk about. A friend of your dad's, a man of unwavering faith, who had been found dead in his own home a few weeks ago, seemingly in the middle of his usual prayers. Even though his family mentioned having seen an odd, ghostly figure outside their home that night, the doctors seemed to blame the cause of death on a brain hemorrhage.

It made sense, come to think of it. When you first saw the emergency PSA, it explained all kinds of methods to protect yourself from alternate attacks, one of which being avoidance of religion, faith, and philosophy.

So then, the alleged "ghost" that visted that poor man just might've been... Well.

This gave you a bad idea, but you weighed the options available to you.

Either you would die in a similar way as the old man, or... you might just get lucky and bargain with it. Alternatively, nothing happens, and you remain stuck with an unhappy married couple that hates each other as much as they hate you.

It was definitely stupid, but at this point it seemed like you had nothing to lose anyway. You weren't really much of a believer yourself, so you didn't exactly know how to pray, but you gave it your best shot. Sitting up in your bed, hands clasped together with a bowed head and closed eyes, you tried your best to focus.

If there was a god out there, may it hear your pleas. Wordless whispers called for help, begging to be heard, while you did all you could to try to concentrate on any spiritual connections. All the while you knew you may as well be praying to a literal demon.

A few minutes passed as you racked your brain for what to say before you stopped, your hands falling back into your lap.

What the hell were you doing? Yes you hated it here, and you couldn't even run away if you wanted to, but inviting an alternate to your house just like this? It was a death sentence, and not a pretty one, that much was certain.

You shook your head. It probably wouldn't have worked anyway. Right, this was all just some silly superstition, not that different from those "send this to 5 other people or you'll die tonight" chain e-mails. You laughed internally at how silly it was that you even thought this would work to begin with, and, admittedly, felt a brief sense of relief. You decided that you were ready to just go back to sleep, and just as you pulled your blanket up to crawl back underneath it- you almost jumped.

It was a voice, faintly audible outside your window. You didn't even process it until a few seconds after, a barely legible, strained whisper.

"I heard you praying."

You froze. A cold wave shot right to your stomach. Slowly, agonisingly so, you turned around to face your bedroom window.

A tall figure stood outside, its hands clasped together similarly to how you just had a few minutes ago. With long, flowing white robes and silver, wavy locks that reached down to his shoulders, he looked... Ethereal. Not to mention the massive, pure white wings folded neatly behind his back. His head blocked out the full moon, the light creating something almost like a halo around him, making him appear even more angelic.

"Woah."

You couldn't help the little gasp of awe. He seemed to find it amusing, his grin spreading a little too wide for comfort. Admittedly, you almost doubted if he even was an alternate at all. Maybe you'd come out a person of faith yourself, after this.

"Are you... An alternate?"

You whispered hesitantly, quiet enough to try to conceal the trembling in your voice and also not alert your parents sleeping upstairs, though you weren't sure if he actually heard you at all.

He didn't respond for a moment, tempting you to ask again, before that inhuman whisper was heard again.

"You called for me, and now I am here."

Avoiding your question, huh. Suppose he was an elusive sort. You quickly glanced around your room, eyeing the door in particular just in case; you really hoped your parents were asleep.

"May I... Come closer?"

You couldn't even recall the last time you were this polite to someone, though it was your best bet not to piss him off while he was still friendly, if you could even call it that. You had no point of reference, though he wasn't actively trying to harm you, so it was a start.

The angel, his smile unwavering, simply nodded, waving his arm in an invitation to approach.

It took a moment for you to will your body to move from the initial shock, but with slow, careful steps you moved to open the window to properly speak to him, a pleasant cool breeze inviting itself into your room.

"So... What's your name?"

Did alternates have names? Suppose they just took on the name of whoever they were trying to mimic. You leaned onto the window frame, trying to catch a good look at his face; and for the first time in god knows how long you were met with eyes that, albeit a bit creepy and lifeless, looked back into your own with an unfamiliar lack of hostility.

"You may call me Gabriel, child."

Gabriel? That name sounded familiar- Oh! The Saint Gabriel's church at the edge of town. Suppose that made sense, given his angelic appearance, if it wasn't just one morbid coincidence. Your thoughts and scrutinizing stare dragged on for a bit longer than you were aware of, though, as his voice pulled your attention back to him.

"Are you lost, my lamb? I can save you. Let me in. Let me into your mind."

The last bit seemed a bit more... Pushy than the rest, making your stomach feel just a little heavier. You gathered your thoughts anyway, trying to push that feeling aside for now. You did do this for a reason, after all, though now that he was actually here you were starting to second guess things.

Gabriel seemed to take note of your hesitation after a while of you not responding.

"Open your eyes, my lost little one. Look at me. I can grant you anything you wish for. You just need to let me in."

An odd mix of dread and comfort you'd never felt before settled in, and the feeling was almost... Refreshing, in a way. You quickly glanced back up at him, and he was still staring at you, ever so patiently, eerily.

"Uhm... I was just- well, it's probably kind of silly."

No backing out now, not when he was already here. Even if you wanted to, you don't think he'd let you go so easily. As you verbally stumbled over your own thoughts, he simply waited, his unblinking eyes staring into you, gouging out your soul. Or so it felt.

"I just thought... Is it possible for, well... Is there a chance for humans to be able to ally with alternates? Can I join you?"

Surprisingly, that got his smile to falter, if only a little bit. A flicker of emotion you couldn't quite explain showed in his eyes- surprise, perhaps, or consideration.

"What for, my child?"

That uncanny whisper of his never gave away any emotion, monotone and unfeeling, yet not unfriendly. Admittedly, his question made you pause; you hadn't exactly thought of how to explain this to him. You hadn't even expected him to show up at all.

Fidgeting nervously, unsure of whether to tell him the truth or not, you tried to think of what to say. Despite your rationality screaming at you for being an utter moron, you knew you were in too deep at this point.

"I don't think I'm any good to these people at all anymore, I just... don't know what to do anymore. With myself. I have nowhere else to go. And, maybe..."

You weren't sure if you should say it or not, you already let more vulnerability slip than you wanted to. But your spite driven words were quicker than your brain, and man did it feel good to open up for once.

"...maybe for revenge, also."

Gabriel listened to you surprisingly attentively, very interested in your words. At your last statement, he perked up with an almost malicious twist to his grin. Before he could respond, though, you suddenly heard the sound of your parents creaky old bedroom door and footsteps from upstairs. And you could tell by the sound of them that it was your mother. And she was pissed.

For a very panic filled moment you weren't sure what to do, your thoughts racing- instincts called for you to jump into bed and pretend you were asleep like you usually would... but with Gabriel here, you couldn't- and that's when you realized you really only had two real options.

Stay here, and continue living this miserable life, and also deal with the imminent outburst of your mother.

Or go with him, and then... Well, nothing and no one could possibly guarantee what would happen to you then.

"Choose wisely, my dear lamb."

Your dilemma seemed to be rather palpable to the "saviour" as he pulled you out of that mental spiral, and you were rather grateful for it. As much as it made you nauseous with uncertainty and anxiety, you finally snapped out of that paralysis and turned towards the window.

"Please, help me. This is the only favor I'll ever ask of you. I will do anything you want in return, I promise."

You began to plead in an urgent, hissed whisper, practically leaning out of the window, causing him to take a step back.

Desperation and panic shook your words as you glanced back at your bedroom door.

"Get me out of here."

He chuckled, an amused sound mixed with something you couldn't quite explain that made you feel more fuzzy than you'd care to admit.

"Come. Come to me, my child. Step outside."

For the first time tonight hesitation became a foreign concept as you practically leapt out that window. Your bare feet felt the cold gravel beneath, just in time as the door to your room swung open.

The angered yelling of your mother were drowned out by the feeling of suddenly being lifted off the ground, Gabriel taking you up into his arms like your weight was akin to a feather.

He was cold, lifelessly so. And yet the soft silken robes, the way he held you in his arms, and his deceitfully promising whispers were lulling you into a sense of security you hadn't felt in a long, long time.

"A lost little lamb, asking their shepherd for guidance..."

His eerie, yet strangely comforting laugh filled your ears once more over the noise of your mother not yet realizing you weren't in your bed. You're surprised she wasn't hearing him at all. Maybe it was another mind game of his.

"You made the right decision. I knew you would. Such a smart, yet scared little thing you are, are you not?"

You leaned your head against his chest, sighing deeply, beginning to forget what you were ever doubtful about during the start of this whole fiasco. Your weight began to sink into his arms as you relaxed. He held you a little tighter in turn.

"Of course I shall guide you, my child. Come with me; you will be mine. You will be safe."

Just as the furious woman realized to check the opened window, Gabriel vanished as swiftly as he appeared, leaving behind the sight of nothing but an empty garden, peacefully quiet, as if you were never there.

[friesian]

my father is dead and i couldn't be happier.

the following is a sort of. reconciliation/vent post since i just got the news a few hours ago that my father died, and i finally feel like i can sort of talk about everything that happened to me as a child. for the first time. without the threat of potential violence. so. tw for neglect, abuse, parental death and honestly just. a lot. if you don't like the most stereotypical 'bad dad' shit, don't read this post.

my father was a cruel man. it was only until recently i was informed that my father used to actually shake me as a baby, no more than a few days old. when i was a few months old, he used to do the same to watch my 'funny reactions' and had to be actively reprimanded by aunt and mother in order to get him to stop lest i die a very sudden death.

when i was a little kid, my father i guess got this idea in his head that i was a little innocent flower and that if anything touched me, that'd be it. i'd be sullied. i'd be dirtied. somehow 'impure'. mind you, my father wasn't a religious man. really, honestly, the opposite. i wasn't allowed to talk about religion or god, explore spirituality, really have 'faith'. this would earn me hostile looks, a loud scolding, or called stupid. this also might displace onto my mom, who received it much worse than me.

when i was 7, my father made the move to go somewhere out into the deep west virginia mountains where i would never be in danger. except by him. we moved to a place where the closest store was 45 minutes by car, getting home from school was 35 minutes-- not counting school bus routes, that was up to 2-3 hours-- and there was not a single neighbor that could see the house nor talk to us. we were alone. for good. for over 11 years of my life i was alone in a house with a man who grew actively more and more hostile to being in that house. as i aged, tried to be a teenager, explore my gender, sexuality, ect. it was all shut down. my computer-- my only lifeline-- was bugged with spyware that allowed him to look at my screen and take control of anything i was doing. a vivid memory of mine is when i used to write fanfiction of innocent teenager things. kissing, holding hands, professions of love, the usual-- nothing explicit. at some point i was caught and had my computer thrown and i was screamed it. i could only run to my room and cry, and hope i wasn't chased. this left me with no sense of privacy, as any computer or technology i ever got passed through him, and as he was a engineer for networking, most things were bugged by him first as much as i tried to remove them. my mom suffered similarly to i, both of us being called slurs and having things thrown at us for existing in his radius. we walked on eggshells. we had no room to breathe. if we weren't in his general space, we were yelled at for avoiding him. if we were actually there, we were yelled at for laughing or even breathing too loud. there was no right answer. my friends never wanted to visit because of him, or he would often get mad at their parents for being 'flakes' or 'untimely', leading for me to be berated about my choice of friend. i wasn't allowed to go out unless it was with 'other girls', and i didn't have many friends to begin with due to the many social problems i faced due to his neglect. i grew up in that house, with many other issues i can't even begin to list, but i grew up and left as soon as i could, and didn't really do much. mostly just coasted by after dropping out of college that he pressured me to be in, lest i end up homeless. my mom divorced him shortly after i left due to being threatened with a gun, and at that point i was pretty sure he was officially off the deep end. this is sort of my 'getting it off my chest' moment as i was never able to speak out about what i faced in any regard due to him consistently monitoring my online presence. for all i know, he could've known about this blog-- choosing to hold onto it for some sort of legal proceeding as he had done to my mother. he tracked her car, recorded her calls, did everything he could to fuck her over. his father did something similar to him back in the 90s, and i needed to avoid it at all costs.

he never got the chance now. i never felt like i had a father, more like an angry dragon that guarded a tower with someone who didn't wanna be there. some sort of 'king' that transformed into a dragon, i suppose. but, i remember relating a lot to the imagery of people trapped in towers by beasts. i wanted to make a comic about it at one point. 11 years of solidarity does a lot to a motherfucker.

to this hour, i haven't shed a tear. i cheered and celebrated, put on my mask as i'm talking to the funeral home people, family, his friends, whatever it is. i've just been blaise and calm. i have to go back to my 'tower' this weekend and see it for the first time in years, now with the memory of my father dead seeped in those walls.

it's been a relief i didn't know i needed, but that house haunts me with the horrors that went on in it. i guess this is sort of my testimony to his life. i refuse to have a funeral. i refuse to have a memorial. he's being cremated and disposed of as soon as i can. i can already tell what little remains of his side of the family has an issue with it, but i don't care. they didn't live the life me and my mom had, and they never will now. for what it's worth, somehow, even though i was forged in fires that i don't think any man should go through-- it made me a more hardened and aware person. you get time to think when you're alone for 11 years. a lot of time to see emotions, patterns, understand, and just pick things apart. he never knew me, elf, he knew my dead name. and i'm thankful for that. i came out a good man all things considered, i have my flaws and issues, but who doesn't. but at least i never was like him. here's to getting out of the tower.

[rhondafromhr]

Another ‘Grace in the church of the starry children’ AU snippet!!

Part 1

Summary: In one timeline, Grace and her family are still highly devoted to their religion, but they worship entirely different Gods (or, rather, Lords) and have to be a little more hush-hush about it. Her old family friend, Uncle Wiley, brings her two special gifts for her eighteenth birthday: a cool, authentic vintage denim jacket from the eighties and her very own copy of the black book. She promises to use it sparingly until she’s older and she’s had more practice, but when Brenda, the pretty cheerleader at school with an obvious crush on her, confides in her that she’d do anything to get back her sister who disappeared, Grace decides to make an exception for her.

Brenda spends the rest of the lunch period totally not staring at Grace and wondering if she’s drawing strange, occult symbols or writing deep, sad poetry that shows a hidden sensitive side. At one point, Grace looks up and they lock eyes for a moment. Shit, busted! Brenda smiles and waves at her and Grace looks a little taken aback for a second before she reciprocates the smile in a way that’s so awkward it’s sort of charming and waves back, then once again buries her face in her notebook. She’s so high off her two victories today - talking to Grace and getting her to crack a smile - that she can barely hear the story Kyle’s telling.

“…and then my dad made me work, like, every day after school and all through summer to pay for the damage to that Ski-doo,” he says. Brenda blinks, realizing how hard she’s been spacing out.

“Oh, that’s, uh, great,” she says absently.

“Ha, yeah it was!” Max says “see, Brenda gets it.” Kyle glares at him, but can’t say anything back. He sulks quietly until the bell rings again and they all go their separate ways, occasionally shooting a longing glance Brenda’s way that goes unnoticed.

Grace spends her afternoon classes with her head in the clouds. She’s too preoccupied thinking about Uncle Wiley possibly coming by tonight and replaying those interactions with Brenda in her head to pay much attention. She’s never particularly cared about her grades and her parents never push the issue, so long as she isn’t flunking any classes (they’re always saying that they won’t matter in the long run and there are more important things at stake), but considering that almost nobody will talk to her unless forced, she often doesn’t have much to do other than her schoolwork. This has netted her a solid B average and generally, she doesn’t find it too difficult to maintain. She can perform pretty well on a test with minimal studying. Really, memorizing that information isn’t much different than memorizing spells and rituals. Occasionally, a teacher will chide her for spacing out or “forgetting” (not bothering with) her homework, but they leave her alone for the most part. Even the staff here are a little frightened of her.

At long last, she arrives at home and she’s ecstatic when she enters the living room and sees Uncle Wiley seated there with her parents, mugs of steaming hot tea in hand.

“Uncle Wiley!” she shouts, practically running over to him and throwing her arms around him.

“Well, hello there, Gracie,” he says with a grin that some judgmental people might characterize as sinister. Grace knows better, though. That’s just how he smiles. “Today’s the big day, huh? You’re all grown up.”

“That’s right,” she says proudly. She frowns when she pulls back and notices the cuts dotting his face, most notably a nasty gash right above his lips. She looks at his hands and sees that his finger’s been placed in a splint and on his forearm is the beginnings of what’s sure to become a really bad bruise.

“You’re hurt,” she says “you disinfected those cuts, right? You don’t want them to fester and turn into sepsis and slowly, painfully kill you! You should really cover them to keep them clean.”

He chuckles. “All good, Gracie. That meeting today was really more of a …sparring session, let’s say. You think I look bad, you should see the other guy!”

He and her parents all laugh at that, as if they’re sharing some sort of inside joke.

“But enough about me,” he continues “today’s all about the birthday girl, right? I have some gifts for you…souvenirs from today.”

Grace lights up. “Really?”

He hands her two bright green gift bags, each adorned with a curly, flowing ribbon of the same color that almost looks like tentacles. He instructs her to open the larger one first, because the smaller one is really special.

She does as he asks, reaching into the big bag and pulling out an oversized denim jacket. She runs her hands over it, marveling at the solid construction and how it doesn’t feel rough or scratchy at all. She’s very picky about her denim and this is practically custom made for her.

“Almost kept it for myself, but I thought you’d wear it better,” he says.

“Wow, thank you, Uncle Wiley,” she says, eagerly slipping on the jacket. She’s going to decorate it with so many pins and patches.

“Alright, now the second one,” he says “took some convincing for your folks to let me give you this one, but it’s like I always say, you have the potential to do great things. You need the right tools to harness it.”

She removes the tissue paper from the bag and reaches in, her eyes going wide when she feels the leather beneath her fingers. It seems to be some type of book. Can it be? There’s no way. When she slowly lifts the object out and sees the black cover and the familiar symbol, her wildest hopes and dreams are confirmed.

“Oh, wow,” she says in awe, drawing out the word “for real? My very own copy? Are you sure?”

“Well, you’re a young woman now. I’d say it’s about time. Besides, the original owner don’t have much of a use for it.” He and her parents laugh again.

“Thank you, Uncle Wiley,” she squeals, throwing her arms around him once more, a bit more gingerly than last time to avoid aggravating his injuries “thank you, thank you, thank you! This is the best birthday ever!”

“Just make sure to use it responsibly, dear,” Karen says “it’s a powerful thing.”

“Oh, mother, you worry too much,” says Mark “we weren’t much older when we did our first summonings and rituals. You remember those days?”

“Oh, we hardly did anything earth-shattering,” Karen says, swatting at him playfully.

“We sure tried,” Uncle Wiley adds.

Karen smiles. “Oh, the good old days,” she says “where does the time go? Anyways, all I’m saying is she should be careful and use it sparingly, just until she’s a little older and she’s had more practice.”

“Yes, yes, you’re right, my dear,” Mark concedes “promise to use it responsibly and not rely on it too much, at least until you’re more experienced with it, alright, Gracie?”

“I promise,” Grace says.

They sit down to dinner. Grace’s mother made her world famous lasagna, Grace’s all-time favorite. At Grace’s insistence, Uncle Wiley and her parents regale her with tales from the wild days of their youth. It’s so strange to hear about, almost like they’re talking about entirely different people, because her parents seem like such normal, boring adults now. It seems like they had so much fun in those days. They were an inseparable trio, them against the world. It sounds kind of nice, honestly. It’s not that Grace minds being alone. She likes quiet. She likes having alone time to think. Still, sometimes she thinks it would be nice to have somebody to share it with like they did. She wonders if she’ll find that someday. She thinks back to her conversation with Brenda today. She’s not sure why it popped into her head.

Eventually, Uncle Wiley has to head out. Grace hugs him goodbye, thanks him again for the gifts and emphatically reminds him to look after his cuts. She stays up way later than she should, curled up in bed with a flashlight, poring over each page, reading each spell over and over and over again and trying to absorb every bit of information she can. Eventually, exhaustion overtakes her, her eyelids grow too heavy to hold open and she falls asleep curled up with the book, the flashlight still shining. At some point, she stirs awake for a moment and feels somebody draping a blanket over her and carefully removing the flashlight from her hands. She blinks and murmurs before rolling over and going back to sleep, still clutching the book.

[secretagentfan]

Some attempted, painful, words of hope:

I've been thinking a lot about how I felt when reading Parable of the Sower. Octavia Butler wrote this book in 1993, and it takes place in 2024.

Before Parable of the Sower, I prided myself on finishing "good books" and putting down "bad books". Sower was the exception. It is one of the best books I've ever read, and I never finished it. I'm going to talk about it anyway. I think I need to.

I read a good chunk of it on a plane ride, where there was no escape. I was looking for books that look at religion in a nuanced way and I knew empathy was a main theme, which, fuck yeah.

I was not prepared.

Parable has your standard pre-apocalypse set-up. It's a small town in a horrible world (ours) surrounded by a wall. There are signs that the wall is going to come down, and the young protagonist picks up on these signs.

Early on she tells her friend about it, tells her that they need to prepare to learn to survive. Her friend cries to her parents, and her friend's parents then proceed to get mad at the protagonist's parents for teaching their daughter to fearmonger.

The scene that occurs after this, between main character and her pastor father, punched me in the chest. He basically tells her she's right about the wall falling-- he tells her that the adults in the town all know, and are doing their best to prepare for it. Most young people, he argues, can't handle carrying the knowledge the wall is going to fall. He says that when they discover it for the first time, all they want to do is point at the void-- just point at the big scary thing that needs correcting. But, he insists, that just breeds extremism.

Instead, he advises her to point NEXT to the void. Start learning survival stuff on her own, work it into her life and the lives of others in sneaky subtle ways. Ways that won't scare people-- but ways that they'll have when they need it.

It doesn't sit well with her, but she loves her father, and she tries.

The wall falls anyway.

When it does, it's awful. Like, whatever horrible thing you can imagine happening to people (especially women) happens and happens so much.

When my plane ride was over. I set the book down and googled. Childishly, I wanted to make sure there was a 'happy ending' before continuing. I learned there was, more or less, and that there was a sequel book too. Parable of the Talents, in which a political leader embarks on a crusade to cleanse America of non-Christian faiths. His slogan? "Make America Great Again".

Nope. No way. I thought. Too close. Oh God, how did Octavia Butler manage to get his slogan back in 1993!?

On top of that, I also learned that Parable of the Sower, and Parable of the Talents were intended to be part of trilogy, but Octavia Butler passed away before writing the third book.

So, knowing this I picked the book up again, read until I reached a spot I determined was hopeful enough and I set it down.

I wasn't ready to start a book that ended up in Trump times, and didn't have a known ending.

I told myself I wasn't quitting, just taking a mental break. I promised to come back to Parable of the Sower and Parable of the Talents when I was in a better mental place and more ready to handle the themes.

(Lol. Lmao even. )

Well guys, here we are. Trump 2024. Guess who's not in a better mental place, and guess who can't stop thinking about Parable of the Sower.

Crazy thing is, I've been thinking of it in a completely different way than I did back then. I'm honestly really grateful I read what I did, when I did. Octavia Butler was a brave and incredible woman and writer. Braver than me, for being able to sit on those complex horrific feelings and parse them down into something swallowable.

I love that scene between the protagonist and her father. I've tossed it around in my head a lot, I think about "pointing at the void" and the debate of whether that's something we should do, or not do.

I think that's something a lot of people can relate to now. It's tempting to talk about how bad things are-- but does that unite us? However, does pointing NEXT to the void really actually solve the problem?

The wall still falls, regardless. Change is coming.

I'm not looking to point at the void or point next to the void right now. Right now, I just want to be exactly where I'm at, and I'm amazed to find that what I read of Parable of the Sower gives me hope now too.

Another core theme of the book is the agony and strength that comes with being an empathetic person in destructive times.

The protagonist ends up making her own religion, Earthseed. She argues that God is Change, and we shape God. God is not kind. Change is not kind. It's partially out of our reach, but we do shape it and it is our responsibility to shape it for the better.

We decide how we act on a microlevel with each other and that means everything.

We are not living the worst of Parable of the Sower right now. The world hasn't entirely turned toward violence, yet. This is a terrifying, terrifying time, and I don't know what's going to happen.

We are not powerless though. We shape God, we shape Change, even as it shapes us.

Parable of the Sower is a book about surviving. It's a book about sitting in the discomfort and agony of being an empathetic person and continuing to fight to be kind, even when things are at their absolute worst.

We can't give into nihilism, but we can't just look away from the void either. The wall is falling. The wall has fallen. Things are bad right now, and we all just need to sit in it, and offer a hand to each other at every chance we get.

If there's one thing survival stories have taught me it's no matter how bad things get-- people can never truly get ground to dust.

The human will is an incredible thing, and when everything goes horribly, I think that's when the most basic interaction of "you are a human being and I see you, and I believe your worth" becomes the most important hope in the world to maintain. Even in the darkest most horrible corners of human history-- there is hope as long as there is kindness between people.

We need to learn to sit in discomfort, stare at the hurt and the violence and the hope and not put it down, even when we want to.

There is no third book in this series-- but we decide what it looks like.

-

“That’s all anybody can do right now. Live. Hold out. Survive. I don’t know whether good times are coming back again. But I know that won’t matter if we don’t survive these times.”

"All that you touch You Change. All that you Change Changes you. The only lasting truth Is Change.”

“The world is full of painful stories. Sometimes it seems as though there aren't any other kind and yet I found myself thinking how beautiful that glint of water was through the trees.”

[nerves-nebula]

I’ve never really recognized it as “religious trauma”, but I’m nodding along to ur list. It’s just kinda stuff that happened. Except for the few things that grown me was kinda at like ‘that seems a little bad actually-‘

I remember being 7 and first thinking what if God isn’t real as I was trying to sleep. So it’s like midnight and I’ve just had this world breaking thought that immediately had me spiraling down two trains of thought: Im going to hell for thinking that, and, what if he isn’t what the fuck. So of course I’m freaked out and I’m pretty sure child me needed a fucking hug or some assurance or something, so I went to my parents room, which woke up my mom. At which point I realize, I can’t tell them my actual problem because it was a thought I was ashamed of having, and I didn’t want to run the risk of getting in trouble for some nebulous comfort that was frankly unfathomable cus my parents suck. So I just said felt sick, and took “sorry” my mam gave me as comfort enough (which in hindsight is not a great response to that), and just had to go back to bed with all that. That shit stuck with me. I remember at Sunday school, maybe months or a year later, when one of the teachers said doubt was put in our minds by the devil, I was so fucking relieved.

And there’s the fact that I didn’t know other religions were a thing. I didn’t know there were other blends of Christianity. I lived in a small town and I just had never been touched by that concept until I moved at 11, and one of our religious education modules was on Judaism. Everyone else was just learning customs and calendar stuff, and I was having a whole epiphany. I was so confused until halfway into the lesson, and I realized they were talking about not being catholic. I literally searched the library for a book that would explain this arcane concept. And it was just such a mind blowing experience. I was couldn’t comprehend why no one had ever mentioned other religions if there were so many. And how did it make any sense that there were so many. The differences aren’t subtle. Point is, it was a whole thing.

If I hadn’t moved I would have been made to do my confirmation that school year. And that’s not okay! The whole point of that sacrament is that you’re choosing Christianity, like your old enough and conscious enough to make that choice. Adult in the eyes of the church and all that. Baptism but leveled up. But they make children do it. Unrelated, but when I first learnt about it I was 8, and there was a girl in my class that never had to religion with us. Which was the weirdest thing to me at the time, because sure there were people that didn’t have to do Irish or English, because they had different first languages. But religion? I always found that so weird. But she literally just. Wasn’t catholic. And I just couldn’t conceptualize that. It didn’t occur to me that could be an option.

Jesus, raising kids with a religion is brainwashing of the highest order and no one can change my mind on that. Sorry for rambling at u, that post just made me think.

If I hadn’t moved I would have been made to do my confirmation that school year. And that’s not okay! The whole point of that sacrament is that you’re choosing Christianity, like your old enough and conscious enough to make that choice. Adult in the eyes of the church and all that.

my girlfriend said this exact same thing when i was forced to be confirmed. said it didnt count but tbh that feels like a cop out. like its something ive been forced to do, like a spiritual violation or something, it still happened. but, eh, whatever

Jesus, raising kids with a religion is brainwashing of the highest order and no one can change my mind on that.

not sure i agree with you here, but i can agree that a lot of the ways kids are raised within Christianity is cult-ish and brainwash-y and bad.

[satanicallypanicky]

my kid, 10, has been raised thus far without religion. as best as we can, at least, living in Utah and her having two sets of solidly LDS step-grandparents (both parents have remarried to ex-mo's). she knows *of* religion, of course, but not a lot of specifics.

while we were riding the train home on Friday night, she mentioned something about not understanding why Christians put crosses on everything. I asked her if she'd really like to know, because it's kind of a grisly story. She, being ten and super into fantasy violence right now, said YES without hesitation.

so I told her about ancient execution methods in Roman-occupied Palestine and about Constantine's "conquer under this sign" dream and about Christian Rome's attempts to de-paganify everyone they came into contact with thereafter. this of course involved some reference to a certain gentleman from Nazareth that was crucified. we talked a little bit about what Jesus taught about, the arguments about if he was real or not, and even mentioned some miracles he was said to have performed and how that might have made people feel who were nearby at the time.

again though, I'm an ex-Christian and my daughter is not and has never been religious. this was instructional conversation about Christianity from an outsider to an outsider. not induction into Christianity, just "this is the beliefs of this culture that surrounds us and we cannot escape from, it is good to know some of it so you will recognize it when you see it".

while we were bringing the conversation around again to my daughters first question (crosses, the execution of Jesus, why to Christians put it on everything) we pulled into a station. A child who had been sitting somewhat nearby walked past us to the door and turned to say "GOD BLESS YOU" extremely loudly, followed by his mother, who also stopped, touched my shoulder, and said "thank you for teaching her! keep the faith alive!"

my daughter and I turned back to each other with identical looks of confusion then laughed - these people had clearly just heard me talking about Jesus and had missed the entire actual content of the conversation. also we are both VERY VISIBLY queer and I was wearing an inverted pentagram necklace (outside my shirt, for once).

it was extraordinarily strange.

this story doesn't have a point, except I suppose that if you're going to eavesdrop, at least do a good job.

[jes12321]

Scooby Doo Redesign

Because I cannot stop thinking about it.

[art credits at bottom]

Fred Jones

💙 Frederick Steven Jones

💙 19 years old

💙 he/him

💙 Currently identifies as bisexual, but he’s still figuring it out.

💙 Autism

💙 Caucasian (like, the whitest boy to ever white)

💙 Adopted by a middle class family as a baby. Considers his birth parents the biggest mystery yet.

💙 Mom friend of The Gang. He has a satchel that’s really just a mom purse that he takes on all the mysteries. It has baby wipes in it.

💙 Is the one who got the whole Gang to really start hanging out. He dragged them along on their first mystery. Apparently almost dying is a big bonding experience.

💙 Owns the Mystery Machine. He bought it at a junk yard and fixed it up himself. It was a labor of love and he cares about it more than anything in the world (except maybe his friends)

💙 Hyperfixates on mystery and/or traps.

Shaggy Rogers

💚 Norville Dennis Rogers

💚 20 years old

💚 he/him or they/them

💚 Pansexual demiboy

💚 Anxiety, ADHD

💚 Black/African-American

💚 Born into a new-money, rich family. They were very supportive of Shaggy when he told them he didn’t want to take over the family business.

💚 He is usually either stress eating for has the munchies.

💚 Scooby Doo is his support animal. He doesn’t do the best job (considering) but it’s the thought that counts and Scoob would never leave Shaggy hanging.

💚 Got the name “Shaggy” In kindergarten because he refused to let the barber cut his hair all year.

💚 Has a prescription for medical marijuana. Uses it liberally.

Velma Dinkley

🧡 Velma Ruth Dinkley

🧡 18 years old (baby of The Gang)

🧡 she/her or they/them

🧡 Lesbian

🧡 Autism

🧡 Jewish-Mexican

🧡 Both of her parents are Jewish-Mexican as well. They own a small tourist shop in their town and live comfortably enough to be considered middle-class.

🧡 Has literally the worst vision ever. Lenses so thick she has to get a special coating on them so they aren’t so heavy.

🧡 Doesn’t necessarily believe in God or religion, but still practices because it was mostly how she bonded with her parents as a kid.

🧡 Skipped a grade in elementary school. She could have skipped another, but her parents didn’t want her to be with kids that much older than her.

🧡 Hyperfixates on different science fields and history. Comes in handy a lot during mysteries.

Daphne Blake

💜 Daphne Ann Chun Blake

💜 19 years old

💜 she/her

💜 Bisexual transgender

💜 ADHD

💜 Korean-Scottish

💜 Born into an old-money, rich family. Her parents have very high expectations of her and often compare her to her older sisters.

💜 Her mother is Scottish and her father is Korean. He took her last name when they married, but Daphne and all her sisters have the second middle name “Chun” because that was his family name. Somehow Daphne and all her sisters got their mom’s red hair.

💜 When she came out as trans to her parents, they were actually really supportive because they had always wanted all daughters.

💜 Jack of all trades. Her parents made her do everything they could think of to make her “well-rounded” which just ended with her having a lot of random skills.

💜 Has difficulty sticking to one thing for too long before getting bored of it. The mysteries keep her on her toes.

Other info

❤️ The Gang met in a history class they all had together. Shaggy was a senior and needed to retake the class to graduate. The rest of the gang were juniors.

❤️ They are all in a polyamorous relationship with each other. I might make a chart later. Who knows?

❤️ Scooby talks. There is no explanation. No one questions it.

❤️ They are a family. This is very important. They all care about each other.

Art Credits

Also show support on their website:

[tonydaddingham]

heh im happy to answer questions!! :D im actually not out to anyone online as muslim and so this is incredibly fun for me to talk about sgjkgh

metatron! now i have to be honest, i had never really heard of metatron till.. couple weeks ago when i watched s2! and it seems that this isn't an uncommon thing too, there's much more description of metatron in jewish literature than islamic, his name isn't mentioned in the quran at all iirc, but given the other similarities in religion i thought to look it up and found that! he exists! but i don't know what the whole.. beyond the veil thing entails, really. 😔 not even sure what this "veil" is. regarding metatron i have basically no knowledge at all. we're all learning here!

but! the free will discussion... oof. honestly this is a big topic. as it should be, but a lot of young muslim kids ask this question of.. if everything is predetermined, how can God judge us for our mistakes? we're told we have autonomy and choice to do what we want (which is what makes us human.) but Allah has also predetermined everything. uh. so [shrug] the analogy that stuck with me most was that if a child is given two options for food by their parent, the parent will know what they are going to pick, but they still have the choice. its flawed like all analogies but it is a good framework i think. there's also the thing about Allah knowing everything that will happen but not actively enforcing it? its definitely confusing. i hope i made any sense at all ;-; again happy to answer any questions if that has raised any but i can't.. promise i'll give good answers sjkfhgh [gestures at these paragraphs]

israfil! well, judgement and resurrection are very closely linked. iirc, israfil is the only being (along with god) to know when the day of judgement will happen. he'll blow the famous trumpet once to end all life on earth except himself, and blow it again to resurrect everyone that has ever lived. nods. the second coming doesn't trigger this, but it does signify the end of days.

i hope that answered everything? sorry this was so long 😭 in my defence . uh. i have no defence. my apologies. but thank you for asking all this!! its rare that ppl show interest in my little special interest <3 - 🌙

hello again 🌙 anon!!!✨ well in that case im very honoured you are sharing this with me, anonymously or not, thank you!! thank you for your follow-up ask too; hope you don't mind that i answer both on this post? keeps everything neat and tidy, especially if i need to refer back to it at any point!!!

i was going to put the rest of this ask under a cut but fuck it the below 2nd ask is SO IMPORTANT.

re: metatron, i did do a little bit of reading on their mention in the quran and it reads that uzair (who is possibly ezra?) is also the metatron...? not a question necessarily, just a mark of slight confusion that i need to look into further, haha!!!

free will: that's such a beautiful analogy... i guess it may not necessarily be a predetermination of only one path, but multiple different ones, and it's our choice which one we choose, even if god knows which one will be chosen. but that god doesn't tell us what will happen when we make that choice, because that would influence our decision, and as you said - either way doesn't enforce it. that i believe crosses over into some catholic thoughts on predestination, im not sure, but either way would strike the balance between god being omniscient, and her creations having free will - making the two compatible.

israfil: brilliant, thank you for clarifying, especially where the second coming might link to the day of judgement!!! follow-up q, i read a bit more about the day, and where (if ive read this right), each person had their book of deeds that supports whether they go to heaven or to hell. sort of related: where does the book of life fit into this in Islam? is each person's deeds reviewed, handed back to them in whichever appropriate hand, and they are then scratched from the BOL?

stars: that's... that's not brainrot talking, that's bloody ✨illumination!!!✨ wow!!! even if the star shower scene was before demons existed, the suggestion that the shower started after the angel who crowley was (AWCW) began to ask questions - something that firmly foreshadowed the fall - and given that aziraphale was the one to make him start questioning/then hurriedly cautioned him against asking them... the symbology of AWCW not necessarily protecting him from things that chase away demons, but protecting him from being implicated in whatever punishment was to come??? protecting him from the fall??? my GOD, im ASCENDING. oh my god oh my god oh my god

(wait --- going by the above from 🌙 anon, was i potentially somewhat right in this and this??? like obviously not exactly right, but that aziraphale was himself implicated in the fall, and AWCW protected him/defended him? FUCK)

[mousegard]

i still think one of my favorite background details from fe3h is how the church of seiros has their own equivalent of the ten commandments and there’s your normal “don’t have any other gods before me, don’t take my name in vain, respect your parents” stuff. and then when it gets to the “don’t lie, murder, or steal” type commandments the book of seiros literally just puts right in there in black and white “unless the church says it’s ok ;)” like it’s just right there in scripture. i mean in real life with real religions people picked up on that loophole pretty quickly but they had to rationalize it themselves as “yeah thou shalt not kill but i want i mean god wants these guys dead so he won’t mind if we break his commandments to make it happen” but it took a while for that to become like. institutionalized dogma. in the fictional world of fodlan and its fictional religion it’s just like, right there in the holy books in black and white from the very beginning that you can kill, lie to, and steal from whoever you like and as long as you’re “doing the will of the goddess” it’s okay. like if children in sunday school got their lesson on the ten commandments and the teacher was just like "yeah you can hurt or kill people if god wants you to, anyway time for communion." it’s one of those subtle worldbuilding things in fe3h that tell you there's something really wrong with this religion and with fodlan as a whole. like you know how christianity started out as a religion of the oppressed and then became the religion of the oppressor when the roman empire adopted it, except the church of seiros was from its inception joined to the adrestian empire at the hip so it’s like... christianity except without that first stage of its evolution where the foundation of unconditional love and succor for the oppressed was laid. there’s a lot of buddhist theology present throughout the story of three houses but the church of seiros is very blatantly catholicism absent jesus’ love and grace which is just... such a fascinating rabbit hole to delve into, even three years out from the game’s release, and so different from the more superficial treatments of christian symbolism and theology you tend to see in anime and video games. god i might never get tired of talking about fire emblem three houses

[onlineproblems]

ok not to be a mommy issues bitch but i was working on my story that i've been trying to write for like 3 years. and thinking about my mom. and wondering why i feel so much angrier at my mom than my dad, though they both wronged me. in different ways which arent really comparable but neither one more or less than the other.

my dad was distant and never praised me, always had criticism, higher standards for me to meet, and rarely told me he loved me, was the disciplinarian parent who wasn't involved in parenting unless it was to punish us. he's very different now that we're adults and i think he's realized that he won't have a relationship with his kids if he keeps acting that way, because he texts me often to tell me how much he appreciates and loves me. and although he knows i'm a godless atheist liberal, and he always tries to work god bullshit into the conversation, he basically still accepts me.

meanwhile my mom would always talk to me growing up -- about whatever, her frustrations with my dad, emotional stuff, our interests, religion, etc. we didn't get super deep because even when i was a christian i didn't share much with my family, but i was closer with my mom than my dad. i thought of her as more open-minded than my dad, but suddenly it was like a turn-around happened (or i just became more aware) and she was suddenly spouting low-key alt-right anti-vax, homophobic, end times bullshit and it kind of sucker-punched me to hear it from her. if i ever thought i could come out to her, i was quickly disillusioned. she said something like 'god would cause gay people to die sooner so that they wouldn't keep sinning' and i just had no response. she got her counseling license this year; she's a marriage and family therapist. fuck.

she's divorcing my dad which i think is a good thing; their marriage was not happy. he was basically incapable of expressing his emotions and he didn't mistreat her but he definitely didn't treat her right. he has decades of unprocessed trauma and he can't stop watching porn. i discovered it on the family computer when i was 10 years old. he tried to commit suicide five years ago. he locks up his computer and tells his whole church about it for 'accountability' and punishes himself but he can't stop. i don't know what the fuck went wrong with him. my mom won't tell me what happened to him but she's implied that he might have been molested or had something similar happen as a kid. i don't fucking know. how they've been married for 30 years i have no idea.

i have compassion for them both but i hate they way their bullshit has affected me and my brothers. my dad's inability to cope prevented him from taking care of us. my special needs brother went without the care he needed because my dad wouldn't leave his work in rural africa, because he was afraid of living in the us and feeling inadequate. he was an expert in his field there, but in america he was just another guy. i was depressed and suicidal and untreated and my mom probably was too but her ideology didn't allow her to disagree with her husband, so we stayed. and i hate her for that. for never challenging him, for just bending to his will when we all needed help. when my brother needed medical care that wasn't available where we lived.

i feel stunted, my emotional development so behind where i could be if i was allowed to interact with my peers during my formative years, because of my parents. our house had a yard with 8-foot walls around it and i never left there except to go to church. i had to cover my body for 'modesty.' i hated my body. i had an eating disorder. i was afraid of other people. i couldn't make friends. without going into detail, there were times i felt exposed to predatory men when i should have been protected by my parents.

and like....my dad should have taken responsibility, he should have woken the fuck up and cared for us instead of being in his own head all the time. i feel like i should be angrier at him and hate him more. why is my hatred more for my mom? is it because we were closer, so the betrayal feels deeper? is it because he's making a real effort now, actually putting work in to change the behaviors that harmed me, while my mom seems to have no awareness that she caused harm? i mean, she blames everything on my dad and doesn't really take any responsibility. i started cutting in college and she lamented to me last year that she ''really wanted to move back to be with me" but my dad didn't want to come and "she didn't know what cutting was". her excuse was she had never heard of cutting, and her husband said no.

she's had so many missed opportunities to care for and support me. i've been open with her about what i believe in, what i want to do, how i've changed, and her responses seem perfunctory, while my dad actually seems to take an interest in me even if he disagrees with most of my beliefs. i guess i feel like it's more important to me that he's actually trying now even if i don't think he'll ever really change. the effort is what matters to me. i don't think my mom is interested in trying -- it doesn't feel like she is. but i don't know. it just feel wrong to hate her so much more than him. it seems disproportionate.

i've spent time in therapy for most of these experiences so i'm not horribly affected by them anymore, and being an adult and having distance from my parents means it doesn't cause the agony it did when i was a teenager, but as they're divorcing this year it is bringing this sense of 'choosing sides' a bit closer. so a lot of memories are coming back up. in 2021 i spent like 4-5 months processing ptsd from my childhood and now i feel a little residual angst from it.

i'm a functional adult, and i'm pretty happy day-to-day. i know everyone has their own issues and traumas that inform their lives that we just don't see, nobody has it all together, and i try to keep that in mind and be merciful to myself when i feel like i should be...idk better at life. it's pointless to think about what-ifs and i don't, really, but i am pretty bitter and angry about how my parents could have spared me a lot of pain when i was young and had little control over the way my life went. i never want to have kids, for a lot of reasons, but i can't imagine giving birth to a child and not being intentional about the way you care for them, knowing that it's inevitable you'll fuck up, but wanting to be as informed as possible and giving them the best you possibly can because they're basically helpless. you can't be selfish when you're a parent. if you have a kid simply because that's what you're supposed to do, what the fuck are you doing? that's a person. i look at the children i know, or at my younger siblings, and i can't imagine not sacrificing my desires to care for them. abstractly, i don't like kids and i feel awkward around them, but jesus christ. your own child? especially if you chose to have that child? you're just going to sit back and let them suffer, because you don't want to be uncomfortable? don't have a kid if you can't handle it.

sometimes i wonder if i'll ever be normal enough to feel safe by myself, after my experiences with predators that my parents didn't protect me from. if i can leave my house alone and not feel a little bit of panic under the surface. i'm hopeful since i've made progress over the years, but it comes in waves -- grows and fades. i wonder if i'll stop automatically going on the defensive when certain subjects come up. if i'll stop having nightmares about being sent to hell and my mom telling me she was right all along. i wonder if i'll ever be able to feel normal about having a disagreement with someone i care about, without feeling like i'm sinning, like i need to be punished or i need to absolve myself because i'm so used to emotional abuse and neglect from my parents and church and 'god' that it informs my interactions with friends and especially my spouse. creeps in when i'm vulnerable and makes me act horrible when i want to be well-adjusted and healthy.

this be the verse, eh? they fuck you up. they really really do. and this really got away from me but god i just had such an outpouring of thoughts. it was cathartic. and i can't journal so it all goes to tumblr lmao.

[malcifer85]

So I have nobody to talk to about this in my life currently but I'm having, not exactly a crisis of faith but of belief I suppose. I grew up ostensibly as Christian, a rather laxidasical branch of luthernisim I believe. At the time I believed whole heartedly in the entire shebang. My father seemed to do it mostly to humor my mother I think. Sometime around second grade he dove into Eastern philosophy and religion which a fervor and pretty quickly abandoned the Christianity thing. This had a big effect on me.

My childhood was difficult, to say the least. I won't be trauma dumping right now, don't worry. Let's just say I didn't fit in at school or with other kids and my father had a nasty temper and my mother is a whole other can of worms. I was a deeply unhappy and troubled child. I was also extremely bright and imaginative, and in the tiny speck I grew up in this was NOT normal nor wanted by any except my parents. For all their faults they tried to do the best they could with the limited tools they had.

I remember one night I was once again crying myself to sleep. I was roughly 8 or so years old I believe. I was praying my little heart out, begging God to make things better. At the very least to simply take the pain away if even for a little while. He never really did...

Well after that it was over by degrees and by the time my father died my faith was toast. I should add that all through my childhood I was having strange experiences that most people would call paranormal. From constant nightmares and visions of all manner of nasty beasties in my room at night to ghosts and UFOs. Hell my earliest memory is a paranormal one! I'm in my daybed (think a cross between a crib and a toddler bed) and suddenly a pair of grotesque hands reach up around the sides, as if someone were under the bed as if to hug me, it was not a hug. I remember the hands squeezing my stomach and chest harder and harder until I couldn't breathe. Then my mother walked in and they were gone! I asked her about it years later and she remembers me having mysterious scratch marks on my torso at around that age.

The next event that stands out I was probably 6 or 7 and my mother was getting to head to work. At the time she had very erratic hours so it would have e been somewhere around 3 or 4 in the morning. She was in the bathroom showering, putting on makeup etc and I was lying in my bed trying to go back to sleep after she woke me up. Next thing I know there is a light shinning in my window. It was instant. There was no gradual brightening like headlights coming through a window. It was a small light gradually getting bigger like a flashlight (besides I was on the second floor) it filled my entire very large bedroom window completely. Of course I was terrified and began to scream for my mother. No more than 3 or 4 seconds could have gone by and she was there and the light was gone as if it never existed.

There were numerous UFO sightings, mostly with my father driving at night on the county roads in the boondocks. Perhaps some other time I'll talk about HIS close encounter on the very same roads.

He died when I was 11. It devastated me. Yes he was abusive, mentally and emotionally not physically thank God. But compared to his father he was a damn saint. He was also my mentor, my hero and my only friend for the majority of my childhood. This eventually led me to abandon western religion and delve into any and every alternative. Tarot, Psychics, Buddhism, Hindu, Daoisim,witchcraft and wicca as well as some darker paths. I'll only touch on a couple incidents for illustration purposes. A big one was the premonition of my father's death. I had a dream that my former dare officer had been at my door telling me someone died and I remember being so confused why she was there then crushed at the death but at the time I simply assumed it was another of my strange dreams. A week or two later my dare officer woke me up and stood in my doorway telling me my father was dead. There countless times a sudden powerful feeling saved me from trouble, or jail, or worse. There were speels and rituals that payed off spectacularly, and backfired just as spectacularly. I could go on and on the point is I was a true believer in this as well.

It all came to a head when I was about 16. I remember lying in my bed late at night. The street lights were streaming in my bedroom windows, one in each. Then I was overwhelmed with a feeling of foreboding and revulsion. Suddenly it was as if someone had pulled a blindfold over my eyes as my room went pitch black. Not the darkness of the city. Not the eigengrau of closed eyelids but a total and complete absence of light. Then as I peered uselessly into it I realized I COULD see something. It was as if hundreds, thousands, of these THINGS that were darker even than the darkness were crawling and writhing and sliding around each other everywhere I looked. Somehow I knew they were hungry and they were there for me. I was terrified. Reverting to the instincts inherent in every child in history I threw the covers over my head and cowered in terror. Then something in me snapped. I don't mean that as a metaphor I LITERALLY felt something in me crack or break and I screamed NO! Not in fear but in anger! I said enough was enough and to this day I have no idea precisely WHAT I did but the darkness, whatever it was, was blown away and out of my room in an instant.

Life went on and I grew older. I had completely stepped away from anything occult or paranormal. I threw myself into impericisim with a vengeance. I studied all the science I could on my own. I was a rationalist and proud of it. I chocked all my youthful adventures up to the drugs or mental illness or just about anything I could rationalize it away with.

But the more I learned and studied the fringes and bleeding edge of our scientific understanding the more I was questioned my dismissal of the paranormal. Then I began meditating. Then I tried LSD and mushrooms. A whole library of books have been written on THAT subject and they are well worth pursuing but not today.

Now here I am. I have no idea what comes next. I have always been, but never more so than now, in need of a mentor. A teacher a guide someone to show me the way. I've had to flounder and stumble through all this more or less alone for my entire life and frankly it's exhausting.

[mycomori]

the anti zionism = anti semitism laws just passed by the us house of reps is fuckin terrifying and i hate it so much and the worst part it is, aside from palestinian americans, if will overwhelmingly effect american jews protesting the use and equation of their religion to the war crimes of the zionist regime of israel. this law will put palestian americans and their allies protesting the genocide of their people at risk just as equally as the jews around the world protesting the zionist state of israel and their utter disgrace to the jewish faith. zionism is a disgrace; an utter spit in the face of the jewish faith, and yet they have the audacity to cry anti semitism when someone criticizes their over a half century of war crimes. when jewish people around the world from leaders to casual observers agree this is a fucking disgrace and it’s disgusting and anti semetic to equate the zionist state of israel w the jewish faith. that’s the kinda shit neo nazis want. they want to paint the jewish people as nothing it war criminals and use israel as a so called example. when really all israel is yet another demonstration of the united states control in other countries and purposefully keeping them unstable through consistent colonial expansion and us backed support of these so called governments. they’re scared of the internet, just like they’ve always been scared of knowledge. because knowledge is power and they rely on ignorance and desperation and keeping people in such poverty they don’t have the energy to focus on anything else. we’ve proven we can make a difference. that’s what scared so many people in the filling class about the pandemic. everyone was out of work so they actually had time to think as process and feel and act on their beliefs. it’s what they hate it’s what they do their god damn best to surprise and guess what thinking it at all is an affront to them. fuck them. i grew up in the catholic church. i know better than anyone how deeply the depravity runs. our country is brain washed so deeply we can’t even recognize it cause it’s been goin on for so many years. the world hates and laughs at us for fully understandable reason. we hate and laugh along too. except we’re stuck here. cause our parents or grandparents though the us was a place to prosper. a place they could escape their decades of poverty. but it didn’t turn out dod it? if i was my nonni id be a pissed ass ghost. all that work to give your kids a better life and it’s just more bullshit and suffering. fuck it am i right? if i could talk to nonno and nonni as teenagers now i would be lost forever speaking a them. i never even met nonno armando. but i wish i could. i’ve always wished i could. if i click ahve super power it would be to speak with the dead. nothing much else just sit down and converse w them and pass along messages between them and the living. i would hope someone would do that for me once im dead too. but its sad innit. we’re a sad sad sad family. we all suffered and continue to suffer so much. but the living of us push forward despite it all. hit it sucks. it fucking sucks. to mourn both the dead and the living. to mourn at all. it breaks my mind.

[anamericangirl]

Since you mostly get hate asks on Tumblr insulting your intelligence with nonsense, I thought I’d give you an actual question:

As a mother of children approaching college age, I am always curious how young people with very solid, principled belief systems managed to resist the siren song of lefty liberalism. That ideology is hard to resist when you are young, idealistic, and very naive (i.e. 99.9% of your asks!)…especially to the realities of human nature while approaching an age that is naturally characterized by hubristic rebellion. I have a very close relationship with my kids and have always talked with them about social issues (age appropriately, of course) - something my parents never did. I do see, however, a tendency now in my daughter to think first with her feelings before confronting realities and facts first, or really investigating an issue. It makes me nervous she will fall prey to what so many young women get sucked into when striking out on their own in college. I should add: we are an agnostic household (unfortunately). My son voluntarily asked for and we gladly provided a study bible he reads often, and he did a deep dive on world religions. My daughter, though being in honors and AP classes, isn’t really into pleasure reading and philosophical discussions the way my son is. Many of her friends though are raised in religious households. I am kindling the small flame a of never-before-held belief in God myself now in my 40’s - which I have spoken with my kids about - but we do not attend church. Neither of my kids are allowed to have social media, and I’m pretty careful about their screen time - phones are turned in to my room before bed every night, no exception.

All this to ask: do you (and anyone else reading this I guess!) have any tips from your own experience for what kept you anchored in reality and morality through an age that is noted for “less-than-fully-informed-rebellion-for-rebellion’s-sake”? Was there something your parents did, or did not do, that helped you stay grounded?

Thanks for the sincere question!

I don't have any children and I can't imagine how difficult it is these days to keep them grounded. My experience growing up was a bit different, of course, as I'm sure you would understand since this radical leftism ideology wasn't nearly as prevalent as it is now, although the groundwork for it was certainly there. And social media was a very new thing so it wasn't filled with propaganda. That's one thing that I think is having a very big influence shaping the minds of children today.

I think being homeschooled was something that helped me a lot since I wasn't exposed to leftist propaganda at a very young, impressionable age by a person who was trying to indoctrinate me. My parents were very aware of what I read, watched, and listened to. Even though I was allowed social media my time on it was limited and I didn't have a phone until I was in high school (but cell phones were still pretty new too). I couldn't even listen to music if my parents didn't see the lyrics first. And in some cases it may have been too strict but they were young and still figuring out parenthood and these things got much more relaxed as my siblings and I got older. And this is not to say that I was never exposed to other ideas, I absolutely was, but I was exposed to them through age appropriate filters. All through middle school and high school I took classes that taught me how to think, not what to think. One I specifically remember was focused on learning about several different political and historical views, but the class set a foundation on how we should approach ideas and a standard through which they should be analyzed. Learning how to research and how to think was probably the most helpful thing because as I got older and started exploring other ideas (and I did go through a phase where I was persuaded by some more leftist ideals) I knew not to just accept what I heard or what I read in my textbook, but to use the same research and judgment skills I'd been using all through my schooling.

And I'm rambling a little bit lol so I apologize but even with all that college is where they get you and it's hard to avoid. So many of the friends I had growing up who were conservative became flaming liberals once they went to college and still are to this day. Some of my siblings are more left leaning than right leaning and one of my siblings definitely thinks with feelings first. It's hard to avoid propaganda and not be sucked in to it when it's in your face all the time and it's the angle through which you are being taught. But it sounds to me like you are setting a very good foundation with your kids by talking about these things with them and letting them explore other ideas while you still have control of the situation. College was definitely not the first time I was exposed to the ideas I was presented with while getting my degree and if it had been I think it would have been more challenging to think critically about them. I just know whenever I heard a new idea whether it be in school or wherever, I knew to question it and research it from more than one angle before accepting it.

I know this might not be helpful and it's more a story of my experience rather than advice but like I mentioned I'm not a parent and it is so different today than it was when I was growing up because now these harmful ideologies are going after children while they're young and it can be really challenging to combat the messages the world is pushing in the faces of children. But to me it sounds like you are already setting a good foundation, creating standards and not just leaving your kids to come face to face with new ideas unprepared because in college they'll definitely have their beliefs challenged. And I really hope this was somewhat helpful as I know I rambled and went on a bit of a tangent and hopefully others can chime in with their experiences and what helped them!

But side note I'm excited about your new spark of belief in God! Please reach out if you have any questions! I'm not a theologian but I've been a Christian for a long time so I know some stuff :)

[the-annotated-antichrist]

Act II, Track 04 - Dagger of God

Song links: Spotify - YT Music - Apple - Tidal

While Seth meets his semi-divine and totally not suspicious future right hand, Johanna has her own spiritual experiences. She meets with her two confidantes, Agnes and Mare, in secret to show them a special, holy dagger that she has. It is the only weapon that can kill the Antichrist.

[Johanna:] Behold this dagger Dagger of God, wrapped in this cloth Purpose it has only but one [Agnes:] Unveil the prophecies and what this blade must do So much I've heard Tell me if it is true [Johanna:] Dagger of God has come to me The Antichrist - my nemesis Dagger of God - do touch the blade We all must be ready and brave [Agnes:] Nothing but this can kill, conquer the evil one Oh Lord tell me, what will of this become? Blessed be this dagger, this dagger of God

This is another mysterious reference to prophecies. I wonder about the background. Did God appear to Johanna just like Satan appeared to Seth? Did he physically give her the dagger? This is never explained. Remember when Johanna said Helena's marriage to Seth was predestined and when the people in Hail Caesar! made reference to a "foretold age of reason"? It seems people in BA are familiar with a lot of prophecies (Agnes states that she has already heard of Johanna's dagger) and Seth is not the only one with supernatural contacts.

Anyway, let's talk about Johanna's two sidekicks for a while... I hadn't realized until I wrote these texts how often Agnes and Mare appear. They probably have more "screentime" than all other characters except for Johanna, Helena and Seth.

Agnes' birth name is Agnessa Azarova. Led by an early interest in religion, she moved from Moscow to Rome, converted to Catholicism and changed her name to Agnes. She is played by Ulrika Skarby, who also sang the alto vocals on Lemuria, one of the most popular songs by this band.

Mare Aravena is the child of refugees from "disease-ridden Corsica". She was born on the boat that took her parents off the island and was named after the ocean. She then went to Rome as an adult and joined the Order. She is played by Lydia Kjellberg.

The background of these two characters never comes up in any of the songs, but it is mentioned in the inlay and I found it interesting that the people behind this work cared to give them a backstory at all. For reference - the Solovyov book does not contain any female characters, so all of them are invented by Therion. Johanna has a few commonalities with Solovyov's character "Elder John", but he only appears in one scene really and Johanna is very different from him. Her name is similar to his, but she is also based on Joan of Arc, who is called Johanna von Orleans in German.

Anyway. Helena overhears the entire above conversation in secret and, depending on how much she knows about Seth and Johanna's thoughts, may now be aware that her sister plans to kill her husband.

[1800duckhotline]

dont expect this to be a well-put together analysis/interpretation/etc because im extremely bad at putting my thoughts together but i HAVE to write this down before i completely forget.

sister amalie brainworms ahead. skip over if youre not a #pentimenthead (or dont idk up to you)

so while i dread talking to my parents abt religion theyre regrettably more knowledgeable about a lot of its aspects than i am (never did cathechism and never did communion as a child and idgaf about doing it now aged 23) but i asked them a bit about Why does sister amalie have Purple in her habit. Because purple is a color that REALLY stands out not only against her basic vestments which are white, but also because literally nobody except maybe priests during certain festivities/periods of the year for mass/ceremonies wears colors that vibrant as a like, religious uniform.

from basic history i'd gathered that purple is a regal color. this was completely unrelated from Why amalie has purple in her habit. (lol) But anyways from what i understood long story short is that purple in religion represents grief, penance and wait (for the coming of Christ iirc). This is like, the baseline for what purple represents in ALL usage of it in paraments.

We know Amalie is a mystic and an anchoress; specifically an ascetic who lives a mostly reclused lifestyle and has possibly been a regular nun before turning to this specific kind of lifestyle (which is surprisingly free of rules, anchorites aren't constricted by vows such as chastity for example, nor do they have obligations to the public or the church: their life is reserved exclusively to study and prayer) - I'm referring to times before she was at her old convent with Father thomas (according to the game, 10 years prior the story).

Mystics can either recount of their visions, reserve themselves to prayer or even become exorcists. We know pentiment isn't fully founded in like 200% realism but we know well Amalie is a mix of the first two; her 'visions' are even well explained by her probable chronic pains which, for the time, weren't treatable much if at all - pain that strong (arthritis and scoliosis are no joke) is assured to give you Visions and this is still very true to this day. It does seem however that she decides to give in to this pain, as part of her asceticism, as part of her prayer and devotion. More or less it is a deliberate choice, and being the times they were a lot of these folk had a belief that the pain was a trial given to them by God for them to endure so to speak. It wouldn't be silly to claim Amalie falls under this specific type of asceticism.

If you remember what I mentioned about purple representing penance, among other things, pentiment (ha) for one's sin and past faults, it correlates also perfectly with the concept of Contrition which is central to christianity in particular and later is more or less heavier or lighter depending on the different doctrine. Contrition is essentially 'to feel crushed by guilt for a previous sin committed'. Amalie's habit is more and more decorated by purple as years go by; I can't say if this is a deliberate choice on the devs' part, though I think it'd be cool if it was both a like, literal and 'symbolic' choice. Both because more purple in habit = more years spent in 'waiting', a milestone mark of sorts - and because more purple in habit = more years spent in guilt, consciously or not, for the part she played in the terrible murders that took place in tassing (Lorenz deserved it though, fuck that guy).

Idk it was puzzling me for a WHILE because purple is SUCH a strong color to use for a design. And this makes so so sooo much sense to me. If you're still reading this I'm sorry i'm so mentally unwell about this woman

also talking to a friend apparently it was part of the anchorite rule, specifically for anchoresses, to shave their hair or otherwise keep it short (according to an old english book which, well, y'know, doesn't probably apply to all places universally, but we can nitpick information for fun here). so basically sister Amalie should be shaven. she is to ME. she is BALD AND BEAUTIFUL