#as a small evangelical child

[disast3rtransp0rt]

"Kids won't understand polyamory!"

According to the family lore, when I was around the age of 7, I asked my Dad if these three were dating:

His answer?

"I honestly can't tell, kiddo."

[ialpiriel]

laying on my back on the floor and thinking about Where The Gladiator Came From

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Aita for not taking down a jokey sign on my bathroom door when my parents came over?

Cw: talk of diarrhea. Not explicitly.

So I (21f)and 2 of my friends (20f,lets call her lilly and 23m, lets call him matt)moved into an apartment about 2 years ago and so far, everything has been good. We've been able to manage our bills, keep a clean home, I couldn't ask for better. We've known each other since middle school, there's ackward moments and small disagreements when Matt brings over his boyfriend (he almost always yells when he speaks and slams doors) but everything is generally all good.

Every apartment shared by more than one gen z is gonna have some quirks and ours is the "code brown" sign. Me and matt have IBS and occasionally have some mild to moderate.... Bowel problems and there's only one bathroom. Usually it's not a problem but there's been a few occasions where someone will be taking awhile scrolling tik Tok or whatever or taking a long shower and me or Matt have an issue.

Originally it was a group chat half joke warning that someone was having a "code brown" and no one could lolly gag in the restroom because one of us might be making trips. It became an inside joke and last year, lilly had a cheap small hanging sign made by some wood burner on Etsy that basically read on one side "All clear, private!" and on the other read "Code brown! Get going or get down!". It was hilarious and we hung it on the bathroom door and now use it unironically. All our friends enjoyed it, Matt's boyfriend loudly so but not so much my parents.

About a week ago, I finally allowed my parents to check out my place. They aren't super Christian like evangelicals but my dad has been going red pilled and more so by the day so I tried to make my apartment look less like it was shared by three liberals and wore something nice and cooked a nice dinner. I paid for lilly and matt to go catch a movie and some Wendy's on me so they'd be out of the house. All was good until my dad went to the bathroom and came back with the damn sign looking like his head was going to explode. He screamed at me that he thought I was an adult, that I was failing at getting my shit together (they don't pay for anything and i live on my own?) and I was a child for hanging up such a clearly inappropriate sign. My mom agreed, though much less Intensely and my dad proceeded to break the sign over his knee and chastise me for a good 20 minutes before grabbing his things, demanding an apology in a few days and leaving with my mom.

Once lilly and matt got home I apologized and offered to buy a new sign. Lilly and Matt were just happy nothing else was broken and I was ok. I did eventually apologize to my dad because I can see where a poop sign might be a little inappropriate for important company but tbh I forgot about it and I was so busy making dinner I didn't realize it was still up or I would of tossed it in my room and moved on. Lilly and Matt just say my dad has a stick up his ass and shouldn't of messed with the sign(it was flipped to the no code brown side so he had to flip it to see it).

Was i the asshole for not taking down a gag sign about poop when my parents came over?

What are these acronyms?

[societyoftheblindeye]

I feel like the way fidds and Stan are presented is so interesting like the masculinity they both give feels soooo very intentional and very modeled off of such specific ideals outside of their upbringings. They both come from areas that one would assume to be kind of hypermasculine in very specific ways like for instance a hog farm in rural Tennessee and very clean pressed neighborhood near the Jersey shore but they both kind of find themselves gravitating towards a more lax and artistic kind of vibe, specifically disco. And they still incorporate textures and patterns and staple pieces from the men of their upbringing into it while also branching out towards more flamboyant personas. Like, this is smth I wrote for a fiddlestan diddy a while back:

Stan was masculine in a way that Fiddleford wasn't used to. He was so used to masculinity being used as a shield. Something to hide behind; something rigid and and unchanging. A strict expectation that was the same from man to man, leaving little room for Fiddleford's silk shirts and flared jeans and shaggy hair. But Stanley's masculinity, in his tank top with his mullet and his curiosity, came off as more inviting. More fluid. It felt like a tide that kept flicking up around Fiddleford's ankles, and the looseness made his knees feel weak. Fiddleford licked his lips at the realization of how well they complimented each other.

Like they both have smth abt them that is so obviously “out of place” to a lot of potential random onlookers but is integral to how they feel abt themselves bc this is how they’re choosing to present themselves to the world ESPECIALLY Stan bc he lives so much of his life as a character rather than just as himself bc that’s the only way he feels he can survive bc being himself has hurt him so much in his life. But even when Fiddleford DOES achieve what the normal expectations for a man would be - a wife and a child and a home and a chance to own his own business - he still throws it all away for the chance to be close to ford. Who I think at this point is safe to call a canonically queer character. So there is smth in him that is very willing to forego all the traditional masculinity he’s managed to maintain for the chance to be close to someone who might understand why he feels TRAPPED by that traditional masculinity

“Oh but it was the 70’s, disco was popular, it was fine to dress like that” just… as someone who also grew up in Appalachia with family who were in their 20’s and 30’s in the 1970’s who still would have ridiculed or even threatened anyone who dressed like this… not always. Just because styles are popular in music or television doesn’t mean that they would be acceptable to someone’s upbringing or their peers, and I just know from growing up in the same kind of environment as Fiddleford that it would be likely and realistic that he rly was only able to dress like this BECAUSE of the distance he had put between himself and his family. And the reason I brought up disco specifically being a big source of inspiration for both of their fashion senses, in relation to them both having a kind of queer sense of masculinity, was bc disco was heavily influenced by ppl who were facing social persecution at the time (feminists and gay men and black ppl) and the genre was in itself a sense of community and social liberation. And even when it was at the height of its popularity disco was attacked and forced out of fashion by racist, misogynistic, and homophobic rock n roll fans in what ultimately became a riot led by a popular macho manliness preaching shock jock named Steve Dahl who started the “disco sucks” movement. So like… disco DID have its time in the spotlight, but it WAS still a source of sexual freedom in a time when that was very much not okay. There was a huge evangelical revival going on the 70’s that specifically attacked the small bit of sexual freedom that society experienced in the 60’s, and it was very much a time when ppl were saying that sexual freedom would turn ppl into actual murderers. So even tho disco was commercially successful, it still wasn’t ideal to be associated with it in a lot of places

But also i don’t think EITHER of them are Fem. I do think they’re both masc bc like… yeah. Like I said, even tho Fiddleford’s style is very disco heavy, he IS bringing in those textures and patterns and staples from his upbringing. And the way he was brought up, he would have most likely seen cowboys as the ideal masculine archetype. And while disco was a heated topic in the 70’s, the same silhouettes were still kind of floating around the country scene. Jeans were flared, just not full on bell bottoms. There were wide collared shirts, but not as deep a cut on the neck. And paisley was a pattern that kind of bridges the two groups. So he’s rly marrying the freedom from disco with the flair of 70’s country, which IS kind of a masculine approach to take when flirting with disco fashion. I also think a lot of ppl conflate body type with gender expression (waify, skinny = feminine/fat, broad = masculine) so they see a thinner guy who’s kind of faggy and go “oh he must be Fem” while disregarding EVERYTHING else abt him.

Like what was the point of us getting this picture if you’re just gonna ignore everything but ford’s stupid shorts?

No parents, no wife, no small town church culture. It’s rly him at his most free and his mustache isn’t even the push broom style of mustache that was commonly associated with cowboys in the early 1970’s. This style of mustache was more associated with bikers at the time, and American biker culture has its roots in the post-war gay community. It’s the same origin as the leather community (as in leather daddy) which is why they share so many stylistic staples. So like… that’s yet another display of affinity towards a more masculine style

I don’t know… I just think they’re both so fascinating & I think considering a character’s wardrobe and styling is rly important to understanding them better

[chungledown-bimothy]

god i want to pick brennan's brain about the details of sol and helio's followers with regards to each other so bad.

bobby dawn clearly accepts helio's followers as being part of the fold- buddy's a cleric of helio, and bobby has pushed for kristen to come back as helio's chosen one. (for the sake of brevity, i'm gonna be using helioic and solian- if we have canonical alternatives like helian or solic, i'm blanking on them)

how does one choose, then, which group to be in? because they are still distinct divinities. my first instinct was that it's a generational thing, since bobby's the only person of that generation we've met and everyone of later generations has been helioic, but then there are the biscottos on leviathan.

and since the sample size is so small, we can't draw any conclusions there.

was there any kerfuffle when buddy chose helio? or if whichever parent is bobby's child and they're helioc, when they did?

there is inherent acceptance of some amount of polytheism in both religions. and i know it's getting into the cognitive distortions required to have that evangelical belief system, but that's such a glaring one, it's gotta break a lot of shelves, right?

were the harvestmen just helioic, or were there solians there as well? (was dayne blayde helioc or solian, for example) if not, is there an official solian stance on them? or do they just pretend they never existed? (which seems impossible to reasonably do, but not seeing things they don't want to is their forte)

i get writing galicaea and especially cassandra off as prodigal daughters, but there IS a kinder world where they're accepted as part of the divine family as well. and it seems possible, with bucky's interest in kristen's cassandra shards.

but is reform, like tracker is doing with galicaea, even possible? "wait for the older generations to die" isn't exactly a viable religious reform plan, but with how both helioicism and solism are, let's call a spade a spade, cults, is there any other option? how would that look or work, when questions will get immediately and harshly shut down, like we saw with bucky, or outright excommunicated?

i have even more thoughts and questions but this is already extremely long. so i'm gonna leave it there, but it's all i'm thinking about this morning.

[thewizardsarcasm]

I feel like Ame is an evangelical homeschool child who has never had adult friends outside her homeschool co-op or small private school and has left home for college in another state who's encountering real-world social dynamics and people who live a different life and have a radically different frame of reference and existential worries. The metaphor also works if she's the child of well-off white liberal leftists who's gone to work in a poor conservative state.

EDIT: I need people to see these tags!

[spockiguess]

The Evangelical Counsels || Laszlo Kreizler x Fem!Reader || Chapter 1 - Introduction

Divider Credit: @cafekitsune / Chapter 2

Summary: After turning away another child from the orphanage her convent runs, the reader finds help in the one person considered irredeemable by the Church, Dr. Laszlo Kreizler.

Warnings: Descriptions of Abuse Regarding Minors, Mentions of Poverty, Homelessness, and Starvation Regarding Minors, Mentions of Violence Against Homeless People (including children), Period-Typical Depictions of Homelessness, Criticisms of Organized Religion, Romance Involving Nuns, Age Gap (~20s/~40s), Eventual Smut

Pairing: Fem!Nun!Reader x Laszlo Kreizler

A/N: Hello everybody! Sorry for disappearing for over a year, but as per usual, life gets in the way of very necessary fanfic-writing. Anyway, I hope to post more often, especially with this story, which I have already prepared this chapter and another chapter for. Warning: the tags stated in the warnings are an explanation for things that happen in the plot, they are not a "factor" in the romance between the reader and Kreizler.

New York City has always seemed to exist within a perpetual dichotomy of exuberant wealth that can flood the streets with ornate marble statues at a whim, whereas walking a few blocks in any direction might lead you to slums teeming with sickness and desperation. The rich that infest the country’s epicenter for culture and progress never notice this disturbing contrast, even when the hand of a small child reaches out, begging for help. This shameless apathy has always disturbed you, and that distinct, gnawing feeling of injustice only grows more unruly inside of the pits of your gut as you see the affluent dregs of society continue to live in purposeful ignorance.

Luckily, you're not completely powerless to the rich that practically rule the city. Being a devoted Sister at St. Vincent’s Orphanage has allowed you to help ease the struggle the children here suffer on a daily basis, albeit, it's not exactly to your standards. The convent you're aligned with is small, and St. Vincent’s Orphanage is even smaller. At this point, you've lost count of how many children you've had to cruelly turn away, the cramped space you serve already brimming at max capacity. Every time you have to look a child in the eyes and tell them that they can't get the help they truly deserve because of reasons out of your control, your resolve crumbles.

Almost always, a voice in the back of your mind tells you to wipe the child’s tears and take them home, give them the life they deserve–take them away from this overwhelming helplessness. But the vows you swore to years ago keep you as a bride of God, serving Him–and only Him–with the idea of rearing children on your own absolutely unacceptable. Your sole duty is to help these children survive until they ultimately find a suitable home.

And that's where you struggle to reconcile the issues of your faith. If you're to protect the children of this city at any cost and show them the unending kindness of the Lord, why are you having to carry a starved child on your hip while you march through the streets in search of the only place that can take them in–the one place your Sisters dare not go?

To ruminate on such a question, especially at this time, is a waste of precious energy. The young child you carry needs your attention, so you push aside your own deep-seated frustration and attempt to temporarily relieve them of their worries.

“The Kreizler Institute is an excellent place, Mona. Although they act in the absence of the Lord, their facility is magnificent, according to Mother Superior Ida,” you consoled, brushing locks of tangled hair from the child's face while deftly weaving past the crowds that surrounded you on all sides.

The child, whose name you found on the note she carried with her at St. Vincent’s doorstep, solemnly nodded against your shoulder, teardrops beginning to wet through the thick fabric of your veil. Once again, your resolve crumbled.

Having to bite your tongue due to the innate frustration of the situation, you hugged Mona tighter, believing that if she were close enough, you could imbue her with the strength and bravery to take on this unfamiliar place alone.

At the same time, you whispered to the girl in an attempt to empathize with her, “Oh, Mona. I know. I can't imagine how scared you are right now.”

That statement alone was too much for Mona, causing her to burst into blistering wails while her small hands balled into tight fists, grabbing at your garb as if she were bound to be taken from you at any moment. And that wasn't necessarily wrong. As of now, you were the only person she could fully trust, and in just one more block, you'd be disposing of her at another doorstep. All you could do was pray, and pray you did. Your hands shielded Mona, holding her close to your heart and soul while a litany of prayers flowed from your mouth like rushing rivers, perhaps drowning out the fears you both shared.

Mona only cried more, beginning to plead with you as your pace quickened, “Please don't leave me! Take me home with you! Please!”

It was all becoming far too much, and having ultimately arrived at the front steps of the Kreizler Institute, you fell to your knees and enveloped the girl’s body in yours. You didn't care how you might look to the cacophonous onslaught of strangers that filled the city’s sidewalks, the only thought in your mind was about Mona’s wellbeing. You barely knew this child, but your peers and superiors always chastised you for having too big a heart.

“I’m so sorry, my love, but you must be strong for me. They'll take good care of you here. You'll have whatever you could possibly need.” The sentiment was mostly to calm yourself as Mona’s arms just barely wrapped around your neck, but even then you could feel her hands clawing at the back of your veil, a desolate attempt to stave off the inevitable.

Your entire being ached; you had no idea how to soothe the girl, much less promise her safety. Just then did the idea enter your mind: you could lie to Mona. The situation showed no signs of getting better and you were at an absolute loss. Any other option you had would directly conflict with your faith, your future. Immediately, you fought off the preposterous notion of such a thing. Lying was a wicked sin, and most importantly, how could you betray a helpless child’s trust if this institute were to harm her in any way?

The only thing you could tell Mona was fickle in nature. It held no real promise and there was no way for you to tell if it would be true. Despite that, you were at your wits end. You couldn't let Mona back onto the streets of this city, not when she was so young–so frail.

You cautioned a deep breath and spoke as steadily as you could muster, “When more beds open at St. Vincent’s, I can come back for you. This doesn't have to be forever.”

There was no telling if and when more beds would free up, moreover, the rules regarding switching such care between temporary housing were complicated and strict. Mona could only be brought back to St. Vincent’s if serious evidence of wrongdoing were to be found at the Kreizler Institute, and to open such an investigation, especially if it were to be found pointless, would draw endless ridicule for not only the orphanage, but for your convent. In any case, your statement wasn't a complete falsehood. In the event of possible abuse, which you loathed to even consider, St. Vincent’s would seem much more appealing as an option for relocation. Much of the governing power in New York City still identified with any given denomination of the Christian faith. That being said, you prayed that Mona wouldn't have to experience such terror.

In spite of your worries, your reassurance seemed to calm Mona down, and her broken sobs ebbed into quiet sniffles. Carefully, the girl reared her head back just enough to look at you, her beautiful brown eyes shiny with tears.

“Do you mean it?” Mona asked, her voice raspy and barely a whisper. Dread sunk through your chest like a lead weight, but you forced a plaintive smile to further reassure the girl.

“As much as one can.” The words sounded bitter coming out of your mouth, and for good reason.

Mona’s head bowed before you brought her to your chest once more. Grimly, you swaddled the child and walked up the impressive steps of the Kreizler Institute for Wayward & Abandoned Children.

Once inside, your fears were somewhat quelled when faced with the sight of playing children racing around the elaborate halls of the Institute. A child’s laughter was one of the sure-fire ways to lighten your mood, and on such a day as this one, you needed the resolve to ensure Mona’s safety.

At first, your steps were careful and measured, the short heels of your boots clacking against the expensive marble flooring beneath you. In a couple more steps, you began to walk with a renewed confidence, especially once Mona’s head lifted from the safety of your veil to survey the interior. Eventually, you began to sport a slight smile when some of the children recognized you, ushering you over to their game of hopscotch, the bounds of the squares made up of colored string.

“Hey, it’s the nun from St. Vincent’s!” one of the children called. After that, the rest of the children recognized you as well and offered cheerful greetings, your presence a familiar sight from the dozens of soup kitchens New York City was home to.

“Nunny!” called one of the girls. She looked to be a year or two older than Mona, and after a pause, you finally placed where you’ve seen her before.

If your memory serves, the girl’s name is Alice, and she was just about the kindest person you had ever met. On multiple occasions when you had been volunteering your services at the kitchen closest to St. Vincent’s, she selflessly gave her food to people who had already been served, therefore barring them from officially receiving more that day. Alice had a particular knack for spotting those who needed it most, and was always eager to be of service. You recalled having to restrain yourself from encouraging Alice to join St. Vincent’s convent once she reached an appropriate age. You were firm on the choice that women had when it came to reciting the vows or not, and you wouldn’t use your position of authority to dictate otherwise.

A wide grin spread across your face as you began to rock Mona on your hip, earning a rewarding laugh from the girl, “Good morning, Alice. It’s a pleasure to see you again after all this time.”

Alice giggled, inching closer to you, “It’s nice to see you, too, Nunny.” Nunny was the lighthearted title the children you worked with decided on, explaining it was easier to remember than your true name.

Her mere presence made you feel better about the Institute–she wouldn’t be so giddy if the staff here weren’t fulfilling their duties.

“I was beginning to worry after not noticing your presence at the kitchen anymore,” you playfully remarked, chuckling at Alice’s nonchalant shrug.

“Sorry, Nunny. My friends told me about here and I sorta forgot to say anything,” Alice paused, quickly interjecting her own sentence, “but I would’ve sent you a letter if I knew your address!”

Barely able to contain your smile, you added, “Well, luckily St. Vincent’s will do. Do let me know if you’re allowed to send letters here so I can make sure to give you the proper address.”

Suddenly, you felt a menacing presence materialize behind you as Alice waved at the intrusion, “Hello, Mr. Kreizler!”

Turning to face the person Alice greeted, you were met with a stern-looking man dressed in exquisite textiles, no doubt imported from some far off land.

“It’s Dr. Kreizler, Alice. It’s best not to forget a person’s proper titles,” the man, presumably Dr. Kreizler, kindly instructed. Despite his intimidating appearance, he was gentle with the girl.

You were about to speak when Dr. Kreizler requested the children leave before returning to the daunting demeanor befitting a man of his stature, “I believe it’s well-known that servants of the Church aren’t allowed within these walls. Your kind has a habit of imposing nonsensical beliefs on the children.”

A feeling of hot shame washed over you, warmth tinging your cheeks, “I’ve been warned, Dr. Kreizler, but I’m not here to spread His word.”

Dr. Kreizler stiffened further, his mouth straightening into a thin line, “Then what is the purpose of your visit, Sister?”

Just as Dr. Kreizler cautioned, the Institute had a reputation for vehemently prohibiting the presence of any religious figures to prevent conflict amongst himself and the children. The wealthy alienist was unafraid of the feathers his atheism might ruffle, and he made sure to shield the children from what he called “propagandist doctrine.” Regardless of his blatant vitriol for religion, you hesitantly agreed with him on that particular stance. In your mind, religion was a choice for most people, nothing more. Even though you have devoted your life to His teachings, you hardly expected anyone else to do the same.

Slightly shaken, you pressed Mona closer to you, foolishly hiding her face from the man who might offer her asylum as you voiced your plea, “St. Vincent’s has been full for quite some time now, and I can’t turn away another child in need, Doctor. My superiors have spoken highly of your institute and I have no other options for her.” You motioned to the girl you still held, gently rubbing her back.

Dr. Kreizler softened at this, taking notice of the small girl you cradled. Prudently, he stepped closer, tilting his head to get a better look at Mona.

You continued, speaking more to Mona than to him, “I would personally care for her if I could. I don’t trust anywhere else in the city.”

Nodding, Dr. Kreizler spoke in a hushed tone, his focus entirely on Mona, “I understand,” the man paused before resuming, “it’s fortunate you see only the severity of the situation; I can’t recall a time when someone of your faith entered my facility with good intentions.”

Willing yourself to lighten the situation, if not for your sake, then Mona’s, you quipped, “A certain saying involving good intentions comes to mind, Doctor.”

The alienist smiled, the line narrow and somewhat forced, “Your humility is appreciated, Sister.”

“One can only have humility in a situation like this. I just hope that Mona will be able to stay here for the time being, at least until a bed at St. Vincent’s opens.” Your voice was light, hopefully soothing to the girl you aimed to protect.

At this, Dr. Kreizler attempted a joke himself, his accent making it decidedly sharper than yours, “Ah, I assume my institute still isn’t to your standards, then?”

“I don’t want to be here. I want to be with you,” Mona harshly stated, snuggling further under your veil. Dr. Kreizler stiffened, caught off guard by the confident proclamation.

You sighed somewhat, speaking to Mona first, “I know, my love, but Dr. Kreizler is a good man. He knows how to help,” then, turning to Kreizler, you whispered, “You can help her, Doctor?”

It was obvious to you that Dr. Kreizler had a weakness for children, if his facility dedicated to their health and safety wasn’t proof enough.

“I can help,” he said mostly to Mona before addressing you, “However, it seems the child has an attachment to you. It might prove helpful if you offered your assistance while I go over the necessary paperwork.” The last part was strained, almost as if he abhorred the idea of someone of the cloth helping him in any way.

After your tentative agreement, Kreizler swiftly led you to his office to begin Mona’s processing. Once inside, you took note of how the space was simultaneously tidy and luxurious, the walls and any available surface decorated with artifacts and hefty textbooks that featured gold lettering on the spines. The chairs you and Mona sat in were similarly fine, made with plush velvet and hand-carved mahogany that was the bulk of their appearance. Now that Mona had separated from your hip with much resistance, she allowed herself to be swept up in the opulence of the Institute. You couldn’t deny the finery of such a place, either. St. Vincent’s was noticeably barren, only housing the absolute necessities that fell in line with the ordinance of your faith and what orphanages require. It had been some time since you visited a place like this, and you weren’t sure whether to include Dr. Kreizler in the group of New York moguls that flaunted their wealth so readily, or if this was a sign that he took pride in the conditions the children here lived in.

The latter seemed to be the obvious choice given Dr. Kreizler’s treatment of the children so far, and his mission with the facility in general. The ostentatious socialites you encountered wouldn’t deign to entertain such a venture, especially if it involved the downtrodden youth of the city.

Dr. Kreizler’s voice startled you out of your stupor, “Did any adults accompany Ms. Walker when you found her outside of St. Vincent’s Orphanage?”

“No. Mona was alone,” you quickly supplied. Dr. Kreizler scribbled the information on a sheet of paper, the sound of his fountain pen filling the nearly silent room.

“Other than a last name, does Ms. Walker know any other identifying details about her parents?” Kreizler asked.

You faced Mona, watching her run the pad of her pointer finger against the raised engravings of the chair’s arm, “I’m afraid not, Doctor. The only information I have regarding her parents is vague. She says they were never around much, to begin with.” Dr. Kreizler gave a curt nod and returned to his form while you reached out and smoothed Mona’s hair.

After a brief moment, Kreizler returned his attention to you, “You’re sure that Ms. Walker hasn’t run away?”

Mona’s head snapped up and you clarified before any upset could be caused, “The only thing Mona had with her was a short note from her mother. It says that neither her mother, nor her father, can afford to take care of her anymore, hence her appearance at St. Vincent’s.”

“And this isn’t a note Ms. Walker crafted herself?” You knew the reasoning behind Dr. Kreizler’s questions, but couldn’t help but feel offense on Mona’s behalf at the coldness of his tone. You had to reassure yourself he was only ruling out any possibility of Mona’s parents returning and claiming her.

Drawing the note from a pocket hidden on the underside of your apron, you reached across the expanse separating you from the doctor, “I’ve saved it–just in case.”

Dr. Kreizler took the piece of dirtied paper from your hand before sitting back in his chair, carefully unfolding the note and analyzing the contents.

As he did this, you allowed yourself to express your thoughts on the matter, “The handwriting is too legible to be from a child this young, especially from one whose had no formal education so far,” suddenly feeling another wave of sorrow take control of your heart, you continued, “I’m not sure Mona can even write.”

Kreizler clicked his tongue before folding the note and placing it into a fresh file he had procured at the beginning of this meeting, “I would have to agree with you.”

Some time passed as you helped Dr. Kreizler finish the paperwork that would allow Mona to stay at the Institute, and before long, the young girl would drift off to sleep in the chair beside you. You figured this was the first time in a while that she had been able to fall asleep easily, and a spring of hope flourished within you at the thought of Mona having a warm bed from now on.

Finally, Dr. Kreizler realized Mona’s lack of response and watched her sleeping form contemplatively, carefully setting his pen down and rising from his seat. The action caused you to rise, too, stepping closer to Mona’s chair and gently patting the top of her head.

Allowing yourself to smile at the sight, you began to speak before matching Dr. Kreizler’s gaze, “Might I help bring Mona to a bed?”

Kreizler smiled, too, this time being more genuine and warm than before, no doubt a symptom of Mona’s peaceful slumber, “I think Ms. Walker would greatly appreciate that.”

With great care, you brought Mona into your arms once again and rested her head on your shoulder, happily listening to the sound of her snoring.

Looking back at Dr. Kreizler, you nodded once, smiling as you spoke, “Thank you for your help, Doctor. I hope you can forgive me for my sudden appearance today, I’ll make sure to keep a great distance between myself and here when possible.” Kreizler softly laughed at your humorous comment, closing the distance between you and him.

“I give you permission to access these premises if another situation like this occurs in the future,” Kreizler paused, his smile widening, “Do take note that that only applies to you.”

Suppressing a laugh, you shook your head in understanding, “Of course, Doctor. Although, I don’t think my Sisters would care to come here. Some admit to being afraid of your kind.” You mirrored the doctor’s earlier comment, teasing him slightly.

For a moment, Dr. Kreizler stared into your eyes, squinting as if he were searching for something within them, before questioning you with a mischievous tone, “My kind?”

An even brighter smile spread across your features, a playful twinge in your words, “Atheists.”

At last, the serious man in front of you laughed without restraint, and you felt a foreign heat rise in your chest, “I should’ve known. A being worse than the criminals that populate this city.”

Shrugging, you teased again, “Their apprehension is unfortunate. If they’d take the time to know someone like you, they’d realize how good natured you all can be, sans religious obligation.”

Dr. Kreizler hummed in agreement and took a longing glance at you before making his way to the entrance of the office, “The threat of eternal damnation has never been a driving factor in my operations, Sister. I believe more people are like that than some would care to admit.”

Thoughtfully, you considered his statement while walking to the door, softly rocking the girl in your arms, “It is a grievous assumption of the human condition, one I hope isn’t true.” Kreizler met your gaze as he absently opened the door, his dark eyes stoking the flames you felt stir within you.

Not sure how to continue, and thoroughly scared of the strange feelings that were beginning to take root in your being, you bowed your head and walked through the door, Dr. Kreizler not far behind.

The journey to one of the many dormitories that the Kreizler Institute housed was long, but not without interest. Children and staff alike were all around you, contributing to the comfortable nature of the space with their rambunctious chatter and lively games. While Mona comfortably rested against the surface of your coif, you surveyed the massive paintings that lined the intricate halls, all pieces of fine art that could easily belong in a museum. The pictures mainly depicted positive scenes, like meditative studies of lush landscapes, or vibrant portraits of greatly important figures.

Kreizler noticed your intrigue and began to comment on the decorations that marked your path, “It’s important that the children here are given just as much access to the arts as anyone else might have. Multiple studies have shown that exposure to art and music drastically improve the quality of life for people of all ages, especially those suffering from mental or physical ailments.”

You hummed, pleased by the new information, “Which is your specialty–the minds of children?”

“That would be correct, Sister. I dedicate my time to helping those who society deems unworthy of such kindness,” Dr. Kreizler informed, curtly waving to the swaths of youth who soared past with beaming grins and loud hellos.

“Then a noble man, you are, Dr. Kreizler. I don’t know many people–rich or poor–who would carry out the necessary work you do on a daily basis,” you bleakly commented. You were all too familiar with the spiteful indifference the country suffered from nowadays.

Kreizler turned to face you, not losing a step in the process, “Not even members of the faith?”

A gnarled guilt churned in your stomach; Dr. Kreizler wasn’t wrong. In fact, most people who proclaimed their allegiance to any branch of Christianity had not only become attached to the pervasive apathy that threatened to consume all, but were, in most instances, the reasons behind it. Many of the folk who attended church regularly looked down on the work you did, citing that it was unbecoming for a woman of your calling to share a space with the sinful and uncleanly. To them, the “beggars” of the city didn’t deserve charity, no matter how helpless.

“Unfortunately, no,” drawing a tentative breath, you explained, “A startling number of them are of the mindset that the impoverished somehow deserve the dismal circumstances they’re often forced under. No matter how hard I, or my Sisters, might try to teach them otherwise, they’d rather have some claim at superiority than help their fellow man.”

Dr. Kreizler questioned further, “And why do you think that is?”

Readjusting the girl on your side, memories of the mistreatment children like Mona face from such a lot consumed your thinking. Supposed Christians would go out of their way to abuse the young and homeless, either through stealing their clothes, food, or makeshift homes, or by pelting them with stones picked up off the streets. Seeing the reactions they could garner, it would only spur them to escalate, for no other reason than abject cruelty. Their only defense was that it was their duty as followers of Christ to punish those who didn’t seek to cleanse themselves of sin. It was a strong enough argument as not many people, Christian or otherwise, would find the bravery to speak out against these actions disguised as a shared religious responsibility.

Finally, you came to an answer, and it wasn’t one you were proud of, “Because it is easier to hide behind an all-powerful God than it is to do what is objectively right, even if the Lord urges His followers to sacrifice for others at all costs. They think that because they attend church and give donations to the congregation that they are guaranteed a spot in Heaven.” The anger was palpable in your voice, and your cheeks burned at the realization.

Quickly, you supplied an apology, “Forgive me, Doctor. I forget myself.”

“Don’t apologize, Sister. Your honesty is refreshing. I haven’t met a nun so critical of her own faith before,” Dr. Kreizler remarked.

Appalled, you defended yourself as the three of you rounded a corner, “I am simply critical of the people who claim to share my faith. I do not renounce His word.”

Kreizler led you to a door marked with a golden plaque that read: Girl’s Dormitory 1. The alienist ushered you and Mona through, a vexing grin on his face.

“You do not find yourself questioning His teachings, Sister?” Kreizler asked, his amusement plain.

Entering the dormitory, you found two rows of beds situated on opposite sides of the room with hefty chests at the foot of each one. Drawings made up most of the decorations in the room, besides the toys that had been left out on each girls�� bed. Beside each cot sat a nightstand with an oil lamp adorning the wooden surfaces, giving the room a warm glow. On the chests were small name cards, written by the owner of the bed. Quickly, you picked one without a name and walked ahead of the doctor, cheeks heating once again.

Dr. Kreizler pushed further, following you in stride, “Your silence is quite the answer.”

Deciding to avoid the question for now, you proposed another instead, “I presume this would be Mona’s?” The Good Doctor nodded and you sunk down to lay Mona on the comfortable mattress that engulfed the girl’s slight frame.

Heaving a hearty sigh, you knelt beside her, pushing hair from her delicate, auburn face. Quietly, you spoke to the alienist while keeping your focus on Mona, “May I say goodbye to her, Dr. Kreizler?”

Deciding to ignore your deflection of the previous subject, Dr. Kreizler responded, “That would be best.”

You whispered a faint thank-you before rousing Mona. The girl’s eyes struggled to open at first and there was no doubt this has been the longest stretch of sleep she’s been able to secure.

Mona took in her new surroundings as she reached for your hand, “Do I get to stay?”

Smiling, you affirmed her question, “Yes, my love,” you paused, remembering another critical piece of information that came during the walk to the dormitory, “Dr. Kreizler also gave you permission to come back to St. Vincent’s whenever there’s space.”

Mona’s face brimmed with unadulterated joy, “Really?”

Dr. Kreizler chimed in to quell any of Mona’s doubts, relaying that she would be able to request visits with you whenever she pleased.

“Well, what if I want to stay here and only visit with Nunny?” Mona had picked up the silly nickname during your brief exchange with Alice, who you hoped would look after her in your absence.

The alienist laughed, “That works just as fine, Ms. Walker.” Only then did you sneak a glance at Dr. Kreizler, just in this instance beginning to appreciate his handsome features now that you were able to see more of his good nature.

Kreizler noticed your staring, however the grin that surfaced while interacting with Mona hadn’t ceased, instead only growing in intensity. The tips of your ears began to grow balmy, forcing you to tear away from his knowing stare in order to rebalance yourself.

“Just make sure to give Dr. Kreizler ample time to prepare for my visits, Mona. You’ll have weekly meetings where this can be negotiated,” you instructed. Mona giggled, nodding earnestly before leaping up to wrap her hands around your neck again.

You leaned forward and rubbed soothing patterns into her back, grateful that her care was finally secured.

The embrace lasted sometime, causing Kreizler to point out Mona’s silence, “It seems Ms. Walker has fallen asleep again. We should allow her time to rest.”

Taking your cue, you rose and followed Dr. Kreizler as he left the dormitory, both of you stopping just in front of the now closed entryway.

Even after sharing a sweet moment, Kreizler didn’t allow you to escape his interrogating so easily, and scratched the scruff of his thick beard while pressing you for answers once again, “If I recall correctly, you hadn’t answered my last question.”

The space between you and Dr. Kreizler had become dangerously small, and in such close quarters, you could smell the heady scent of his expensive cologne. Your brain fogged, an overwhelming combination of feelings still unknown plaguing your body and mind.

“That is because I have never thought to question His teachings before, Doctor,” as you resumed the subject, words tumbled from your mouth without much control, creating quite the mess.

Your eyes widened when you heard the statement slip from you so easily, drawing a deep laughter from the man in front of you. If not caught up in the whirlwind of what you had just implied, you would have noticed how the honeyed sound made your heart squeeze deliciously.

Dr. Kreizler’s already overpowering confidence increased tenfold, and you could hear it in his voice as he remarked, “That’s right. One of the few things they don’t cover during your novitiate. It’s quite interesting.”

Too many emotions were beginning to flood your mind, and that was as much a danger as what Dr. Kreizler was proposing in the first place. You needed to leave immediately and right yourself before something inexcusable happened.

Bowing your head in submission, you eked out an apology that came out faster than what you were apologizing for, “Forgive me, Doctor, but I must leave. I am forever indebted to you.”

You left before Kreizler could answer, unwilling–or more accurately, unable–to handle whatever else could come out of that sly mouth of his.

[marsssbarrrr]

My Soulmates, My Burdens

Dabi x Reader x Shigaraki Poly Soulmate Mark AU (angst)

TW: child abuse (reader), idiots in love, alcoholism, drugs, slight religious trauma if you squint, terribly written angst with a touch of fluff toward the end, possessive behavior

not proofread, written in like an hour lol

reader is plus-size coded, but you can absolutely read it as mid-sized or skinny

reader's quirk not mentioned

lowercase on purpose

~

for as long as you could remember, your father had drilled it into your mind. soulmates were not something we sought out in this family. marriages were for the purpose of breeding the perfect offspring. he would hear nothing of love, nothing of the mark that appeared on the inside of your left wrist when you turned 13.

your father was a hero. a societal pillar in the small community you'd grown up in. his fans knew nothing of the words he preached, and your neighbors knew nothing of the ideals he beat into you. always a "clumsy child", no one questioned the marks that appeared on your arms and torso. no one questioned why you were so quiet, choosing instead to believe your father when he told them you just preferred to keep to yourself.

as a child you weren't allowed to have friends. not that you wanted them. your father deemed them unnecessary, and you never wished to drag anyone down with your home problems.

when you turned 13, and that mark first appeared, the beatings and weekly preachings turned almost daily. soulmates are not worth the trouble. they will only bring you down. find a man instead who will bring you the best children, strong quirks, money and glory.

strong quirks. money. glory. that was what your father evangelized. glorified. he didn't care if you became a hero, didn't care if you were happy or safe. as long as your children and spouse brought your family no shame.

you could imagine the anger in his eyes when you ran away the first time at 15. you'd dyed your hair again, and he'd left you with a busted lip and likely broken ribs for it. so you'd left. hopped on the first train to Tokyo and planned to never look back. until he found you. you'd been left with much worse than simply bloodied that night.

at 16 you'd began tagging. a black duffel bag stored under your bed held different spray paints and stencils picked up at the hardware store.

at 17 you began pick-pocketing, swiping necessities from gas stations and convenience stores. 17 was the first time you shed another's blood. the first you'd heard of Stain, his ideals and thoughts. he spoke to you, you thought. his words struck a chord deep inside and it never stopped its ringing.

so, when you left at 18 and people asked you, the daughter of a locally loved hero, if you believed in soulmates? the answer was always no. no, they were not worth the trouble. not worth the pain and trauma you'd endured all those years.

now, at 22, you'd made yourself scarce in public and known amongst the worst of the worst. with no name to call you, no alias to make yourself known and no friends to spread your words, the public knew you only as XXX. the mark you tagged in blood above the bodies of your victims. former heroes, usually. child abusers, rotten preachers, the true worst of society. the people monsters hidden in plain sight

---

the dinky motel had an awkward smell to it. stains on the walls and furniture, something akin to blood stuck in the sheets. you couldn't really complain though, this was the best your stolen money could buy you. next to nothing, really.

the motel was known in the underground as a place villains and vigilantes alike could rest and recover. the receptionist knew you by name, always having a rolm ready for you just in case. she was your favorite. quiet. didn't ask questions. occasionally she'd stop by after a particularly rough night, with her a small first-aid type kit and a glass bottle of some kind of unknown alcohol. she'd help stitch you up. drink the night away with you. you appreciated her, would likely shed more than some blood if anything happened to her.

it was nights like tonight, though, that pissed you off. some old man, Girian he called himself, had contacted you. the League of Villains was looking to recruit more members, and they'd been looking to scout you specifically. you'd seen their work, admired it even. but you had no need for comrades or friends. not at first, at least.

eventually you'd let him meet with you, let him convince you. you'd join, with no commitments to their people and no strings attached. you could leave when you wished, kill who you wanted with protection from their ranks. sounded too good to be true, really, but who were you to decline?

so here you sat, black duffel bag packed and black hoodie adorned. waiting on the car that would pick you up and shuttle you away forever. you'd already left a bottle of the expensive stuff for the receptionist at her desk, as well as a note thanking her for everything she'd done. no strings attatched.

Creepy Guy Girian Out front. (read 2:13am)

you huffed, tossing the bag over your shoulder and closing the door behind you.

this was it.

---

the car ride was awkward, to say the least. but this was the icing on the fucking cake.

a lizard man, guy with purple skin along his arms, chest face and neck, a girl no more than 16 with blonde buns and a knife, a man in a suit and top hat, and the leader. a man who desperately needed some vaseline and obviously spent a good amount of time in his room gaming. not that you could really talk though. Spinner, Dabi, Himiko Toga, Compress, and Shigaraki. you knew their names only from the news.

"so this is her, eh?" Dabi leaned forward from where he sat on the couch, resting his elbows on his knees. "doesn't look like much."

"well neither do you, but you don't see me commenting."

Toga giggled, "oooh, can we keep her? please Shiggy can we can we?"

Shigaraki looked you up and down. "That's up to her."

he stuck out his left hand and you clocked it almost immediately. a Soul Mark, matching your own perfectly. you fiddled with the sleeves of your black hoodie, making sure your left sleeve covered your mark before reaching out your right hand to meet his. "(Y/N). nice to meet you, Shigaraki."

"likewise."

Dabi stood, crossing the room and draping his left arm over your shoulders. you saw his mark as well. matching yours. one soulmate was bad enough, but two? this would be difficult to avoid, but maybe they'd be too wrapped up in each other to even notice you. if you were lucky.

god, if your father could see you now. a villain with two soulmates, both standing for everything he was against.

"so," he asked, walking you toward the bar, "drink of choice?"

the purple misty mass, Kurogiri, set down the glass he was cleaning to set up a Whiskey on the rocks for Dabi.

"anything that'll get me drunk," you responded.

Dabi smirked. "oh, i think we'll get along great."

---

three months had passed. three months of avoiding Dabi and Tomura. three months of helping Himiko with her hair, going on tedious missions with Compress, and playing drunken games of darts with Spinner. most of your time, though, was spent alone at the bar.

no matter who you were with of what they had you doing with them, as soon as Dabi or Tomura entered the room, you made some crafty excuse to leave the room and the situation. the others had noticed, and naturally so had Dabi and Tomura.

now, here you were at the bar. drinking away your sorrows and just trying to hit your watermelon ice nicotine, when the two you'd been trying so hard to avoid sat to your left and right. boxing you in.

god damnit.

"so," Dabi started to your left, "you've been avoiding us."

"what, you gotta problem with two guys being soulmates or something? because we have no problem throwing your ass right back to the street we dragged you off of." shigaraki snatched your whiskey from in front of you, taking a sip. his eyes bore into your own.

"i've had my fair share of chicks, thanks. just dont see any reason to form unnecessary bonds where i don't need to."

Dabi cocked an eyebrow. "unnecessary, eh?" he leaned forward, taking the drink from Tomura and gulping the rest of it down. "is it that it's unnecessary, or is it that you're just hiding something?"

shit, keep your game face on. this was not a fucking drill, this was not a fucking dream. this was real life, and you had to get the hell out of this situation.

"maybe she works for the Commission, what do you think T?"

"i don't know, i was thinking maybe she was here because her Daddy asked her to be."

oh hell. fucking. no. you didn't want to be in a conversation with these men, and you certainly didn't want to be in a conversatioon about your father with these men.

"just fuck off and leave me alone."

you moved to get up, but Dabi grabbed your left arm before you could. your sleeve rode up just a smidge, so dreadfully close to exposing what you'd been trying so hard to keep to yourself.

"tell us what your hiding first, Hon." Dabi's voice was deep. gravelly. drawing you in so undeniably quick. you needed to get away before this went downhill, fast.

"just leave me be," you tried to pull your arm away, only for it to be the worst move you could have made. the sleeve of your tight black shirt rode up, ever so slightly, but it was enough. Dabi had seen it.

"the fuck is this? a Soul Mark-?"

he yanked your arm back, showing Tomura. Dabi just looked, and Tomura's eyebrows knitted together.

"god, fuck off." you pulled your arm away, leaving the bar and heading down the alleyway before either man could even get a word in.

god damnit.

---

the club you found yourself at was loud. right now, you just needed to forget the conversation you'd found yourself in only an hour ago. maybe find a nice hunk of meat to take you home and make you forget, just for a little while.

your leather shorts hugged your curves perfectly, your body pudging out ever so slightly at the top. your black halter top accentuated your chest. there was no need to hide your mark, not right now.

and you found one. he ground his hips against you on the dance floor, hands on your hips and your arms around his neck. you'd drank yourself to near stupidity, the weed, nicotine and alcohol in your system all mixing together into a deadly concoction of desire and need. the desire to find someone new, and the need to forget. this man, as pale as they come and hair as dark as the sky outside, seemed to be the perfect person to help you tonight.

he laced your hand in his, leading you to the dingy bathroom down the hall. in your current state, you failed to notice the two sets of eyes boring into you, watching you disappear.

the man whose name you never bothered to learn helped lift you onto the sink, stepping between your legs and gripping your waist. you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer and kissing him deeper.

you kicked off your shoes, hearing his belt come undone. but that's as far as you'd get tonight.

the door closed and locked, but before you could look up to see who was here, the man before you faded to a pile of dust and ashes on the floor.

you looked up, meeting with pale-blue eyes. Dabi leaned against the now locked door, and Tomura in front of you.

you were fuming. not only had they intruded, unwelcomed, you added, but Tomura had dusted away your distraction for the night.

"what the fuck do you think gives you the goddamn right?" Tomura pushed your back against the mirror, Dabi coming up beside you, gripping your chin to force your gaze toward him.

"what, you thought you could just hide this from us for months and we'd just let it go?"

you had yet to say anything, too angry and shocked and, let's be honest high, to speak.

"you don't get to run away from this."

you scoffed at Dabi, pulling your face out of his grip and pushing Tomura away.

"you don't fucking control what i choose to do with my life. i'm sorry, but i don't believe in that soulmate bullshit. you two can fucking go at it for all i care, but leave me the hell out of it because i'm not interested."

you moved to get up, but shigaraki pushed you back again, right hand gripping around your throat (with the pinky up) and body leaning close. "you don't get to leave this fucking bathroom until we have a conversation.

"fine!" you scoffed, "converse away! but don't expect it to end with me just accepting my fucking fate and leaving with you."

Dabi's face hardened. "listen, hon," he leaned closer, moving his hand to force you to look at him once again. "you're leaving with us, one way or another. do you know how fucking long we've been waiting? for you?"

tears threatened to spill from your eyes. you didn't want this, didn't want them.

soulmates are not something we seek out in this family.

"so, what?" your voice shook as you spoke, "you just expect me to fall apart for you? you think i'll just hear you out and let you whisk me away? abandon everything i've ever been taught just for some guys? i'm not that kind of girl, you can't just-"

Dabi pulled you in, cutting you off and kissing you. it was electric. damn near made you change your mind. but you didn't.

not until he let go and Tomura moved in. his kiss was rougher. lips chapped and possessive. they weren't going to let you go, were they?

if you were being honest with yourself, when he pulled away, you weren't sure if you wanted them to.

you panted, tears finally falling. "so, what? you just expect me to drop everything and be with you?"

"we don't expect you to do anything." Tomura whispered. "just give us a chance."

and in the months that followed, you did.

~

lol this was so terrible. i've been thinking of this for days now and i just needed to write it out

[autistic-ben-tennyson]

Anakin: Why I relate to him

I’m going to change gears a bit from my usual anime/Ben 10 posts to talk about Anakin. I had a period where I pretended to hate him and was super pro Jedi to try and fit in with that fandom. I have changed a lot of my opinions since then. While I’m still not a huge fan of him, my opinion has softened greatly. A lot of Jedi stans act like all people who sympathize with him are conservatives who think you need a 50s nuclear family to be happy and hate Buddhism or aroace people. So I am going to share why I relate to this man’s struggles as a progressive, transgender neurodivergent Asian American.

A lot of people view Anakin in AOTC as just whiny and ungrateful. While the Tusken massacre was wrong, I can emphasize with his anger towards Obi Wan. I have felt belittled, over patronized and gaslit by my father, as well as yelled at. While Anakin was being disrespectful in that scene from AOTC where he reunites with Padme, the way Obi Wan handled it was uncalled for. He should have pulled Anakin aside to let him know there’s a time and place for everything, not humiliate him in front of their hosts.

I’ve made small mistakes due to my autism and dad would make a big deal out of it and tell me “we need to work on your awareness” in front of everyone there. I can also relate to that “he’s jealous! He’s holding me back” scene as someone who wants more out of life and feel like my dad is getting in my way. That scene also reminds me of how a lot of parents treat their kids for having an “attitude” or “talking back” when they’re just trying to explain themselves, are having a bad day or have a different opinion. I’ve also been forced to apologize for lashing out at people who’ve bullied me like in that comic.

When Jedi apologists talk about how Anakin was just greedy for not wanting to share his feelings with Obi Wan or the council, I get the feeling that they’ve had a fairly privileged upbringing. I’ve had trouble opening up to my dad because of how dismissive or terrifying he could be in the past. As a trans person, I’ve had to prepare for the worst possible outcomes and while my coming out went better than I expected, he just invalidated all my fears and acted like I was wrong for not telling him when he did little to provide a safe space, never apologizing for insensitive things he said. Similarly, fans expect Anakin to tell Obi Wan about his marriage despite all the dismissive behavior from him as well as faking his death and doing little to help Ahsoka. People who’ve been gaslit or dismissed for their feelings often resort to keeping secrets as a safety measure.

A child shouldn’t be expected to tell adults anything until they prove they can be trusted. Whenever I talk about my issues with my childhood, people dismiss it as legitimate discipline or tough love, which is another reason why I feel uncomfortable when Jedi apologists act like Kenobi was a good parent. People only see abuse if it’s physical or sexual, but never care or notice if it’s more subtle or emotional. Anakin recognized that Kenobi’s training methods wouldn’t be good for Ahsoka which is why he acts more like Shmi when teaching Ahsoka. My dad is also very sarcastic and is aware of my autism, even praising it at times, but expects me to just understand his “jokes” or insensitive comments.

People say you can’t critique the Jedi because they’re based off eastern philosophy but are they really that different from conservative evangelicals? Obi Wan straight up tells Anakin he can have romantic feelings but can’t act on them. Fans claim Anakin chose to get married and it was on him for not just leaving. I remember being the “weird” kid in a community that was very conservative (family, faith and football) who felt like I couldn’t talk about my interests without being shamed, especially after coming out. I can also emphasize with wanting to leave but feeling an obligation to stay because the people who’ve hurt me do love me and it being complicated.

I think a lot of people who dismiss Obi Wan’s insensitive remarks or child rearing methods are looking at it from an adult’s perspective, since they aren’t bothered by it as much. Adults can yell at, gaslight, spank or humiliate their kids, then act like nothing happened, but when you’re a child, it sticks with you, and is irritating when they try to be “buddy-buddy” with you later. I am also someone who struggles a lot with sarcasm and struggle with letting go of negative emotions because it keeps happening.

This is that post I talked about where I asked a popular Jedi stan their views on adoption. I’m not anti adoption, mind you. I felt Matilda, Suzume and Kung Fu Panda tackled it well with sensitivity. I responded with decency and acted like I agreed with them. But something about their response gave me the ick. I don’t know why but I do have a desire to find my birth mother, eventually. Is it really wrong to worry about your mother if she could be suffering, and you can’t do anything to help? It kind of confirms that a lot of Jedi apologists come from privileged upbringings. I also felt like I had to ask permission to enjoy media that went against the Jedi fandom’s beliefs.

I think that wraps up why I relate to this character even if I don’t agree with his actions. People who say he was just lazy or selfish don’t seem like they understand much about human psychology and abuse and how even “small” things can build up and make a child distrust the adults in their life. I worry a bit about when they become parents and what how their kids will end up. A lot of kids are shamed for not wanting to share their emotions when they have good reasons to keep secrets. How would Jedi stans respond to that? They only care about abuse if it’s physical which is why they make a big deal out of that training scene from TOTJ or act like Anakin abused Rex when throwing him off that wall on Geonosis.

[blueratgrmln]

🌟OPEN DISCUSSION about the 2020's era of shipping culture, Sonadow in the Sonic Fandom, and how well-intended activism can circle back to the language and violence of oppressors 🌟

(Link to chapter PARTS >>>HERE<<<)

INTRO

I gotta get something off my chest in regards to shipping. I wasn't super invested in the shipping part of the Sonic Fandom community when I was growing up. There were a few ships I liked and I enjoyed the fanart people made of those ships. And then I forgot about it for a number of years. Now in adulthood I am getting back into shipping Sonic characters a bit more, because it's fun to look back at the things I liked as a kid and seeing how my opinions have changed since gaining more life experience. Plus I've become much more active on the internet, in Fandom spaces, and more aware of social justice issues during adulthood. So here is a long-ish essay where I gather my thoughts about Sonadow shipping, fandoms, and activism together💙

MIDDLE CHILD EXPERIENCE IN THE SONIC FANDOM

It's odd being a Middle Child of the Sonic Fandom "family" that grew up during the age of "cringe culture" cyberbullying and shipping wars. I was aware of the stereotypes and disdain people had both on and off the internet toward the Sonic Fanbase and the notoriety it had. It influenced me to tone-down my external Sonic geekiness around my peers. While some of the stereotypes had some truth to it (when they weren't used as cyberbullying put-downs), I noticed that there was a very prominent difference how the Sonic Franchise/Fandom was viewed by the pop culture savvy public and how the fandom acted amongst/within itself as a creative and meaning-making community, despite the in-fighting that occasionally happened. On the internet, I oddly didn't experience or witness much discourse about ethics, specifically about shipping, when I was a kid cruising the internet for the fanart I liked. The spaces I visited were usually very supportive of people creating meaning, joy, and comfort with these ships. These shipping spaces loved Sonic × Amy, Shadow × Amy, Knuckles × Rouge, Sonic × Sally, Silver × Blaze and also any ship between Sonic, Shadow, and Silver. While there were specific ships that I enjoyed, I was happy to see other people enjoying other ships and hearing them geek about it. Yes, there was sometimes shipping discourse pitting pairings against each other, but I did not notice intense targeting or harassment in the name of "ethics" to the same degree as I am witnessing nowadays.

THE ETHICAL VS UNETHICAL DEBATES

Fast forward to the 2020's age of the internet and fandom culture. I had no idea what the evolved discussion about "ethical vs unethical" shipping was beyond just "this ship is the best" mentalities until about a year ago. After reading about the various viewpoints, I started out not really caring about the ethics of fictional shipping and not fully caring on which "side" I would fit, even though my views in adulthood realistically lean towards anti-censorship sentiments. However, it's important to note that if I'd discovered this specific "ethical vs unethical" debate when I was younger, I would have leaned pro-censorship, a view directly influenced by the small-town evangelical church indoctrination that kept my mind closed-off from the nuances of sociology, psychology, and humanity. I was the type of person that got emotional and reactionary about the idea of people being sex workers, about the idea of kink and BDSM being a normal thing between consenting adults, and about other socially charged topics. Then as I learned from other people's experiences and researched those topics, my mindset changed to be more supportive and more aware of all the nuances that go beyond black vs white thinking. I learned to not demonize people and instead find out the reasons WHY something happens or WHY people do something, and actually LISTEN to the person and BELIEVE them when they give their answer. Similar mindset changes have happened in adulthood since I've done research about both the generational divides and social justice intersectionality of this cultural shift in today's internet Fandom spaces. I am noticing this divide and these debates happening more and more in the Sonic Fandom.

SONADOW IN THE 2020'S

For some context, when I was a kid moderately involved with shipping content, I did not ship Sonic × Shadow. I somewhat avoided anything to do with gay ships or gay content due to my small-town church upbringing teaching me to not support anything LGBTQ+. So now as an adult having interest in shipping again, having discarded homophobia, embracing my own queerness, and having new understandings of the Sonic characters' personalities/backstories/dynamics, I am opening myself up to considering ships I hadn't been interested in before and ships that I actively avoided due to internalized homophobia. Watching Sonic Prime and the wonderful joy it sparked across the Fandom (in both shippers and non-shippers alike) was the marker when I finally started enjoying the Sonadow ship. It was after reading people's interpretations of Sonic and Shadow and understanding the ship more when I realized why Sonadow is such a beloved and timeless ship. In response to the new wave of Sonadow popularity, it's getting lots of heated criticism. People are having arguments everyday about both Shadow and Sonic's true ages, whether Shadow is 15 or 18 or 50, whether it makes any difference that SEGA quietly removed the characters' official ages. The debate creates these polarized "sides", with some people on one side claiming that it's an inherently unethical ship and claiming that you are a bad person, or at least suspicious in some way, for supporting it.

REPRESENTATION & QUEER JOY

One prominent feeling I have about the common criticisms toward Sonadow and about other shipping discourse is feeling alarmed that a lot of Queer people end up getting harassed because of these debates, sometimes by fellow Queer people. From my Middle Child perspective in the Sonic Fandom, the reasons WHY many people embraced LGBTQ+ Sonic ships was to create and celebrate representation in a franchise that doesn't outright confirm or have much on-screen representation. Even though Sega has a general "no official confirmed couples" mandate, the company has consistently supported and encouraged the fans' shipping headcanons including LGBTQ+ ships, and the company has showed real, tangible, and financial support for the LGBTQ+ community (to my knowledge). Tangle and Whisper in the IDW comics are written with specific chemistry that leads most people to view them as a lesbian couple with the writers' and company's encouragement, even if they're not verbally stated as "officially canon." Sonic × Shadow, although not canon, has been a noteworthy ship acknowledged by the writers, company, and voice actors as being one of the most beloved and celebrated gay Sonic ships. It has given Queer people a sense of joy, hope, comfort, and visibility ever since 2001 when Sonic Adventure 2 released and Shadow debuted as a character. The reasons people immediately shipped these characters together was never about being creepy or encouraging "unethical" dynamics. It was simply Queer Sonic fans, both closeted and uncloseted, creating meaning via representation as an act of queer resistance and radical acceptance. This has been a constant throughout the present day, Sonadow being one of the most recognizable and longstanding ships that inspires widespread Queer Joy that even breaks the boundaries of the internet microcosm.

LANGUAGE AND VIOLENCE OF OPPRESSORS

Now is where I will delve into the connection between Sonadow shipping (and overall shipping) debates and how well-intentioned activism loops back into mimicking oppressors. Thinking about how Sonadow is historically important to the Sonic Franchise, the Sonic Fandom, LGBTQ+ Sonic Fans, and maybe even video game history as a whole, I feel major discomfort and even dread when I see so many people (particularly those that are young) throwing around very serious accusations at (fellow) Sonic Fans and (fellow) Sonic shippers. Accusations supporting pedophilia or pedophilia itself is one of the most egregious. I've seen it thrown at Sonadow shippers, Vector x Espio shippers because Vector is 20 and Espio is 16 (despite it being another extremely popular LGBTQ+ headcanon-ed ship due to lack of representation), and even Knuckles x Rouge because Rouge is 18 and Knuckles is 16. It strikes me as counterintuitive and unnecessary at least, and actively dangerous at most/worst, seeing fellow Queer people utilizing the morality-policing, fear tactics, surveillance methods, censorship mindset, and rhetoric/language of our oppressors and using those things against the people in their own communities. Realizing that long-time Sonadow fans who felt inspired to come out and be unapologetically Queer because of that specific ship have been facing harassment and slander from fellow Queer people (who are likely younger than them), getting called "pedos" or "dangerous" or "suspicious" or "unethical" over the mere act of creating representation and Queer Joy with fictional characters and seeking some sense of comfort while surviving homophobic environments...bluntly, my stomach is churned and my blood is boiled. The last thing we need in this rapidly backwards-turning world is more in-fighting within the broader LGBTQ+ community that distracts our thoughts, emotions, time, energy, organizing, education, community-building, and activism away from the oppressors who are causing us real-world tangible harm, suffering, and death.

A random teenager on the internet drawing fanart of Sonic and Shadow holding hands, or even random adults on the internet drawing suggestive art or outright porn of these characters, is NOT going to be the catalyst that rapidly or gradually normalizes pedophilia or inspires worldwide support for unethical relationships. And yes, this includes content about the "weirdo/unethical/dark" ships that are found in the shadowy fringes of the internet and Fandom spaces. I am uncomfortable with a lot of it myself. But those ships and the people that engage with them ALSO DO NOT have the same level of impact and reach (key words: Same Level) that real life oppressive systems have to cause widespread suffering. The key difference that makes widespread abuse possible is that the real life oppressive systems are disguised as wholesome safe environments that develop trust and closeness with community members. Those oppressive systems and the harmful people that support them are usually NOT on the freaky/dark/weird fringes of society, they don't outwardly appear that way, and they demonize the "degenerates", not associate with any such label. The Catholic church institution is a big example, the institution covering up uncountable cases of their clergy members abusing minors while those clergy members are positioned as a pure, trusted facet of society that people actively look to for guidance, safety, and belonging.

At NO point am I ever going to say that everyone online is perfectly pure and that we should ignore everyone's behavior online. When we do encounter legitimate creeps causing harm to real people (not watered-down definitions of what being a creep means) we absolutely need to call them out and keep each other safe. HOWEVER, by pitting fellow Sonic Fans, fellow Queer people, fellow shippers against each other with this blanket "us vs them" mentality that overshadows the real life patterns and signs of how widespread oppression and real life harm happens, we end up accomplishing a lot of what our oppressors want anyway: divisions, distractions, and outright mimicking the violent language and behaviors that they display toward us at ourselves. This is the point where well-intentioned activism goes wrong and circles back around to oppression without meaning to.

Many people are super-duper-sure that they have dismantled all of their -isms and -phobias and now identify with labels and movements that are on the right side of history. But all of us STILL need to be aware of the fact that our thought patterns, behaviors, logic, and emotional responses can be tied to previously held beliefs and mindsets, and they can sometimes carry over and linger in our minds even after significant "character development". This is true even if we don't immediately realize it and think that we are a "safe person" within our own marginalized communities and for other marginalized communities. It can be really hard to identify if/when that is happening sometimes, but it is pertinent that we are actively checking in with ourselves, listening to constructive criticism, and cross-analyzing whether we are unintentionally mimicking the language, behaviors, and violence of our oppressors, and what effects that can have on the people in our shared communities and the people we care about.

ADDITIONAL: MY PERSONAL OPINIONS AND LOGIC ABOUT SHADOW'S AGE

Most of the fandom will continue arguing about Shadow's "true age" for the rest of time and how that "should" influence people's shipping headcanons. In my opinion, it is a very unnecessary thing to argue about simply because of the uniqueness and the fantastical nature of Shadow's existence within the Sonic Universe. Very specifically, he is a test tube science project super soldier who is immortal with an unclarified "birth date."

It's most likely that Professor Gerald Robotnik started the process of creating Shadow AFTER Maria was born and they discovered her incurable disease; Project Shadow could have taken a significant amount of time to complete considering all of the scientific processes, research, and intergalactic communication needed. It is also important to remember that Maria died when she was only 12 years old. If we are just talking about the amount of time that Shadow was physically and mentally conscious, communicating, and learning (excluding the 50 years he spent in cryo-stasis), this would mean that Shadow's age could be anything up to Maria's exact age at her time of death. Realistically his youngest possible age would be much greater than 1 day, since it probably took a noteworthy amount of time for Shadow and Maria to develop their trusting best friend and/or sibling bond.

Otherwise, in the less likely scenario, Professor Gerald could've had foresight and somehow gotten confirmation about Maria's condition before she was born with the scientifically and medically advanced technology aboard the Space Colony ARK, and then completed Project Shadow before she was born. But in EITHER possible chronology, Shadow could be around the same age or a handful of years younger than 15 (one of the possible ages in this debate), if we are to consider his game manual or Wiki-page biographies for his true age. This could put the Sonadow ship in the same boat of age-gap and maturity-difference criticism that the Sonic x Amy ship gets because Sonic is 15 and Amy is 12.

Even though Shadow is one of the most complex characters within the broad Sonic Lore, at the same time he's one of the most mysterious characters, especially since we don't have any official content that shows the complete scientific/medical/technological details of his creation process from start to finish. Everyone has a different opinion whether the game manual and Wiki-page age(s) indicates Shadow's number of conscious years lived, his current physical age, or both. People also debate whether his current physical age matters in terms of shipping ethics. Considering that Shadow is an immortal science experiment with the DNA/blood of an alien species and he could have grown up in a test tube, I like to think that any of the "teen" ages used in this debate could simply describe what his physical vessel looks like (compared to 100% Mobian hedgehogs) at the point Project Shadow was deemed successfully completed. It's possible that his early development deviated from that of a human baby, a Mobian hedgehog baby, and a normal hedgehog baby. Maybe he grew generally faster or went through the same developmental stages of his Black Arms alien siblings. Deciphering what it would mean for Shadow to become "fully mature", or even what "age" in general means for him, would require solving the complex puzzle of his circumstances: the science of genetic engineering that splices Black Arms DNA with Mobian hedgehog DNA to design a being that is artificial and specifically exceptional in every way. We DO know that Shadow's Black Arms DNA gives his mind and body a connection to the species' Hive Mind (which is explored in the Archie comic books) and that Black Doom's DNA was one of the necessary ingredients to give Shadow immortality and disease immunity. But that's the extent of what we know about Shadow's Black Arms biology, its overall effects, its benefits, and its downsides. In addition to this, the "immortal artificial super soldier with alien DNA" context brings up questions regarding Shadow's mental processes, intelligence, and learning capabilities. He could have gone through rapid psychological development, or can learn and gain skills at an enhanced rate, have increased intelligence, or have alien mental capacities beyond his connection to the Black Arms' Hive Mind.

The limitless SCOPE of possibilities for Shadow's physical and mental reality is why I completely avoid any attempts at shoving this complex character into the same quantifiable boxes of human OR Mobian OR normal hedgehog maturity, development, intelligence, socialization, emotions, learning, and age. Which is why I do not judge people for their shipping preferences and don't assume the worst of the people that ship him with other characters. An integral part of the tragedy and isolation of Shadow the Hedgehog as a character surrounds him being the Ultimate Lifeform, a being that is so unique, advanced, artificial, medicalized, scientific, revolutionary, mystical and powerful that he cannot relate to most of the other Sonic characters and vice versa. TRYING to force Shadow to be 100% understandable, relatable, and quantifiable both by our real-life human standards and by the standards of the other Sonic characters can diminish his uniqueness and essence, and it hinders the broad Sonic Fandom from creatively exploring the magnitude of possibilities (both shipping and non-shipping) that his mysteriousness inspires.

(Thank you for reading and sticking with my train of thought! :) I expect constructive conversation in the comments if any are made at all, whether it's criticism or agreement.)

[humbledragon669]

Script to Screen comparison: Episode 2 – The Book P1 – large changes

Standard Intro

Having followed the episodes through with the Script Book, I've tried to break the differences between the original script and the end result on screen into a couple of different categories:

Large changes (whole scenes/multiple lines of script). This blog post will cover these only (for brevity) – the other categories will be covered separately.

Things that are in the original script but not in the finished episode (I'm calling these deletions).

Things that aren't in the original script but are in the finished episode (I'm calling these additions).

Things that have been changed (I'm calling these ones amendments).

Not all of the changes fit neatly into one category or the other (there are shades of grey...). The first three of the differences will be presented within bullet lists, with a description. The last of the categories will be presented in a table. I'll make comments about anything I find particularly notable after each category.

Large changes

Scene 204 has been cut from the finished episode. This would have served as an additional introduction to War, and provides details of the paper that she works for (which is apparently a very trashy supermarket tabloid), as well as the opinions of other journalists about her writing, which is mysteriously ���a la minute” when it comes to global conflicts.

There’s a small exchange between Crowley and Ligur (with the latter communicating through the television), where Crowley points out that there shouldn’t be trust between demons. Ligur threatens Crowley with some of unnamed methods of the Spanish Inquisition that Crowley has identified in his reports to Hell.

Scene 207, the signing of the peace treaty, was originally set to take place in a hotel conference room (with the participants seated at individual tables), instead of a tent in the middle of the desert (with the participants standing in front of a single table). The participants are described as being “happy and at ease”.

A small handful of lines about the process of the signing of the peace treaty are missing from the finished episode.

An exchange between the peace treaty participants about the credibility of the newspaper that War writes for have been cut.

The ordering of the scene showing Agnes being burnt has been changed for the finished episode. Originally, there was a scripted to be a shot of Adultery Pulsifer realising that things were about to end badly before Agnes’s second pyre speech. This was to be combined with the shot of the barrels of gunpowder and nails, which has been relocated to the middle of the following scene. Lastly, Adultery’s cursive was originally placed before Agnes’s knowing smile.

There are two lines from Anathema (as a child) where she expresses her disgust at having to “do kissing” (including the prophecy this takes place in – 1401) that have been cut.

Scene 220 showing Anathema (as a grown up) and her mother discussing Anathema’s packing and saying goodbye before she leaves LA is missing from the finished episode.

A small exchange between Newt and Tompkins (the office manager) where Newt is fired in front of the whole office has been cut.

An exchange that Shadwell has with a passer-by during his evangelical rant has been cut. In it is a thinly veiled accusation that the passer-by is a witch.

The original script covered a lot more detail of Anathema unpacking at Jasmine Cottage.

Part of Scene 107 (from episode 1) has been inserted after the scene where Crowley terrifies his houseplants. The only part of the scene that remains, which is of a telephone conversation Aziraphale has with an unknown customer, details the history of Agnes Nutter’s book.

The original exit from the scene showing Newton’s induction into the Witchfinder Army included a shot of a “gentleman caller” arriving for Madame Tracy, and some preparations she was making for his arrival.

Aziraphale’s assertions that there will be records available are missing from scene 233 (the journey through London in the Bentley).

There is a short exchange between Aziraphale and Crowley in scene 233 that have been cut. In it, they discuss the possibility of claiming asylum with the other’s side should they be unable to find the Antichrist.

Scene 238 is missing several components from the finished episode:

Anathema was scripted to be wandering from the village green towards Hogback Wood.

She is also supposed to be scribbling in a notebook.

She was described as annotating a map.

Pepper and Wensleydale were seen walking past her.

Scene 240, showing Aziraphale and Crowley approaching Tadfield Manor is considerably different in the finished episode:

It was scripted that the Bentley would be seen pulling up to the Manor (not already parked).

There are three shots described as taking place through a rifle sight: one without Aziraphale and Crowley, one with both, and the final one focussing in on Aziraphale (there is only one in the finished episode, focussing in on Crowley).

Crowley and Aziraphale were only afforded a single footstep towards the Manor in the original script.

The paint spatter on Crowley is described as being on his shirtfront, not his bare chest.

Crowley and Aziraphale both hit the floor in the original script (as in the book).

Crowley both sniffs and licks the “blood” before realising it’s actually paint.

Scene 242, showing Tompkins coming to, has been repositioned to cut into the previous scene. It was originally placed after God’s voiceover speech about the history of the Manor.

There is a small exchange between two of the office workers about the “people from Purchasing” that is missing from the finished episode.

Scene 245, an exchange between Tompkins and an IT man, has been cut.

Norman’s battlefield speech has been cut considerably. It’s largely more of the same bitter tripe he’s spouting about his colleagues.

Scene 246, containing Norman’s battlefield speech, has been repositioned to cut into the discussion between Crowley and Aziraphale about the morality of the demon’s actions in giving the conference attendees real guns. Its original position was immediately before the same discussion.

There is a chunk of police activity, including sirens, flashing lights, and an announcement made over loudhailer, that has been cut from the finished episode.

Crowley’s dismissal of Aziraphale’s insistence that he is ethereal (not occult) and the following shot of a policeman realising that the gun he’s holding is fake are both missing.

Scene 254, showing Anathema taking observations by moonlight, has been repositioned to take place after Crowley’s proclamation about the consequences of failing to find the Antichrist. It was originally placed immediately before the conversation between him and Aziraphale in the Bentley as they drive through Tadfield’s country lanes.

Scene 256, showing Anathema cycling along a dark country lane, has been repositioned to cut through Aziraphale’s statement about flashes of love. It was originally positioned immediately before his assertion that there’s something “very peculiar” about the area.

The stage directions in the script provide a lot more detail about Anathema’s belongings and how she sits with them in the Bentley.

The script suggests Anathema’s exit from the Bentley should have been a much more chaotic affair, with her trying to scoop all of her belongings up from the seat. The camera panning down to reveal the book left on the floor has been added to the finished episode.

There are a few lines from Mr. Young about his trying to report Dog as missing to the relevant authorities that are missing from the finished episode.

A small exchange between Mr. and Mrs. Young about what she is doing getting out of bed late at night (checking on Adam, which she covers up) that have been cut.

The beginning of scene 267, showing Adam settling down to sleep, has been repositioned to the end of the scene showing Mrs. Young’s POV into his bedroom as she checks on him. It was originally placed after Mrs. Young has returned to bed. There are differences here too – it was originally scripted that we would see him close his eyes, and that Dog would be lying on the pillow beside his head. We also get an additional shot where the camera pans over the shelves in Adam’s room.

Scene 269, showing Anathema returning to the site of the accident to look for her book, is missing from the finished episode.

A miniature spat between Crowley and Aziraphale about whether they should have taken Anathema’s address after the accident has been cut.

There are several details showing Aziraphale’s preparations to read Agnes Nutter’s book in the script that didn’t make it to the episode: making cocoa, getting a pad of paper and a pen, and repositioning a lamp.

Scenes 272 and 273 have been cut. The former of these is a simple establishing shot of the outside of Crowley’s flat, but the latter showed his dishevelled emergence from his bedroom after sleeping.

There are a few of Crowley’s lines missing from his telephone conversation with Aziraphale, recapping Hell’s current position with the Antichrist, complete with his insistence that the angel “chill” after calling him “dude”.

There are quite a few major sets of changes in this episode, with some of the larger ones consisting of the restructuring of entire scenes or scene sequences. With both instances of the restructured scenes, I feel that the revised structure is hugely effective in delivering the desired tone for the respective scenes: maintenance of mystery for Agnes’s burning, and a general feeling of chaos for Tadfield Manor. I really enjoy the change of venue for the signing of the peace treaty – there’s something cheeky about the idea that something as important as a peace treaty would be signed in those conditions, but it’s probably closer to the truth than a hotel conference room is. I’m also quite glad that so many of the supporting lines about the peace treaty have been cut – the shorter scene sequence is really successful in showing how quickly the shit can hit the fan, and that might not have been conveyed so effectively if the dialogue had been more extensive.

There are two of these changes that I am very sorry we lost (no, it’s not Crowley calling Aziraphale “dude”, I’m incredibly pleased that one didn’t make the final cut). The first is the exchange between Crowley and Aziraphale about seeking asylum of the other’s side.

CROWLEY:  I suppose […] your people wouldn’t consider giving me asylum?

AZIRAPHALE: I was going to ask you the same thing…

These two lines speak worlds to me about their respective state of minds, not least that they’re both prepared to give up what they have to switch sides, which would of course make it much easier for them to spend time together. Ultimately though, whilst I think Crowley probably would consider seeking asylum from Heaven in order to save his own skin, I don’t feel like Aziraphale is in a place where he would ask the same from Hell, so I wonder if these lines were cut because they didn’t fit with the angel’s character development at this point in the storyline. I also wonder if the two of them would have considered the possibility that the other was thinking the same thing, and whether that would have changed their mind on the whole thing.

The second of the list that I very desperately regret not seeing is the removal of this scene:

Aside from the fandom having missed the opportunity to see the house plants trying to look impressive for the demon, who wouldn’t want to see a dishevelled Crowley freshly roused from bed?! Why, why, WHY did this get cut?! I’m really hoping it finds a place in season 3, because it genuinely feels like a delightful piece of characterisation that we were robbed of.

I was intending on only doing one of these posts per episode in these script to screen comparisons, but this one is already running pretty long, and I don’t want these very wordy posts (i.e. not many pretty pictures of GIFs) to run to epic novel length. I was actually quite surprised to see how many more notes I made for this episode (50% more than for the first) as I thought it might be the case that the first episode of the series would have had a lot more background/scene-setting information that would be ripe for cutting, but that didn’t prove to be the case, not for any of my so-called “categories”.

As always, questions, comments, discussion: always welcome. See you in the next one!

[ghuleh-witch]

And We Are Tied As One Eternally-V

Fandom: Ghost Rating: Explicit Warnings: (For Future Chapters) NSFW, 18+, unprotected sex, p in v sex, oral sex, mentions of past abuse and domestic violence, references to suicide (For This Chapter) brief mentions of 9/11, war, death, school shootings, and religious manipulation Relationships: Papa Emeritus IV/Copia x OFC Additional Tags: soft!dom Copia, eventual smut, developing relationship, kind of a slow burn, no beta reader Chapter Word Count: 2116 Summary: Ellie Moran just wanted to make a new life for herself. Running to escape the people in her past, she ends up in a small town in the middle of nowhere that happens to be home to a Satanic church. She never expected her life to change again after she started attending the public masses at said church.

Ao3

Chapters: 5/? Previous Chapters

Tag list: @sodoswitchimage

Her laugh was the most musical thing he’d ever heard, and Copia would die happy if it was the last thing he would ever hear again. He sat on the edge of his bed as Ellie sat cross-legged on the floor, his rats crawling over her knees and onto her shoulders. She giggled and cooed at them, gently petting their soft fur with her fingers. Copia felt fluttering in his stomach as she watched Ellie’s face scrunch as Meatball sniffed her ear. 

“That tickles,” she said as she gently lifted Meatball from her shoulder and to her knee. She gave him a loving pat before fishing her phone out of her pocket and checking the time. “I can’t stay for long. I have work this afternoon.”

“What do you do for work?” Copia asked. 

“I work at the little bookstore in town—stocking, running the register, stuff like that,” Ellie answered. 

“Do you like it?”

“It’s one of the better jobs I’ve had. I don’t mind it at all. My one supervisor is an asshole but it pays my bills so I can’t complain too much,” Ellie said with a shrug. 

“Asshole? What makes them an asshole?” Copia asked curiously, ready to go to bat for her.

“Oh, he’s a religious guy. Reminds me of all the people I grew up around.”

“That’s right, you said you were an evangelical baptist,” Copia said, remembering what she told him the first time they met. “Not that it’s any of my business, but what led you astray from your church?” He saw her go still for a moment as the rats crawled over her shoulders. She was considering her words, he noted and it made him even more curious

“Just a lot of things,” she said with a shrug. “The older I got the more I questioned things and the less that made sense. I didn’t particularly appreciate how controlling they were for one. I couldn’t read certain books or watch certain movies because they were considered evil. I wasn’t allowed to wear certain types of clothes. I was told my place in the world was to be a wife and a mother and pop out as many kids as possible to serve God.” She sighed. “I think the thing that started to make me pull away was being told at thirteen years old that I needed to martyr myself for Jesus in case someone came to shoot up my school.” 

Copia felt sick at that. For a child to hear such vile... “That’s disgusting. How dare they tell children that?” He seethed. Anger flooded him the more he thought about it. “And these are the people who claim to protect the innocent. I can’t stand people like that.”

“Me neither, but when you’re at that age and have nowhere else to go you just sort of pretend to be like them to survive,” Ellie said softly. “At least that’s what I did. I don’t think I’ve believed in God since I was fourteen or fifteen, but I played the part of a good Christian girl until I could get away.” 

“You do what you got to in order to survive, even if it does mean, eh, what do the kids say? Faking it until you make it,” Copia said as he nodded in agreement. “The Olde One understands this.” 

“Leaves you with a lot of issues though,” Ellie said with a laugh, her eyes glancing down at her left arm. The glance didn’t go unnoticed by him though. He had a feeling what lay under her sleeve, but he wouldn’t push or bring it up. That was her story to tell whenever she was comfortable and ready. “But I’m working through them. Slowly.”

“Life isn’t a race,” Copia said, leaning over to allow Alfredo to crawl up his arm. “You work at things at your own pace, si ?”

Ellie nodded and then laughed as Meatball tried to crawl down her shirt, and for a moment Copia thought the room got even warmer than it already was. “No, friend, you can’t go down there,” she said as she gently sat Meatball back on her knee. She looked over to Copia. “Thanks again for letting me play with them. I miss having animals in my life.”

“It’s not a problem. Anytime you want to visit them let me know. You do not have any pets?” Copia asked. 

“No,” Ellie said. “I was moving around a lot…you know looking for that change I wanted to make and I didn’t think it would be fair to put that stress on a cat or a dog or any other animal. When I was a kid I used to have a dog. Her name was Misty. She was this really pretty golden retriever. I loved her so much. She was my best friend. After my dad died, my mother got rid of her.”

“Oh, cara, I’m so sorry,” Copia said. “About your father and your dog.”

“It’s okay. It was a long time ago. My dad was in the military. Got sent to war after 9/11, and died in Afghanistan. My mother wasn’t the same after that. She got rid of everything that reminded her of him, and he was the one that got me Misty. I’m pretty sure my mother would have got rid of me if she could.”

He could see the pain in her eyes and it broke his heart. He wanted to hold her and comfort her but settled for placing a hand on her knee and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry to hear that, cara . People grieve in different ways, but that wasn’t fair for your mother to take away something you loved because she couldn’t properly channel that grief.” 

Her hand came to rest over his for a brief moment and for a second Copia thought he felt a tingle of electricity surge through him. “Thanks,” she said softly. “I miss that dog every day. I know she’s probably gone by now. She was three years old when I was ten so she’d be over twenty years old now if she was still alive.” Ellie glanced down at their hands and slowly pulled hers away. Copia did the same, already missing the warmth it brought him. “But maybe one day I’ll get myself another dog.”

“Of course,” Copia said. “But in the meantime, my rats can be your furry friends.”

Ellie grinned. “Thanks.” She dug her phone out of her pocket again and frowned. “I should get going. I gotta get home and get ready for work.”

“Oh, of course. Let’s get the babies back in their home and I’ll walk you out.” 

They got the rats back in their cage and Ellie promised she’d back to visit them. It made his heart race knowing she’d be coming back to his room to see his rats. They were silent as he walked her out of the house and to the lot her car was parked in. “I’ll see you for mass?” He asked as she unlocked her car door.

Ellie nodded. “I’ll be here. I might be back before then though. Gemma said she had some study guides for me to look over.”

Copia nodded. “Well, if you need anything…”

“I’ll let you know,” Ellie finished for him with a smile. “Thanks again, for everything.”

“No problem,” Copia said. “No problem at all. I’ll see you soon.” He watched as she got into her car and started the engine. She gave him a little wave before backing up and making her way down the drive. He watched as her car disappeared before heading back to the house.

“Someone’s becoming smitten,” came a voice from the kitchen once he was back inside.

Copia turned to see Secondo making himself a cup of tea.

“I’m not-” Copia began before Secondo held up a hand to stop him.

“You are,” Secondo said. “Don’t deny it. Why should you? She’s pretty, and from talking to her today in the group session, she seems very intelligent and loyal.”

“Because I barely know her,” Copia argued.

“Since when has that stopped you? How many people have you had in your bed that you actually knew?”

“But I’m old enough to be her father.”

“And?”

“She doesn’t want me.”

“You’re blind, fratello,” Secondo sighed. “I’ve seen the way she looks at you during mass, and just now when you were walking her to her car. She’s smitten too whether she knows it or not. You’re making excuses.”

Copia sighed and sat down at the small table. “Maybe you’re right.”

Secondo huffed and smirked. “I know I’m right. So what are you going to do about it.”

“I don’t fucking know,” Copia said. “I don’t want to scare her off.”

“Invite her to the Samhain ball.” 

“She was already invited.”

“As your date, idiota .” 

Copia blinked. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Because you aren’t thinking,” Secondo said rolling his eyes. “Next time you see her, ask her. Say it’s just a casual thing or something. She’ll say yes.”

Copia nodded. “Okay…okay I will.”

“Good. And for the record, I think you two would be a good fit.” Secondo finished steeping his tea and walking out of the kitchen.

Copia sat the table thinking it all over. “The worst she can say is no,” he told himself before he made his way up to his bedroom. 

XXX

Ellie stared at the clock. Even though she was working a four-hour shift, it felt like she had already been there for a full day. Two hours to go, she thought as she went back to organizing books on the ‘New releases’ table. She thought back on her visit with Copia. She ended up telling him a lot more than she intended, but Ellie couldn’t help it. She felt so comfortable with him that she didn’t mind being vulnerable.

When the bell above the door jingled, Ellie was pulled from her thoughts. She turned to see an older woman walk in with a stack of flyers in her hand.

“Excuse me, dear, could I leave you a flyer to put in your window? It’s for an event at St. Gertrude’s,” the woman said, holding out a piece of paper to Ellie.

“Oh, we’re not allowed to-” Ellie began before being cut off by her supervisor who appeared behind her.

“Of course, Helen,” Charles said beaming. He took the flyer and looked it over. “This town needs the church more than ever.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Helen said smiling. “Ever since those devil worshippers moved into the old abbey this town has gone downhill.”

Ellie stilled, biting her tongue to stop herself from saying something that would get her fired.

“The worst thing that’s happened to this place,” Charles agreed. “I see those freaks all the time walking around town putting up their flyers. They’ve come in here a couple of times to leave flyers. I always shred them. I’ll post this in the window and let people know about the event when they come in.” 

Helen nodded and smiled. “Thanks, Charles. I’m going to continue passing out flyers. I’ll see you at mass.”

“See you there,” Charles said before Helen left. He handed Ellie the flyer. “Put this up in the window.”

“I thought we weren’t allowed to display non-store related flyers,” Ellie said taking the flyer from him.

“No one’s going to care about a church flyer,” Charles said.

“Then why don’t you display the flyers for the Ministry of Ghost?” Ellie challenged. “Why display one religious organization and not the other? Doesn’t seem fair.”

“Because they’re not a religion. They’re a cult of evil,” Charles sneered. “You kids these days…”

“I’m 30 years old. I’m not a kid,” Ellie said. “And I’m only pointing out how hypocritical the situation is and how it’s against company policy to display non-store related flyers in the windows.”

Charles huffed and grabbed the flyer out of Ellie’s hand.

“I’ll do it then,” he said before striding over to the window. 

As Charles went to get some tape from behind the register, Ellie noticed someone standing across the street from the store. She blinked and froze. The setting sun made the street outside dim and made details hard to make out, but she recognized the man staring back at her. Ellie closed her eyes for a second and breathed. In and out. In and out. When she opened her eyes again, the man was gone.

I’m going crazy, she thought as she looked out the window and up and down the street. No one was there.

He’s not here, she told herself. You’re just seeing things. It’s okay. You’re safe. 

Post Chapter A/N I hope everyone got to see Rite Here Rite Now. Seeing it has affected the outcome of this fic, so stay tuned! Follow me on twitter :) -ghulehwitch

[moltengoldveins]

Um. So. I’d just like to say that like. The power of autism to defeat the ambient Nastiness of a childhood environment in a small kid? Unparalleled. I grew up in a suuuuuper conservative environment, lotta ‘oh we don’t go downtown that’s where the Crimes (black ppl) are.” but yknow what happened? I was given the same lip-service self-absolving nonsense of “oh of COURSE race means nothing, we don’t see color!” “Oh, of COURSE women are equal to men!” shpiel, and I INTERNALIZED THAT CRAP. I went “oh. Ok!” And absolutely nothing could make me think otherwise. I was too dense to notice when people were ‘giving lip service’ to something so I just assumed everyone meant it and everyone followed the rules like i did. I then proceeded to write a comic about a disabled female ace Indian war vet with ptsd, an ambiguously gendered ace plant guy (who’s just blatantly black. Like homeboy may be green but he has MELANIN. He has dreads. I wasn’t being subtle there) with a rough relationship with his family because they were (a thinly veiled metaphor for Evangelical culture) ultra-religious, a disabled mid-twenties man who was recovering from being sexually trafficked as a child and working through his own faith, and an East-Asian girl with anxiety and anger issues fresh off the American foster system. I was twelve-fourteen (memory is wobbly) when I unironically went “hm. I think the lack of representation and understanding when it comes to men also being victims of assault is a serious problem, one that could be addressed by allowing more narratives where victims of this system include men.” And then Wrote It??? When I was Twelve? ??? I put them in caves underground and made them magic, so nobody looked sideways but my parents, and it took them like four years to notice. They noticed me drawing disabled buff women and were like “hey I know we taught you everyone is beautiful and scars don’t make you less pretty but Not Like That kiddo-“ but it was too late. I had internalized it as a Rule. And as we all know, autistic kids’ Rules are immutable facts of reality. Nothing can be done to stop them. I went back a year or two ago to look at that old comic and it Slaps. I’m rewriting it now.

(Side note someone should ask me about the conversation I had in high school about how Odysseus was actually totally at fault for staying so long on calypso’s island because it’s ‘impossible for men to be assaulted’ I think recounting that conversation would make me Feel Something. The something would be fury but like. It’s better than nothing.)

[bijouxcarys]

I’ve been doing this thing for about a year now, where I’ve made it a goal to try and find the documentary that disturbs me the most.

I stay away from documentaries that focus on animal abuse, since that’s just a massive no-go area, I can’t even think about someone as little as shout at an animal.

But I’ve watched quite a few at this point. I know a lot of people out there are also interested in this kind of thing, so I’ll give you some of the ones that have really had an impact on me. I’ll start with the tamest ones (available on mainstream platforms like Netflix) and it’ll get progressively more upsetting lol.

I’m actually quite a desensitised person, so if a documentary affects me, you know it’s worth it.

Green = unfortunate and upsetting

Orange = Jesus that’s fucked up, that’s latched onto me for a while

Red = The above + will find it difficult to watch again, and this made me cry my eyes out

Bold Red = Kept me up at night for a while + all the above. Still think about it to this day.

Bold with ** = don’t watch if you don’t have a strong stomach and can’t handle emotionless gory images

Take Care of Maya (2023) - Netflix

A nightmare unfolds for Jack and Beata Kowalski after they bring their 10-year-old daughter to the ER with unusual symptoms.

Tell Me Who I Am (2019) - Netflix

When Alex loses his memory after a serious motorcycle accident, he trusts his twin Marcus to tell him about his past, but he later discovers that Marcus is hiding a dark family secret.

Keep Sweet: Pray and Obey (2022) - Netflix

The rise of Warren Jeffs in the Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints and his criminal case.

Abducted in Plain Sight (2017) - Netflix

In 1974, 12-year-old Jan Broberg is abducted from a small church-going community in Idaho by a trusted neighbour and close family friend.

Dreams of a Life (2011)

Discovering the truth about the life of a vivacious, intelligent woman - and how she came to be so tragically forgotten. Nobody noticed when 38-year-old Joyce Vincent died in her bedsit above a shopping mall in North London in 2003. When her remains were discovered three years later, her heating and her television were still on. Who was Joyce Vincent, and how could this happen to someone in today's age of communication?

Just Melvin, Just Evil (2000)

In this documentary focusing on his own tortured family tree, James Ronald Whitney chronicles an evil that seems too pure to be real: Melvin Just. Over the span of three generations, Just, who married Whitney's grandmother and was later convicted of child molestation, is revealed to have abused his stepchildren from two marriages. Whitney not only explores the unspeakable acts perpetrated by his grandfather, but also the legacy of self-destructive behavior that can all be traced back to Just.

Tickled (2016)

In a story stranger than fiction, journalist David Farrier uncovers a strange tickling subculture. Delving deeper into the dark world of a tickling competition, he meets with fierce resistance.

Holy Hell (2016)

Filmmaker Will Allen documents the time he spent with the Buddhafield, a Los Angeles spiritual group.

Jesus Camp (2006)

Filmmakers Heidi Ewing and Rachel Grady visit an evangelical Christian summer camp called Kids on Fire, where children take part in programs designed to strengthen and intensify their beliefs. The camp's founder, Becky Fischer, discusses her mission to indoctrinate youths in the word of God, while young campers play certain combat video games and talk about their love for Jesus.

There’s Something Wrong with Aunt Diane (2011)

The accident made national headlines: a suburban mother drove the wrong way on the Taconic State Parkway in New York and crashed head-on into an SUV, killing herself and seven others. In the aftermath, Diane Schuler was portrayed as a reckless drunk and a mother who cracked. But was she the monster the public made her out to be...or the perfect wife and mother that many say she was? Investigating the case six months after the accident, this documentary searches for answers to a mysterious and senseless tragedy.

Goodnight, Sugar Babe: The Killing of Vera Jo Reigle (2020)

The discovery of the mutilated body of a mentally challenged young mother begins a journey into madness that is so unbelievable the mastermind behind the crime ultimately got away with murder.

Paradise Lost: The Child Murders at Robin Hood Hills (1996)

Paradise Lost was a groundbreaking true crime documentary series released in 1996 that set the bar for the genre and influenced similar productions. The trilogy follows the story of three teenage boys who were wrongfully accused and convicted of a brutal triple homicide in West Memphis, Arkansas. The series explores themes of societal hysteria, wrongful convictions, and the power of media influence, and it launched the careers of filmmakers Joe Berlinger and Bruce Sinofsky.

**Orozco the Embalmer (2001)**

A Spanish-language, Japanese-Colombian mondo film (a subgenre of exploitive documentary films) directed by Kiyotaka Tsurisaki, following a Colombian embalmer named Froilan Orozco Duarte, who is shown living in El Cartucho, an impoverished and crime-ridden area of Bogotá, Colombia, where the homicide rate is high and corpses can be seen on the streets.

The Dying Rooms (1995)

Documentary about a crew going from one orphanage to another in China to investigate these so called "dying rooms" where the orphanage workers leave baby girls to die.

The Dancing Boys of Afghanistan (2010)

In Afghanistan many hundreds of boys, often as young as ten, are being lured off the streets on the promise of a new life. Also known as Bacha Bāzī: an ancient Afghan practice in which men train, buy, and keep adolescent young boys for entertainment and sex in a society that keeps women hidden from view.

Boy Interrupted (2009)

Filmmaker Dana Perry documents the life of her son, Evan, a 15-year-old who committed suicide. The film traces Evan's growing mental illness, including videotapes made throughout his short life and interviews with his friends and doctors.

Dear Zachary: A Letter to a Son About His Father (2008)

Dear Zachary is a both a touching tribute to a fallen friend and a heart-wrenching account of justice gone astray, skillfully put to film with no emotion spared.

[dailyunsolvedmysteries]

Infamous Poisoning Cases: Solved and Unsolved

In November 2014, a Pennsylvania jury convicted Dr. Robert Ferrante of the April 2013 cyanide murder of his wife, neurologist Autumn Klein. Prosecutors were able to establish that Dr. Ferrante bought cyanide, ostensibly for stem cell experiments related to his research into ALS (Lou Gehrig's disease) and that he had come up with a plan to kill his wife because she wanted to have another child. He also may have believed she was planning to divorce him. Robert Ferrante was sentenced to life in prison in February 2015.

In April 2003, 16 members of Gustaf Adolph Evangelical Lutheran Church in the small farming community of New Sweden, Maine, fell gravely ill after a meeting where they'd had coffee brewed in an urn. Walter Reid Morrill, age 78, died from the side effects, and 15 other parishioners were seriously ill. Just five days after the fateful meeting, congregation member Daniel Bondeson, age 53, committed suicide. Bondeson killed himself with a rifle. He allegedly left a suicide note that read like a confession to the mass poisoning. The contents of Bondeson's note have never been made public, and the case is still considered unsolved.

He had moved on with life and was reporting for a Missouri radio station when James Keown was arrested for the 2004 antifreeze poisoning of his wife, Julie. The couple was living in Waltham, Massachusetts when Julie died, and that was where Keown went on trial in 2008. In court, jurors learned Keown had crippling debt and wanted the $250,000 payout from Julie's life insurance policy. His solution was a steady diet of antifreeze in her Gatorade.

[gaykarstaagforever]

Of course Catholics and Evangelical Christians don't want children who were raped to get abortions.

They only have a religion because, according to their own ancient traditions, their god raped a child to get his weird hybrid self / son down here, the one he was going to torture to death for confusing reasons he himself arbitrarily made up.

You can't divorce their policies from the bizarre fantasy nonsense these people sincerely believe. They have a brutal, delusional worldview, and if you put them in power, they'll force it on everyone else.

America has for years gotten away with this unique secularist thing where Fundamentalists and theocrats willingly segregated their own lives, being militantly devout on the weekends, then shrugging and drinking the rest of the week. It's a miracle that persisted as long as it did. The moment times get tough, they were always going to pick the nonsense that defines their social lives and, for many, their substantial incomes, over anything and everything else.

Fools and monsters make foolish, monstrous law, in the name of their foolish monster god.

You want to redefine Christianity, try to clean it up, so you can make it consistent with progressivism, fine, I suppose. But the vast majority of your fellow adherents aren't going to agree to that, because being exclusionary and strict and cruel create a little club with simple rules where people can pretend following those gives them full control of reality. Humanitarianism and genuine "love" don't allow for some small group to pay itself to be in charge of that.

Religious people will always inevitably trip everyone up, because their stupid nonsense always has to take precedence over everything else. They don't have anything else. That's WHY they need it.

And when that nonsense is open about how fundamentally exploitative and convoluted it is...why are you shocked when they legislate that? You were warned by their proselytizing. YOU KNEW who they were.

When someone calls a child-raping, infanticidal god the god of love, compassionate people don't put them in charge defining either crime or love.