#but her response was that if we try to put it with Christian then it will actively turn secular audiences AWAY from those books

[bengiyo]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[queers-gambit]

Now and at the Hour of His Death

prompt: any who say, "it's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all," were never loved by him.

pairing: Osferth x female!pregnant!wife!reader

fandom: The Last Kingdom

word count: 6.1k+

note: fuck you, Netflix.

warnings: you already know - author needs therapy, projects hard, pregnant wife, Lord’s name in vain, Christianity (obviously), and a fuck ton of fucking ANGST because fuck your feelings. hurt NO comfort, drama, oneshot, cursing, canon-typical violence, injury, and blood. character death and spoilers - yeah, i'm giving you THAT scene. requires maturity and caution. good luck.

also please note: NO, i do not age Osferth to be 16 - that's just a reference age for when he eventually runs away from the monastery.

again, you are missing nothing if this upsets or triggers you and you choose to skip. value your wellbeing, my angels. author is not responsible for the media YOU choose consume, but still, as usual, MDNI

"You should not be doing this sort of work," Ingrith's voice scolded you, and when you turned, you saw the blonde woman standing with her hip cocked and a stern expression. "It's bad for your health to be in such filth, we've stable boys for this sort of chore."

"I do not mind," you sniffled in the brisk air, shoveling the horse shit of the stable into a muck bucket to be dumped into the fields later. "It keeps me busy," you grunted lightly, sure to bend your knees when lifting the pitchfork, "keeps me humble," you listed, dumping the waste to grin at your friend, "and keeps me young."

"In what way?"

"Reminds me of my childhood," you eased, continuing your work. "I slept in a stable from the ages of 4 to... Oh, shit, I guess I was about 16 before I left The Loft."

"What?" She breathed in confusion. "Never knew that."

"Yeah, yeah, true story," you beamed at her, still shoveling shit. "I slept in the stalls with the horses, sometimes in the grain rooms - basically anywhere I could since my work didn't include official room and board, so, I had to make do with what was available. Then, one day when I was about ten, Old Man Rivers said I could use the hay loft if I cleared it out, fixed the rotten planks. Stayed up there till I was about 16, and after that, I kinda ran away."

"Old Man Rivers?"

You nodded, "My mother lived on his homestead, but she was real sick, you see. So, he kinda took me in without assuming responsibility for me," you cleared your throat, shrugging, "let me stay in his barn if I worked with the horses and livestock for him."

"Why would you want to be reminded of that?"

"Seems simpler when I look back."

Ingrith sighed, "C'mon, put the pitchfork down. Come help me prepare the rabbits. The scouts say the men aren't too far off, they'll want a hot meal."

You chuckled with ease and set your pitchfork aside, giving a hearty pat to one of the horse's necks as you passed by to exit the stable. Ingrith made sure you washed up before you were both mounting rabbits on the rack to start skinning them.

"Could I ask something?" She wondered after a time.

"Anything you'd like."

"Why'd you run away? From Old Man Rivers?"

You laughed, "I was in love."

"Oh, you and Baby Monk go that far back, huh?"

"Try even farther," you teased. "Our mothers were friends, and when I worked in the stable, he was in the monastery, but when he came to me, saying he couldn't do it any longer, I couldn't let him go alone. Life was supposed to offer more than what we were given, so, we set out to find the legendary barbarian, The Dane Slayer," you teased, both giggling, "our Lord, the legendary, Uhtred of Bebbanburg."

"And all this time...?" She smiled, watching you shuck hide like you've done it your whole life. Ingrith inferred you probably did.

"Yeah," you eased, "all this time, he's been by my side. Kept me close, never left me behind. The others weren't too sure about me on account of being a woman, they told us to piss off a few times - but they came around after Osferth refused to send me away."

"He's a good lad, Osferth," she nodded.

"Arguably one of the best ones," you agreed, nudging her arm gently, "but look who I'm telling, right?"

"Oh!" She giggled, swatting at you loosely before going back to your work for a moment. Suddenly, the townspeople of Rumcofa stirred to life, and over the voices, you heard them announcing their Lord's return - which meant all of your men were home. You both grinned and breathlessly left your post, Ingrith pausing a young lad to ask, "How many return to us?"

"Does it matter? Come, c'mon, let us see ourselves!" You all but squealed, overwhelmed with excitment; eager for your own reunion with the man you've loved since you were a young lass.

"Warn the alehouse!" Finan was heard shouting. "Osferth's thirsty!"

"Jesus," you laughed, dodging around the procession of people waiting to greet their warriors on their return home so you could approach the white gelding your husband rode.

His face was absolutely priceless when he caught sight of you. As Osferth eagerly dismounted, your hands smoothed over the small swell of your belly - purposefully wearing a dress that accentuated your ever-changing figure. "Am I dreaming?" He laughed, a stablehand taking hold of his horse so his hands were free to caress your belly. "Oh, my God, I'm not, 's real, oh, God," he beamed, laughing with you. "You're pregnant? Truly? Yes? I-I am not - I am not being deceived?"

"No, my love, I guess our prayers were finally heard."

"OH-HOOOO!" You heard Finan holler as Osferth finally pulled you in for a sweet kiss; both ignoring the Irishman. "Lord! LORD! Uhtred! Hey! Did you hear!? Baby Monk's got some spunk in 'im afta all!"

"Oh, God," you laughed against Osferth's lips, but he was quick to shush you with another breath-stealing kiss.

"A baby Baby Monk! AHA!" Finan was still laughing, your husband's hands caressing both your cheeks when he pulled back just in time for Finan to descend. You grunted lightly when his heavy arms dropped over both yours and Osferth's shoulders, his laugh still booming as he gave a squeeze and cooed, "Oh, congratulations, yah two love birds! Wasn't sure you had it innyah, boy!"

"Don't be so rough with her, Finan, for God's sake," Osferth scolded, nudging his friend to get out from under his arm.

"What?" Finan looked at you gobsmacked. "Sayin' I gotta treat yah different now or somethin'?"

"I didn't say that," you told him prettily with fluttering lashes, fist quickly balling up to jab him in the weak spot of his armor - making him grunt and wheeze. "Aht-aht!" You warned with a pointed finger when he flinched as if to retaliate, "Can't hit a pregnant woman."

"Oh, yeh li'l shite," Finan laughed, Osferth pushing him towards his wife so he could stand in front of you and command all attention.

Osferth took a moment to simply look at you; thumbs gently tracing over your cheeks in sweeping motions, a slow grin breaking across his lips. "This almost doesn't feel real... But how I have to praise God for this blessing. A baby," he breathed.

"A little you and me," you agreed softly. "Sound okay to you?"

"More than okay," he chuckled, pecking your lips, "sounds like a lifetime together."

"Good by me." His nose nuzzled up yours, the sweet moment broken when he sighed sadly; eyes shut and smile dropping. "What is it? What's wrong, love?" You asked, stepping into his embrace so you were nuzzled into his neck and his arms were wrapped around your form in a vice.

"Uhtred means to move us again," he whispered in your ear. "Brida, she... She's got Father Pyrlig, and - "

"What!?" You snapped, rearing back slightly to pin him under your hardened glare. Pregnancy hormones would surely give Osferth whiplash.

"My love, I did not - "

"Brida's got Pyrlig? Fuck are we standin' here for, let's go!" You reached for his hand, ready to march off.

"Uh, no, no, no, no," he pulled you back to him; anchoring his hands on your hips so you could not escape. "You are not going anywhere. Not now - especially now," he glanced at your still-growing bump. "The men will go, you know we will return, but you have this new responsibility, and that's keeping this little one safe. For us," he smiled at you.

You huffed, "I'm not unfit to do what needs done, Osferth."

"I did not say you were unfit, but look at the timing of it," he frowned. "I should've been here when you learned, but I was not, and I am truly so sorry for it. Look, I do not know how long this venture will be, but you know I will return. We've waited for our family for far too long, I will not jeopardize this - so I will return. If you go with us, and something were to happen," he shook his head, "my angel, I would never forgive myself. So I need you to stay here, stay safe, if for nothing else but for me."

"But Pyrlig - "

"Will be saved," he assured.

"And Brida - "

"Will be dealt with," he eased, chuckling lightly. "My angel, you worry too much about everyone and yet never about yourself."

You pouted, "Well, why is it just me meant to stay back? This is your child, too, Osferth, and should have the right to meet them! You can't always control what happens, accidents are real, what if you don't return - "

"Don't think like that - "

"But it's a real threat to us - "

He agreed, "Of course, but - "

"Yeah, I know," you nodded, cutting him off, "we serve Lord Uhtred. This comes first, and I'm not - "

"I've made a vow to him."

"You made one to me, too, you know."

"Angel, please, don't do this. Do not ask me to choose," he begged with a frown, and you caved.

So, with a sigh, you nuzzled into his embrace and relented, "All right, yes, fine, go after Brida and Pyrlig. And when you find them, tell him I am waiting for his safe return, he is dearly missed. Ideally, I'd have him birth our child."

"Of course," he breathed, finding a small reprieve of relief that you did not fight him further about leaving - about choosing which vow to fulfill: the one to his Lord Uhtred or the one to his wife.

Both made to God.

Luckily, Osferth married his best friend and you were never one to pick fights with him. You liked the harmony you had; the peaceful environment you had both cultivated to preserve the trust and love you built through the years. He was genuinely one of a kind; a man who walked many lines between faith, humanity, right, wrong. He was the voice of reason, constantly striving to do better than he did before, learning all he could as if a rag soaking in water. For all he was, Osferth has always been enough for you, and for that reason alone, you never felt the need to argue.

To fight. To voice contempt.

"Question," you perked up, smirking at him as your pregnancy symptoms ran a little wild, "think we've time to, you know, really give our thanks?"

"Angel - "

"What?" You grinned. "You fucked me on the alter all those weeks ago and look - your seed stuck. We might as well go give thanks in the same manner, just to really show God how thankful we are for this blessing he's given us."

"Think the Devil's gotten into you," he laughed.

"Or your child is ruining my hormones," you countered, his lips meeting yours in another passionate display of his excitement.

"C'mon," he whispered, taking your hand, and leading you to the chapel - thinking you were being sneaky, but your matching giggles made Ingrith and Finan beam at each other.

"He does know she can't get more pregnant, right?" Finan teased, flinching when Ingrith smacked his upper arm.

"WHY!?"

"My angel, please - "

"What the fuck is going on, Osferth!?"

"I'm trying to explain - "

"The Queen? The fucking Queen is dead in our village! How can that possibly be explained!?" When Osferth didn't answer, just sat in the wooden chair before the shared hearth of your humble home, you snapped, "Well!?"

"Are you finished? May I speak now?"

With a huff, you nodded and gestured for him to speak; arms crossing around your swollen tits. He explained to you the reason for Haesten's arrival, the wagon his men toted, and why he brought the Queen's dead body to the settlement of Rumcofa. He told you Haesten wanted to keep the peace when King Edward found out, claiming Uhtred's son-in-law, Stiorra's husband, Sigtryggr, had ordered this death - thinking war would surely roll over his lands.

You never knew Haesten to be a generous man, nor much of an honest one, but it seemed the severity of the situation made everyone eerily on-edge. Uhtred dispatched his men; leaving Finan and Osferth in the village with you, developing a plan that would save both Saxon and Danish life. And yet, it was all futile when evil forces worked against good.

You didn't feel safe in Rumcofa anymore, there was a stench in the air; tension that mounted to embrace all residents with discomfort. Something was about to happen, but nobody knew what. You didn't claim or pretend to know what was happening, but Haesten's abrupt appearance spelled danger for everyone involved. So, as a security measure, you kept a long sword buckled around your swelling waist and a dagger strapped under your skirts. With Lord Uhtred gone, there was no invisible fence protecting Rumcofa - leaving it up to you, Osferth, Finan, and Cynleaf to pose as guard.

Yet you'd never be enough.

Like the surf over sand, a group of angered men descended on Rumcofa. "Who's men are yah?" Finan asked, you lingering at Osferth's side to watch the interaction from a short distance.

"We come from the King," a burly Saxon replied, your head cocking in interest - swearing you've seen him before. "Dane murderers are hiding here and you must hand them over."

"You're mistaken, sir," you kindly offered, the man's eyes shifting over you, "because we live in peace. Any murderers have surely moved on from here. We do not host them."

The man growled, "Don't think that's true, love."

Finan held a hand back at you, meeting your eyes and nodding simply. He turned back for the man in fur, diverting, "Of course, my men will attend to it."

Finan turned from the group, his eyes connecting with yours as he passed by. There was urgency, a quickened pace he adopted; having no intention to hand anyone over, wanting to remove these men without bloodshed. However, that was a distant thought because Father Benedict tried to assure the Saxon leader that nobody in Rumcofa would murder Queen Aelflaed.

You wanted to step in when the Saxon evidently didn't know about the Queen's demise - getting in Benedict's face and demanding to see what he spoke of.

"No, no, no," you muttered nervously, "he can't see the body, love, no, no, no, this is bad. Very bad."

"We can't stop Father Benedict without altercation," Osferth whispered back, keeping a tight hold of your hand, just watching the group. "If something happens, you need to get yourself safe."

"How do we truly know they're from Edward? What credentials do they have?" When Osferth shook his head, you worried, "Got a bad feeling 'bout this, angel."

Then the violence began.

The strange men took charge when their leader walked away, starting to physically harass the citizens; making both you and Osferth step in to try and diffuse the tension. You pushed men off unarmed women, got in between them and the children, did what you could without drawing a weapon.

When a man shoved you away from him, Finan wrangled him away, sneering, "Get yer hands off of her!" He kept the violent men at bay for a moment, telling you, "You need to go, darling - "

"Not now, Fin, look around us! We need to contain the situation, you'll need all hands you can get," You snapped, the two of you forced to part way.

Osferth panted nervously and looked left and right, turning to meet the Saxon and demand, "Tell your men to stand down!" But then, his eyes squinted when you joined his side to pull him back a step or two, recognizing him just as you did.

"I don't think they're here for the Queen, love," you heaved for breath in warning, still backing him up. "They've planned this."

"Finan!" Osferth barked, "These men have been here before!"

The Saxon roared over the fray, "Danes of Rumcofa have murdered our Queen!" His men jeered in anger, making Finan brandish both swords and for Osferth to push you back further from the attention. "Do your duty and rid the cockles from the wheat!"

You were left no choice. Osferth and you both armed yourselves, starting to fight off the Saxons as their leader demanded Danes and Christians be separated. You were unable to help, engaged in battle, but Young Uhtred gathered the Danes and begged Father Benedict to declare the church a sanctuary - thinking it would save lives.

It was only leading the Danes to slaughter.

The Saxon, Bresal, punched Father Benedict when he tried to stand in the way; his men holding Young Uhtred in the doorway to let their men enter the church the Danes were gathered in. They forced Young Uhtred to watch the massacre - men, women, and Danish children all slaughtered with no escape. No hope. No answer to a single prayer. Nobody to stop this bloody situation.

You fought on, Osferth, Finan, and Cynleaf doing their best to protect you by keeping you in the middle of their wee group. But you still got plenty of action.

"This is madness!" You cried out, slicing a man's throat open. "We need aid! We need more men!"

"This way!" Finan encouraged, "We must cut a path for Ingrith! Check the docks! Check the docks!"

You and Osferth ran towards the water, Cynleaf not far away. You searched for Ingrith, but you had no time to linger; engaged one-on-one again, forced to protect yourself and unborn baby. Not a minute later, you saw Ingrith on horseback, being stalled by a Saxon and for your husband to rush to her aid. He punched the man away from the horse, you hacking at another enemy, in time to see Osferth engaging with two Saxons - one being the leader, Bresal.

It all happened so fast.

You were already racing towards them when the unexpected. Osferth was battling on two fronts, holding Bresal at bay, fending off the other Saxon, screaming for Ingrith, who only managed a few paces before the Saxon's dogs spooked her horse. The noise was deafening; people screaming, crying, dogs barking, horses whinnying, swords singing as they clashed.

You watched it happen in slow motion.

You sprinted faster than ever before.

"INGRITH!" Osferth bellowed in worry when her horse reared back and dropped her to the dirt. It left an opening for Bresal to stab his dagger into Osferth's lung - freezing time and wrecking your world.

"NO!" You screamed, Bresal smirking at you and yanking his dagger free. Osferth wobbled, eyes wide as he met yours, the Saxon walking away as Osferth dropped to his knees. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no! Oh, God, no, no, you can't take him - not yet! Please, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no," You repeated, sliding on your knees in the dirt to catch him. "No, no, oh, my God, no, Osferth, no, please! Not now, not now, please, no, God, no! Don't do this! Please, please, please," you rambled, readjusting to better hold him, hearing Cynleaf and Finan yell for Baby Monk, too. You raged at God, "You can't take him yet! You can't have him! He's mine!"

But you heard nothing except your husband's labored breathing.

"An-Angel, angel, my angel," Osferth choked, wheezing and crying as he couldn't hold himself up and completely slumped back into your body. He pawed at your arms in an attempt to get closer.

"No, no, no, you're all right, you're okay, you're okay, my sweet love, you're all right," you insisted, hands stained in his blood as it poured from his wound. You knew it was essential to add pressure to a wound, but also, that this was all futile. Yet you needed to try. "Hey, hey, hey, look at me, just look at me, sweetheart, please, only look at me, nothing else matters," you pleaded with him in a rush, the lads sprinting to where you held your husband to your lap.

Nobody interrupted you.

"Where's the wound?" Osferth sobbed, trembling, blood spurting from his mouth; going paler by the minute. "Angel, please, the wound? Where's the wound?"

"No, no, no, don't worry 'bout that, hey? Don't you worry, you just keep looking at me," you sobbed, holding his neck and cradling him to your swollen belly. "Just at me, my love, okay? Just look at me - don't look anywhere else, okay? Nothing else matters."

"H-How bad? How ba-ba-bad-bad is i-it?"

"You're going to be all right," you lied to Osferth for the first time.

"Oh, my God, oh, my God," Osferth repeated through his tears and fears, "I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die."

He held onto you desperately, sobbing, you slowly rocking. "No, you're all right, Osferth, it's okay, just look at me." You caressed his cheek, smearing blood, but locking eyes. "My love," you whispered, "listen to me - "

"I don't wanna die, please, please, angel, my love, please," he coughed, holding your arm tightly as if it would give him life. "Don't let me die," he wheezed, "don't let me die, my love, please, please. Don't let me die, I don't wanna die. I-I wanna meet our baby, please, I want to meet our baby, I want to be a father. Don't let me die, love, please, I-I wanna be your husband longer - "

"You'll never not be my husband and you'll never not be a father, hear me?" You sniffled, trying to smile at him. "Don't you worry, you're gonna be okay, you're okay, Osferth. You'll always be my husband, nothing will change that - I swear."

Blood pumped with each beat of his frantic heart, making it gush over your fingers. You didn't even feel it.

"Please," he choked, more blood bubbling from his lips, "don't let me die, I don't wanna die. Don't let me die, please, not now, not when our baby isn't here yet, please, I just wanna meet 'em, be a family, I wanna stay with you, don't let me go. Please, don't let me go, I don't want t'go! Don't let me - "

"Shh, it's okay, you're okay. I'm here with you. I'm right here, Osferth, you're not alone, you're never alone. I'm here. I've got you. I'll always have you, I won't ever let you go. Never."

He sobbed harder. "I don't wanna leave you. Please, I don't wanna go, I don't wanna be without you - " But the words choked him, a splatter spraying across your face when he coughed; you didn't even flinch.

"Listen to me," you begged, "I commend you, my dear, sweet husband, to Almighty God, and entrust you to your Creator."

Finan was heard behind you, retching jarring sobs as you read Osferth his death rite prayer. "Don't let me die," Osferth begged still, as if you held that power.

He had always looked at you as if you hung the sun and stars, and now, as if you were his very reason for living. You hated God in that moment for forcing you two through this.

"May you return to Him who formed you from the dust of the earth. May Holy Mary, the angels," now, you choked on your words, emotion clawing your throat, but still continued, "and all the saints come to meet you as you go forth from this life. May Christ who was crucified for you bring you freedom and peace." You sobbed, "May Christ who died for you admit you into His garden of paradise. May Christ, the true Shepherd, acknowledge you as one of His flock. May He forgive all your sins, and set you among those He has chosen. Amen. Please, please, say amen, Osferth, say it, please!"

"A-Amen - Amen!" He coughed, trying to get closer to you, nestling into your warmth as he felt impossibly cold. "Don't leave me, don't leave me, please, please, I don't wanna go, I don't wanna be alone. I can't go without you, please, don't let me go - don't let me die, angel, please, I can't go without you. I-I’ve never been without you my whole life, I don’t wish to start now. I love you. I-I love you, please, don't let me go, I love you. I need you."

"You'll never be without me," you promised, face coated in blood, grime, dirt, and ash; all streaked with your tear tracks. "You will always be my husband, hey? Hear me? You're always gonna be with me, I will never be apart from you. I'll love you forever, Osferth, I won't ever stop." You felt your chest cave in as you sobbed, "Please, don't you leave me - "

But Osferth was wheezing and panting, only staring up at you. "I only need you," he whimpered, "I've only ever needed you, I can't do this without you. Please, I can't - I can't go without you. I don't want to leave you, I can't leave you, please!'

"So don't leave me," you sobbed, him still clawing at you in desperation. "I love you more than life, Osferth, please, don't leave me, okay? Don't go. I love you so much. Being loved by you was my greatest pleasure in this life, I want our child to know your love, too, Osferth, please, don't go."

"I-I wanna meet our baby, I wanna hold 'em, love 'em," he repeated. "Please, this can't be the end, don't let this be the end. W-We have so much more - we were supposed to have eternity together, my love, my angel, please! This isn't the end, I can't - I can't go without you!"

"You're okay," you soothed uselessly, rocking more prominently. "Just stay with me, my love, okay? Stay with me. Don't go. Only look at me, all right? You hear me?" You sniffled, caressing his cheek. "You're the best thing in my life, Osferth, yeah? Understand me? Where you're going, y-you'll be welcomed a hero, with open arms. You'll be my own angel. My real angel. The reason I keep going for our child. An-And you'll stay there just for a little while until I join you, okay? You'll watch over us, me and the baby, right? Our own angel? Hey? 'Cause you'll never be part from us - you'll never be apart from me. You and I are a forever sorta thing, we'll never be apart, we'll always be part of each other no matter what."

Osferth lost his words, eyes widening and pulling you closer.

You just soothed, "I'm here with you, my love. I'm here, I've got you. You're not alone, I'm right here, I have you. I've got you. I love you. I love you so fucking much, Osferth, okay? I love you more than anything, you're my everything. I love you," you sniffled, breaking down in worse sobs, repeating, "I love you, I love you, I love you so much, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry I wasn't faster, I love you, this shouldn't be happening. I'm so sorry, I should've come faster! I love you, I'm so sorry."

With his last breath, Osferth choked, "L-Love y-y-you."

"I love you," you hushed, bending at the waist to rest your forehead on his, "I love you so much. You're gonna be okay, you're gonna be all right, you'll be safe - where you're going, you'll be safe. I'm so sorry, my love... I'm so sorry."

You felt him go still. You felt the last of his breath exhale, his body deflate. You felt his soul detach from his body.

You froze.

"Oh, my God," you breathed, pulling back to look down at his petrified features. "Oh, my God, no, no, no. God, please, please, give him back," you sobbed, "give him back to me! Do not take him! It's not his time, you selfish cunt! Give him back! It wasn't supposed to end like this! Give him back to me, please! Please! This isn't how this was supposed to happen! We promised eternity together, please! Let us have that! Let us be together, give him back to me! I need him!"

Your shrill hysterics were heard all over Rumcofa.

Finan sobbed into his wife's arms behind you, Cynleaf knelt to slowly extend his hand onto your shoulder. "I'm so sorry," he offered, but you pushed him away harshly; knocking him into the dirt.

"No! I don't want your fucking condolences!" You snapped, holding Osferth tighter, "I want my husband! I want my husband back! Can you give him to me? Can you, Cynleaf? Can you give him back to me!?"

"No - "

"Then you have nothing to offer me! I want nothing else, nothing from you! I only want him!" You looked away from the young lad, finding Osferth's wide open eyes staring up at you. You whimpered, "I only need him, so, please. Please, give him back to me. Please. I need him, I need him, I can't do this without him, please, God, don't do this. You take so many lives, why add him to the mix!? Give him back! C'mon," you begged the cooling body, "c'mon, love, get up. Get up for me, please, just wake up. Come back to me, get up... Get up, Osferth, get up! Please! WAKE UP!"

But Osferth never moved. Never blinked. Never drew breath. And God never answered your pleas. Your dress was saturated in your husband's blood; a pooling puddle seeping into your knees, bodice drenched, his baby moving in your belly. You wailed into the still air, holding your husband tight to your chest; mouth agape to release the terrible screams of anguish, tears never ending, rocking on your knees. You didn't know what to feel... But devastation was prominent.

You wept until your throat went raw, jaw tender from your open mouth. "I'm so sorry!" You repeated, "I should've been quicker! I should've been at your side! You shouldn't have been alone! This is my fault! This is all my fault, I shouldn't have been away from you. I should've been with you, you did not deserve this end. Please! Forgive me, wherever you are, forgive me, I did not intend for this, I shouldn't have left you, I should've been at your side, I'm so sorry. This is all my fault, I'm so sorry."

"No," Ingrith whispered, "no, do not say this is your fault, you did nothing - "

"Exactly!" You snapped at her, eyes ablaze, her husband silent. "I did nothing, I wasn't with him! I wasn't where I was supposed to be! And he was stabbed because of you!"

Finan whispered your name in reprimand.

"No! How many times have you rode a fucking horse, Ingrith!? And now, today, the time it truly matters, you fall; you posed distraction," you sobbed, crumpling in on yourself. "He was distracted by your fall... This shouldn't've happened, this is all wrong!"

The trio just watched you, knowing your emotions were raw and unwavering, that your words did not have meaning because your husband had just died in your arms. Hours passed, you did not move. Hours passed, your husband did not return. Hours passed, and your heart shattered with each passing breath you selfishly drew.

Because living felt selfish now without Osferth.

"Sweet one," Finan whispered, the sun setting, "we should move him. Bring him to the church so Benedict can pray."

Your head shook, "No."

"Darlin', we have to - "

"No," you whimpered, "because if you take him to Benedict, it's real. If we move, he's truly gone... He can't be gone, Finan," you sobbed, meeting your friend's eyes. "If you move him, he's gone, I'm not ready to say goodbye, please. Please, don't take him from me."

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, "but he should be laid to rest."

"Don't take him from me," you begged, a new wave of tears starting. "I just - we were supposed to be a family. We were supposed to have this baby, and now, it's just me? This cannot be, so please, don't take him from me, I only need him back. Give him back to me, Finan, please, I can't be without him."

"I know," he nodded, gently encouraging you into his embrace. It meant you had to let go of Osferth, something you did slowly and gradually, leaning into the Irishman's chest. "All right, I got yah," he whispered, looking to his wife. "C'mon, stand with Ingrith. I'll carry him."

"Be gentle," you sobbed, feeling Ingrith grip your arms to help heave you to your feet; watching Finan scoop Osferth over his shoulder. The change of position made more blood splatter to the dirt, your heart stalling in your chest when you heard the mess.

You felt your soul shriveled and hidden somewhere deep in your chest, following as if in a trance. You watched Finan and Cynleaf slowly lower Osferth to the ground with the other dead Danes, feeling yourself drop to the ground in shock.

Seeing Osferth amongst the dead made it so much more real.

"It's all my fault," you sobbed, Finan moving to your side, "it's all my fault, I got him killed. I should've been quicker. This is my fault, my fault, I did this, 's my fault."

Finan knelt beside you, bringing your foreheads together to hold you tightly and let you sob into his embrace. "You didn't do this," he promised, "you did nothing wrong. You are not at fault. Do not carry this guilt."

You sobbed without reprieve.

Young Uhtred halted Father Benedict from praying over the Danes, telling the older man they had different customs, but looked back at you. He asked your name softly, wondering, "Do you wish for a prayer for... Him?"

Even Young Uhtred couldn't stomach the truth, avoiding using Osferth's name out of sheer disbelief.

"That'd be nice," Finan agreed, turning to sit beside you and hold you under his arm. You leaned into his embrace, head to his shoulder. "She read him his death rites when... It happened."

Young Uhtred nodded, bowing his head, leading, "Our Father, Who art in heaven, Hallowed be Thy Name. Thy Kingdom come, Thy Will be done, On earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day, our daily bread, And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."

Then, you joined from under Finan's heavy arm, sobbing through your words, "Hail Mary, Full of Grace, The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now, and at the hour of our death."

Benedict finished, "Glory Be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit. As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end."

Together, you, Ingrith, Young Uhtred, Benedict, Finan, and even Cynleaf ended, "Amen."

Feeling the most level-headed, Ingrith stepped in and directed the men; informing that Young Uhtred should lead the remaining Danes to Daneland, Finan and Cynleaf would meet Uhtred on the road, and she would accompany you to Wessex - where Osferth could be laid to rest at the place of his birth. Then, the people mourned together for their fallen.

Finan disagreed initially, telling his wife you were his responsibility now that Osferth was passed. But there was no way you could continue with the company, not in your pregnant state. Finan didn't like the idea of you being without him, considering you close to a sister; something of a best mate, someone he couldn't turn his back on - no matter the situation. However, he understood the predicament and finally agreed to part ways, but not before he untied Osferth's crucifix and latched it around your neck. At the gates of Rumcofa, before separating, Finan gifted you his rosary; thinking it might bring comfort in his physical absence.

Years from then, you would bring up a single son named Gabriel (a name your husband favored, a name benefitting an Angel) under Lord Uhtred in his birthplace of Bebbanburg. You never remarried. You never even so much as looked after another man with lust. Gabriel would grow into a handsome warrior and a devoted man of God, satisfied on tales about his father; being painted as a man of honor, integrity, and bravery. Osferth, too, was a man of God, a man of the sword, and a man of his word... Until the very end. And when your time came, you were brought back to Wessex to be laid to rest with your husband; your son having a son, naming him Osferth, and knowing, both his parents shined down on him in pride.

It was a comfort for everyone to know, somewhere in the afterlife, in God's warmth, you and Osferth were reunited; looking just as you did the day you parted from one another.

requesting rules and masterlist

[tyrannosaurus-maxy]

Sophie was in a kart by the age of 10. By 14 she was a serious force, Belgian national champion and subsequently competing in the world championship for five years. But her career was cut short when she became pregnant with Max at the age of 22. That’s when her dreams of breaking through into car racing – she was hoping to compete in DTM (German Touring Car Championship) or GT racing – were put on hold, forever as it turned out. Van der Grint, as Bridgestone’s chief karting tyre engineer, was responsible for choosing the squad of drivers who would test the company’s products. He wanted only the fastest karters available. ‘We only had five or six of those out of over a hundred. They were drivers who were very fast and she was one of them. I don’t mean a good driver for a woman – I hate that. No, she was absolutely a top driver. She beat Jos in one of the important races. She won the Andrea Margutti Trophy in ’95, beat all the big stars. Sophie is a very lovely person and is the relaxed side of Max. As an example, she’d always bring chocolates, trying to build a team around her. She made it a personal relationship, it was nice. She knew everyone and was very social – and Max also has this.’ ‘The Margutti Trophy was a big deal,’ states Michel Vacirca, boss of the Netherlands CRG karting team. ‘It was almost like a world championship. That was a huge result for Sophie.’ A fledgling Jenson Button could also see the potential in Sophie: ‘Sophie was my teammate in karts in ’95 in Paul Lemmens’ GKS team. She was a professional kart racer, there because she was one of the best in the world.’ Christian Horner, who was trying to compete against her in his own fledgling career at the time, believes, ‘She was definitely in the top 10 karters in the world at that time. I raced against her back in 1989. There was a European championship in Parma, Italy that then qualified you for the world championship in Zaragoza, Spain, and she was properly quick. And this was the time of Trulli, Fisichella, Jan Magnussen (who won it that year), Dario Franchitti. There was a really strong group of talent coming through and she was amongst it.'

Unstoppable by Mark Hughes, 2023

[vigilskept]

gnashing my teeth thinking about how veilguard talks about the gods only as a joke when they could've gone somewhere truly crazy.... you're so right.

Yeah... you get it. It's just such a missed opportunity!

I don't even mind the jokey tone they use a lot of the time, because we all joke about things we struggle to understand/cope with.

Except Veilguard refuses to let you even try to broach the subject beyond that surface level. In fact, when it does let you engage with it at all, it manages to make things even less nuanced!

I'm just going to talk about Bellara's quest here since it's the most directly linked with the elven gods, and it's already a lot. Fundamentally, her companion quest is asking us two things:

Should elves be blamed for the actions of the Evanuris?

Should they preserve any of their past at all?

The first one is absurd to even begin with. It's not even a good or interesting take on the (very christian!) question: "Are we responsible for the sins of our ancestors?"

The Evanuris are not the ancestors of modern elves. Dalish religion implies that modern elves descend from those who the rebels never freed from slavery to the Evanuris.

This setup is already awful without looking at any of the parallels Bioware has (intentionally) drawn between the elves of Thedas and Jewish/Indigenous people. I have to put the rest of this under the cut because I genuinely don't think it can be shortened without making it sound flippant. In the context of the coding of the elves, the theological/social implications of all of this are so much worse.

TLDR: the indigenous/jewish coding of the elves makes bioware's treatment of elven religion in veilguard thoughtless at best, cruel at worst. they did not have to write themselves into this corner. there was a way of handling this lore reveal without the implication of elven religion (again, jewish/indigenous coded) being obsolete

So, the religion of the Dalish was part of their enslavement. It's the belief they were forced into by the cruel gods they are still devoted to. That's already pretty bad. How could it get worse, you might wonder?

Whether Bioware deviated from their initial inspirations for the elves or not, the implications for these lore reveals in light of those parallels are particularly cruel. Those two core questions in Bellara's quest? Yeah. Those have both been levied against the oppressed groups that Bioware chose to draw inspiration from. Both historically and presently. To justify atrocities against them.

And to be clear, Bioware does not deviate from or subvert the usual indigeous and jewish-coding of the elves in their writing here. If anything, they end up actively endorsing a very significant element of antisemitic and anti-indigenous sentiment.

Indigenous-Coding

Advocates of colonisation have always justified it by arguing they were 'saving' groups of people who were stuck in the past. They had been ‘left in the dark’ through ignorance of Christianity. In the more secular sense, this was framed as Europeans having journeyed through history to reach enlightenment, while the rest of the world was still in an ‘uncivilized’ state.

Christianity and progress had to be brought to these people to save their souls and bring them into the future with everyone else. Their Gods? There were only two possible ways to frame those. Either they were not real at all, or they were evil. Either way, they were obsolete.

In the Americas, these arguments were still used when corralling indigenous children into residential schools or tearing them from communities through the adoption system. Governments pushed the idea that they had to be forced to assimilate because they were 'backward' in their practices and beliefs.

In the settler-colonial state Canada, where Bioware is based, it's still common enough to hear people justify all of this as having been done "for their own good." Even those who admit that the ways colonization was perpetuated were cruel will still try to defend it by telling you, "it was bad, but their ancestors weren't saints either."

Sounding painfully familiar yet? A little uncomfortable in the context of Bellara's questline?

Jewish-Coding

Since the dawn of Christian Church, Jewish people have had a very fraught place in Christian theology. Christianity claims that that the coming of the messiah in the person of Jesus Christ makes the religion of Judaism obsolete. Christians believed the obvious answer to this problem was that Jewish people should convert.

When many did not, they were labeled as ignorant, obstinate, stuck in the past. They were so focused on their history that they couldn't see the truth which had been revealed in the present. There’s a significant legacy of this idea in Christian artwork with depictions of Synagoga blindfolded next to the clear eyed Ecclesia. You still hear echoes of this sentiment in antisemitic language today.

As for the nature of the Jewish God... there is some deviation here. For some Christians, He is God the Father, and He is good. For others — and this idea has been around from early Christianity till now — He is the Creator of the material world, but He is evil.

There are innumerable variations of Christian gnosticism that probably wouldn't be productive to get into on a Dragon Age Blog. What I need to underline here though, is that the idea of the Old Testament God as the devil/the demiurge/fundamentally evil, has been used to justify atrocity towards Jewish people for over a thousand years.

Should elves be blamed then? For the sundering of the Titans? For the Veil? For the Blight? For the evils of this world, created by their Gods?

Implications for Veilguard

Not only is religion in Dragon Age: The Veilguard often devoid of nuance or ignored outright, when the game does engage with it at all, it does so in a way that quite literally draws on these incredibly harmful antisemitic and anti-indigenous sentiments that have been (and still are) used to perpetuate real harm.

To be clear, I don't think the writing here intends to endorse the idea that elves should be blamed for any of what's going on. Bellara's anxieties are being projected onto her people as a whole while she grapples with what this all means for her, I get that. In fact, you could be generous and read some of this as a critique of this particular kind of anti-indigenous/jewish bigotry.

However, I don't think that absolves the writers of any of the implications they've created by confirming that the elven pantheon did exist and was canonically evil.

Elements of Dalish/elven culture might be preserved after all this, but the conclusion the game railroads you into is that their religion is obsolete. Just like Judaism. Just like the many Indigenous religions around the world. Except in Dragon Age: The Veilguard, it’s no longer just the bigotry of outsiders claiming that to be the case. It’s now the objective truth of the setting.

Going forward, the elves of Thedas can keep their culture, but they can’t practice their religion. If they continued to practice, they would be framed the way the Venatori are: evil and stuck in the past. This really can’t be overstated: this is the exact rhetoric that has justified centuries of violence and oppression of Jewish and Indigenous people. This rhetoric is still around and still weaponized.

It’s so cruel to create an in world ‘lineage’ that draws so heavily from their cultures and histories, then validate the rhetoric that has been used to hurt them. At best, it’s thoughtless. But as a company based in a settler-colonial state, this is something they should’ve put thought into, given that they chose to code their elves and Jewish and Indigenous. That was their responsibility, actually.

What gets me about all this is that they actually didn't need to force that conclusion at all. They could have kept the Evanuris as cruel tyrants without demonising the Creators and their worship at the same time.

The Evanuris weren't always Gods. They weren't even always rulers.

In Trespasser, when asked how they became Gods, Solas tells Lavellan that they did so slowly. That it started with a war. That fear bred a desire for simplicity. For right and wrong. For chains of command. That generals became respected elders, then kings, and finally gods.

Veilguard confirms all of this. The addition it makes is that before all this, the first elves were spirits who made their bodies out of the Titans. This all occurred over the course of thousands of years.

None of this needs to be retconned in order to allow for a respectful yet nuanced portrayal of religion!

TLDR pt2: bioware, u could’ve avoided literally ALL of this by making the evanuris part of a priestly class who seized power after the war with the titans. it wouldn’t even have undermined ur lore! u could’ve kept dalish religion alive! u could’ve implied complex political dynamics for your ancient elves without even having to write it! why didn’t you even try?

Trying to Fix This Mess

Say the elves took their bodies from the Titans and settled the lands of Thedas. Say the Titans even allowed this for a time. The dwarves were made from their own bodies after all.

Yet the elves didn't have the same connection with the Titans as the dwarves did. They had no stone-sense, so they couldn't understand the Titans' song.

Generations down the line, some of them took too much from the Titans. More than they were willing to give. That was when the Titans lashed out, making the earth tremble so that all the elves had built crumbled beneath them.

And what if the firstborn among the elves had taken up priesthood to guide the younger ones. They were closer to spirits than the elves that were born into this world, and so the younger ones looked to them for guidance. Maybe they were the ones who were trusted to reach out to the more powerful of the spirits who chosen stay in the Fade, their old kin who preferred to keep their distance from the physical world to preserve the essence of what they were. The spirits of Justice, of Benevolence, of Craft. Those who the elven people paid homage to, and trusted to preserve them in turn.

So when everything seemed to fall apart, the elves turned to their Keepers, their priests, and asked of them what they ought to do. How could they make the earth stop shaking? What would they have to do to be at peace again?

Whatever the spirits themselves may have responded, many of the Keepers (among them the Evanuris) took up arms and chose war. They saw it could be won so they fought, sundering Titans from their dreams and stilling the land.

And yet there was no peace.

Some Keepers sought to hold on to their power as generals, and wanted to wage war on new shores to keep it. Some Keepers thought they had already gone too far, claiming they had acted without the guidance of the spirits who hadn't wanted war.

These Keepers could've caused chaos and endless bloodshed, so the Evanuris formed their alliance to suppress the others. Likely, they thought they were doing so for the benefit of all the elven people. More war meant more death, and it was needless now that the land was still. And even if what they did to the Titans was wrong, it was done and they could not fix it. Better to silence those who meant to stir up fear among the people.

The Evanuris fought until they were the last faction left, naming the few holdouts the Forgotten Ones. They were praised for bringing peace to Elvhenan, and trusting in their guidance their people crowned them as rulers.

Yet some dissent always remained. None of them were infallible. They were no longer spirits, they hadn't been for thousands of years. They were now more accustomed to command than to priesthood after all that war. They had drawn on the power they had stolen from the Titans to gain the advantage over their enemies, and the corruption of the Blight was starting creep in, ever-so-slowly.

Maybe some of the people, unhappy with their rule, started to voice the thought that was expressed by their rival Keepers once more: that the Evanuris had grown distant from the spirits. That Elgar'nan didn't serve Justice anymore. That Mythal had strayed from Benevolence.

So Evanuris took the mantle of godhood for themselves. It was only for peace and stability.

It would be too dangerous if anyone could claim they were deviating from the will of the spirits, so they would claim they were those great spirits. Elgar'nan was Justice, Mythal was Benevolence. They would use their rule only for the benefit of the people, not abuse their power.

And there you go. None of what I've written above can't be neatly incorporated into the existing lore of Veilguard. It leaves the elves of Thedas precisely where they started in Dragon Age: Origins. Distant from their ancient Gods, trying to pick up the pieces of their forgotten past.

[heavenlymorals]

Dutch Van Der Linde: An Outdated Progressive

(Warning: This post contains period typical attitudes such as racism and sexism as well as spoilers for RDR2. This retrospective is also pretty damn long too.)

I love Dutch Van Der Linde. Honestly, he is one of my favorite characters ever and just the whole concept of his character and the philosophy of his character as well is something that just sticks with you.

He is charming, intelligent, cultured, charismatic, a right Messiah, and a right bastard all the same time.

But the thing that I believe people most remember about Dutch Van Der Linde is his romantic image. What I mean by this is the things he stood for and the things he wanted to change.

This makes Dutch have a positive image pretty quickly from the very start. In the first scene with him, he's encouraging people, rallying them up, and giving them hope in such an awful situation. He saves Sadie from a terrible fate and asks Hosea to send someone to bury her husband. Arthur and Charles talk fondly of him. He makes it clear in the train robbery that he despises the systems that keep men rich whilst most people starve.

Whether or not Dutch was always cracked, to the characters in the game, he was a great man because of his beliefs and because of his empathy/sympathy.

But what gets me is that a lot of people in this fandom misconstrue Dutch's character into being what we see today as a progressive. I see people saying things like "Bill shouldn't be racist, he's with Dutch's gang" or "why is Micah in the gang" and other similar things as to where people get confused as to why characters with immoral belief systems are respected and active heavy hitters in the gang.

This isn't saying that Dutch isn't progressive because he IS. For his time period, he was VERY progressive.

However, before I get into that, I want to establish some context in terms of the time period that we are talking about.

Theodore Roosevelt was the 26th president of the United States from 1901 to 1909. He once had dinner with African American leader Booker T. Washington. This one singular act of simply eating with one another as a white man and black man was so scandalous that it became an outrage to many politicians that the PRESIDENT, the literal face of America, was having dinner with a black American leader.

Teddy later put out this response: “The only wise and honorable and Christian thing to do is to treat each Black man and each white man strictly on his merits as a man, giving him no more and no less than he shows himself worthy to have."

A lot of people would take this event and try to say that Teddy Roosevelt was a progressive equivalent to our time when that is simply not true. Roosevelt was racist to many groups in his personal writings and he believed in the racial hierarchy, even though he had respect for any self made man.

Was Roosevelt a progressive? Yes. For his time, he was a progressive. He was pro union, anti monopoly, and created many government departments like the FDA. He also believed in the merits of a man. But the thing about historical progressives is that their standard of progression doesn't fit in with our criteria anymore.

Dutch is the same. Is he a progressive? Yeah, of course he is. But is he a true progressive in our standards? No. Not really.

This is why the gang allows racist gang members. That is also why the only repercussion to such racism is if the victim of it is willing to dish something out like Charles slamming Micah on the ground or Javier pulling a knife on Bill. It is also why the gang is pretty traditional and rigid in their gender roles. It's also why queer people (ie. Bill) are casually mocked within the gang too.

Another thing too- Dutch is a romantic. People misconstrue that with being a progressive when that really isn't the case. Romantacism is a philosophy that was a rejection of the realism of the Enlightment. It focused on Idealism. The thing with Romantacism, though, is that it was a super white-washed philosophy. It was made to mould into white cultures and belief systems specifically for white men. Dutch could say all men are equal and he may believe that, but it's clear that he doesn't see equality in the same way that we see equality today.

What I mean by this is that any man is equal but if told otherwise, that man is the one who has to prove them wrong. It's his business and he should be the one to deal with it. That's why other gang members don't back up Charles or Javier if they find themselves in a situation with another gang member who is racist. It's their responsibility to deal with their own beefs. It wouldn't be like today where we all publically shun racism.

Remember when Dutch, Arthur, and Micah come back from Sadie's cabin? Micah says something about not wanting to share a room with Bill and POC, to which Dutch can hear and doesn't say anything and Hosea only says "Get yourself to bed" instead of calling Micah on what he said. Same goes for Arthur too. He may condemn and do something about violent racism, like how when he helps the doctor in Rhodes get his wagon back, but he doesn't really say anything when Micah or Bill say racist things to Charles, Javier, or Lenny. That's their business, so to speak, and they should be the ones handling it.

Also note the poc's characters relationship with Dutch. Javier likes Dutch because of the revolutionary ideals that he believes in. Charles likes Dutch because he treats him fair. Lenny likes Dutch because Dutch is far more progressive than other white men, but he also calls out Dutch's romantic philosophy because it doesn't really include POC or their struggles. Dutch sympathizes with their struggles, but he cannot emphasize, which is the problem with his romantic philosophy. It's a culture that is a house to white people, but POC are only guests in it in terms of its European and American tradition. Yes, Dutch hates what the Europeans did to the natives, but given the context beforehand and the things he says, he hates less the violence and more the upheaval of the lifestyle that he wants, which is one that is connected to nature and earth. I also find it interesting how the only person Dutch kinda defends from racism is Lenny, the same boy who calls him out for reading too much into Miller and not into reality. It could very much be Dutch unconsciously trying to prove Lenny wrong.

And the thing with Dutch is that he isn't squeaky clean when it comes to racism either. He's racist too, but he's racist to groups that we don't see as marginalized anymore and this goes for Hosea as well. The biggest example of this is with Italians, who weren't considered white at the time, same with the Irish.

We have this conversation between him and Hosea:

"Have you ever met an Italian strongman before?"

"Not outside the circus."

I shouldn't have to explain that.

And there is also when Bronte set them up.

"That greasy son of a bitch, he set us up!"

It doesn't sound strange at first but context matters a lot. Though 'greaser' is a slur that we see thrown at Javier for being a Mexican multiple times in the gang, that slur was also used against Italians. So Dutch saying that is him still purposing that slur but in a different way.

Another thing that I noticed is that whenever Dutch wants to speak with someone who isn't white or wasn't deemed white at the time, he would dumb down or slow down his speech first before the person he's speaking to shows that they know English, in which then he talks normally. He doesn't automatically consider that hey, these are people who are intelligent and understand English.

Here are two examples:

This is Dutch to Bronte.

"Why do you take his son?"

"Excuse me?"

"I said why DID you take his son."

He fixes the way he talks as soon as he realizes that Bronte speaks english.

And then to Eagle Flies.

"How do you DO?" (In the game, he slows down his speech and emphasizes the do.)

"Not well, sir."

"I can see that."

This is such a subtle detail but it shows that even subconsciously, Dutch isn't as admirable as we sometimes like to make him out to be in terms of OUR time period and that we shouldn't be surprised when other gang members or Dutch himself do or say things that aren't cool.

And of course, there is the sexism of the gang and that Dutch is shown to be sexist multiple times in the game.

"There are two theories about arguing with women and neither of them work."

"Good Lord, a few more like her and we can take over the whole world." (This was a sarcastic dig at Sadie)

And given the rigidness of the gender roles in camp and that the girls are barely in any missions and are mostly just doing house work, Dutch supports this system because just like how political Romantacism wasn't really for POC, it wasn't really for women either.

He can also be religiously prejudiced as well, though this shows up only once in the game. When you get into Saint Denis, Dutch says this:

"Here we are in this strange land of Papists and rapists."

Papists is another word for Catholic and given how he connects them with rapists, it makes it quite clear that he doesn't like them all that much, which makes sense given that Dutch is some form of Protestant and the general disgust regarding Catholics at the time. There is also the fact that a lot of reasons why Italians, Irish, and Hispanic people dealt with discrimination is because of the Catholic background in many of their cultures.

Again, it's a small detail, but when you look at the time period he says that in, it opens up many doors to many other social issues that were there at the time and how Dutch, despite being better than many, is also still a man of his time and this idea that the gang is this beacon of prosperity and progression is generally overemphasized to something that it is not.

Again, I love Dutch's character and he was a progressive but it isn't surprising to see these negative equalities come out from him and from the gang as an extension. They all have their flaws, even if those flaws are especially jarring at points.

Historical people almost always have historical attitudes, guys. It's just the unfortunate truth.

In any case, this is already way too damn long and I hate proof reading so bye 😃

[sexy-monster-fucker]

Leisure

Baby Billy Freeman x Preacher's Daughter!Reader

-> Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 //

Summary: Baby Billy is a guest at the Readers church. Reader is the preacher’s daughter who leads Sunday School for the young kids. Billy has taken a liking to her.

CW: age gap (reader is 21+),

a/n: I’m not really a Baptist Christian anymore and haven’t been for a long time, HOWEVER when it comes to writing things in this universe it’s almost hard to avoid writing as if the reader is a church goer. I’m trying to keep the religious aspect of it to a minimum, but if something like that upsets you I wouldn’t suggest reading. Religious trauma 🙃

~~~

A cool Southern breeze danced across your shoulders. It was Friday evening, the Sun wasn’t hardly going down yet but it would not be too long before the chill of the night fully took over.

Cold brick pressed against your back, arms crossed over your chest as you stood out front. This Chapel, which your father had pastored since you were in Kindergarten, was like a secondary home to you. Your mother smoothed down her perfectly fitting dress awaiting the guest you all would be welcoming. Your father straightened his tie, clearing his throat in preparation.

A older looking vehicle pulled into the gravel of the parking lot. Tires catching against the loose rock. A tall, thin man with platinum white hair and a huge white smile stepped out of the drivers seat. He was older, still about ten years younger than your parents.

Baby Billy Freeman. A somewhat washed up, old Christian Singer. Your father had seen his listing somewhere online and called inviting him out to your Church.

“Mr. Freeman! We are so grateful to have you here with us today,” your father approached, hand extended out in a greeting. “No need for formalities, now. You can just call me Baby Billy,” he shook your father’s hand a charming grin painting cleanly across his face. Your mother approached behind, she and Billy went through the same motions. Awkward greetings and a soft handshake. You stood back behind your parents allowing them to do the talking for the Church. Last thing you wanted to do was embarrass them.

You stood as straight as you could, hands folded in front of you. Soft, dainty smile painted your sealed lips. You watched as they talked about the church and how they could not wait to have him perform for the congregation. You observed Baby Billy. His eyes darting past your parents to get a look at you. Your stomach did a flip the first time you held eye contact with him.

That’s wrong of you. Lust is a sin after all.

You fell back as your parents turned to begin up the stairs of the church house. Allowing them to walk first. Baby Billy stopped and extended a hand to you, “And what’s your name, sweetheart?”

That pet name painted your skin pink. “Y/N. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Freeman,” you smiled taking his hand in yours. “Now, now, doll. Like I told your daddy: call me Baby Billy,” he smiled staring deep into your eyes. “Of course Mr— Baby Billy,” you returned his smile.

Doll.

“She’s a quick learner,” Baby Billy turned back to following your parents. “Yep, that’s our girl. Y/N is the Sunday School teacher for the littles here,” your father spoke. Billy raised his eyebrows in response. You followed a few steps behind as your parents showed him around the walls of the church, stopping room by room to explain how the church was ran. Your chapel was no mega-church much like those of Baby Billy’s sister’s family, the Gemstones. Just a modest size domain with the seats filled on Sundays.

Your father took stance behind the poolpit, hands on both sides of the podium. Large hands smacking causing an echo from the handcrafted wooden frame. “And right here is where you’ll be standin’ on Sunday. I cannot express how grateful we are to have someone of your talent here, Baby Billy,” your father smiled.

“Yes sir, Mr. Y/L/N. God put me here for a reason, spreading the sweet gospel in his name is what I live for,” Baby Billy clapped his hands together. You all erupted in glee together. You looked out the window seeing the sun had gone down. Your mother joined you, “Well, guess we outta start heading out. Sun is gone down. Do you have a place to stay for the night, Baby Billy?”

Baby Billy coughed out a breath, covering it up with a fake smile, “Old motel down the road’s all I could get. Which is no problem, of course.”

Your father patted him on the shoulder, “No guest of our church will be staying in some drug ridden hole. We have plenty of rooms at our home, come stay with us for the night, Baby Billy.” Baby Billy’s face lit up. You had to fight your excitement when your parents started inviting him over.

Act. Casual.

“Well, I hate to impose,” Baby Billy waved off, your parents quick to insist. “That dirty motel is no place for you!” Your mother chimed. Billy’s eyes flashed in your direction. Hazel color melting your composure slightly. “I’d love to!” Baby Billy laughed, pulling your parents into an awkward forced hug. Your mind was a complete mess.

Baby Billy followed behind your parents’ car. Down the short gravel road, through the tunnel of beautiful lively trees, pulling right in front of the garage of your nicely sized home. No mansion, but a home large enough for a family to grow up in. Plenty of space for you and all your siblings when you all lived at home. Now it was just you. The house full of empty bedrooms, connected by Jack-and-Jill baths. You missed your siblings, but you loved the freedom of the entire upstairs to yourself.

Your parents got out, waiting for Billy to join them closer to the house. You lagged slightly, waiting to get out until Baby Billy was strutting his way up your driveway. You noticed how he stopped right next to you, standing so he was facing your parents.

“Well, Y/N is going to be your host for the evening, Baby Billy,” your father began. You grew hot in the face unsure what he was talking about.

“Your dad and I have some couples meetings to attend tonight for the congregation. You’ve lived here long enough to know how to make him feel like a guest, right?”

“We know you can do it, Y/N. Let Baby Billy stay in whichever room he chooses, help him carry his bags up stairs. We will be back later,” your dad patted you on the shoulder. Your mom telling you “love ya” as they both hopped back into their car, driving off.

Hesitation and embarrassment drowned you. Your throat tightening, unable to make eye contact with Baby Billy. Eyes staring into the taillights that slowly dimmed the further your parents drove off. They never really were home.

“So,” Baby Billy broke the silence, walking towards his station wagon, “Just you and me tonight, sugar?”

You blushed instantly. “I supposed it is. I’ll help you get situated for the night, Baby Billy,” you followed behind him, stopping at his trunk with him. He smiled at you, noticing how you were struggling to hold eye contact with him. “You ain’t got nothing to be nervous about, sweetheart. Baby Billy doesn’t bite,” he laughed, “Unless you want me to.” You darted your eyes up at him, cocking an eyebrow. You smiled, returning his laughter. Between the two of you, you carried all his items in one go. You led him up the stairs to the hallway of bedrooms.

“Well, this one is mine. You can have any of the other one’s you want,” you opened each door as you went down the hallway allowing him to look inside. He took an especially long time staring into yours.

Baby Billy walked into the bedroom directly next to yours. Dropping his bags onto the perfectly made bed. You followed behind him, pulling a suitcase of his. He stared out the window, hands on his hips. “It’s real nice of yall to let Baby Billy stay here,” he turned to look at you. A bright white smile painted his face. "Of course, Baby Billy," you returned his smile.

“Lemme show you around,” you turned the knob on the door leading into your connected bathroom. Showing him the way in and how to lock the door. You led him around the home, showing him the kitchen and living room. Where you hid the good snacks and drinks. The back porch that out looked the farmland your family owned.

“And that’s pretty much it,” you folded your arms over your chest, the cool air lifting your hair off your shoulders.

“If ya don’t mind me asking, sweetheart,” Baby Billy’s southern drawl rolled off his tongue as he looked out over your porch. “What’s a beautiful young girl like you doing hid out here?”

You sighed, leaning your body against the railing. “Daddy makes us live at home until we’re married,” you frowned. He pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it and joining you leaned over the railing. Glowing embers caught your eyes in the dark. "Your old man's smart for hiding you away. I'm sure you would be a heartbreaker," Baby Billy smiled lips drawling from the cigarette. You chuckled knowing not many boys had shown interest in you, not more than wanting a casual hookup. You looked up at the stars glimmering above the beautiful farmland.

Baby Billy admired you in the darkness. The dull glow from inside the house painting your figure. You caught his eye from the moment he stepped foot from his car.

"What about you? Your wife must be lonely while you travel," you questioned, not seeing a ring on his finger.

Baby Billy laughed, blowing smoke. "There ain't no wife to miss me," hazel eyes looked you up and down. You raised your eyebrows with his response. You were sure someone like him would be married. You could not deny the joy that filled you knowing he wasn't.

You yawned. It was nearing the night's end. You stretched, "Think I'm gonna head up and get ready for bed."

He flicked his cigarette over the edge of the porch, "I'm right behind ya." Baby Billy followed closely behind you, up the stairs. You leaned against the doorframe of the room he had chose. You watched as Baby Billy pulled his pajamas from his suitcase.

"You gonna stand there and watch me change?" he looked over his shoulder smirking at you. Your face flooded with heat and embarrassment. "S-Sorry," you straightened your posture, eyes on the floor. "No need to be sorry, doll. You can stand there as long as you want," Baby Billy teased. You lingered for a moment. Taking the time to really take in every one of his features. You walked into his room, Baby Billy turned to face you. Getting closer to him than you normally would a guest. Heavy eyes stared at yours, scanning your face for what you were doing. You ran your finger under his jaw, "Goodnight, Baby Billy." You walked over to the door of the shared bathroom, going through it to your own room. "Goodnight," Baby Billy sighed, watching you until the door closed.

This was gonna be a fun weekend.

~~~

[END//Part 1]

~ Thank you for reading! I really love writing for Baby Billy he is such a fun character. If you are interested in being tagged in future parts, let me know! ~

[tags]

@its-in-the-woods ~ @hiddlebatchedloki ~ @justme12200 ~ @vaultdwellingghoullover ~ @one-of-thewalkingdead ~ @toogaytofunctiondangit ~ @ryankaylamartin96 ~ @heif ~ @itsyellow ~ @cat-shepard ~ @dichromaniac ~ @ivyinthesun ~ @vivalanegan ~ @nerdragenewvegas ~ @tindropp ~ @megangovier ~ @stankface ~

[aquarelliwrites]

All Caught Up

SHIP: Max Verstappen x driver!Reader PROMPT: “I got you three gifts for Christmas. Since I wasn’t there for Valentine’s Day or your birthday-” “We weren’t even dating then!” CONTENT WARNINGS: slight alcohol consumption in the last scene, she/her pronouns, no use of y/n

3.1k

You sigh, the door shutting behind you with a soft click. Another one, and it locks. The keys get tossed unceremoniously into the decorative tray right next to the entrance, and your shoes get toed off soon after that. 

What a way to spend Valentine’s Day, huh? A transcontinental flight from Nice to Luton of all places, then waiting around for nearly an hour for your luggage to find itself on the revolving conveyor belt in front of you. Then, as if the universe itself had it out for you, the thin metal frame holding your umbrella together twists out of shape under the onslaught of wind - leaving you fuming in the cold rain for 45 minutes before your Uber arrives. The guy is apologetic, of course, and the traffic isn’t his fault, so you try your best to smile and reassure him it’s alright. Following that, you spend the half-hour drive to Milton Keynes attempting to warm up even slightly in your soaked coat.

Really, that whole monologue was a long way of saying the pre-RB20-launch meeting was cold, rainy and miserable in many ways. There were a couple of positive sides to it, though, you think as you unpack your bag in the hallway - your coworkers, both the ones who’d stay in the factory and who’d join you in the paddock, were all delightful and friendly, congratulating you on the promotion. The car itself looked fantastic - all smooth carbon fiber wrapped around the innards of the car like a silk sheet, covered in sponsor logos, sharp nose already pointing to another successful season for the team. 

And Max. He was… also there.

The dark and lonely flat seems to mock you at the very thought.

Well, no, that’s a rude way of putting it. Your most famous coworker was as kind as anyone else you’d met before and during that day. You’d already met before, when you became a reserve driver for the team the year before. Your first meeting face to face was nothing but pleasant, and you quickly found you both had a similar sense of humor.

You’re half-worried the kettle won't work after several months of abandonment. It turns on on the first try. You breathe a sigh of relief.

The problem arose in the fact that this grayscale day around you was eclipsed by his presence - as if he was the only object in full Technicolor - as soon as you’d noticed him. His smile was downright infectious, for one, and you honestly could have sworn your hand trembled when you clasped his in greeting.

“Hi, it’s great to meet you again.” He lit up the room with that smile, at least in your eyes. “Christian and the team have only sung your praises for the past few days.”

A softer sigh escapes you when you remember it, and your response: “Oh really? That’s good to hear - they haven’t exposed my worst secrets to you yet.”

“Your worst secrets?” He looked confused while you were busy taking off your coat.

“Yeah, you know,” you grinned, “that I’m secretly a terrible driver who has autopilot installed on her car, or that I’m awfully annoying. So they don’t scare you off, you know?”

To you, his laugh sounded like silver bells, and spring awakening in your chest, and a golden spark blooming into fireworks inside you, and every cliche thing you’ve ever read about in books. You had heard it in recorded interviews and distantly at parties you both got invited to, obviously, but the attraction fully hit you now that you were standing face to face.

Oh, attraction. That’s what it was. You hum and sit down on the couch, your teacup still scalding your fingertips. It's quiet everywhere but your thoughts. Actually, no, if you strain very hard, you might hear your downstairs neighbor's TV.

You couldn’t even fathom how headlines nicknamed him the rain of this cursed place, having spent half the meeting subtly glancing his way, and the other half trying to think of ways to look at him that weren’t… how should you put it? Outright creepy?

Hours later, you both stood in the car park under his umbrella - he’d insisted, and you really couldn’t bring yourself to say no. 

“What a Valentine’s Day, huh?” You chuckled, warming your hands in your pockets. He looked towards you - fuck, his eyes were beautiful - and shrugged.

“Never was a fan, really.”

“Me neither. I’ve never had anyone stick around long enough to celebrate properly.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Any plans, then?”

“Not really. They set me up with a flat here back in December, so I’m just heading there for the night. Might get real freaky and order pizza, or something crazy like that.”

“Ooh, don’t go too wild.” He chuckled, and you joined heartily.

The LED headlights of your Uber bathed you both in white light, and you stepped out from under the umbrella. “Thanks for everything, Max. I’m looking forward to this season.”

“Yeah, no problem.” The pitter-patter of raindrops against concrete nearly drowned out his reply as you walked towards the car. He lingered for a moment, gazing at your retreating silhouette through the sheets of rain before unlocking his own car and leaving the car park empty of people once more.

You’re content to stare out of the window now, watching the raindrops race down the glass. The launch is tomorrow, and they'll announce you as the second Red Bull Racing driver. The world will either accept it, or be forced to deal with you for a year.

Truly? Honestly? You're just looking forward to becoming friends with Max.

It is barely 9 in the morning, but the late-July sun is dead-set on giving you a headache today, apparently.

The automated gates at the paddock entrance let you through, and a couple of photographers spot you from a short distance, snapping photos immediately. You grin joyfully, throwing up a peace sign at them before checking your watch.

You have time to make a detour.

The fans at the barrier buzz with excitement when you approach them, and you find yourself in an easy conversation with the front-most ones. It’s nice to hear people are fans of you sometimes, so what?

A girl thanks you profusely for signing her poster, and extends a pink friendship bracelet towards you. “Oh, here’s a birthday gift!”

“Aw, I love it, thank you! Do we match?” You smile, tightening it around your left wrist, right below your watch. The girl simply responds by showing her own wrist - indeed, she has a matching one.

The short detour takes longer than expected, and shortly, one of the  social media girls comes to find you. “You’re all great, thanks for coming to free practice!” You wave goodbye and jog to catch up to your coworker.

Your side of the garage is experiencing an unusual amount of activity, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s happening - the people weren’t too subtle with their cameras either.

“She’s here, she’s here!” Someone yells, and you’re ushered into the middle of the crowd to stand in front of Anthea, your race engineer. Who is, shockingly, holding a cake.

“Happy birthday!!” The crowd roars, and you spot a bunch of the drivers hanging around as well - not that it isn’t obvious, what with the colorful fireproofs in a sea of navy polos. Charles and Pierre are standing somewhere in the middle of the crowd, Carlos and Lando in the back (granted, talking animatedly with each other as soon as the congratulating was over), Oscar and Logan to your left, close by. Max, of course, right next to Anthea.

The cake itself is Red Bull blue and checkered black-and-white on the top, a small model of your car right on top, surrounded by 22 lit candles.

In that instant, you feel indescribably loved. And it's a beautiful, sparkling feeling.

Are those tears rolling down your cheeks? Oh no, they are. And you worked so hard on your eyeliner today - you feel Oscar and Logan each put an arm around your shoulders as you wipe the skin under your eyes dry. 

“Happy birthday, dude. You’re finally old enough for preschool.” You yelp when Oscar ruffles your hair lovingly and swat at his hand.

“No, Osc, come on!” You laugh through tears, fixing your hair hurriedly. “Who organized this?”

Anthea grins at you, and Max suddenly looks extremely invested in the concrete floor underneath Logan’s feet. “Max suggested it, I think he was the only one who knew about it? Other than, like, Horner and the people who did your paperwork.”

A soft blush appears on your face, though you feel it burning your cheeks and ears to high heaven. Or at least that’s what it feels like - maybe it doesn’t look so bad to everyone around you. “You guys are the best, seriously. Thank you, Max, and everyone for making it happen.”

“Yeah, yeah, you big sap. Blow out the candles already.” Logan pipes up, and the entire garage chuckles. You roll your eyes in mock annoyance, but lean forward with a silent wish in mind, and blow them out in one breath.

Afterwards, you vaguely remember Oscar trying to shove your face into the cake when the candles and car were taken off - and failing - but the minutes after were so chaotic that it felt like one moment you were standing there, hugging your best friends, and the next you’re sat atop a countertop with Max, both attacking the chocolate cake with vigor. 

“Oh my God, this is so good,” you practically moan, your mouth full. “Is this Belgian chocolate?”

Max is swinging his legs, hitting your right calf rhythmically with his foot. “Yeah, I think so. I’d be disappointed if it wasn’t.”

“Me, too,” you nod, licking off the ganache stuck to your fork. “Hopefully practice won’t be a complete tragedy today.”

“It’ll be good. The data shows it,” he says, completely sure of himself, before hurriedly adding, “I think. I- well, I know. Anthea told me.”

“Good, then. It’ll just be my shit driving that will put me in the wall then.” You nudge his shoulder with yours, but his core strength is greater than you expect and, alas, he doesn’t even move. For a moment, you kind of want to stay stuck to him, leeching off his body heat.

However, it is July, and you are just friends.

He nudges you back - more like shoves, you nearly go flying - and clicks his tongue. “You always say that, but it only happened in Canada. And it wasn’t even your fault.”

You blush, again. Annoyingly. Were you overthinking, or was he keeping track of your results during the season?

“And you’ve already got three podiums. It’s great for a rookie.”

He was definitely keeping track.

You lower your head, smiling. “Thanks, Max. Seriously. For the surprise and the support you’ve given me - it means so, so much.”

“It’s really no problem. I think you’re very talented.”

“I can’t believe you knew when my birthday was,” you pipe up when he takes a breath in between monologues.

It’s evening now, and the late July sun is streaming golden light through the window of Max’ room at the Belgium Grand Prix paddock. You’re standing in the doorway, chewing on your drinking straw absentmindedly while he talks about the data gathered in FP1 and FP2 - as if you weren’t in the debrief together. Or, you know, as if you don't drive the same car. It’s a habit of his that many could find annoying and is nothing but endearing to you.

He looks a bit taken aback, but after a moment simply says “I can’t believe no one’s ever celebrated it with you like this.”

You shrug. “People don’t really stick around enough. Or, most of the time, my friends and family were too far away to make plans,” is your reply. “You know how it is - moving to Monaco as soon as you can and leaving everyone behind.”

“It’s a shame, though.” He’s studying your face now, and you feel some emotion between ‘uncomfortable’ and ‘flustered’ when you notice how he’s checking you out. Or maybe he isn’t?

“It is, but so what?” 

“You deserve to celebrate your birthday properly.” He says it so matter-of-factly, like it’s a no-brainer. Which it may be - you’ve had birthdays, and they were great, but they seem like such a long-lost part of your childhood that it takes you a moment to remember when you last held a party.

“I did. Just- well, just not with other people.” You did. Really. You took yourself out to breakfasts and treated yourself to flowers and books and new shoes, occasionally. It’s just that you did it alone most of the time.

“Would you be opposed to celebrating with other people?” Why does he look like he has something planned?

“...Do you have something planned?”

“No, but we could go hang out. Grab dinner somewhere, and a drink after, maybe?” 

It’s a casual request, and you feel inclined to accept. Maybe you’re a bit brave, or a bit stupid, or just a bit head-over-heels when you laugh softly and nod. “Sure, what is this? A date?”

Now he’s the one who looks flustered. “Uh… sure. If you want it to be one.” 

“Sure.” You’re smiling again, and when he moves on to his next talking point, you’re more than happy to keep chewing on your straw and listening.

Ripping open the wrapping paper to reveal a plain cardboard box, you send the camera guy in front of you a worried glance.

It’s a lovely, warm November morning in Abu Dhabi, and the Secret Santa event is wrapping up. You had gotten Logan - who was practically too easy to shop for - but now it’s your turn to open your present, and you’re nervous.

“Hopefully it won’t explode?” You joke, then run your nail under the piece of tape holding the box closed. When you manage to get it open, your lips curl upwards into a bright smile.

The box is full to the brim without any of the items cluttering together - whoever packed this had to have put immense care into it. You spot a pair of fuzzy socks, candles, bath salts, a bottle of French wine, and many other small self-care items.

“Aww, this is so sweet- Oh, there’s no way.” You pull out the last thing, which is a copy of ‘The Book Thief’ by Markus Zusak. “This is my favorite book,” you tell the camera, having a sense of who this is from, “and I remember I was talking to Max the other day about how sad I was that I lost my copy on a flight a few months ago. We agreed to start a book club over winter break.” 

The media employees chuckle at the thought, and you join them. “More like, I made him. Yeah, this is from him.”

“It is.” The woman holding the microphone confirms.

They leave you sitting on the white couch on the terrace, a small smile still tugging at the corners of your lips while you read what he’d written on the inside cover:

‘Sorry I can’t hang out - my weekend is fully booked. How about Christmas at my place? - Max’

You roll your eyes and giggle. What an idiot.

Your idiot.

“Alright.” He starts when you both settle on the shaggy beige carpet in his living room. You’re both a bit buzzed - both having had screwdrivers for late Christmas breakfast, champagne on the balcony before lunch, red wine with the lunch itself, and now you’re nursing a mimosa while he finishes the champagne. Talk about day drinking.

“Alright. Presents, right? How do you want to, like… Should we alternate?” Your head tilts at the size of the pile of presents you definitely knew you didn’t bring.

“I was thinking we could go one by one, from the top, and just sort them by whose name is on it?” He suggests, legs stretching out in front of him. You smile when he playfully nudges your calf with his foot.

“Sounds good,” you nod, taking one last sip for the time being and leaving your glass on the coffee table.

Max reaches for the first present you got him - it’s wrapped in red and green with an obnoxiously large bow on the top - and is delighted when he sees that you’ve gotten him diecast models of his and your 2024 cars, different only in the numbers and the yellow T-cam on yours. He promises to keep them on his desk with a laugh, and hands you the next present.

Inexplicably, it’s wrapped in pink. With hearts all over it. And another obnoxiously large bow on top.

Wondering if he may secretly be colorblind (or unaware of Christmas traditions), you peer up at him with brows furrowed in confusion. Meanwhile, he’s handing you another two boxes: one white one with party hats all over, and another with a candy cane pattern.

“I got you three big presents. Since I wasn’t there for Valentine’s Day,” he says. Like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Or your birthday.”

You can feel yourself start tearing up. “Max…”

He grimaces. “I’m so sorry. Should I have gotten more-”

“Max. We weren’t…” You swipe the tear off your left cheek, a little bit of eye pencil coming off with it. The alcohol is making you emotional, you tell yourself. “We weren’t even dating back then.”

“You were alone, though. I mean we did go on that date for your birthday, but it was just dinner. I, just…” He trails off, pulling at the carpet fibers. “You deserved better for this year.”

You set the box down gently, and move over to sit on his lap. He’s a little surprised when you hug him tightly, but he embraces you back quickly, one of his hands immediately reaching up to play with your hair.

“You’re one of the most thoughtful people I know. Thank you.” You whisper, and you can hear an exhale of a laugh when your breath tickles the back of his neck.

“It’s my pleasure, shatje.” He pats your shoulder, and you kiss him with a giggle still on your lips. Crawling off of him, you turn your attention back to the presents he gave you. The pink box holds the silkiest, softest cami nightgown you’ve ever touched; the one with party hats, a signed copy of your favorite author’s newest novel laying on top of a heavy navy blue knitted blanket. Arguably, though, the Christmas one is your favorite - a pair of Lightning McQueen Crocs. Signed by Charles Leclerc.

“You’re ridiculous,” you burst out laughing again while he only smirks and pours his champagne flute full once more. 

“You know it, darling."

Liked this? Check out my masterlist!

[sapphiresaphics]

So I woke up to THIS conversation this morning:

So yeah… apparently Zaun = Gaza and Israel = Piltover now. We’ve done it! We’ve linked Arcane to real world politics now! Doesn’t matter that the show was in production nearly a decade before the horrific attack on October 7th, or anything. Doesn’t matter that Christian Linke has said his inspiration was American politics. Doesn’t matter that throughout history conflicts like this have existed for centuries. Nope! Apparently this was all “planned” as an allegory to the war in Gaza from the start!

I’m gonna have an aneurysm….

Is THIS why so many people are unable to look at Arcane’s story as anything other than oppressors oppressing the innocent, and are incapable of looking at the larger nuances and parallels Arcane is taking? They’ve conflated their political ideologies and real world situations to that of a fictional setting?Is THIS why you guys hate the “we must come together to fight a greater evil” ending????

And like… if you’re going to view Piltover and Zaun through such uncritical eyes… then what the FUCK does Season 2 Episode 1 have to say about your beliefs? Cuz in that episode, during a PEACEFUL MEMORIAL, Zaun invades Piltover and attacks and slaughters a score of people. If you are on the side of Zaun does that parallel you being on the side of the terrorists who slaughtered people on October 7th?

Real talk: I had a couple friends and some distant family members DIE in that October 7th attack… They were people I knew. They weren’t soldiers. I can’t even process how ANGRY this person’s hateful and ignorant response to me is right now. Imagine losing a friend in such a brutal way and some rando comes up to you and says you deserve to die because of it. Jesus Christ…

Also, I really REALLY shouldn’t have to say this… but if someone says “Jew” and you hear “Zionist” instead, YOU ARE BEING AN ANTISEMITE. That’s how dog whistles and hateful rhetoric WORKS.

When Caitlyn angrily grits her teeth and says Zaunites are “animals,” that’s YOU when you’re saying “Zionist” to a Jew. Learn the fucking parallels you pieces of shit.

You think you’re being Jinx, but in reality you’re just being Caitlyn. Like the whole POINT of Caitlyn going off the rails is because her anger and hatred caused her to “other” people she should be caring about and protecting. That’s what you’re doing. And you took NO EFFORT to try and learn what my beliefs or politics were because the SECOND I said I was Jewish, you conflated me with the IDF slaughtering children. Fuck you and your ignorant black and white world view!

I’m not surprised this is the level of intelligence and reading comprehension on this website, but I am still disappointed all the same.

Ps: I’m not gonna bring up my IRL politics about the war in Gaza and all that shit after this post, because I deserve to put some distance between reality and fiction. But I needed to get this out there because I am horrified at how this interaction went and you should be too. If anyone wants to come at me for being Jewish and not supporting the war, don’t bother, and If you try to argue about the war with me or on any of my posts I’m just gonna block you.

[grlsbstshot]

NEON LIGHTS

Pairing (Original Characters):

Jameson Lucas (Aaron Pierre) x Imani St. Cirie (Megan thee Stallion) Genie Adesanya (Jayme Lawson) x Ellington “EJ” Dupree (Kelvin Harrison Jr.)

Chapters:

Neon Lights Masterlist

Chapter Synopsis: while imani processes her lingering pain over jameson’s constant betrayals, jameson reels from her inattention. torn between loyalty to her best friend and processing her own feelings, genie grapples with guilt and anxiety while ej does his best to take care of her. sloane attempts to celebrate the split between jameson and imani but genie intervenes.

Warnings: toxic relationship, them b words! (watch them b words!), explicit terminology, dirty talk (kinda), usage of the n-word (if you white and read it, you owe us $20) -- if we missed anything, let us know!

Word Count: 5.6k Divider Template: @cafekitsune

Notes: 

The following characters are original creations. Their voice claims are Usher / Lucky Daye (Jameson) & Summer Walker / SZA (Imani). We have no affiliation to any of those artists.

1 week after Sloane's party

Jameson leaned against the kitchen counter, his phone clutched in his hand as he stared at the screen in surprise. The image of Christian reflected back at him and he briefly wondered when he even started following that nigga. A quick glance to the left-hand corner told him it was Imani's Instagram account. Imani? With Christian? He couldn't even see that bastard's face but knew he was probably happy as fuck to be with Imani.

Look who came to visit.

The caption made his stomach churn. There was nothing downright explicit or implicated more but the simple fact that she had taken the picture, thought of the caption, and posted it? It made him sick. He knew for a fact she couldn't stand him. After things ended abruptly between Christian and Genie, Imani hadn't seen it for him. Ever. But now they were close enough for him to visit?

Texts left on read. Calls that went straight to voicemail. The silence was deafening.

Jameson immediately left the app and went to his messages, texting her a blitz of...admittedly emotional responses. She still hadn't responded to any of the ones before. He put his phone face down on the counter, trying to rein in his temper. He didn’t need to read the comments to know what they said. Fans were undoubtedly cheering it on. Shit talking about how 'cute' he probably was. Wondering if she had finally replaced him.

What if she had? What if the space where he stood was going to belong to another person? Not just Christian -- anybody? That was enough to turn his stomach.

Jameson's hand clenched into a fist and he turned around, hitting the first thing he saw...which so happened to be EJ's fridge. His fist dented the medal but it hurt him a hell of a lot more than it did the inanimate object.

“Ay, muhfucka! I got that imported from France. Watch that shit. What's your problem?” Jameson glanced up to see EJ rounding the corner, a cup of coffee in his hand. He couldn't quite blame his best friend for being irritated but he was going through some shit.

“Her Instagram.” Jameson muttered, nodding toward his phone. EJ walked over, picked up the phone, and whistled low when he saw the post. “Ain't this a bitch.” He scrolled through the comments briefly before setting the phone down. “They have a ship name too. Chrismani sound stupid tho.”

Jameson glared at him and EJ quickly put the phone down, shrugging. "My bad, man." “What am I supposed to do? She’s not answering my calls. She’s ignoring my texts. And now she’s letting him—” Jameson cut himself off, shaking his head. He didn't know what the fuck the two had going on but either way, he didn't like that shit.

“Letting him what? Exist?” EJ raised an eyebrow. “Because that’s what it looks like to me. You give this nigga way too much power, man. Genie has a history with him, right? You know Imani. She not going too far with him."

Jameson frowned at EJ. He was right but he also knew..."Please. If you saw the girl you loved posted up with somebody else a week after ignoring your calls, you'd be tripping too." He didn't know what to do when it came to Imani. “She told me to choose. I could be friends with Sloane or I could be with her.”

EJ set his coffee down and crossed his arms, leaning against the counter as he stared at his best friend. “Okay? So Sloane's out. Now what?" Jameson began to rub his hand over his fist, rolling his eyes in agitation. "It's not that easy!"

EJ cocked his head, leaning against the counter as he stared at Jameson with wide eyes. "Fuck you mean it's not that easy? Lose a friend, gain a girlfriend. Besides, Genie don't like her and Genie likes everybody. That's how you know something is up with her."

Jameson sighed softly, reaching to snatch his phone off the counter again. EJ had a point. Genie and Sloane had fallen out around the time he and Imani had become serious. He never knew what happened but wanted them both to feel like they could count on him. He didn't want to take sides. His friend vs his sister? He didn't want to decide. "Sloane doesn't have anybody."

"She had a house full of people at that party last week." "None of those people give a shit about her." "And you do?" "Of course I do." "You want that girl?" "No! No. I'm so fucking tired of being accused of that shit. I've known her since she was fifteen. I knew her when she could barely look you in the eyes when she was talking to you. She was lonely as fuck. And she's still lonely. I'm sorry I feel guilty abandoning her."

Jameson saw EJ's face change. From confusion to understanding all in an instant and for some reason -- he hated it. "You keep saying you're 'abandoning' her. You're not, man. She's a grown up." Jameson braced himself, knowing what EJ was going to say next. "She's not you and you are not your father."

He shut it down within a second, shaking his head as he quickly moved out of the kitchen. His father was a forbidden subject. Nobody brought the man up. Not his mother, not the press. Nobody. As far as the world was concerned, it was just Anais and James Lucas against the world. "It's not about that, man. I just don't want to abandon my friend."

"Do you want Imani back?" EJ called out to him, following. "Of course I do." "Let Sloane go. You can't let her think Christian is the only muhfucka that cares about how she feels. Let her go."

Jameson stared at him, the words sinking in.

“You’ve got options,” EJ said, approaching him and patting his hand against Jameson's shoulder. “Write her a song. Send her flowers. Show up at the studio if you have to. You flew to fucking Italy within a minute. Why are you hesitating now? Don't sit there and let this nigga come take what's yours."

Jameson hesitated. “You think that’ll work?”

EJ shrugged. “I think it’s better than...you know. Punching my shit and stalking her on Instagram. You’ve always been a fighter, J. Don’t stop now.”

Jameson nodded slowly, his mind already spinning with ideas. EJ clapped him on the shoulder before heading out of the kitchen, leaving Jameson alone with his thoughts. He unlocked the phone in his hand and went back to Instagram, staring at the picture of Christian on her page. It was bullshit but EJ was right. He couldn't give up on her. He swore he never would.

The texts came through fast, almost as if he didn't have to think about what he was sending. She didn't take any pleasure in his reaction. Not really. But Imani needed something to flip that damn switch in Jameson's mind. He needed to know she wasn't playing. The mention of Genie made her heart hurt though. She texted her before she posted the picture of Christian but there had been no response. There hadn't been a response afterward either and Imani was praying she didn't hold this against her.

She forced herself not to finish reading Jameson's texts. She closed out the messages and went back to Instagram. Cross-legged on her couch, the soft glow of her phone screen illuminating her face in the dim living room, she scrolled through the comments on her post.

The likes were climbing rapidly, as they always did. Thousands of comments flooded in, a mix of excitement, speculation, and blatant nosiness.

"With your bestie ex? Oh, messy Mani." "What about Jameson tho? 👀" "Girl, you’re glowing without him. Keep winning!"

Her thumb hovered over that last comment, her heart clenching. Glowing without him. Was she?

She tossed her phone onto the cushion beside her, leaning back against the couch. The praise and speculation didn’t fill the hollow ache that had been gnawing at her for days. It wasn’t about Christian—he was nothing. She felt absolutely nothing for the man. She got the vibe that he wanted something with her but Imani couldn't tell if he was delusional or just stupid to really think she'd give him the time of day after he was with her best friend. Then again...People thought that's exactly what she was doing.

The post wasn’t about him though. It was about the one person who wasn’t tagged, wasn’t mentioned, but was still present in every corner of her mind.

Jameson.

He kept letting her down. Choosing other people over her. She wouldn't him do it again. She closed her eyes, and the memories came rushing back like a tidal wave.

It was late, and the city lights outside their hotel room window shimmered like stars. She remembered sitting on the edge of the bed, the air thick with tension. Jameson stood in front of her, his hands trembling as he admitted the unthinkable. The night he ruined their relationship. All their problems went back to that one moment. “I slept with her.” he’d said, his voice raw and cracking. “I'm so sorry. Mani, I...I don't know what the fuck I was thinking. I was drunk. I swear to god.” Her heart had shattered in that moment, the weight of his words crushing her. She remembered the way her chest had tightened, the disbelief that had turned into anger, then grief. They were done, she knew that. He knew that. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Huh? It's fuck me, huh?!” she’d whispered, her voice trembling. Her entire body shaking. “I trusted you. I gave you everything.” “Mani, please,” he’d begged, dropping to his knees in front of her, reaching for her hands. She snatched them away, trying to get up from the bed but Jameson grasped her by the waist, keeping her trapped. She pushed against his shoulders, twisting out of his grasp as tears filled her eyes. “I'm going to fix it, baby. I swear to god, I'll fix it. I'm sorry.” "Let me go! You can't fix this shit!" "Yes, I can. I can fix it. I'll be better." "Jameson. You just told me you fucked another bitch and you really think I'm going to give you a chance to fix it? We're done. It's over."

She opened her eyes, the memory dissipating like smoke, but the sting remained. She reached for her phone again, scrolling back to her post. The comments about Jameson were multiplying, each one a reminder of the life they’d shared and the pain he’d caused.

She couldn’t go back to that. She wouldn’t.

Her thumb hovered over the delete button for a moment before she pulled her hand away. No, she thought. Let him have to keep seeing it. Let him wonder. Let the tags in the comments be a reminder. “You won't get to the chance to play me again.” she whispered, her voice steady.

With that, she exited the app, her resolve solidifying. If Jameson wanted her back, he’d have to do more than beg. He’d have to prove he was worthy of her trust—and she wasn’t sure she’d ever believe that again.

Imani opened her texts, shooting a message to her engineer and manager. She had written so much shit when she was trying to get over the betrayal Jameson had done -- it was enough for albums. Why not use this pain to start a new chapter in her life? She spent so much of her time worrying about him. It was time to worry about herself. Her music. Her career.

Genie had done her best to put it out of her mind. The picture was exploding all over social media. She'd been tagged in it almost as much as Jameson was and each time made her chest tighten. The knot of anxiety she’d been carrying all day pulling tighter. She promised to meet EJ for lunch and had arrived early, sitting primly and perfectly -- covered in Chanel. Her beautiful dark coils pressed perfectly and swept back in a french curl. She looked much better than she felt.

She had known Imani was going to post it. The text had come hours before, but Genie hadn’t responded. She’d stared at the message, her thumb hovering over the keyboard, unsure of what to say. What could she say? No one knew the whole story of she and Christian. All she told Imani was that it was over. But shouldn't that have been enough? Of all the men to use to make Jameson jealous, why him?

She had complicated feelings about Imani playing with Jameson's feelings as well -- but it wasn't as if she didn't have good reason. He was her brother but he was an idiot sometimes. The image was out in the world and Genie felt that her silence was almost complicity in hurting Jameson. If the gossip was correct, Sloane was a thorn in their relationship and Genie knew a surefire way to get her out.

EJ finally arrived and Genie glanced up to see him making his way to their table -- led by the hostess. A smile curved her lips as the two maintained eye contact. She had never been so enamored with a man before. Even that crush she had on Christian had been bullshit compared to how EJ made her feel. They kept their relationship fairly casual. After their night at Sloane's party, he had been with her every step of the way, reassuring her and being patient with her. He was more than she deserved.

Before he sat down, he came to her side of the table and kissed her softly. It was a brief touch of his lips but the stiffness in her shoulders relaxed. She felt the tightening of her chest relax and for a minute, she felt like she could breathe. "Hi, baby." He told her softly, moving to take his seat as she poured him a glass of wine. His sharp eyes flicking to the phone on the table. “I guess you've seen it.,” he said, nodding toward it. “Jamie isn't too happy either.”

Genie hesitated, then nodded to confirm she saw it. “She said it was to make Jameson jealous, but…” She trailed off, placing the bottle back on the table. "I don't know. It seems so out of character for her. Mani can be petty but she doesn't waste her time with people she doesn't give a fuck about. I don't think she understands what she's getting into."

EJ nodded, lifting his hand to gesture to a waiter for a glass of water. He was totally different from her. He worried about their friends but Genie took it totally to heart. Probably because she loved them both. EJ loved Jameson -- she was sure he hadn't decided how he felt about Imani yet. "I told him to go get his girl back. But I kind of regret it now."

Genie prepared herself to defend Imani. Jameson was her brother but she wasn't ready to absolve him of his sins. Especially when the reason their relationship was so chaotic was because he cheated a year ago. "They love each other so that wasn't a mistake. They just...they can't seem to get it together.," she said softly. “This is going to make everything worse. For her. For Jameson. For everyone.”

EJ leaned back, studying her with a mix of concern. “Did you tell her that?”

“I...I couldn't." Genie sighed, then immediately regretted the admission. “I mean, I wanted to. But what was I supposed to say? ‘Don’t post him because he’s a jerk who’s going to ruin your life?’ I didn't want her to think I was jealous.”

EJ raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you?”

Genie opened her mouth to deny it, but the words caught in her throat. She had been jealous at the party. It had caused a twinge to her heart to see a man she used to want choosing other women over her. Women she loved deeply and respected. He had already taken Sloane. Now Imani? She had been scared. But as she gazed at EJ, she knew he was one of a kind. There wasn't a man like him in the world. How dare she be jealous over a man who wasn't worth it when one who was sat in front of her. “I’m not jealous. Anymore.,” she said finally, reaching across the table to take his hand. “I’m scared. For her. For Jameson. I don’t want to see either of them hurt. Between Sloane and Christian, their relationship could easily snap.”

EJ’s expression softened. He reached out and took her hand, brushing his thumb back and forth across her skin, “You worry too much about other people, Genie. It’s gonna tear you apart if you let it.”

Genie looked down at his hand, the warmth of his touch grounding her. “I can’t help it,” she murmured.

“I know. You got the kind of heart I love. But maybe it’s time you focused on you,” EJ said gently. “Let them figure it out. You’ve got your own life to live, Genie. Your own man to worry about."

"Oh? Are you my man?" "Didn't you cum on my face a few times? I could have sworn last night that you begged me to --"

Genie's eyes went wide as she peered around the restaurant to see if anyone heard him. No one did but her reaction made EJ laugh. She snatched her hand from his, reaching over to slap his wrist.

"Stop it! Don't say that out loud!" "It's true. You did. And you're gonna do it again when we leave here." "Is that all you're going to do?" "For now." "What if I want more?" "I gotta make sure you're ready. So stop babysitting everybody else and let me take care of you for a change." "Yes, sir." "Ooh. Keep that up. I like that."

She smiled faintly, though the knot in her stomach didn’t loosen. For the rest of the lunch, she and EJ didn't mention Jameson and Imani but her gaze kept straying to the phone. Thoughts of Christian and Sloane filtered through her mind. For her last act of babysitting -- she was going to make sure they didn't ruin Imani and Jameson's second chance. If they couldn't get it right, it had to be on their own terms. Not anybody else's.

It was nightfall by the time Genie managed to convince EJ to let her out of bed. He asked her to let everyone figure their shit out but she had to get this out. Once she promised him she'd wash her hands of it after talking to Jameson, he gave her a kiss and let her go. Texting Jameson and telling him it was an emergency was probably dramatic but he shared his location with her. When she pulled up to the recording studio, he was waiting outside -- leaning against his Range Rover.

He watched her curiously as she parked and got out, lifting his hand to press to her shoulder as he escorted her inside -- like an annoyed but worried older brother would. When they were settled in a quiet, private studio, finally he leaned in and nudged her arm. "Talk. You kind of scaring me."

They sat in front of the mixing console, a track playing lowly in the background. Genie could tell it was one of his. She knew his voice anywhere but hadn't heard this song before. She understood a few words here and there but couldn't catch the rhythm of the song. Jamie looked tense, his shoulders stiff. She knew he hadn't been able to shake the thoughts of Imani and Christian from his mind.

“What’s going on?”

Genie hesitated, the weight of what she was about to say pressing down on her. She took a deep breath and shrugged out of her jacket. "There’s a lot you don’t know. Things I’ve been keeping to myself because I didn’t want to -- Well, I wasn't brave enough to do what Imani did. I didn't want to make you choose. But after everything that’s happened -- Imani, that post, the way Christian's been acting -- I can’t stay quiet anymore.”

Jameson’s expression darkened, a storm brewing in his eyes as he grasp her hands in his. “What did he do?”

Genie exhaled shakily, her voice trembling as she began. “Christian and I -- it was a fluke from the beginning. Maybe I was too presumptive but I...I told Sloane how I felt. She encouraged me to pursue him. So I did. I put myself out there." Tears filled her eyes as she thought of the way she had embarrassed herself. The sting of being rejected had faded but losing Sloane -- knowing what she had done? That would never go away.

"I found them together. At your afterparty for the Grammys. They were...Well, they were fucking. In your pool house. I didn't say a word. I turned around and left but I confronted Sloane afterward." Genie took a breath and forced herself to continue. "She didn’t even deny it. Said it was no big deal because...it wasn't like he wanted me anyway. He liked someone else. She knew and didn't tell me. I stopped talking to her that night.”

She felt his grip around her fingers tighten for a moment before they relaxed. The look on his face was...a lot like hers the night Sloane had shown who she was. Devasated. Confused. Disbelief. “She said that to you?”

Genie nodded, her throat tightening as tears fell. “I told Christian I was sorry. Can you believe it? I apologized for not being who he wanted. It was embarrassing. I'm starting to think who he wanted...was Imani.”

Jameson shook his head but all the pieces were falling into place. “That’s why you’ve been avoiding her.”

“Yes,” Genie said, her voice firmer now as she pulled her hands free and wiped her eyes. “And it’s why I think you need to let her go, J. Do what Imani said. Choose her. Sloane only cares about herself and she’s only going to drag you down.”

Jameson leaned back in his seat. “She was your friend. I wouldn't even know her if it wasn't for you. You loved her before anybody else and she...she did that to you.”

“Yes,” Genie said gently. “If anybody knows what it's like to see the best in Sloane, it's me. I always saw it. Until she showed me something else, Jameson. Don't wait until she shows you.”

He looked up at her then, a spark of anger in his eyes. "And Christian?”

Genie’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I don't know. He may really like Imani but she...she deserves better." She may be there to help Jameson fix things but she couldn't bring herself to tell him that Imani was just trying to make him jealous. Loyalty to both kept her conflicted.

They sat in silence for a while so Jameson could process everything. He was distracted, clearly overwhelmed, but she knew what he would do when he spoke next. "I love you, you know?" he told Genie softly, his voice thick with emotion. "You and your dad...you two gave me and Ma everything we needed to feel like a family. You're my sister, Genie. I wouldn't ever let anybody hurt you."

She gave him a faint smile, tears filling her eyes again. For somebody who could write music, he had never been eloquent with her about his feelings. They irritated each other like siblings but she had never truly said it to him. "I love you too." Genie said softly. “I wouldn't ever let anybody hurt you either. That's why Sloane has to get out of our lives. Now.”

Jameson nodded, agreeing without words. “I threw everything away with Imani to be loyal to somebody who didn't deserve it.”

Genie reached out, squeezing his knee. “It may not be over. Try it. Let her know you choose her. Over anything. Even if you guys don't work it out, at least you’ll know you did everything you could. But you can’t move forward if you’re still holding onto people like Sloane.”

He nodded slowly, the weight of her words sinking in. “You’re right,” he said finally.

Genie smiled faintly, relief washing over her. “Good. Now, go clean up your mess.”

He gave her a small, rueful laugh. “I'm not good at that.”

“Get good at it.,” she said, standing and placing a kiss to his forehead...before slapping him on the back of the neck. Jameson flinched but only stared up at her. “Consider this my retirement from worrying about you and Imani. My man told me to stop.”

His brows furrowed as she turned to leave the studio. "What man?!" he called out after her. Genie ignored him and continued on to her car to get back home to EJ.

God had to have a sense of humor. No sooner had he watched Genie zip off in her car, he'd gotten a text from Sloane. A dinner invitation. He had been seconds from texting a denial but he knew this message was better delivered in person -- so he agreed to show up. He spent the entire drive to her place stewing in anger -- pissed at her and himself. He had spent months bringing this girl around Genie, around Imani. Begging them to give her a shot. He hadn't even asked why she and Genie had fallen apart. He was a shit friend and a shit boyfriend.

The elevator doors slid open, and Jameson stepped into the hallway leading to Sloane’s penthouse. His jaw tight and he had no idea how to release his tension. He had no idea what he planned to say. There was so much in his head. All he wanted to do was yell at her. Make her give him a valid reason for the shit she'd been doing. The weight of Genie’s confession bore down on him, and the idea of confronting Sloane left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He knocked twice, his knuckles rapping sharply against the wood. Moments later, the door swung open, and Sloane appeared, her face lighting up like the sun.

“Jamie! Just in time! Dinner is almost done.” she exclaimed, pulling the door wide for him to enter. When he did so, she immediately wrapped her arms around him. “Hi. I missed you.”

Her perfume was light and airy. In another place, another time, he probably would have complimented her on it and told her that he missed her too. And that would have been the wrong thing to do. Becoming disillusioned with Sloane made him notice everything. The way she clung to him, the way she looked up at him with bright eyes, the darkened apartment, the Ella Fitzgerald album -- one of his favorites -- playing softly in the background. He stood stiffly, not hugging her back but it didn't seem to phase her. She took her time hugging him, only pulling back when she deemed it was over.

Jameson’s expression didn’t waver. “We just saw each other last week at the party, Sloane,” he said, his voice cutting sharper than the edge of a blade.

She blinked, momentarily thrown off by his tone. “I know. It still feels like it’s been a minute…”

Jameson stepped further away from her, his movements deliberate. He glanced around, noting the intimate setup of the dining table—a bottle of wine, two glasses, and a single candle flickering softly. The oven lit up with the smell of a dinner that he couldn't quite place. Genie had lit the match but everything was ablaze now. Imani's accusations were crystal clear in his mind. God, she had been right.

“I saw Imani posted Christian on Instagram,” Sloane said, her voice carefully measured. “I’m sorry…you don’t deserve that.”

Jameson’s jaw tightened as he stood with his back with her, trying to get a grasp on his anger. “Imani's mine to worry about.”

“I-I know,” Sloane stammered, moving closer to him. Her voice softened, dripping with concern. “I just want you to know that I’m here for you, Jamie.” She reached out for his hand, her fingers brushing against his. “You can call me if you need anything.”

Jameson didn’t move. His demeanor was rigid, his body language screaming discomfort. He didn’t bother to touch her hand, his gaze fixed on hers with an intensity that made her falter.

“Is everything okay?” Sloane asked, her voice uncertain. She tilted her head, her lips curving into a small, confused smile. “You’re not acting like my Jamie.”

"Did you fuck Christian?" he asked her abruptly, tilting his head to look at her. He saw it for a second. For one second, she looked caught off guard. She looked...exposed. But then the guard went up, her brow furrowed and she gave him a laugh. He could see her about to lie. "Don't. Don't you dare lie to me. I've had enough of that."

She hesitated but then moved away, heading back to the table. She tripped over her own heels and clumsily poured herself a glass of wine. Jameson finally moved, the tension draining from his body the more he confronted her. Sloane lifted the glass to gulp down wine before Jameson continued on. "Genie told me everything." He watched her choke on the liquid, leaning forward as she coughed loudly and took deep breaths. "And I got to thinking -- if she could do that to her best friend...what else could she do?"

She turned wide eyes to him as she continued to try to catch her breath. "Christian was...a mistake." She gasped out, shaking her head. "It was just a night. We were drunk! We got carried away!"

He heard the same mistakes he gave Imani and his stomach churned again, shaking his head. "You destroyed someone who loved you. Better than anyone else. Do you think that excuse works? You hurt the kindest fucking person in the world. And you hurt her because you could. You humiliated her! And you act like nothing happened! You didn't even have the fucking decency to tell her you're sorry!"

Sloane’s lips parted, but no words came out. She looked at him, searching for some sign of forgiveness, but all she could see was disappointment and anger. It's all he had left for her.

“I believed in you. Imani told me to choose and I...I said I wouldn't but I did. I fucking chose you because I thought you were a good person. I thought you needed me. A friend.” Jameson continued, his voice low and steady.

"I do need you!" "You don't need me! You want me. There's a fucking difference, Sloane!"

He heard his phone notifications go off but he ignored it. Even when it continued, he kept going. His gaze didn't leave Sloane's. Her eyes filled with tears as she reached out for him but he sidestepped her hand. She clenched her fingers tightly and sobbed quietly but he didn’t flinch. "Jamie, please. I’m sorry. I never meant—”

“Are you in love with me?” he interrupted, his tone weary. He didn't need the confession but he asked anyway. “If you ever cared about me, tell me the truth.”

Sloane froze before she gave the slightest nod. That nod hit him hard in the gut.

"You want to hear what I feel?" He asked her and watched as she closed her eyes tightly, shaking her head. She knew he didn't love her. She couldn't bear to hear the words. But Jameson figured it out now. A hard lesson to learn but...he had to give them to her. "I love Imani. I love everything about her. I love her so much that I don't know how to live without her. She makes me want to be better. I love the way she loves Genie. I love the way she loves me. And I gave that up twice. I keep hurting her and I did it again. This time...for you. And I regret it."

The more he spoke, the more she cried. "I'm sorry I brought us to this. You can blame me for it. Not Imani. Goodbye, Sloane." He moved towards the door and she followed him. Her phone rang out loud and she hesitated, tears blurring her eyes as she turned back to the kitchen. He didn't stop moving.

As he reached for the handle, she called out, her voice breaking. “Jamie, wait—Please! Don't leave me.”

He paused but didn’t turn around. Guilt grabbed a hold of him again but he pushed it away, knowing that enabling Sloane would only hurt her further...so he opened the door and walked out. It clicked shut behind him and for a moment, he stood there, trying to catch his breath. He heard her scream, throw things across the room, and yell out for him -- but he pretended he didn't.

Jameson walked towards the elevators, the anger he had carried up with him left behind in her place. He fished his phone out of his pocket, pushing the button for the ground floor as he read each text that came through but one caught his attention: a text from EJ that contained a link to Apple Music and an article.

R&B Sensation Imani releases surprise EP, Diary

As he browsed the article, the elevator doors pinged open and an avalanche of notifications from Instagram came in. Even more than when Imani posted the picture of Christian. To make matters worse, he got a shit ton of texts from friends and acquaintances. Half of them were the fucking eye emoji.

"Shit." He muttered to himself.

[annisassintchaska]

AUDACITY: Toto Wolff x Wife!Black!Reader

TW: CURSING, YELLING

The hectic race here in Monza had finally come to an end and it is now time for the post-race interviews. One by one, the drivers were asked questions about what happened during their drive and what they think could've been done differently; however, a specific question a young driver had pissed off the wife the Mercedes AMG Petronas F1 Team, Y/n Wolff as she march her way in front of the man, blocking the journalist's sight of him.

"Could you please repeat that question you asked?" Y/n asked to make sure she heard the man right. "I asked if he felt that since he hadn't been winning any races for Christian, if he thought that maybe his time here in Formula 1 is running out?" the man asked once again, this time with a bit of fear for what the shorter yet feisty woman had to say. "So, I wasn't hallucinating, I heard you correctly! Now let me educate you on something here since you seem to lack the knowledge! A driver's career doesn't just end because they've been constantly not making it to the podium, sure he hasn't been winning yet he did a damn good job at keeping himself in the top six and THAT should be praised considering the state of favouritism going on in his team. Next is to address the fact that yes, we all know that Christian Horner is an impatient man when it comes to certain things, however he would never be that foolish to let Sergio go and if he was, he would pay for it dearly at my hands as I would personally burn his headquarters and garages to ashes, not leaving a pinch of paper for him to start over from. Mark my words, as whatever it is that you call yourself, the post-race interviews are for questions about the race and shouldn't go to the extent of you putting doubts into any driver's mind. BE WARNED THAT THIS IS YOUR FIRST AND LAST WARNING AS YOU ARE WALKING ON THIN ICE SEEMING THAT I COULD'VE HAD YOUR CAREER ENDED ON THE SPOT. Now apologize!" She shouted in anger that someone who should've been able to be trusted to ask sensible questions was actually a complete idiot out for nothing but starting chaos.

"I'm very sorry Sergio, I didn't think my words would have been taken that seriously" said the man as he was on the verge of tears, out of fear that he almost lost his job due to a foolish question. "It's ok, no hard feelings. Just try not to make this mistake again or best believe she'll be back for you" Sergio said as he went over to hug the man, being in shock himself.

Toto had been doing an interview with his drivers, when George noticed what was about to happen and tapped Lewis on the shoulder. They both called for Toto's attention, where the trio along with their journalist, watched on as Y/n gave the visibly shaking man a piece of her mind. After that was done, the lady interviewing them decided to ask "So Toto, you've obviously seen what your wife had just done. What would your reaction be to her for this?" the journalist smiled as she awaited an answer from Toto who as himself looks genuinely scared. "My question is What the fuck do you all want me to do?! I'm not getting involve in that! The last time you all had me interfere, I was unable to sleep on my pillows for a month!" He replied in a panicked tone as Lewis and George were the only two who knew what his "pillows" meant. "Dude, you've got to be kidding me. You still call her breasts pillows? How comfortable could they be?" George asked in amusement that his boss was still obsessed with his wife's boobs. "Trust me Russ, they are very comfy, I've also added and new pair. The ass" Toto said making everyone, including the journalist laugh. "Alright, so I see you're unable to help the guy out, that's all the questions I have for you three. Have a nice rest of your day" the woman said as they replied, "Same to you."

Unbeknownst to them the cameras had still been filming LIVE and they manged to capture the response which sent the world into a spiral at the fact that such a giant of man's weakness was being able to sleep on his wife as it now became the biggest thing to tease him of whenever he did something he wasn't supposed to.

[thecallofthecrow]

Okay, We Gotta Talk Real Quick

MASSIVE TRIGGER WARNING: RELIGIOUS INTOLERANCE AND HATRED, MISINFORMATION, AND QUITE HARMFUL RHETORIC

Before you doomscroll further down this post, please take your eyes on to this article written by the New York FUCKING Times and who they platformed: https://archive.is/7ESf2

Go on, take your time, I'll wait, I got all day.

Well, maybe depending on who people side with I might not.

Oh, you're finished? Well allow me to retort.

It's not Paganism's fucking fault for Donald Trump.

"Oh look at Kuro getting political all of the su-"

Bitch I'm only getting political because the fight was brought to us. If I'm not gonna stand up for my own then who is? You? The guy/girl/enbie next to you having their rights taken away day by day by a movement that is moving forward at an accelerated rate to the point where people are so scared?

Right, now that we have that out of the way...

Okay, so, we caught heat from the New York Times, and one particular man by the name of "David Brooks" who interviewed one "Tom Holland" (no not that one, your sexy man is safe with Zendaya). Put both of these assholes on your "shitstirrers looking for an infight" list and put them both on your "return to sender" list.

Now, I might be filled with a bit of Crow Mama's battlefury, or Adsagsona's (arguably righteous in this case) fury at the very idea that her follower (ya crow here) could be targeted by psychos like these in the coming storm ahead.

I live in a Blue State now, hooray! What's not hooray is if other people who are Blue don't stand up for us and disavow this kind of rhetoric instantly, because most of us who are walkers of this path ain't got shit to do with any of this. And now we're catching heat from a supposedly righteous website and news editorial for... Trump?

Okay, let's take a step back.

How about we argue the points themselves since I've found Christians - particularly Catholics and the less chill branches - hate when you do that. I'm going to be taking quotes from the article, so trigger warning again for strong religious intolerance, AND HELL MAYBE SOME OTHER SHIT I MISSED, IDFK. Do however keep in mind that this was an opinion piece and may not reflect the values of the other writers of the New York Times, but they platformed these shitters so it's fair fucking game now motherfuckers.

Point 1.

"If there is one word to define Trump’s atmosphere, it is “pagan.” The pagan values of ancient Rome celebrated power, manliness, conquest, ego, fame, competitiveness and prowess, and it is those values that have always been at the core of Trump’s being — from his real estate grandiosity to his love of pro wrestling to his king-of-the-jungle version of American greatness." ~ David Brooks, Paragraph 2

Okay, so, Pagan values? Ancient Rome? Do you think... Do you think modern Pagans are like, into that shit for one? There are Roman and Gallo-Roman Pagans who celebrate their deities but what the fuck do you mean we "celebrate the values of power, manliness (lol I know more female Pagans than men for one), conquest (???), ego (okay that one can be fair in certain circles and covens), fame (lol), competitiveness, and prowess?" You think we're going around trying to take Constantinople back or something? I mean, that was done under checks notes Constantine, who decriminalized Christian practices in Rome and is largely responsible for the Christianization of Rome.

There's an argument to be made that they did take over the Gaul regions while still practicing Pagan practices, but they were pretty chill with just uniting their gods together and sending them on their way. A LOT OF FUCKING PEOPLE DIED TO MAKE THAT HAPPEN, and don't get me started on what that did to the Celts and the Western Germanics, but that's a problem for later.

Power

Our own power. The power within us, and our brothers, sisters, and enbieren. Those who cannot fight for themselves. We stand for those people and ourselves, and manifest our power within ourselves.

Do people abuse it? Fuck yeah, I see people reblogging curse content all the time (and I worship the lady associated with a lot of those curses) but you don't see me going out of my way to overpower the government for the sake of some holy righteous mission for my Goddesses.

I'm just some Crow loving asshole who runs a Tumblr blog out there to help baby and middle tier witches trying to find their way, and give a bit of advice here and there. Like, fuck, man, I use my power for the good of other people, whatever power I have.

Manliness

Like I said in the quote, I know waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay more female witches and general pagans than male. Maybe it's confirmation bias, but a lot of Pagans these days that are kicking around are either Wiccans, ex-Wiccans, or descended from Wiccans. Wicca wouldn't be where it is without those brave women who kicked reason to the curb and chose their lane to fight and stand in. They chose the lives they decided to live. And even today, a male witch like me is looked at almost as an oddity.

Do I know male witches who have manliness as one of their virtues? Yeah, but that doesn't dominate their personality. I see more Deus Vult Christians who idolize manliness than witches and pagans. And trust me, I know a lot of them.

Conquest

Point me on a fucking map to a place Wiccans, Pagans, Witches, you name the Pagan branch that has been taken by us. Oh, you can't, can you? That's right, because we ain't about fuckin' conquest you fucking blathering idiot. And you're only talking about the Roman Pagans who follow that particular sect, but we'll get to the Hellenists later who you throw under the bus in the same fucking breath you blithering narcissistic psycho.

Ego

Okay this is the only one I refuse to argue against, because let me be real with y'all for two seconds, you feel me?

WE AS A RELIGIOUS SUBSECTION HAVE A PROBLEM WITH LETTING SOME OF THE MOST EGOTISTICAL JACKASSES RUN THE NARRATIVE.

Okay, storytime. When I was a Hellenist (no shade to you guys, alliances and pantheons change, let the process happen) I was gaslit constantly by a pseudocoven that was more like a group of the worst fucking people my ex and I knew, and they were CONSTANTLY making claims they couldn't back up about being the very essence of deities and shit.

You can say "but Kuro you claim to talk to your Goddesses what does that make you?" Insane. It makes me In-fucking-sane, but if you're a follower of this blog you're well aware of my mental fucking illnesses by now. I could be talking to Goddesses, it could very well be my imagination. I call it communing and channeling. Because I believe it.

Does that make me some "super special awesome privileged witch that gets to only talk to his Goddesses?" No, they probably commune, and I know they do if we go back to Izzy from the Morrigan's Oracle (follow her on YouTube!) she communes with The Morrigan and Brigid. She also communed with Kali. Shit if I know who else my Goddesses talk to (although Adsagsona is a little more predictable because she sticks to me like glue and has me do stuff for her every day because I'm probably her only modern worshipper, let's be real). I'm not special just because I connect with my Goddesses. You could probably do it too if you try. You might be doing it and not know it.

My partner put it best, "I'd call anyone who claims to hear Angels or Jesus, or God insane just as I call you insane (lovingly)." We're all fuckin' crazy here, every one of us that follows a religion. What matters is what you manifest and that you manifest good for the world, and that it returns to you.

Fame

I don't really know any non-authors (who don't go by pseudonyms) outside of Tumblr who are really "famous" outside a certain frame or subset of communities. Back where I lived there was this shop that was well liked and stuff, but they barely made it to get their lease for another year through community support. This was in a red state, so YMMV but there are no "famous Pagans" really that are of any relevancy outside our relatively small circle.

Competitiveness

Bro who the fuck are we the Pagan Olympics? Are there competing Green Witches seeing who can grow the best plant (I mean plant shows but that's beside the point). Do we have curse offs? See who can fucking curse the other person better? Where is this value coming from? Nowhere, that's where.

Covens can get bitchy, and they might have spats with "Rival Covens" but that's like, nothing, and I would say a large majority of Pagans these days, in at least the US, are solitary practitioners or family practitioners.

Prowess

Bro do you like, not want to be good at stuff? Is a Christian value laziness or something because last I checked every goddamn worthwhile human being on this goddamn rock wants to be good at something. Nothingburger statement.

Point 2

Holy shit, are we just now getting to Point 2? I feel like I've written a longer post than the NYT on this shit already, gods damn.

"The pagan ethos has always appealed to grandiose male narcissists because it gives them permission to grab whatever they want. This ethos encourages egotists to puff themselves up and boast in a way they find urgently satisfying; self-love is the only form of love they know." ~David Brooks, Paragraph 3 (Oh sweet Brigid we're only on Paragraph 3, Goddess above).

The "PAGAN ETHOS"

Bro we can't agree on shit, and half the shit we agree on is contradicted by someone else. The "Pagan Ethos" at this point seems to be "Survive another fucking day in a rapidly growing place that doesn't want us," and that's just the US. There is no "Singular Pagan Ethos" that at least I know of. Bro, what Pagans are you talking to? Who is feeding you all this? Go to another fucking church cuz your Pastor has either drank a little too much of the Satanic Panic Kool Aide or this is some overt psyop made to make us feel unsafe, and I'm leaning towards the former.

There are many paths we as Pagans walk, and each is individual to their own practice. To say there is a Pagan Ethos is to say there is a singular path where there is none. We aren't a massive sect, we aren't a massive force, we are a small minority of religious people following individually guided ways of life that differ from each other. I see like fifteen curse reblogs a day and I say nothing and move on cuz that's not my path (As much as Sona wants it to be).

In short, there is no "Pagan Ethos." If you wanted one, take the Wiccan Rede by the way. How does that go again? Oh yeah, that's right.

"Eight words the Wiccan Rede fulfill: An ye harm none, do what ye will."

That's the short of it.

Point 3

"The pagan culture is seductive because it lures you with images of heroism, might and glory. Think of Achilles slaughtering his enemies before the walls of Troy. For a certain sort of perpetual boy, what could be cooler than that? But there is little compassion in this worldview, no concept that humility might be a virtue. There is a callous tolerance of cruelty." ~David Brooks, Paragraph 4 (this is taking too long).

Pagan culture and cruelty being in the same paragraph is hilarious. Everyone I've met aside from the pseudocoven has been pretty chill. No one aggressive or mean, aside from my buddy's mom who is uh, her own can of worms. She's also a Lugh worshipper, and he flat out told me to fuck off so uh...

To the Underworld with me I suppose. An Morrigan gets a little laugh every time I tell the story.

Anyway, humility is totally a Pagan virtue. We are but specs on this earth and, as far as I know, are trying to make things better however we can. We know we are not gods (well some of us do LOL). We try to give back to Earth the best we can.

And don't get me started on the Druids, that's like, their whole thing. Modern Druidism isn't like, animal sacrificing and shit. Hell, most Druids will tell you if you see a dead animal part in a forest, leave it the FUCK alone. Let nature take back what she grew and all that.

So like, where is this whole herosim, might, and glory thing come from?

Heroes and Heroics

So, being a Celt Pagan myself, we have quite a few tales of glory and adventure. Being a worshipper of Rhiannon, I got that Mabinogi strapped to me the whole way through. It's very confusing, give it a read! It's moderately easier to understand than House of Leaves :D

Jokes aside, we tell tales of virtuous, and often hubris driven heroes and caution ourselves to live better lives than them, and hope we never enter their shoes, but to put it bluntly, be prepared to put your tale in history.

Let's take me, your local schizophrenic who is the last person you should be taking advice to on positive mental health qualities!

I'm pretty much prepared to die at every given corner, but I'm paranoid as fuck, as are many Pagans who read that article right now. Trump's people comin' for us, now the other side.

"Clowns to the left of me, Jokers to the right! Here I am, stuck in the middle with you."

~Stealers Wheel, 1972

And I don't mean this as an "Orange Man Bad" post, I honestly think Bo Burnham (I'll shut up about him eventually I promise) put it best;

"Every politician, Every cop in the street Protects the interests of the pedophilic Corporate Elite!" ~Socko (as played by Bo Burnham), ""INSIDE", 2020

Don't trust a fucking word any politician says ever. You'll stay safer that way and you won't feel betrayed when a news paper column platforms a psycho and another psycho trying to spread misinformation and lies about you and yours in the name of stopping the opposition. I think every politician - left, right, middle, whatever - is out for their own personal gain so while I'm framing a lot of this as anti-Trump keep in mind, I'm an unhinged lunatic who hates every politician who does nothing but stand by as my people get hurt and do nothing about it because their fake lies and pretty prayers don't protect shit when it comes to people in the street being hurt, killed, or worse.

Stay your own ally. Take care of your community. Vet people. Don't trust these motherfuckers and their pretty lies. Okay next section.

Point 4

"Tom Holland is a historian who wrote several fine books of classical history, like “Persian Fire.” Gradually he became more and more appalled by many of those ancient pagans — those Caesars who could slaughter innocent human beings by the hundreds of thousands while everyone thought this was totally fine." ~David MOTHERFUCKING Brooks trying to gaslight you that everyone was just cool with the stuff Caesar was assassinated for, Paragraph 5 oh my god why am I even entertaining this at this point?

Caesar

Complicated figure in Roman history, blah blah blah got fucking stabbed by a bunch of people in the biggest proof that group projects are carried by a few people who are actually dedicated to the bit in history. Fun fact, Caesar was attacked by a bunch of people, like, the assassination was public and a lot of people were involved, but only a few of them actually stabbed him. Fun facts.

So you're making us believe that Roman Pagans were just like, cool with Caesar slaughtering "thousands" of innocent human beings without a complaint, not even one in the complaint box.

"Oh, slow day in Rome huh? What? Caesar went and personally slaughtered thousands of innocent people? Fuck yeah, fuck those bitches. High Roman Five." ~Some Roman Figure Living in David Brooks' head as a voice through history.

You think people were so chill with him killing "thousands" of "innocent human people" and that the assassination was COMPLETELY UNRELATED to his policies huh? Is that really the hill you're going to die on? Alright, let's cut the bullshit and get to the facts.

Tom Holland is a historian who wrote several fine books of classical history, like “Persian Fire.” Gradually he became more and more appalled by many of those ancient pagans — those Caesars who could slaughter innocent human beings by the hundreds of thousands while everyone thought this was totally fine.

Rome Under Caesar

I'm gonna try to use the least amount of sources as possible but we're getting into history so there's a lot of accounts and sources, HONESTLY you should probably just read Caesar's Wikipedia page and follow the sources here because it'll be 9999x less schizophrenic than this, tbh.

According to fucking history.com (https://www.history.com/articles/julius-caesar-ancient-roman-dictator-importance for those curious) Caesar did a lot to shape the world after him, and honestly, motherfucker had it coming for a lot of reasons but we'll get to that.

Appointed Governor of the Northern Territory of Gaul in 58 B.C.E. No biggie by itself but he then proceeded to expand Rome's control all across Europe, including the very way to the Atlantic and parts of the English Channel. Obligitory fuck France.

55 B.C.E (count backwards in B.C.E. remember?) he literally built a bridge across the Rhine in 10 days because he was a madlad whose madlad capacity could not be contained.

So let's ask you, David Brooks, are these Gauls the innocents he was slaughtering? I mean they weren't bothering no one (ignoring each other, the Western Germanics, each other again, goddamn they just wanted smoke) but they were Pagans so THAT'S probably not the problem you have, because they were ancient Pagans and according to you any innocents were just killed by Pagans so Caesar good for controlling those bitchass Pagans right? Right? No? Okay, let's continue.

3. Civil War by crossing the Rubicon that was the entire opposite of Civil because Caesar was just kinda like that. You're standing at the Rubicon River dividing Gaul and Rome and some motherfucker just brings an entire legion across it. What are you going to do? Well, fight across Spain, fucking Greece got involved, North Africa somehow found itself in the middle of it, prompting Pompey to retreat to North Africa where uh.

They weren't fucking wanted so you guess what happened to them.

So, if we're keeping track, David Brooks, that's a lot of dead Pagans. I mean leading an entire legion of Pagans across the Rubicon to slaughter a bunch of Roman Pagans and force them into North Africa (which you don't give a single fuck about don't even try to pretend). Then there was a battle in Greece in 48 B.C.E. that forced Pompey to retreat, again, to Egypt, but ya know, Egypt in the olden days. So you don't care, right? No innocents dead yet according to you. We on the same page? I'm not seeing where you're finding all these innocents you're complaining about him slaughtering. According to you, they're all Pagans so who cares, right?

4. Pompey was assassinated at the behest of Ptolemy XIIi., BECAUSE HE WANTED HELP AGAINST CLEOPATRA VII. Hmm very interesting. I wonder how that turned out for him.

Oh uh, Ptolemy was defeated in 47 B.C.E. because Caesar's forces showed up, then put Cleopatra and her 12 year old half-brother in charge, but she was in the HBIC so who cares, right? Pagan on Pagan violence according to you. Then Cleopatra gave birth to Ptolemy XV who was joked to be Caesarion WHICH prompted Cleopatra and Caesarion in 46 B.C.E. to move to a villa on the banks of the Timber River, where Caesar visited his lover frequently in apparently violating the law, but that was a Pagan law so who cares, right David Brooks? Thus it was bad and you don't care.

5. Okay so we're getting to the Dictator part in a minute but uh, there's some interesting history with Celo after that but we'll get to it.

46 B.C.E., he declared himself according to HISTORY.COM by the way as "Dictator for Life." Yeah. That's a doozy. You know, just declaring yourself the eternal ruler of a place, sure couldn't go horribly wrong, right? When in history has a despotic ruler who treats his subjects as mere afterthoughts ever gone wrong. Now I see you looking up what happened before the Bolshivek Revolution (February Revolution - the Russian Civil War, from 1917 to fucking 1922 by the way) and I'm just gonna keep it short and say the Emperor of fucking Russia wasn't a great guy no matter how much the Russian Orthodox Church argues for it and I'll take that to my fucking dying days.

So, back to Caesar-

"Your Tumblr post is longer than the fucking OpEd you're criticizing and you're only on the fifth paragraph, can we not speedrun this?"

It's my hyperfixation and specialty and I make the rules.

Back to Dictator for Life Caesar.

Did some stuff like granting stuff to retiring soldiers and redistributing land to the poor and canceling debts. Pretty popular stuff if you ask me and I fail to see where the innocents were getting slaughtered this? Isn't the whole Christian thing, especially US Christianity, about being good to people who give something as sacred as their lives up for their nation and giving to the poor? That's a pretty good move, but it sure as fuck kicked up a hornets nest against the elites.

To quote Socko again,

"No shit."

So, he minted coins with his image, made his birthday a public holiday, and literally, and you can fact check this, ruled Senate from an actual fucking, and I mean ACTUAL FUCKING Golden Throne.

UHH. I'm starting to see some problems with this guy but we haven't reached the murdering innocents parts.

6. Wow a calendar. Cool. So, cool facts again, Rome ran off a 355 Lunar Calendar. Pretty baller if you ask me, because running things off of the moon is pretty cool and ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh Goddess above here comes the Julian calendar with Sosiggenes. Fuck you man. 365 1/4 days with a leap year every four years? Man, maybe I should hate this guy MORE than I do. I mean that's pretty fucked up, changing shit off a lunar calendar, something that as we know is very important to Christians, a lunar calendar, based on the moon, the moon they have nothing to do with, the moon they don't worship gods of, the moon that-

Yeah I'm overdoing the bit. I am convinced through my own mental illness that Caesar did this just to piss me off thousands of years later. Fuck you and your calendar Caesar and Sosigenes, shove it. This all officially went into effect in 45 B.C.E. on Jan 1st. Sound familiar? Yeah we fucking use that shit but it had to be edited because by the 1500's that shit was 10 days off the seasons, which is kinda bad from the predominantly agricultural forces of the world while the New World and THEIR Pagans were more worried about, I dunno, fucking the invading colonialists and Spanish Inquisitions. Priorities people. So since people were so butthurt over a poorly thought out calendar system that was stupid from the get go and mattered only in Europe at the time, Pope Gregory XIII modified the calendar by just saying "You know what? God says fuck those ten days and only one out of every centennial years would be leap years." And to show how butthurt the Eastern Orthodox Church was about Pope Gregory XIII's decision, some parts of it still use it.

Oh and they renamed the birth month of Caesar, Quintuilis, to Julius which became July. So that's why we shoot Fireworks off every July 4th and traumatize people with PTSD, animals, and all sort of other people with mental illnesses and disabilities every year /jk kinda sorta it's complicated.

7. So, so far Caesar has killed other Pagans for the sake of killing other Pagans because they didn't want him in charge and gave stuff to soldiers and the poor. Where's the problem here, David Brooks? Note he didn't include a source on Caesar just mindlessly slaughtering "thousands of innocents a day and no one cared" because OpEds can obviously be filled with as much misinformation as the publication is allowed to get away with. And goddamn do they run the gambit in this.

Yeah, he went pretty nuts later with all the honors and crazy shit, having statues erected in his honor in temples which actually probably pissed off more of the Pagans than anyone else. And David Brooks' definition of innocents only seems to include Christians affected rather than the Pagans who were killed cuz.... They were in a war? Over land? Classic shit every world leader, but especially the Vatican has pulled for hundreds of years. So why do you care when CAESAR does it, eh? He's done more to piss off the political elite and rich and- ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Okay. I see.

Anyway, so they ended up killing him, on the Ides of March, or the 15th of March for those of you who aren't history buffs or care about stupid bullshit no one has cared outside of history obsessed people and Roman Larpers who forgot that Caesar was largely uh, not a Christian at all or even existed at the same time that it was popular in Rome. Mark Antony played everyone for fools, because the public really liked Caesar so when I said no one gave a shit earlier I was kinda wrong. The public turned on the conspirators and drove them out, but they still got the fuck away with it so point stands.

Caesar and why David Brooks thinks he just murdered swaths of innocents for no reason

Good question, next question.

Point 5

"The callous tolerance of cruelty is a river that runs through human history. It was dammed up, somewhat, only by millenniums of hard civilizational work. The pagan ethos — ancient or modern — always threatens to unleash brutality once again. The pagan ethos does not believe that every human was made in the image of God, does not believe in human equality, is not concerned about preserving the dignity of the poor. It does not care much about the universal feelings of benevolence, empathy and faithfulness toward one another, which, it turns out, are absolutely required for a democracy to function.

We seem to be entering a pagan century. It’s not only Trump. It’s the whole phalanx of authoritarians, all those greatness-obsessed macho men like Vladimir Putin and Xi Jinping. It’s the tech bros. It’s Christian nationalism, which is paganism with worship music. (If you ever doubt the seductive power of paganism, remember it has conquered many of the churches that were explicitly founded to reject it.)

If paganism is a grand but dehumanizing value system, I’ve found it necessary, in this increasingly pagan age, to root myself in anything that feels rehumanizing, whether it’s art or literature or learning. I’ve found it incredibly replenishing to be spending time around selfless, humble people who are still doing the work of serving the homeless, mentoring a lost kid who’s joined a gang. These days I need these moral antidotes to feel healthy, resilient and inspired."

~David Brooks, again forgetting to take his meds that day in Paragraphs 7-9

I sped up the process a bit but also because all three of these paragraphs are reliant on each other to make their point or get really ANY point across, because David Brooks is a terrible fucking writer. I wonder who that reminds me of. Someone who rhymes with dadrawobdabro. Couldn't be me.

Authoritarianism and Christianity

So like, did we completely bypass Caesar and swing forward to Vladamir Putin and Xi Jinping and Donald Trump like we're completely missing the parts where a very Christian Rome fell apart due to infighting and also a few barbarian hordes here and there? Like holy fuck, yeah, XI Jiping can get fucked and so can Putin but like, what does Putin identify (poorly) as? According to Theos (https://www.theosthinktank.co.uk/comment/2022/02/16/essay-on-vladimir-putin for those interested, but fair warning for your witchy eyes you're gonna be bombarded the fuck out of Christian shit in your ads for the next million years so stay vigilant), he's part of the Russian Orthodox Church, or the Moscow Partiarchate which in Russian is "fuck you I'm not copypasting that." This shit goes back to Valdamir the Great and the clergy at, wow, would you believe that? Constantinople, wow, full circle. Where else did you see Constantinople in this post?

So what other Authoritarian Leaders are of some Judeo-Christian Religion hmmmmmmmmmmmm? Oh, most of them. Wow, surprising, it's almost like there's a pattern, or I haven't taken my meds and I'm just seeing things where there aren't. Which if you look at history and my med schedule you'd know obviously I've taken my meds and that history has been filled with Authoritarian as fuck leaders claiming to be some sort of Christian outside of like, Japan in some places, China because they're weird, and the good old USSR who claimed I guess that Religion was wrong until it wasn't the tactic anymore, the Iron Curtain fell (ask me about my opinions about the USSR I SWEAR I'M FUN AT PARTIES), and an ex-KGB GOOD BOI Putin took office as RUSSIAN ORTHODOX MIND YOU.

It's almost like religion can be used as a tool to control narratives and paint people as enemies and assign any moniker to them to dehumanize them and make them the obvious enemy you need to rise up against. Post 9/11 it was Muslims, now it's Pagans fucking apparently according to the New York Times. Yeah, that New York Times. You know, the New York Times, the same one that publishes actual articles about things depending on your political leanings that you'd be inclined to read if you're of a personal persuasion or stupid enough to pay to read a website for the same news you'll probably see summarized and discussed far more fun and less civilized on /pol/ if you take ANY of that seriously, Reddit if you're feeling like seeing someone call someone something close to a slur but skirting the rules as close as possible, Twitter if you just want to watch the world burn like Heath Ledger's fucking Joker, or a Tumblr written by a schizophrenic Pagan if you really have nothing better to do.

You want someone to blame for this fucking Tumblr post that isn't me because I have better things to do than read hate comments when I'm working on shit in the lab? Email the New York Times and get mad at them, not me.

"Increasingly Pagan Age"

This is an issue of what the Japanese call "Shittobukai" or 嫉妬深い if you can read moon runes. It translates loosely to "Deep Jealousy" and is used freely in Mori Calliope's song "Holy嫉妬" (Holy-Shitto for those who are not Japanese or well versed in the complex systems of kanji like your dumbass friend Kuro who spent hours when he first heard the song and kept looking for the right word for what it meant) (also wow Mori Calliope? Kuro's not cool anymore, he listens to Mori Calliope.)

People are looking for different paths, not just Pagan paths mind you, in the year of their lord 2025 C.E. Some go Muslim, some go Jewish, some people pick Hinduism, and others pick other paths like atheism, agnosticism which I will sit here and argue for hours is it's own territory of it's own, or shit like Buddhism or Taoism. Fuck, I have the equivalent of the Taoist bible sitting on my desk because it teaches you to be more chill and doesn't interfere with my religion. Buddhism, Taoism, stuff like that doesn't interfere really with religion so much as it offers you another lens to look at it through.

There are Christian Buddhists. There's probably a Hindu Taoist somewhere, IDK, they don't post much on English Twitter so I wouldn't know? Or Tumblrs I follow for that matter? IDK, find your own path.

Point being, we're in an age where the Christian domination that has lasted hundreds of years is coming to an end as they are losing their majority more and more every day. So who else to blame but those damn Pagans? Clearly every Christian lead off the path who becomes a Muslim, Jew, or Atheist was caused BY A PAGAN, right David Brooks? That's your logic? It's not like we're growing by that much. Paragraphs 7-9 make it sound like we're fucking becoming a majority when by far there are not as many western Pagans as there are Hindus. We are a miniscule minority. In America, only 3% of people identify openly as Pagan, ya Crow kinda included but I've been forced temporarily for a bit back into the Broom closet for reasons, partly because my partner's mother is a Presbyterian pastor and coming to visit with a man from I believe Cameroon who is also heavily Christian aligned. I don't even think my partner has told her she's an atheist let alone that I'm a Pagan, and honestly Sona is saying some scary shit about what she's going to do if her mom gets some idea to look into the office closet (she quite frankly doesn't want her in the same space as her bell, as in the office, so she's a little unhinged today but she had a good time with me taking pictures of East Coast flowers, but we missed the blooming season sadly, so next year Sona, I promise, Partner wants to go show me the DC blooms and you'll love it aside from, well, being in DC).

So, yeah, that's an open 3%. Give or take a few percent due to people stuck in the broom closet for a VARIETY OF REASONS, we'll be generous and say 5% or 6%. I'm feeling generous and say there are double the amount of identifying Pagans in the US, David Brooks, because by now I've outwritten your shitty article and I'm only up to Paragraph 9 of your's. I need to give you SOME advantage.

However, ha ha! By giving you this generous offer of 6% I have made your points seem utterly deranged and deluded, which honestly you didn't need much help with but I might as well push that little bit further! You're threatened by 6% of the population and blame someone you outnumber by 57% according to the Pew Research Center (https://www.pewresearch.org/religion/2025/02/26/religious-landscape-study-religious-identity/) for the worsening of the country and, to go a little further into your article to get some of the guff out of the way, that Jesus is needed to save your over 60% majority from the evil 6% of Pagans. Unless you're like, severely dyslexic and think that says 666% of Americans are Pagan, so allow me to make it clear - I am giving you six (6) (vi) (六) percent. I know you can't read kanji, or probably another language other than the very American English you know, which don't feel bad, because I can't either, but at least I went to the effort of putting it out there for you so you don't get confused, because you are clearly blind if you think the world at the reported 3% or my supposed doubled amount by counting broom closeted pagans which there are DEFINITELY not that amount of but again, it's about generosity. You feel that Jesus is needed to save you in these times of an "increasingly Pagan world" when we are barely a dot on the map compared to you. Get some fucking perspective you total psycho path.

Point 6 (six) (vi) (六)

"For the Romans, the cross was a symbol of their power — their power to crucify. The early Christians took the cross as their symbol, too, but as a symbol for compassion, grace and self-sacrificial love. Christianity is built on a series of inversions that make paganism look pompous and soulless: Blessed are the meek. Blessed are the poor in spirit. The last shall be first. The poor are closer to God than the rich. Jesus was perpetually performing outrageous acts of radical generosity, without calculating the cost.

The Judeo-Christian ethos showed the world something loftier than paganism. As G.K. Chesterton put it in “The Everlasting Man,” “One of the strange marks of the strength of Christianity is that, since it came, no pagan in our civilization has been able to be really human.”

Judaism and Christianity confront paganism with rival visions of the good. The contrast could not be starker. Paganism says: Make yourself the center of the universe. Serve yourself and force others to serve you. The biblical metaphysic says: Serve others, and you will find joy. Serve God, and you will delight in his love."

~David Brooks, once more losing his fucking mind over the Romans in Paragraphs 12-14

"Shitto-Shitto-Bukai, just ain't worth the time so kick it." ~Mori Calliope

So, now you're blaming Jews? What happened to Caesar and his Pagan ways being the reason Rome sucked? Oh, I guess that doesn't help your narrative here, so you dropped it for fucking Jews. Okay, so I'm not their friend any more than I am you are, or you are theirs, so I don't reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeally give a shit?

But then you ally with them for "Judaism and Christianity confronting paganism with rival visions of the good." So I guess it's water under the bridge. I really don't know what you're smoking David Brooks, but you must be getting the good shit from the dispensary you spend your money you drew from that second salary from the Facebook thing at (https://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/americas/david-brooks-nyt-facbeook-income-b1812701.html for those curious about good old Davie Brooks).

Then you go ahead and throw us under the bus and say we are self-serving and wholly self-absorbed when that couldn't be the opposite of the matter. Are you aware of what lengths I go to to revere and worship my Goddesses? I go out of my comfort zone because of the Morrigan and better myself to better serve her. For Brigid I try to aid nature and make it beautiful, was inspired to aid the growth of plants and the health of the earth for her sake, for Rhiannon I began breaking down why I feared the night and found some hard truths, but she repays me in kind with guidance on staying calm in stressful night situations and in kind I became less hostile to people who mean me no harm at night in my neighborhood, thus helping the neighborhood as I stopped feeling the need to take a bat out and threaten anyone I saw. For Sona, I take beautiful photos of things she's never seen, and with my broken, battered body do things for her pleasure to show her a side of the world, a whole entire new world to her, that she's never seen. I go out and sit on a rock and talk to her, much like you talk to Jesus in your prayers, but to someone who has gone unworshipped in hundreds if not thousands of years man. I gave her a bell, a meaning, a reason to keep going, a promise of spreading her joy to various parts of the continental US because for now I can't get on planes easily.

Do your prayers to Jesus and Big G God for likely things that would make you happy have any less meaning or joy or pleasantness than me with my disabled body getting on the fucking ground to take a picture of a tree Adsagsona was enraptured by? You seem to think so. It wasn't out of self service. It was to make my Goddess happy, how you make your God and your Lord happy every day through your actions, through your prayers, so you say. But no, I'm the bad guy because Orange Man in Office and obviously that couldn't have happened if God was willing. It had to be my Goddesses, the Gods and Goddesses my friends and fellow Pagans worship, the fault of an "increasingly Pagan world" because "God would never let this happen if he had anything to say about it."

You make excuses for why a coin toss election lost without the realization that man has free will, and people with similar beliefs to you, who, by the way, make up a large majority of the country instead of the "6%" of Pagans that probably voted Blue anyway, voted FOR ORANGE MAN. When do you accept blame and repent for the supposed sins of your brothers and sisters who you refuse to blame for Orange Man instead of innocent Pagans, those same innocents you claimed Caesar slaughtered by the thousands and the Roman populace "didn't care?"

Point 7

"You may be a person of faith or a person of no faith, but which moral atmosphere do you want to live in? The cultural atmosphere you immerse yourself in will slowly form who you are. I don’t fault those pagans for sucking down all those muscle-building diet supplements, but I know the kind of nourishment I need these days for the strength of my mind and the health of my soul.

Apparently, I’m not alone. Something’s going on in our culture. The decline of religious participation, which was so rapid between 2010 and 2020, seems to have stopped. There has been a relative surge in religious interest among young men. According to research by the evangelical Christian polling group Barna, 66 percent of Americans say they have made a personal commitment to Jesus — a 12-percentage-point jump since 2021.

Similar things may be happening in Europe. In France the Catholic Church saw a 45 percent increase in new catechumens this Easter compared with last year, and it has baptized more than 17,000 people, the highest yearly number of entrants in over 20 years. According to an April report by the Bible Institute, the percentage of British adults age 18 to 24 who attend church at least monthly increased from 4 percent in 2018 to 16 percent today, including a 21 percent gain among young men. I’ve been predicting a revival among the religious left, but that seems not to be happening. The Christian resurgence in Britain is not among the progressive mainline denominations; it’s primarily among Catholics and Pentecostals, with two million more people attending church than six years ago."

~David Brooks schizoposting about fucking muscle-building diet supplements for some reason? Is this about fucking Alex Jones or did you just get out of the psych ward? No shade if you did, been there, but come on man this is insane. Also Paragraphs 15-17

Contradictions

So, you're saying this is an "increasingly Pagan world," then in the same article contradicting yourself by saying both the amount of Christians have gone up and Church attendance is actually higher than it has been in some time (since 2021), and I'll take you at face value on that because the only person I can ask is someone I really don't want to nor knows why I would be asking (Partner's mother, who doesn't know about the Pagan shit and needs to NOT know). I also don't want to bother bringing more sources than I need to and most of the stuff will be hearsay and if you can pull numbers out of your ass then I can too.

Well let me give you some numbers too. The stores of Pagan owners in the US are doing fine, and the one back home I'm not naming not out of shade for them but for my own anonymity got another year on their lease by working hard for their dream and are launching Oracle decks this year they made themselves with their own art and own meanings to their own cards. They worked hard at this. I'll probably be buying this Oracle deck just to support them, and guess what David Brooks? Instead of the generous offer your website tried to give me for a subscription to the New York Times, I'll just go ahead and buy a personalized hand-made grimoire by that shop just to support them, as a personal "fuck you" from me to you and a "thank you" from you and your cronies at the New York Times to the Pagan community. We'll even count it as your apology, so yet again I'm being generous and giving you and them a two-for-one! Isn't that great?!

There's like six Pagan shops in my immediate area. They aren't suffering. In fact, they're doing great. They've been here, they're staying here, the community here has been great and welcoming so far, even though they are not by any means organized. So fuck you, David Brooks. I'm done playing nice. Now we're coming out with talons out, baby.

Point 8 (HOLY FUCK IT'S ALMOST OVER)

"This movement was already underway before Trump was elected to a second term. It’s a response to a series of gods that failed: The belief that science and tech could solve our quest for meaning. The belief that we can live like hyperindividualists and still experience a sense of communal belonging. The belief that the right B.M.I. could lead to purpose and peace.

Are we on the cusp of a new religious revival? The evidence is still much too flimsy and fresh to justify that kind of sweeping assertion, so color me skeptical. I think it’s more accurate to say that there is currently a great spiritual yearning in the populace, which the religious institutions have not yet risen to meet.

But I do think we’re on the cusp of a great cultural transition. On the one hand, the eternal forces of dehumanization are blowing strong right now: concentrated power; authoritarianism; materialism; runaway technology; a presidential administration at war with the arts, universities and sciences; a president who guts Christianity while pretending to govern in its name.

On the other hand, there are millions of humanists — secular and religious — repulsed by what they see. History is often driven by those people who are quietly repulsed for a while and then find their voice. I suspect different kinds of humanists will gather and invent other cultural movements. They will ask the eternal humanistic questions: What does it mean to be human? What is the best way to live? What is the nature of the common humanity that binds us together? As these questions are answered in new ways, there will be new cultural movements and forms.

As the theologian Dallas Willard put it, there has been, over the past decades of neglect, a loss of moral knowledge. We came to a spot in 2024 in which 77 million Americans took a look at Trump’s moral character and didn’t have a problem with what they saw. But the consequences of those character failings are becoming evident in concrete ways.

New winds are going to blow."

~David Brooks, ending his schizoposting about 3% of the population by deflecting things on humanists, paganisms, tech, and so on in Paragraphs 19-24.

Okay, okay. We're finally at the end. Fucking finally, I can do something better with my time, holy motherfucking shit. HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLY SHIT.

Failed Gods

I'm just going to go for the throat on this one, and say that out of those 77 million voters that voted for Trump, a lot of them identify, pretty fucking blatantly, as Christians and good God fearing citizens of the United States of America and Jesus' Strongest Warriors. Do you know how many crosses, fish, and other Christian iconography paired with either a Trump 2024 bumper sticker or MAGA hat?

Trick question, I have numbers and I'm actually going to use sources because you are a piece of shit who can't be bothered to cite anything.

(https://baptistnews.com/article/how-trump-and-harris-fared-with-faith-voters-in-2024/)

This is Baptist news. Same warnings about your search history, ads, and some really fucking weird shit they say in the article. They break down the Christian vote by for some fucking reason White Born-Again's and just Whites in general.

They don't even like Trump, they have an article on their front fucking page that says we're "Living in the Upside Down from Stranger Things" 100 days into Trump's presidency. And they said according to them, 76% of White Christians, which by the way, David Brook is a White Christian, just take a look at his face on his article as my source. Fuck's sake man, your own demographic lost 76-24. That's like if the Chicago Bulls won a game against the LA Lakers by 152-48. With half-senile Jordan as their lead and Prime Lebron facing him down (I'm using NBA instead of WNBA even though that has better examples for reasons, don't ask). Dude, you lost not just by double, not just by triple, but by 3.16 times Dude you lost nearly pi times the amount of votes of your own demographic and you're blaming 3% of the populace for it. What the fuck man? No, seriously, answer me, what the fuck?

I want you in my comments, David Brooks, explaining how 3% of the populace is responsible for your own demographic, not counting Black, Latino, or otherwise Judeo-Christians, losing 76% to 24%. Are you kidding me dude? This is ridiculous.

TL;DR - Fuck you David Brooks. Let me leave you with words I was told a long time ago by someone so much wiser than I.

"Instead of looking for enemies without, look within." You might find a lot more of them that way.

With All the Love IN MY HEART For All of my Pagan Siblings and fellow Little Crows and Little Birds Catching Strays from the New York FUCKING Times, Kuro.

P.S. I cannot stress this enough, fuck you David Brooks and fuck your publication for publishing you. You are not a good Christian and maybe you should start acting like one.

[purpledemonlilyposting]

And here we have Lily Orchard unironically defending moé anime just because I'm critical of it despite it being the exact kind of stuff the so-called disgusting weebs who "fetishize Japan" she loves to complain about are into. More under the cut!

[Lily's Post]

"Director" in anime does often equate to "show runner" but there is barely any information on the development of this bland paint by numbers anime about moeblobs next to big ship machinery.

But considering Hanada was in charge of the series composition and wrote the screenplay of every single episode I would say he shaped the thing. It's just funny that Lily bitches about moé anime seasonal slop when that's Hanada's bread and butter.

But ah yeah, those stupid feminists, complaining about shows where female characters are all depicted as pure, airheaded, simple-minded and idealized for the male gaze. Totally not the response you'd see from an MRA neckbeard weeb, eh Lily? And you're agreeing with it.

What "pro moé" anime fans are ripping me apart except for "Christian libertarian communist" @kuuderekun over there? Who is probably sending all of these asks. Are these really the sorts of people you're making your bed with Lils? People who like School Days and lolicon?

You'll notice none of my critiques of A Place Further than the Universe have been "toddlerface bad". It's brainless teenage girls designed to appeal to the male gaze bad. And Lily, you were squealing the entire video about how cute and dumb the girls are. Yeah. That's the appeal.

Given I'm a feminist I maybe don't like women and girls being depicted as simple-minded creatures to be cooed at. It's still objectification. You're just not experienced enough with anime to have recognized what this boring, poorly written show is. Everything in it is just in service of putting moé joshi kosei next to big technical machinery to appeal to otaku autists. It's not the WORST example of this kind of show, but it is one.

For god's sake the girls only get on the expedition through sheer dumb happenstance and narrative contrivances. Zero characters besides Shirase have any real reason to go to Antarctica, even her mother didn't. Her mother wasn't even an Artic researcher or an engineer or anything, she just wanted to go to Antarctica cause it sounded neat. She and her two adult female friends also act like doe-eyed braindead teenagers.

And then the mom died going out in a blizzard trying to retrieve a laptop leaving her daughter motherless for no reason, but this is treated as nothing but beautiful and heartwarming by the show. It's so asinine.

How's that Antarctica video doing by the way?

[affectionatenouns]

It's rough coming to the realization that your parents only "care" about you insofar as keeping themselves in your life. I was on the phone with my dad the other day, which is a rare enough occurrence on its own, but the topic turned to politics, which my father generally refuses to talk to me about because he gets emotional when he's wrong about things.

My parents are old-style conservatives. Not good, but better than the raving, foaming-at-the-mouth fascism that modern conservatism is. They're the "small government, tax me less, Reagan was cool and trickle-down is real" type conservatives (nevermind that they've been poor their entire lives and jack shit has ever trickled down to them).

During this conversation, my dad said that he "just tries to stay out of politics as much as he can". I responded saying that I wish it were that easy for me, and that I'm staring down the barrel of having all of my rights stripped away from me. His response to that is still echoing in my ears, since it was one of the most delusional, blatantly and demonstrably false things I've ever heard. "Son," he said, not bothering to correct himself, nor even stopping to think about what he had just said, "I'm a straight, white, Christian man. I'm a minority in this country and there are people trying to take away my rights every day."

As sickening as that was to hear, I didn't bother calling him out on it because I had just woken up from a nap and didn't have the energy to start a fight about it. I just dismissed it and mentioned the realities I face both now and in the future. To which he responded "it's all a matter of perspective." What a fucking thing to say. A matter of perspective. Like, you can't bother to even listen to your daughter as she tells you about the material, unavoidable reality of her life. It's all a matter of perspective. As if I can just say "Oh, y'know what, you're right. I can just pretend these things don't happen to me and won't happen to me. I'm not in constant danger actually, because I've changed how I look at the problem." and it all goes away. A fucking matter of fucking perspective.

My mom is barely any better about this. She pretends to listen, but still refuses to believe that anything I'm saying is reality. My little brother still lives at home, and through him, I've learned that the only person who consistently genders me correctly is him. When they aren't talking directly to me or my husband, my parents don't put in an ounce of effort. They flatly refuse to talk with me about anything to do with HRT or how it affects me. I'm on the verge of cutting them off entirely because of it, but I know if I do that, or god forbid mention doing it, I'll get another tearful speech about how it's just SO HARD and they're trying their best and it's all such an adjustment. You have to let us make mistakes, we can't feel like we're walking on eggshells talking to you. Please oh PLEASE just let us misgender you and ignore your identity in favor of the one we constructed in our heads for you PLEASE.

It's all just so tiresome.

[thebetawolfgirl]

The Chanel Ribbon: The Wedding

Word count: 1,858

Pairing: Timmy x reader

Summary: Timmy finally marries the woman of his dreams.

Warnings: SMUT! And just pure joy, a bit of laughter and a bit of teary eyed sweetness!

The Chanel Ribbon: The Wedding

Timothée had finally proposed to his beloved y/n and they finally engaged from last month. They were sitting at home discussing wedding plans while laying on the sofa. It was proving to be difficult, because both sides of the respective families all had their opinions and suggestions about what kind of wedding they should have. One of y/n’s cousins thought they should have a big lavish wedding, an old aunt thought they should get married in a church, but although Timmy was half Christian on his dad’s side he didn’t practice.

So they had shut the curtains, switched off the phones and laptops and any other form of communication and shut everyone out.

They were currently talking about their all time favourite movie, as a break from the wedding talk.

‘We should’ve just eloped as soon as we got engaged.’ Timmy suddenly joked from his spot behind her.

Y/n chuckled but her head suddenly began to spin with ideas.

‘You’re hilarious Chalamet, but your mother would kill you.’

‘True. And if Pauline would help bury my body’ he got up asking if she wanted anything from the kitchen he shook her head no going back to her magazine.

But when he disappeared she quickly messaged Mark and asked him to do some things for her. It was a long shot but if anyone could help her with this particular thing it was his father. She sent the message and got a response almost instantly. She wrote down the information given and put it away until she perfected her plan.

Timmy came back in with some snacks and cans of soda and she smiled. ‘I said I didn’t need anything’

‘Yes but if I had just came back with snacks for me you would’ve be eating them all’ she rolled his eyes and grabbed a bag of chips.

‘Listen, I was just thinking, let’s go away for a few days. Just us, you’ll be doing SNL soon then we won’t have time. I think a few days off will be good.’

He nodded as he turned on the tv pulling her against him. ‘That’s actually a good idea, where abouts were you thinking?’

‘Hmm… How about France? Just to get away from all this stress and we can just relax.’ She looked at him nodding while watching tv.

‘We could get our own villa, with a swimming pool and I could wear that new bathing suit I bought.’

His head snapped towards her his entire attention on his fiancée now. ‘I haven’t had the chance to wear it for you with all of this going on.’

‘Uh-huh’ He watched crawl closer to him.

‘I could bring it and I could try it on-‘

‘I’ll book the tickets now’ she smiled as he grabbed his phone and started looking for early flights to France. The snacks were forgotten on the coffee table as he concentrated on his phone.

She went to move off him and he looked up frowning and whined like an injured puppy. ‘Heyyy’ he made to drag her back but she moved away. ‘I need to pack and I’ll let your parents and sister know we’re taking a few days off, then I’m all yours.’ She walked past him kissing him on the head as she did and hopped upstairs quickly texting Pauline telling her everything about her idea and for her and her parents to meet them at the exact location. Nicole called in tears saying it was such a kind and beautiful thing to do for Timmy and that he would love it. Mark called just to say ‘Thank you y/n, for doing this for my son.’

A few days later they arrived in France and it was beautiful weather despite it being August. Timmy was confused as to why y/n asked him to bring a shirt and tie and his good blazer. ‘Because we may go out to a nice restaurant and you can’t go out in your usual jeans and hoodie Timmy’ Timmy agreed reluctantly and reminded himself y/n was rarely wrong about this kind of thing and this would be the first step in obeying everything his wife wanted.

Their time in France was beautiful, they ate amazing food they visited all of the tourist attractions and Timmy even took her to where he spent his summers. They made love in the evening and she did try on that bikini and he ended up taking her right there in the swimming pool.

They ended up staying longer than intended, one day y/n wanted to go to this little village in the French countryside which Timmy found odd because there was hardly anything in it. She had told him to wear his suit and she wore his favourite dress the simple one he had bought her.

They reached the small village and they stopped in front of an old church, Timmy looked at it confused and looked back at y/n who was smiling at him.

‘Y/n, where are we?’

‘I wanted it to be a surprise.’

She spoke softly holding his hand.

‘This is the church your grandmother married your grandfather in.’

Timmy gasped and his eyes widened before filling with tears.

‘I wanted your grandmother to be with us when we got married.’

He looked back at the old church before grabbing y/n by the back of her neck and crashing his lips to hers and kissed her as the tears fell from his eyes. He broke the kiss and whispered ‘Thank you.’

She smiled nodding and took his hand leading him towards the church where his parents and his sister were waiting for them along with y/n’s parents and sister. As soon as Timmy saw his parents he rushed over to them burying his face in his mother’s shoulder sobbing gently. ‘Mama’

Y/n new he missed his grandmother dearly so it felt right to get married in the same church she did.

Timmy moved from his parents embrace and hugged his sister before turning to his future in-laws and hugging them.

After the greetings and preparations Timmy stood at the alter waiting for his bride. This was better than any lavish wedding and the fact y/n did all of this for him, in memory of his beloved grandmother sealed his confidence that this woman, this incredible beautiful woman would be his and only his. He would watch her soar with her music and they would support each other and have that happy ever after.

They exchanged their vows in French and sealed their bond with a kiss and walked up the aisle husband and wife. Equals.

They had a small private meal at their favourite in Paris and then went back to the villa. Timmy asked both families if they wanted to stay with them but they already got somewhere to stay. Y/n’s parents were staying with the Chalamet’s at the family villa.

They all bid their goodbyes and the happy couple went back alone.

Y/n smiled as she knew Timmy just wanted to get her back to the villa to have her to himself.

Her theory was proved right as soon as the front door was locked he shoved her against it and attacked her mouth.

He picked her up in his arms and carried her bridal style upstairs to their bedroom and shut the door with his foot before setting her down.

She reached for him sliding his jacket from his shoulders and letting it fall to the ground, he pulled her against him by her waist and buried his face in her neck and whispered ‘Wife’

Her breath caught in her throat and she whispered back ‘Husband’

A choked gasp escaped his throat and he groaned against her neck nipping her shoulder, they shed their clothes quickly and she pushed him gently to sit on the bed before climbing on to his lap.

The place was in darkness but he could feel her fingers trailing along his chest as she made to push him backwards, but he flipped her over so she was underneath and began kissing and nipping her lips before moving down her throat and all the way down.

She took a deep breath as she felt him at her thigh and heard him gasp and smirked. She had tied around her thigh the Chanel Ribbon instead of the traditional lace garter. She heard him groan and felt the ribbon being pulled off her leg and suddenly see him above her ‘You’re so bad’ he still had the ribbon in his mouth and she took it from between his teeth before wrapping it around his neck and tying it in a bow around his throat

‘Oh’ he breathed out softly at the feel of the satin around his neck and she grinned at his surprise.

‘You can proceed now’

He looked at her through the dark with wide eyes in shock before he dove down and began devouring her holding her legs open as she cried out and gripped his curls.

He began moving his tongue up and down her bundle of nerves before poking his tongue inside of her making her slam her hand against the railing above her head.

She knew she would have bruises where he was holding her hips down as he went down on her and she didn’t care.

She was close to coming and so pulled on his hair to bring him back up and dragged him to her by the ribbon around his throat smirking when he gasped. He groaned as he flipped them onto his back and kissed her hard before letting her sit up and sink down on him, they both groaned and started moving together. She untied the ribbon and pulled on both ends with her hand pulling him slightly and smirked as he grunted in surprise. She leaned down and met his lips and they kissed passionately as they rode each other hard.

Timmy held onto her digging his fingers into the skin of her back leaving scratches and slamming his hips against hers meeting her force before rolling them over and burying his face into her neck. His arms were trapped around her shoulders underneath and he could feel her dragging her nails down his back. He growled out against her neck at the sting of her nails and grabbed the bed railing using it for leverage and slammed into her harder, hearing her small gasps against his shoulder ‘T-Tim- I’m-‘

She cut off and arched into him as he thrust a few more times before coming with her his hand sliding down the headboard as they breathed heavily against each other.

After catching their breathes they lay in bed together and he played with their entwined fingers as she lay her head on his shoulder. He looked at their wedding rings and smiled softly as they glowed in the dim light of the moon shining through the open window.

‘This was just the beginning’ was Timmy’s last thought before he fell asleep in her arms!

@sufferingstarlight

@kteezy997

@lixzey

@gatoenlaciudad

[moonmoonthecrabking]

something i find so fascinating about grace chasity’s brand of christianity is that there’s not much sexism in it? let me explain what i mean.

i come from a christian background and a denomination which, in my state, has allowed women in eldership positions for my whole life. i’m friends with other christians whose denominations Don’t have that and also us christian fundamentalism is very sexist, i know bc have access to social media.

aside from mark’s job being mentioned and karen’s not, as well as her doing the cooking, there’s not a real sense of gender hierarchy in the christian circles in hatchetfield. this applies greatly to the purity culture that pervades abstinence camp and npmd, with the jerris saying that “this is a progressive ministry. we believe men and women should just say no!” often, in fundamentalist circles, while men are encouraged to wait until marriage, so much more pressure is put on the women to “stop the men from stumbling” (yes, it’s bad, this isn’t a post about the horrors of purity culture).

however, in npmd (and even ac to an extent), grace is the one at risk of “stumbling” and blames men. in npmd she very much blames max for her corrupted purity (from her perspective) and that is her motivation for revenge, even before she has sex with his ghost. the responsibility is not on her to “gouge out her own eye”, so to speak, at least not without a greater risk to max. even in ac, she makes tiny sweaters for their Jesus status, which reminds me of when i would scroll down to the comments of a youtube video bc i was scared of being attracted to people (1. not a purity culture thing 2. id like to say that this was a me being scared of liking women thing, and to an extent it was, but i also remember doing it to men. 2017 was a weird time and something was probably awakening in me ngl).

as slightly more proof, she is the only one advocating for removing homecoming in npmd, and in ac she ends as the sole leader of the camp. now, an evangelical’s view of women in ministry varies on person to person (source: like two weeks ago when i was desperately trying to not get myself into a debate with other christian women), unless she’s in an ultra-conservative environment (which she isn’t, it’s middlingly conservative frankly), she would be able to do these on her own. however, this is theatre, it’s a demonstration of her desire for power and acquisition of it. she does not view herself as needing to be subservient to a man. also i think northern baptists (my hc for her) are a little less Bad than southern baptists but anyway.

the interesting thing about this, to me, is that she does share views that i would put in those less “yay women” denominations (yes this about the catholic line i guarantee you it annoys me even more when i encounter it in the real world). there’s the (internalised) homophobia. but not the internalised misogyny. this could be related to the respect given to trans identities by the depictions of idontwannabang and the chasitys in hatchetfield, creating the sense of a more egalitarian Biblical perspective than complimentarian.

like grace has this terrible relationship with purity culture, yeah, but she’s the active agent in it, and she shames the passive object of her affections, the man. that doesn’t happen that often. there are countless videos of “what women should wear to be modest” but men can go to the gym shirtless if they so choose. maybe it’s only interesting to me but still

[chasingshadowsblog]

"When I became a man I put away childish things, including the fear of childishness and the desire to be very grown up." - Embracing your childhood in the 'The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and The Wardrobe'

CS Lewis dedicated the first book in his beloved Chronicles of Narnia series to his goddaughter Lucy with the foresight that, "some day you will be old enough to read fairy tales again." He understood that, although she was growing too old for "childish things" now, some day she would look back on them again with a new appreciation and an old fondness. Although we all go through this process of leaving our childhoods behind they are always there for us to return to and by doing so we may find a joy and simple pleasure that we haven't felt for a long time. What makes the film version of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe such a successful adaptation is its understanding and wielding of Lewis' these ideas. The Chronicles of Narnia is, famously, Christian allegory but channelled, in the film version at least, through the Pevensie sibling's individual connections to their childhoods and how this affects their belief in Narnia and in themselves. Each of the four Pevensies experiences a journey revolving around these ideas; Peter is still willing to be a child but is forced into early maturity by war, Susan strives to act older in order to protect her siblings, Edmund wants to be seen as an equal to his older brother, while Lucy, the only sibling who doesn't stray away from her childhood, must endure her siblings' lack of belief. A great strength of the film is director Andrew Adamson's commitment to the childish, fairy tale aspects of the story as well as its ideas of faith. He does not diminish his characters or the nature of the story in order to be taken more seriously, but rather draws on their youth to evoke the sense of terror in war or wonder in discovering a magical new world. Only a child could introduce us to Narnia, with the open, wide-eyed wonder necessary to translate the excitement of being on a practical set into the magic of stepping into a fantasy world. It is their youth as well that makes the Pevensies all the more heroic for stepping up and meeting their duties, whether that is taking care of each other in Professor Kirke's house, trekking across Narnia to rescue Edmund from the White Witch or standing at the head of an army - Peter is baby-faced under his armour but never comes across as silly because we've seen the internal journey he had to go through to reach this point and because the adult characters around him are allowed (by the film) to believe in him as a leader. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe manages to respect the source material, the views of its authour, and its four lead actors by unashamedly embracing its childishness and letting the characters know that it's okay to embrace theirs as well.

"Good man." As the eldest sibling, but still only a child himself, Peter is caught between two worlds. He is the eldest male figure in the house, but not their father; he is a young man witnessing his country at war but still a boy too young to enlist; he is tasked with taking care of his younger siblings but has no idea how to, "Promise me you'll look after them" "I will, Mum." Still, as much as Peter is unable for the responsibility placed on him, he never stops trying to keep the promise he made to his mother. When the Professor tries to offer Peter and Susan help with Edmund and Lucy he initially turns away, insisting that they can "handle it", his mother tasked him with protecting his siblings and, as ill-equipped as he is, he won't share the burden with anyone else. Peter is heart-breakingly aware of the roles that others believe he should be filling - protector, fighter, king - but also of his own limitations; he is unable to control Edmund and is constantly criticised by Susan for failing to take care of the two younger Pevensies, "Well, that was well-handled." His frustrations, hesitations and fears - "Why can't you just do what you're told?" - are all part of this understanding of himself that he doesn't have what it takes; he is not their father and Edmund doesn't have to listen to him; he is not their mother, no matter how much Susan expects him to be, and he is not a king or warrior, no matter how much the people of Narnia need him to be, "We can't go to war without you!" At the train station Peter watches soldiers passing by, not with eagerness but trepidation; he quietly refuses Beaver's call-to-arms, "We just want our brother back", and diminishes himself when Aslan tries to give him courage, "I couldn't even protect my own family". As Peter's responsibilities mount so does his sense of guilt. He is none of these things (and he shouldn't have to be, he is a thirteen-year-old boy) and his guilt stems from the fact that part of him doesn't want to be either; he may hold his sword up in defense of his siblings, but he has little desire to use it. What is most admirable about Peter, is that he steps up anyway. In the woods, Susan and Lucy cling to him when they believe they're about to be attacked and whenever they are about to be attacked Peter pulls out his sword in spite of his fear and does his best to defend them; depending on where the danger lies, Peter is seen taking either the front or rear of the group, and after gaining the confidence to take up the mantle of high-king he tries to convince his siblings to go home while he stays behind to help the Narnians fight the White Witch, "I promised Mum I'd keep you three safe. But it doesn't mean I can't stay behind and help." In spite of all his guilt and trepidation, Peter meets the challenges expected of him and grows in the process. He kills Maugrim at the urging of Aslan and the Narnians "Stay your weapons. This is Peter’s battle" and it is after this point that he begins to fit himself into the roles expected of him. Although Peter had no wish to kill Maugrim - the act of taking a life being such a humongous responsibility and step into adulthood - it is through this act of protecting his sisters that he learns that he is capable of more than he initially believed, that he can protect the people who rely on him. While Peter meets his first duels holding his sword out far in front of him, keeping a distance between himself and his opponents, in the final battle he runs head on against the White Witch after she attacks Edmund, throwing his whole body into the task. Peter is forced into maturity by a war in both worlds and he does not get to re-discover his childhood in the way that Susan and Edmund do, nor does he need to. Throughout the film, Peter remains tapped into his childhood through his playfulness and curiosity, and when he is forced to let it go and be the adult, he remains connected to it through his relationship with Lucy.

Lucy is the sibling Peter is most at ease with; he comforts her with gentle words when she's upset, holds her hand and carries her on his back when they need to run; when they're all bored in the Professor's house, he gives in immediately to her pleas to play hide-and-seek and does so with a smile on his face. At her age, Lucy's needs are simple ones of comfort and a familiar presence but they are needs that Peter is capable of fulfilling and he is happy to be that presence for her. He is more patient than Susan when Lucy first comes back from Narnia, "We don't all have your imagination, Lu", he follows her lead when they all cross through the wardrobe, "Then Mr. Tumnus it is!" and is the only one of the three older siblings who throws himself into the world of Narnia as easily as Lucy did, "He says he knows the fawn." Peter embraces Narnia with joy and curiosity and only pulls back when there is a chance his list of responsibilities will grow longer. For a time, at least, Peter wants to experience the world as a child until those responsibilities catch up with him. After killing Maugrim, Peter does not get the chance to be a child again like Suan and Edmund, but his childhood is not something he ever shies away from. In terms of Lewis' dedication, Peter has crossed over to the other side of adulthood and is ready to appreciate childish things for the source of joy that they are. He remains tapped into his childhood throughout the film in his curiosity, playfulness, his belief in Aslan and his relationship with Lucy. It is fitting, then, that when the adult Pevensies return to their own world and back into the children they were, Peter is the first to follow Lucy through the wardrobe.

"We used to have fun together, didn't we?" As the second oldest sibling and eldest daughter, Susan attempts to make up for the areas where Peter is lacking, an act that is self-imposed as she is not given the same responsibilities as her brother. At the train station, her mother asks her to be a "big girl" but not a 'woman' and doesn't ask Susan to look after everyone as she does Peter. Susan isn't asked but she tries, anyway, to be more grown-up and responsible for the sake of her siblings, particularly during those times when Peter isn't. When he's distracted by soldiers at the station, Susan organises their tickets and smiles politely at the collector; during their first night at the Professor's house, she notices that Lucy is upset and must point it out to Peter; she orders Edmund to bed and Lucy to stop talking about her trip to Narnia, "That's enough, Lucy!" and admonishes Peter for not doing a good enough job with their younger siblings. She delivers phrases and mannerisms that she has likely picked up from her mother - "We could all use the fresh air" - and, in true adult fashion, manages to invent a game that is even more boring than their actual boredom. Like Edmund, Susan wants to separate herself from her childhood and be an adult but out of a desire to be helpful, but, she is also like Peter in that, whether consciously or not, she latches onto childish outlets.She, like Peter is caught between two worlds; she wants to be an adult but without taking on the larger responsibilities of adulthood - she has yet to learn that acting like an adult and being mature are two very different things. She tells the Professor why Lucy is upset because she wants to sort out the issue but also looks for an adult's help in doing so. When they arrive in Narnia, she urges them to turn around again then later uses that as an excuse to blame Peter when things go wrong, "None of this would have happened if you had just listened to me in the first place!" For want of a real adult figure, Susan expects Peter to fill this role since that is what their mother asked of him. When Lucy cries their first night at the Professor's house, Susan is the first to notice but nudges Peter to do something about it then later scolds him for failing to help Edmund without having tried to intervene herself, "Well, that was nicely handled." While Susan expects herself to act like an adult nobody else does, so, when things go wrong she is able to blame Peter who is supposed to be their stand-in adult. She maintains this attitude throughout the journey where she can be seen acting grown-up, but in small ways that she can handle. She helps Mrs. Beaver pack food for them when the others are standing around staring, urges them all to go home, comes to terms with the fantasy world by throwing logic at it (and gets teased for it), and tries to convince Peter to listen to Maughrim if it means keeping them alive. It is only when the children meet Aslan and Susan shares the responsibilty of losing Edmund that she really acts maturely. By taking on some of the responsibility, Susan does a grown-up thing and so is finally able to stop acting like one. Once she does so she is able to relax and revert back to her childhood. She plays with Lucy in the water, follows her to the Stone Table (beginning of the movie Susan wouldn't have let her sister leave the camp) and feels the loss of Aslan as much as her sister does. It is only a short amount of time, but, as soon as Susan stops trying to act like a grown-up she is able to embrace the wonder of Narnia as fully and freely as Lucy and Peter do.

"When are you going to grow up?" Like Susan, Edmund is desperate to be seen as a grown-up, or, at least, as an equal to Peter. He frequently pushes back against his mother's insistence that Peter look after him and tries to separate himself from Lucy. However, unlike Susan who channels her desire to be an adult into keeping them safe, Edmund does the quickest and easiest thing he can do which is to be nasty to Lucy. He also tends to act rashly without considering the consequences. We can see this in the beginning when he opens the curtains during the air raid, then runs back into the house to get the photo of their father forcing Peter to run after him, nearly getting them both killed, "You're so selfish! You could have got us killed!" In Narnia, Edmund leaves his siblings behind to find the White Witch with no thought that they might follow him or that he might be putting himself and others in danger. None of which is to critcise Edmund, it is, rather, the point: Edmund, more than Peter or Susan and exactly like Lucy, is a child. It is why it's so easy for the White Witch to reel him in and, to his credit, it is also why he so easily reverts back to childhood after reuniting with his siblings. "What's done is done. There is no need to speak to Edmund about what is past." After being rescued by the Narnians, Edmund speaks privately with Aslan and although we never hear what is said between them, Edmund comes out softer around the edges, someone who has learned a lesson but has returned to what we can assume is a version of his old self. Even when he was antagonistic and reticent, Edmund showed behaviour that gave us a glimpse of the boy he likely was before the war. He and Peter stifle their laughter together when Mrs. MacReady gives out to Susan and bond again later when he teases Susan about her game, "Is it Latin for 'worst game ever invented'?" and after complaining for all of a second, he throws himself fully into the game of hide-and-seek with his siblings. After speaking with Aslan, Edmund returns to his siblings a more mature version of himself, "I've seen what the White Witch can do. And I've helped her do it. And we can't leave these people behind to suffer for it", but also one that is ready to stop fighting his older brother, "Then you'll have to lead us." The tension between Peter and Edmund plays a large part in Edmund's development; Peter is someone who angers Edmund, but also who he wants to be treated equally by. Edmund's acceptance of Peter as his older brother and leader is the clearest indication that he has accepted his role as the second youngest, allowing himself to take the lead from Peter, and when Peter doubts himself, Edmund is the one to reassure him, "Aslan believed you could. And so do I." When Peter orders Edmund to retreat from the battle, hedoesn't listen but launches himself at the White Witch distracting her from Peter. Edmund considers following Peter's order for a moment then decides against it and while his attack on the White Witch is as impulsive as running into the house during the air raid, it includes that moment's thought. Edmund has learned from his experiences and decides to do the impulsive thing anyway, this time as an act of protection endangering no one but himself, "Peter's not king yet!" As well as maturing in his thoughtfulness, Edmund returns to his childhood by embracing his siblings and his place among them. He stops teasing Susan, accedes to Peter's decision-making (when he sees that it's right) and when Lucy is the first one to run up and hug him after they've reunited, he accepts it easily.

Of the four siblings, Lucy undergoes the least amount of develoment because she doesn't need to; of the fours siblings, only Lucy is unafraid to be a child. Even when she is teased and told off by her older siblings, Lucy never tries to change who she is. She cries and laughs and comforts and experiences wonder and joy with an openness that only a child could possess; she stands her ground, argues on behalf of the Narnians and calls her siblings out on their mistakes and behaviour, "Stop it! None of this is going to help Edmund!" She is Queen Lucy the Valiant because she is never afraid to be who she is, a lesson her brothers and sister each must learn during their time in Narnia. It is only fitting then, that she takes the first step into Narnia, that she, more than anyone, is tapped into its moods and intricacies. She understands that the mice chewing Aslan's ropes are doing it out of love and respect; she thinks to use the draiads to send a message to Peter and Edmund during the battle, and notices, when everyone else is celebrating, that Aslan looks sad after his liason with the White Witch. From the moment she steps foot in it, Lucy loves Narnia and Narnia loves her back and her belief - in herself, in her siblings, in Narnia - is continuously rewarded. Lucy doesn't look for proof but she accepts it with open arms when it appears in front of her and so she is most at ease with herself and the world around her.

The Chronicles of Narnia is, ultimately, about faith; faith in yourself, in those around you, in Aslan, and in Narnia itself. Lucy is strong in her faith and this carries her throughout all of her adventures in Narnia; Peter waivers in his faith in himself and must work hard to develop it; Edmund tries to separate himself from his faith but comes back to it with an even stronger conviction; Susan's faith means so much to her that it causes her pain and so she tries to forget it. The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe might be Christian in nature, but its themes are universal. Lewis does not want everyone to find inner peace in God and Christianity, but he does want us to find it in something and the series advocates for faith in general as a path toward inner peace and decency. How that faith manifests is unimportant - Peter has an easy time believing in Aslan but not in his own capabilities and Lucy believes in Father Christmas as much as she does Aslan. The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe symbolises this finding of peace in a connection to childhood, but it is a peace that can be found anywhere - in religion, in other people, in trees, in fairy tales or Santa Clause. It doesn't matter where or how you find your find your childhood, only that you open yourself up to the opportunity to do so, "Try me!"