#but i feel like at some point being a religious Other at such an overwhelmingly catholic school invites community. if there's a space for i

[supercantaloupe]

i really should have started some kind of interfaith org when i was in undergrad. i had absolutely zero time for that of course and was busy with class and orchestra and running a completely different club at the same time but. it would've been nice to have i think

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒 𝐆𝐎 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋.

DAY THREE OF HAUNTED HOEDOWN

prompt: priest au + “worship me. until i tell you to stop.”

pairing: priest!ezra x f!reader

genre: explicit smut, minors dni, dark content

summary: after a breakup, you find solaca at the local church. there, you meet father ezra.

word count: 3.4k

warnings: dubcon, manipulation, brief mention of reader going through a breakup, reader having a brief anxiety attack, reader having confidence issues, loneliness, messy blowjob, degradation, leg humping, dirty talk, facial, power imbalance, dumbification if you squint, use of whore, religious themes, this is written for horny purposes only, priest kink, a lot of 'yes father's and 'forgive me father's

Comfort is what leads you to your local church.  

You wouldn’t exactly say you’re a believer, but coming to the church and sticking wishing candles into the sandy surface was one of your finest memories from your childhood. You enjoy the chocolaty smell of the wooden benches, the stained large panes of the windows that cast vibrant rainbows upon the polished floor when the sun hits them just right. 

When you sit on the bench, surrounded by a calm dimness and silent prayers, you feel contented, like the world outside doesn’t exist. 

You feel lonely out there in the modern world, especially after your breakup, which was the turning point that led you to the adorned wooden doors of the church in the first place. It wasn’t a messy breakup, still, it left you in shambles. He’d moved on so quickly. Just picking up his clothes and throwing them into the bag before he left. It broke your heart if you’re being honest. He was never overly affectionate or necessarily cared about the things you cared about, but it was better than being utterly alone. 

Just a little bit of comfort. That’s all you want. Just a sense of belonging. 

Here at the church, the sense of commune affects you, even if you’re not exactly a part of it. 

Sitting at the edge of the bench, you look up. The church is empty today due to the heavy downpour, there’s only one more person other than you. They’re busy in prayer so you don’t stare at them for long, not wanting to be rude. 

Your eyes move away from the person, they linger on the confessionals. You always found the idea appealing in some twisted way. As if asking for forgiveness from some random man will solve all your problems. You never went it, always feeling too paranoid that someone might hear how stupid you sound. 

The person finishes their prayer, and as they walk down the middle, you notice it was a youngish man, his hair stuck to his forehead. His steps echo, a second later the sound of his departure rings dull against the cold walls. 

You rise slowly, eyes once again fixed on the booths. They’re barely noticeable thanks to how dimly lit the church is, and with no sun there’s little light to guide you. 

You’re not even sure a Father will assist you when you open the door to the small space. It creaks loudly and your skin crawls. You’re hesitant, yet you still climb inside and take a seat. It’s small, dark, and smells overwhelmingly of wood. It’s oddly comforting. 

You’re unsure what to do with yourself until you hear the door opening and closing from the other side of the booth. 

“Welcome. I am Father Ezra, and I am here to listen, guide, and offer you the grace of God's forgiveness. As sunlit moments blend with shadows, so too do our lives weave intricate tales of both frailty and strength. With open ears and an open heart, I beckon you to unburden your spirit. When you're ready, please share your thoughts, knowing that your words are heard in the spirit of compassion and understanding.” 

Your eyes widen at the sound of his voice. He doesn’t rush his speech, taking time as if every sentence is a story of its own. It’s so smooth, enticing, beckoning you to pour all the darkness that lingers around your heart. You’re surprised to find yourself wanting to hear more of that honey-dipped voice. 

Father Ezra, you’ve heard his name before and from afar, even laid eyes on him. You can barely remember what he looks like now though. You certainly never heard him during sermons, you would’ve definitely remembered his voice if you had. 

You’re pulled away from your thoughts when you hear a creak and a soft flutter of a robe. 

“Sorry,” you say, quick and silent. “This is my first time doing this and I didn’t really have a prepared thing in mind.” 

His soft chuckle echoes—god, why does he sound so good? 

“Sweet, lost, little bird, you do not need to rush it. You can start by introducing yourself. Tell me your name.” 

A shudder that starts from your toes claws all the way up to your spine. All he did was ask your name, yet, it feels like he’s asking for something drastic like your life. You swallow around the know in your throat, lowering your gaze even though there’s no one that can see you. 

You give him your name and something you can’t discern shifts in the air. 

“What a lovely name,” he hums. “Now tell me, what troubles you on this rainy day.” 

“Nothing specific,” a sigh parts your lips, and again, a creak comes through the other side. Your skin prickles. You can feel as if his eyes can see through the thin wall that separates you both. “I’m feeling a bit lonely. I—I went through a break up a couple of weeks ago and. . . I guess I can’t help but feel it’s my fault somehow.” 

You wait for him to say something, but when he doesn’t, you continue. 

“This might sound dumb—” 

“There is no such thing,” you can almost hear the smile in his voice. “There’s no shame in asking for guidance and forgiveness.” 

“There were these things. . . that he said about me. Things like I was too needy, too dependent, and too much overall. And I feel like it’s true because no one ever seems to stay with me,” you let out a bitter chuckle as tears begin to well in your eyes. “I don’t know why I’m like this, maybe—maybe God is punishing me for a sin I don’t know and i-if that’s the case, Father, I seek forgiveness.” 

A breath. A low, violent exhale of breath. Your eyes flit to the grille, a pair of plush lips now visible through the tightly made slats. 

“You ask for forgiveness, atonement, yet do you actually believe?” he coos, voice low. 

“I don’t,” you answer a bit too quickly and blood boils under your nails. “I–I mean I don’t know.” 

“How do you expect me to help when you doubt the lord’s existence, little one?” Despite the provocative question, you see the faint curve of his smile through the darkness. “Are you desperate?” 

“I didn’t mean to offend,” you say quietly. The rain pour had begun again, drowning out the rest of the sound. “I’ve been coming here ever since the breakup. I enjoy watching people pray and smile, looking comforted. I just thought that if I did this, that comfort would extend to me as well. I’m sorry.” 

“The comfort is fleeting when you don’t believe it to be true,” he murmurs, ignoring your apology. “If you seek guidance, I can help you understand better and maybe then you’ll receive the comfort and the forgiveness that you crave oh so deeply.”

There’s a mocking lilt to his tone that you decide to ignore. It feels only right when you had outwardly said that you didn’t believe in the man’s religion. 

With an open heart, you accept his offer of guidance. 

You visit his office almost every night. 

You found yourself enjoying the church even more after hours. Ezra became a friend, which didn’t surprise you because that man had an essence about him that would charm the pants off of any devil that he might encounter. You guys did bible studies together and talked about other religions as well, and what it means to understand the words inscribed and given to the people. It was interesting to listen to. He would even give you assignments sometimes, telling you to read a specific paper or book. It felt like being at school again. He’d given you something you thought you had lost forever; A sense of purpose. 

It didn’t hurt that he was a sight to look at. His dark brown eyes always held a certain mischief to them, lighting up in amusement whenever you said anything peculiar. 

You knew it was cliche to have a crush on a priest, yet here you were, wagging an imaginary tail whenever he praised you for doing a good job. 

But tonight is not one of those days you feel all giddy and excited to see him. You enter the wide halls of the church and take a sharp turn towards his office, all you sense is impending doom, your insides riddled with anxiety. You’re shaking, barely able to feel your legs as you walk. 

When you enter, his eyes look up from the papers that lay in front of him, his gaze momentarily dropping to where your dress ends, then back up. His brows furrowing instantly at your heavy breathing, “Little bird, what’s wrong?” 

“Everything!” you exclaim, heaving a breath. “Everything is wrong—I’m wrong—I—fuck—” 

Ezra clears his throat in warning, “Language,” he says with a click of his tongue. 

“Sorry, Father.” you look down in shame, your hands balled into tight fists as you fight the urge to pace around his office. “I just—” 

He cuts you off, “Why don’t you take a seat and tell me what happened?” he smiles kindly. “And maybe you can stop shaking while you’re at it.” 

You nod as you take a seat. Your heart continuously rams against your ribcage and you can barely breathe, your throat convulsing in agony. Ezra gestures to you to look at him. When you do, he takes a deep inhale, making a demonstration in showing how his chest expands and contracts, his hand following the movement as if on waves. 

You breathe with him, the oxygen that fills your lungs calming you. 

“Good,” he hums. “Now tell me what happened.” 

“I saw him today. My—My ex,” you shook your head, reliving the moment. “He’s already seeing someone, which is fine if he was just honest about it. It’s some girl from work, the same girl I asked him about when he moved out,” a hiccup parts your sentence and you continue, your eyes dropping away from Ezra’s. “I said ‘is it her, do you like someone else’ and he said no. He pretended not to recognize me, even though his girlfriend did. I could see it in her eyes but he just walked past me, like I never existed.” 

A sole tear trickles down your cheek and you wipe it away with your sleeve, sniffling. When you feel another, you repeat the motion, finding solace in the softness of the fabric. “I’m an idiot,” you say, still not looking at him. “What am I even doing here? I should try to face reality not escape it in some—some church.” 

You hadn’t meant to sound so harsh. The church had helped you when you needed it most, it had given you Ezra, most of all. But you couldn’t help the words, you’re angry. Furious. You feel invisible out there, but here, here people recognize you, and ask where you’ve been when you came back the other day. It’s good to know that if you disappear some people would wonder about you. 

Ezra’s voice rings in your ear, and without even understanding the words he’s saying, you’re looking up. 

“Let’s try something,” he says probably again. “Come here.” 

You’re slightly confused but obliged. He pushes his chair slightly back, making some room between him and the desk. Your eyes drop to the end of his robes, two shiny shoes peaking from underneath. 

“Get on your knees.” 

You snort, “Excuse me?” 

“It’s going to calm you,” he says. “Do you trust me?” 

Your lips part with a faint gasp, you don’t blink as your eyes search his. There’s a tranquility in his expression that makes your heart throb. “Of course, Father,” you get on your knees. 

“Good girl,” he pats his thigh. “Now lay your head.” 

You do so without question this time, appreciating the firmness of muscle under your head. A moment passes, awkwardness starting to settle in, then you feel his fingers touching the back of your neck and gradually they move up to your scalp. Humming a gentle melody, he starts to stroke your hair, massaging your head as he went along. A deep sigh comes from the depths of your lungs, your nerves humming, your rigid muscles finally relax. 

“You’ve been doing so well these past couple of weeks,” he says, a hint of amusement lingering in his voice. “You’ve been learning, little bird, but you still have much to learn. The church is part of the real world, you haven’t been doing nothing.” 

Listening to him so intently, he sends shivers down your spine, the thickness of arousal pooling between your legs. He drags blunt nails down your scalp and comes down to your nape to squeeze from both sides. You’re embarrassed of the moan that rattles your throat but he doesn’t seem to mind it. You lean closer, pressing your cheek further against his leg. 

“Isn’t this nice?” he asks without needing the answer. “You, my obedient girl, listening and eager to please. You’ll always feel like this when you’re with me. No anxiety, no need to compete and try to accomplish something when all you want to do is. . . relax. . .” 

His voice had dropped to a whisper, every word a gentle caress to your skin. Eyes fluttering close, you only focus on the ups and downs of his voice, your body reacting to every stop and turn. The fabric of your underwear dampens, your folds becoming slicker the more you inch towards him. You ache for your fingers—or better yet his cock—but he isn’t allowed to touch you is he? 

You try to remember the lessons in celibacy but can’t seem to remember any of them. 

Your tighs instinctively press together, the brief friction doing little in dousing the wildfires between your legs. You wiggle a bit closer, his voice nothing but a siren song now. 

Ezra notices the constant movement, his fingers slip under your chin, and drags your eyes up to face him. Your breath hitches. The faint moonlight that trickles through the windows behind him cast his face in complete shadow, his features hardening with darkness. He slips his foot between your legs, the floor creaking under the sole of his shoe, “Now, why can’t you stay still when I’m trying so hard to soothe you, little bird?” 

He lifts the point of his shoe, the leather pressing directly against your throbbing clit. A surprised whimper rips from your throat, your body shaking as he drags the leather tip down. Your insides clench with want, with a primal need that you can’t seem to understand. 

You’re haunted by his words and the darkness that lurks in his eyes. Despite yourself, you press yourself up against his leg like some animal. You can’t seem to stop staring at him. And by the way he pushes his shoe further into you, borderline on almost being painful, you don’t think he minds either. 

Your eyes flutter as he parts his robe, your gaze immediately drops to the outline of his cock that’s visible. Your mouth waters. 

“Worship me,” he unbuttons himself with expertise but leaves it at that. “Until I tell you to stop.”

His leg still between your legs, you pull out his cock. The tip is an angry shade of red, precum dotting at the tip, without much thought you lean over and dip your tongue, tasting him for the first time. The taste of him coats the inside of your mouth and you swallow greedily, the blood rush to your ears muffling his voice. 

“Such a sweet whore,” he hums. “You like sucking cock, don’t you?” 

Dragging your lips down the length of him, you answer with him between your lips, “Yes, Father.” 

“I really do enjoy it when you call me that,” his thumb touches your cheek as you finally take him between your lips, you allow out your cheeks and flatten your tongue against the underside of his cock. “All you needed was a little encouragement and now you’re the perfect hole for me. There’s nothing wrong with you, all you need is someone to take care of you.” 

You hum in approval around him, taking him deeper while grinding against his leg, your dress rides up your thighs, your underwear nearly sheer in color.   

“I can feel how wet you are. So needy,” he lays back in his chair and spreads his legs. “I want to feel every inch of your mouth. I said worship, if this is how you think that works you’re mistaken, dove.” 

Your stomach churns at that. You want to make him happy—you truly do. You part from him, strings of saliva following the frame of your lips as you bend down closer to the floor, feeling the full shape of his shoe. You look up to him, the heft of his cock laying directly in the middle of your face, the scent of sex and him clinging to your nose. Opening your mouth, you lick between his balls, taking one into your mouth, you swirl your tongue around it. His eyes roll in pleasure, a thick drop of precome dripping to your forehead. 

“That’s it,” he raps and guides you back up, lining the bulbous head of his cock against your lips. He pushes forward, cock filling your mouth then inching down your throat. Tears trickle down your cheeks, your throat convulsing as you try to accommodate to the width of him. You swallow and swallow, until your nose is buried into the dark curls that crown his length. You can barely breathe. “I knew you could take it all, little one. I know that mouth could do more than talk.” 

The heavy palm of his hand moves down your throat, he feels the shape of himself through the skin. His cock twitches when it feels his hand, straining your mouth further. 

He pulls out and you gasp for air, his grin is wide as he looks down at you. “I want to make a mess of that face,” with the rough pitch of his words, you roll your hips, your clit catches against his shoe and a loud moan spills from your damp lips. He clicks his tongue with annoyance. “Ask for forgiveness,” he growls, hand moving up and down his cock with hard strokes. 

“For what, Father?” your voice is barely above a whisper. And you’re not sure why you asked when you’re going to surrender to his wants regardless of what they are. 

“For being a whore,” he spits. “For talking about a past flame and for taking pleasure without permission.” 

He watches with heavy eyes as you straighten yourself, his cock aimed directly at your face. You watch him with parted lips. His nail gently traces the vein that curls around the length of him, slick sounds filling the normally silent office. He swipes a thumb over his head and thrusts into his fist. 

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” you begin. “It has been two weeks since my last confession. I have behaved like a whore, talked about another man in the presence of the clergy, and taken pleasure without permission. I come before you seeking God's forgiveness and guidance.” 

“Will you repeat your sins?” 

“No, Father. Not unless I have permission to do so.” 

His hand quickens, his grip tightening, “Do it then,” he snarls with a devilish smile. “Ask me permission to be a whore.” 

Instead of a verbal permission, you part your mouth wide and stick your tongue out. His eyes widen with shock momentarily before understanding. He seems pleased and in return, you feel genuine jot for finally doing something right. 

He grips your chin, pulling you away from his leg and directly between his thighs. It doesn’t take him long to go over the age—one, two more strokes and you feel the first string of white come spurting over your face. It drips down your forehead from your face. The sounds Ezra make are unhinged, his hips lifting from the seat as he moans openly into the air, defiling you and marking you as his. His seed feels heavy over your face and with your tongue, you catch a bit of it, moaning as you swallow. 

Ezra hunches over you and you feel his tongue on your cheek, taking himself into his mouth, he presses his tongue into your mouth, forcing more of himself inside of you. 

When he parts away, you’re dazed, all pretense of the life outside of this church gone. 

“My sweet bird, so dirty now,” he purrs, this time he collects more of himself over his fingers and stuffs it into your mouth. Your eyes rolling you swallow over and over. “What do you say?” he asks melodically. 

“Thank you, Father.” 

[the1975attheirverybest]

in response to the independence point - we had an independence referendum in 2014 where 55% of scottish people voted to remain in the uk, who we do still answer to on reserved matters like economy and national security as you said (transport and education, among other things, are devolved matters that the scottish government can control). said 55% were majority older people who were (and this is fair enough) worried as to how scotland would fare as an independent country and economy, because we haven't been one for quite honestly hundreds of years (we actually only got our own parliament in the late 1990s). the feeling is that we put a lot into the union with the rest of the uk for very little benefit - subsidising england/westminster with a lot of money (made through an actually very sustainable/substantial economy), only to be shafted and disregarded when it comes to policy-making in westminster and, culturally, taken the piss of a bit by the english (mostly those in the south - historically, scotland and northern england were all fucked by thatcherism, so there's less animosity there i think. and as matty said, he's from the north and wants independence - westminster cares about southern england and that's it, really). post-brexit, more people expressed a want for scottish independence - we voted overwhelmingly to stay in the eu, but we're being dragged out anyway - and the constant failures of a ruling conservative party we didn't even vote for (most scottish votes went to the scottish national party) have continued to increase our want to just get the fuck out (because we're smaller geographically, we've less say in uk-wide elections, so we end up drawing the short straw fairly often). there's also a lot of socio-religious-political problems in scotland that kinda complicate ideas of identity and the overall want to be independent, but i won't get into those now because we'll be here for AGES lmao

politically, matty saying that scotland should be independent on the bbc - who are MEANT to be impartial but are basically government lapdogs in disguise - is quite brave of him, especially for someone who has no real connection to scotland other than liking being there and working there lmao (like it would probably be less dramatic politically if ross, who's of scottish heritage to some degree, had said it). i hope this makes sort-of sense - it's hard to explain concisely because it's so rooted in history AND current politics lol

Wow. That’s such a complex, mired issue. Thanks for taking the time to educate us! So, at the risk of being reductive, let me see if I understood you: basically, Scotland doesn’t get too much of a say in who’s in charge but has to follow along with the conservatives rule (who aren’t even populist/ popular but they’re in charge, unfortunately - don’t we in the US know what that’s like, smh) and contributes significantly to the economy with very little reward? So it would be in its best interest to be independent at this point, especially after Brexit means they don’t get to be part of the EU cuz the UK isn’t anymore (not that y’all have had much of say in that choice either since, as we just said, Scotland’s votes end up not having enough weight)?

Is that more or less it, or have I misunderstood?

If so, then bro Matty’s chaotic energy is finally paying off haha. Love that he doesn’t give a fuck and said it into the BBC camera lens. Though I’m sure we’ll wake up to a weird tabloid headline tomorrow.

And, yeah, idk. Obviously, as an American I’m not qualified to speak on this but the brexit thing alone/ not being allowed into the EU would piss me off if I were a voting person in Scotland. Gosh. Feels like social and political choices are crumbling across the globe. Excuse me while I go replay Love It If We Made It.

[lookwhatilost]

there’s a really bad habit in left-wing political spaces that involves accusing every righty media figure as someone who’s deliberately intellectually dishonest (your grifter arguments). to be fair, a lot of them are, but a lot of them aren’t either.

politicians who adopted the affect of trump because of his popularity? grifters, absolutely. but commentary chuds are operating with a different set of motives than the politician class. i know it’s a bit of a “no doi” but i feel like a lot of people have lost the thread on this one.

ben shapiro will just his audience whatever his corporate backers are telling him to. everyone has some contradictions in their worldview, but have you seen the guy take a political compass test? it’s incoherent.

matt walsh on the other hand... i’ve gone back and forth on him, but after doing some digging, it does overwhelmingly seem to me like he 100% buys what he’s selling. he’s bold enough to admit to being a theocratic fascist, he’s a creationist, he’s been consistent in his positions about “hedonism” and “relativism” for more than a decade at this point, he spent a lot of time arguing in favor of homeschooling on his wordpress and believes that children need to be oriented by adults. and this is from a post he wrote in relation to a fake-sounding news story about abortion:

Our bodies and our souls are not two separate entities. Your exterior is not some fleshy shell. Your body and your soul are in harmony with one another, and the two, together, make you you. Jesus Christ became man, and this act forever puts to rest the debate about whether or not the human body, in and of itself, deserves to be respected and treated with dignity. God Himself took its form, forever elevating that form to something sacred. End of discussion. The argument is settled.

you get where i’m going with this. this is someone who believes in intelligent design, and from that, a monist and therefore sacred idea of the spirit and physical body, because god’s image and all that. he holds that parents ought to protect their children from peer influence, lest the turn into college students who he doesn’t consider well-adjusted adults because he sees them as hedons. and what’s most relevant for our purposes here...

he sees christians as warriors in a cosmic, ongoing war, and christianity itself as a battle flag to march under.

so of course he’s going to be a fucking monster about the trans stuff. by every indication, he sees this as part of an existential threat.

he’s avoided the more overt jesus babble since he started working at the daily wire. and that removes a lot of context for why he acts like this. “protecting kids from gender ideology” is incoherent until you have a tangible sense of how religious he actually is. and then it’s like. oh. he literally thinks he’s on the frontlines of a crusade against the devil.

which is what makes him a lot more dangerous compared to someone who’s ultimately just going to kowtow to some corporation’s interest when the wheel hits the pavement. those guys can still do terrible damage – hell, reagan was one of them – but nowhere near as much as an actual lunatic who is very much convinced that he’s defending god.

[onionjulius]

Sean Illing: The issue here is something you call “political hobbyism,” an approach to politics that has become dominant. Explain what that is.

Eitan Hersh: Political hobbyist is a catchall term for the person who spends a lot of time consuming news or signing online petitions or engaging online with people about this or that issue. They mistake this for actual politics, but it’s not because it doesn’t contribute to power-building.

Sean Illing: Why not?

Eitan Hersh: When you’re a hobbyist, you’re learning the wrong information and practicing the wrong skills. You are typically learning about big national news items, and oftentimes it’s just drama. So a hobbyist might learn all the details of the Mueller report and feel that’s important to know and will spend hours and hours on it.

But then if you asked him how he could get involved on some issues of importance in his local community or in his state, or where the pressure points are in his community to influence government, he has no idea. He’s just caught up in the national news cycle and he’s not actually improving anything.

The hobbyist is also learning the wrong political skills. Online politics is all about provocation and signaling outrage. But changing people’s minds, turning your vote into many votes, requires empathy and face-to-face engagement. Not only are you not doing this online or when watching cable news, you’re learning exactly the wrong skill set.

Sean Illing: Why are white, college-educated liberals most likely to engage in political hobbyism?

Eitan Hersh: There are a few reasons. College-educated white people are likely to be in a social setting where they feel it’s a civic duty to participate in politics and to stay informed. They might find learning political facts to be intellectually gratifying. At the same time, the status quo for white, college-educated Americans is pretty good. They have good jobs. They aren’t being conscripted into military service like past generations.

So as much as they might lament polarization or despise this or that politician, they aren’t willing to roll up their sleeves and build political power. It’s only if you don’t need more power than you already have that you could possibly conceive of politics as an at-home leisure activity.

No one is spending more time learning facts and consuming news than college-educated white men. But research on real engagement — volunteering for groups and campaigns — shows it’s overwhelmingly women and disproportionately blacks and Latinos who are doing the real work of politics. Comfort with the status quo among college-educated whites, especially men, seems like the most likely explanation.

As to why this is more of a liberal problem than a conservative one, right now the white college-educated population is much more Democratic than Republican. Of course, there’s plenty of hobbyism on both sides, but right now this group tends to lean Democratic.

…

Sean Illing: What do political hobbyists get out of this kind of superficial engagement with politics? Emotional satisfaction? Is it about signaling who we are to other people?

Eitan Hersh: It’s a shortcut to engagement. You get to feel connected to a sense of community and a sense of mission without doing any heavy lifting, which is partly why online engagement is emotion-driven. If you feel angry at something from your couch, you feel somehow connected to it, even if you haven’t done anything.

Sean Illing: You’re preaching boots-on-the-ground activism and face-to-face interaction, especially with people on the other side. What do you say to people who are cynical about the possibilities of persuasion, who feel like the chasm is so deep that it’s no longer possible to engage with political opponents?

Eitan Hersh: I guess I would say that they’re wrong. Most of the people you engage with in real life are not at all like the caricatures in your head or online. Most of the people you’ll encounter in your neighborhood or in a community group aren’t raving Alex Jones followers. In reality, most people simply aren’t that invested and don’t have deeply held positions, and they’re open to persuasion if you’re open to being kind to them.

…

Sean Illing: The right seems to understand power better than the left, or perhaps there’s something about the nature of conservatism that lends itself to the sort of politics you’re advocating.

Eitan Hersh: I think you’re onto something there. A bottom-up approach to political change that focuses on the local stuff or the local institutions, like churches or gun clubs, is just more common on the right. We used to think more about grassroots organizing focused on unions, for example, but unions have collapsed while churches have gotten disproportionately Republican.

Again, some of the key demographics of the left, like college-educated white people, don’t attend any religious services at the same rate of people on the right, and so there’s less community engagement. And some of the paramount issues for the left, like race or climate change, feel like non-local problems, and that itself is a deterrent.

…

Sean Illing: What’s your advice for people who want to get involved and help build political power?

Eitan Hersh: I think they get started by building a cell of friends to do it with them locally, and they should be thinking about how they can dedicate at least one night a week to this, or a certain number of hours. The mindset is not “How can I influence the next election?” The mindset has to be “I’m entitled to my own vote, but how many more can I influence?”

I profile lots of people in the book who are taking this kind of approach and accomplishing amazing things. They’re showing that if you can get 100 or 200 or 1,000 people to share your values and to cast a ballot or show up to an advocacy meeting, you really can make a huge difference.

[dream-a-little-bigger-x]

That’s Christmas To Me| Julie and The Phantoms Cast

Dream-a-little-bigger-x’s Countdown to Christmas 

Day 4 

A/N: I got so excited when I saw this one was the next one I had to write! I hope you enjoy! I also wanna thank @calamitykaty​, @vicesvsvirtuesfanfic​, @vrthngiwnt​ and @bright-molina​ for letting me pick your brains and bounce some ideas off of you. I love you loads! 

Pairing: Platonic! JATP Cast x fem!reader

Summary: 2022, season 2 was about to be released on Netflix and the cast was invited to promote the show on the Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon. A dream come true. When the host asks them for their favorite holiday memory together, the cast immediately flashes back to that time at the Christmas Markets. 

Song(s) used: That’s Christmas To Me - Pentatonix | Happy Xmas (War is Over) - Echosmith ft. Hunter Hayes

Warnings: Spiked hot chocolates, but no one gets drunk and no one drinking is underage. 

Words:  3,970

Checking her outfit in the full-length mirror once again, y/n sighed nervously. All dressed out to the max for her very first talk show. Her styling team had outdone themselves once again. The gold flared pants, the white satin button down shirt and the white heels just made her feel so fabulous. 

Though she couldn’t deny the fact that she was nervous. She was going on a live show, not any live show, but the Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon, nonetheless. Her family watched that show religiously every single night. That thought did not calm her down either. 

A soft knock made her snap out of her thoughts and turn around to find Madison in the doorway with an excited smile on her face. “You look gorgeous!” she exclaimed excitedly and ran up to her newest best friend, engulfing her into a tight hug. 

She was sporting a gray glittery jumpsuit with black pumps strapped on her feet, her makeup done beautifully and her natural curls flowing over her shoulders with bejeweled clips pulling it out of her face. 

“So do you!” y/n retorted with the brightest smile she could muster, though Madison could see right through her and squeezed her hands reassuringly. “My heart is thumping.” The words came out in a whisper as though she was telling a secret. 

“So is mine, but we can do this. We got each other, okay?” 

Y/N and Madison had gotten along straight away the first day y/n came to set. It was nerve-wracking to weasel yourself into a tight group of cast members who’ve already spent two years working together, but they made it so agreeable. The first day, Madison and Owen came up to her and started bombarding her with so many questions about herself and her character. All she knew about the latter was that she’d be Reggie’s love interest and the villain’s niece who worked for him to try and get Reggie, Luke and Alex into his club. Which of course, would not work out as y/n’s character would fall for the bassist too. 

The entire cast welcomed her into their group straight away and the whole process became so enjoyable to the point where it just didn’t feel like work anymore. It just felt like spending time with friends and trying to memorize words and songs at the same time. It was weird. But so much fun. And now, they were able to finally promote said season. 

“Madison, y/n, time to go,” one of the show runners said to them when he passed y/n’s dressing room. The two girls nodded and after a simultaneous deep inhale and exhale of stress, they made their way to the hallway where the boys were waiting. 

Charlie and Jeremy offered y/n a wide smile to ease her nerves a little before Charlie held out his hand in front of him. “We got this. Legends on three?” The others nodded and, with a content smile on her face, y/n placed her hand on top of Charlie’s. 

“One,” said Charlie. 

“Two,” Jeremy and Madison added in unison. 

“Three!” Owen and y/n finished and all five their hands went up in the air as they yelled out “Legends!” Though it was scary, y/n knew she had four amazing people that would guide her through it. 

“Please, welcome the cast of Julie and The Phantoms!” Jimmy introduced them and, while the Roots played the infamous intro song, the cast walked through the red curtain. Madison and y/n ahead, holding one another’s hands as to not fall in their heels, then followed Charlie, Jeremy and Owen. 

The audience cheered and applauded until they sat down and the music faded away. “Welcome, welcome!” Jimmy said excitedly. “Thank you for being here!” The cast beamed at the host, unable to contain their excitement nor nerves. 

“Thanks for having us,” said Charlie, the polite Canadian. 

“So, exciting news, season two of your show Julie and The Phantoms premieres on Netflix tonight, is that correct?” 

“Yes!” all five said, though not quite in unison, and the crowd roared again. Y/N couldn’t hide the smile on her red painted lips as she looked out into the sea of people. 

Jimmy turned to the crowd, “If the people at home have never heard of your show, how would you explain it?” His eyes fell on the girl closest to his desk, which was Madison, allowing her to answer the question. 

“Uhm… Julie and The Phantoms is about this girl, Julie, who tragically lost her mom and, with it, her love for music. That is until one day, she plays this old CD she finds and out pop these three lovable, dorky ghosts who used to be in a band in the 90’s, called Sunset Curve. They died when they ate bad hot dogs--” the crowd let out a laugh, and it made Madison chuckle too. “Yeah! -- Anyway, and so these boys kind of help her find her love for music again and they form a band, called Julie and The Phantoms as the audience can see the ghosts when they play with Julie. And a lot of things happen and it’s funny and light and cute!” 

Jimmy let out a chuckle too, “And now there’s a season 2!” Another cheer erupted from the crowd. “What can you tell us about season 2, Charlie?” he directed the question to the boy next to the newbee. 

“A lot happens! We see what happens with Nick and Caleb, and we meet Philippa, Pips, Covington who will stir up some crazy stuff in the boys’ lives, especially Reggie’s,” he explained with a grin. He stirred in his seat a little before placing his arm on the back of the couch, behind y/n’s head. The girl tried not to react to the overwhelmingly amazing scent of sandalwood that emanated from this movement. 

Jimmy’s eyes landed on y/n and she was certain that for a moment, he knew what she was thinking, but then he asked her a question instead. “How was it for you, y/n, as the newcomer to the cast? Did they immediately embrace you or did  you have trouble being accepted?” 

“I hated it--” she replied seriously,  but then giggled, “No, I loved it! They were so kind and so welcoming, I immediately felt like I was part of their tight group. It did feel strange at first, I’m not gonna lie. But after a while, coming to work didn’t really feel like working anymore.” 

“And your character, Phillipa, was she accepted by the other characters?” 

She cleared her throat of any nerves before answering. “Pippa was… well-- she was working for her dead great-uncle, so she had to make sure she was accepted and weasled herself into the friend group pretty quickly. She knew how to get to Reggie especially and thanks to him, got into their friend group.”

“That’s amazing. I’m so excited to watch! My daughters are eight and nine, and they loved season 1 of Julie and The Phantoms. They’re thrilled to see the new season!” 

A chorus of “aw”s were shared within the cast as well as throughout the audience. 

“Yeah, they’re pretty cute.” He picked up his cue cards to remind himself of the next bullet point he needed to talk about. “Oh! Since it’s almost Christmas, I like to ask my guests to tell us a fun holiday themed story before I send them off, do you guys have a fun holiday themed story for us?” 

The cast exchange glances until Owen asked, “Should we talk about the Christmas market we did last year after filming?” The rest of the cast made sounds of agreement with a few giggles mixed in between. 

“Tell us about the Christmas Market!” Jimmy shouted excitedly, almost resembling a five-year-old getting their Christmas presents early. 

Owen took the lead on this one. “So, we were all in Vancouver, we had wrapped season 2 and we would soon be going home, but we decided to spend one last night together at a Christmas market in Vancouver city…”    

Bundled up in layers of sweaters and a thick coat, y/n trekked through the layer of snow that blanketed to grounds of Vancouver City. She was trying her hardest not to focus on the blistering cold that nipped at her nose but rather on the story Charlie was telling the others in front of her. His voice boomed into the busy streets, along with the others’ laughter. 

She always loved the way Charlie told his stories about every wild adventure he’d ever been on and the way Owen quipped back with the wittiest of comebacks. Or how Madison would chime in with her typical Gen Z humor none of the boys understood. Y/N was sure going to miss the entire dynamic of the group when they were back home. 

Thousands of lights flickered above y/n’s head as they strolled through the entrance of the infamous Vancouver Christmas Market. She let her eyes take in the beauty whilst her stomach fluttered from excitement. Her love for Christmas Markets had never faltered over the years. It still excited her in the same way it did when she was just a child. 

“Can we get a hot chocolate first? I’m freezing!” Savannah suggested, her teeth chattering as she snuggled into her thick scarf. Smiling, y/n hooked her arm around hers and pulled her closer in hopes the warmth of all her layers would help the blonde girl a little. 

“I heard they have a unique recipe that only the Christmas Market here ever uses!” Charlie added with a wide grin before leading the gang towards the warm beverage kiosk. It resembled a cabin from a ski resort, decked out all the way with Christmas lights and foliage. 

The group stood in front of the kiosk and read the menu to figure out whatever they’d want to drink. “Ooh, that Peppermint Hot Chocolate sounds delish,” Owen said, and when y/n’s eyes landed on the words, her mouth curled up into a smirk. 

“We’re going that route tonight, hm?” 

The hot chocolate he was talking about was spiked with peppermint schnapps and chocolate liqueur. This sounded right up y/n’s street, and she knew it would warm Savannah up from the inside. 

“Follow me or don’t follow me, that’s up to you, but I am taking that route tonight.” Owen rubbed his gloved hands together until the lady inside the kiosk looked up at him, signalling that it was his turn to order. “A peppermint hot chocolate, please.” He sounded way too confident for someone who had just turned 21 that year. 

The woman peered over her half-moon glasses, letting her eyes glide from his eyes to his toes before sneering, “ID, please.” Owen’s mouth dropped open and with a lot of cursing underneath his breath, he reached for his wallet. 

“Ha! Owen’s getting ID’d!” Charlie cackled, shaking his head. The woman’s eyes darted over to the second boy, giving him the same one-up before raising her eyebrows as if saying “I’m gonna get you too, little boy”. 

And she did. She ID’d Charlie too. No one else but Charlie and Owen, which everyone had a good laugh at as they were sipping their hot chocolates, which for three out of ten isn’t spiked. 

While Jeremy and Booboo were still teasing the two boys, y/n turned around and let her eyes scan the entire view in front of her. All the pretty lights and the snow whirling to the ground so gracefully and the music floating through the air made the cold more bearable. 

A gasp eliciting from Jadah’s tiny body made y/n snap out of her thoughts and turn to the younger cast member. Her eyes were wide and shimmering, looking up at the tall Christmas tree that was towering above their heads with tens of thousands of lights blinking back at them. 

“Isn’t that the walk-through Christmas tree?!” she asked, excitedly. 

Madison took her hand and, giggling, they weaved through the sea of people towards the one-of-a-kind festive fairyland. Y/N exchanged glances with the rest before they, too, made a beeline towards the tree, dodging people left and right. 

“Hey, Owen, are you sure you’re gonna be able to fit?” y/n asked the tall Oklahoman teasingly. The boy’s mouth dropped open, and before she could properly register it, he started chasing her. She ran past Madison and Jadah, and tried to duck behind any other visitor until he eventually picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. The girl shrieked, prior to a giggle.  

Jimmy’s voice echoed over y/n’s flashback to the most festive night of that year. “You guys really sound like a close group of friends.” 

“Yeah! We are! We’re like a little family!” Charlie replied, dropping the arm that was on the back of the sofa around the girl’s shoulder. 

“What happened next?” Jimmy then questioned, curiously. The whole scene almost resembled a toddler listening to his bedtime story. 

Jeremy cleared his throat with a chuckle. “Well, if this night were a movie, you’d now have a cute montage of us going through that magical tree and on the carousel like little children.” 

“Yeah, you’d see us stuff our faces with churros and pretzels,” y/n added, making Jimmy and the crowd laugh. 

“And we got a lot of Christmas shopping done too!” Madison chimed in with a smile. “I actually got everyone’s present when they were right there with me. None of them noticed.” 

“Oh, no, I noticed,” y/n replied with a smirk, to which Madison reacted with widened eyes. 

“What’s next?!” Jimmy queried. His eyes were glistening as he listened to the cast talk. He just loved their dynamic and how well they got along with one another. 

Y/N continued the story as her mind tumbled back into her daydream. 

The music had stopped just a few minutes ago, but only now y/n’s ears picked up on the sudden absence. Knitting her eyebrows together, she lifted her eyes to the stage in the corner of the market where singers were carolling minutes ago, and was now completely empty. As the small amount of alcohol made her brain a little woozy, her teeth gnawed on her bottom lip in thought. 

“Guys… Should we--Should we go sing a song?” she suggested, causing all of them to look up in surprise. “There’s no one on the stage… Should we?” she pointed at the podium to emphasize what she meant. 

As smiles appeared on each of their faces, the group walked up to the stage and grabbed a microphone each. Charlie reached for the acoustic guitar on the stand, but y/n stopped him. 

“Let’s do a capella for once?” she told him tenderly. 

When his eyes met hers, she felt her lungs expand with the gasp that left her body. How gorgeous could one’s eyes be. But with that one look, the boy also knew what song she wanted to sing. The one song that had been stuck in her head for the past month during filming. And the rest of the crew knew too because when y/n counted them in softly, they all started to sing along. Their voices mingling perfectly and floating throughout the night sky. 

“The fireplace is burning bright, shining all on me I see the presents underneath the good old Christmas tree And I wait all night 'til Santa comes to wake me from my dreams Oh, why? 'Cause that's Christmas to me”

Savannah locked eyes with y/n and a smile fell to their lips before they looked out to the audience they had assembled with their harmonies reaching across the entire Christmas Market. 

“I see the children play outside, like angels in the snow While mom and daddy share a kiss under the mistletoe And we'll cherish all these simple things wherever we may be Oh, why? 'Cause that's Christmas to me”

Owen came to stand next to y/n and wrapped an arm around her shoulder as they all sang the chorus together, the tall blondie on lead vocals and the others harmonizing in the background. 

“I've got this Christmas song in my heart”

“Song in my heart”

“I've got the candles glowing in the dark I'm hanging all the stockings by the Christmas tree Oh, why? 'Cause that's Christmas to me Oh, why? 'Cause that's Christmas to me”

As though they had prepared the entire performance, Booboo led them into the next verse while the others acted as backing vocals for him. His warm, deep voice sent chills down everyone’s spines, especially of the people in the crowd. 

“I listen for the thud of reindeer walking on the roof As I fall asleep to lullabies, the morning's coming soon”

His cast mates then joined in again and together, they sang the chorus once again with Jeremy taking lead this time. While they did, y/n took a hold of Savannah’s gloved hand, squeezing it as they looked at each other with intent in their eyes. Like they meant what they were singing to one another. 

“The only gift I'll ever need is the joy of family Oh, why? 'Cause that's Christmas to me I've got this Christmas song in my heart”

“Song in my heart”

“I've got the candles glowing in the dark I'm hanging all the stockings by the Christmas tree Oh, why? 'Cause that's Christmas to me Oh, why? 'Cause that's Christmas to me”

Y/N turned her head to the other side now, locking eyes with Tori and Sacha, and shooting them a wink before they lapsed into the chorus one last time. It felt good to sing with everyone for once. During filming, it was always just a select group of people that got to sing together. 

“Oh, the joy that fills our hearts and makes us see Oh, why? 'Cause that's Christmas to me I've got this Christmas song in my heart I've got the candles glowing in the dark And then for years to come we'll always know one thing That's the love that Christmas can bring Oh, why? 'Cause that's Christmas to me”

As the crowd erupted into cheers and applause, the group shared an intense look, one that said they were always going to be friends. No matter how far away they’ll be from tomorrow on. Even if they don’t get picked up for a third season, they’re always going to be there for each other and be the best of friends forever. The only gift they’ll ever need is the joy of family. And they were family. 

“That was so beautiful!” Jimmy exclaimed after they’d told him about everything that had happened that night in a short synopsis. “Now, I believe you’re gonna sing for us now?” 

The cast nodded in unison. “Okay, what are you bringing us tonight? The song you sang at the Christmas market?” 

Madison giggled, “No, though we love that song, there’s one we collectively think is one of the greatest Christmas songs ever. It’s the ultimate classic Happy Xmas, War is Over by John Lennon.” 

“Amazing! You can go get ready!” he gestures to the tiled floor in front of the red curtain where the crew had set up their instruments and five microphones for them. “Catch Julie and The Phantoms season 2 on Netflix from tonight! They’re singing for us now. Madison, y/n, Charlie, Jeremy and Owen, take it away!” 

Owen counted them in by slamming his sticks together and then began playing the rhythm of the song. Y/N then chimed in with the jingling of the tambourine before the other boys and Madison joined with their respective instruments. Soon after, Madison’s voice floated through the talk show’s studio. 

“So this is Christmas And what have you done Another year over A new one just begun”

When the girls lock eyes, they shoot one another a wink before y/n takes over the next part of the verse. 

“And so this is Christmas I hope you have fun The near and the dear ones The old and the young”

Then the boys chime in, their voices mingling as they linger in the air for everyone to hear and enjoy. Y/N lets her eyes dart over to Charlie, who’s already looking at her with a smile on his face. 

“A very merry Christmas And a happy New Year Let's hope it's a good one Without any fears”

The others shut up, giving Charlie the floor now. He really was born to be a rockstar. The way he just owned the stage and looked like an absolute legend, singing his heart out and playing his guitar like a pro. And he’d only started learning when he was on season 1 of Julie and The Phantoms. 

“And so this is Christmas For weak and for strong The rich and the poor ones The world is so wrong”

For a split second, he locked eyes with y/n again as she took over and faced the audience with a smile, still working her little tambourine for the extra jingles. Somehow, this just felt like one of their jam sessions during rehearsals and not at all like it was a live broadcast on national television. 

“And so happy Christmas For black and for white Ooh, for everyone Let's stop all the fights”

Their voices mingled together again, and, in a boost of confidence, y/n grabbed the mic from its stand and walked over to Jeremy, rocking out with him as he shredded on the bass. 

“A very merry Christmas And a happy New Year Let's hope it's a good one Without any fears”

The music slowed down, and while Madi, Owen and Jeremy took care of the soft backing vocals, y/n walked over to Charlie and sang the lines to one another, never breaking eye contact. 

“And so this is Christmas And what have we done Another year over A new one just begun”

The music picked back up. Madison took over this time, and while y/n worked her tambourine, she danced her way towards the Latina girl with a smile plastered on her face. 

“And so happy Christmas We hope you have fun The near and the dear ones The old and the young”

She then turned to Owen as he took over on the next part. He shot her a quick wink whilst his mouth curled up on one side. “A very merry Christmas And a happy New Year Let's hope it's a good one Without any fear”

Each taking their turn, starting with Owen, they all sang a part of the backing vocals while the boys and Madison played the instrumental intermezzo. “Merry Christmas” 

“So this is Christmas”

“War is over now” 

Returning back to her spot, y/n placed her mic on the stand again, and along with the others, sang the very last lines of the song. 

“War is over If you want it It’s over now”

The crowd erupted into cheers and applause while the band assembled in the middle of the stage. Charlie grabbed y/n’s hand and gave it a small, reassuring squeeze. All five of them together took a bow before exchanging knowing glances. 

This time around, they knew they were going to see each other tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that as they were doing all the promo they could. It felt a lot more reassuring than it did that day at the Christmas Market when they had no clue when they’d see each other again. Though all of them knew that this was still the only gift they’ll ever need. Their little found family.  

JATP taglist: @hannahhistorian92​ @marinettepotterandplagg​@thequirkybookaholic​ @bookdealer5​ @tenaciousperfectionunknown​ @hemmingsness​ @iainttakingshitfromnobody​ @ifilwtmfc​ @angryknightstatesmantrash​ @kiss-themoongoodbye​ @rudysbay @thedarkqueenofavalon​​ @caitsymichelle13​​ @calamitykaty​ @wiselight​ @kcd15​​ @vicesvsvirtuesfanfic​ @stars-soph​ @kinda-really-lost​ @notasofti​ @alexpjoyner​ @n0wornever​ @kaitieskidmore1​ @tefilovesreading​ @pxperphxntom​ @crybabyddl​ @parkeret​ @headheartbellarke​ 

Names crossed out are the ones I couldn’t tag. 

Lemme know if you wanna be on my taglist! 

[space-malex]

There's lots of back and forth on who Victor should be with, but all s1 and s2 showed me is that Victor isn't cut out to be anyone's partner at this point in his life. He did Mia dirty and couldn't even properly apologize for it in s2 and the Victor who actually prioritized Benji's happiness and tried to take all responsibility for their kiss with Derek so they can keep dating disappeared in s2. He couldn't even articulate that breaking Benji's trust was wrong with spilling his secret to Rahim, let alone understand him at any point during the season. I don't know if it's supposed to be an international character flaw to be worked on or if the writers think having everything from Victor's POV is a good excuse, but it bothers me a lot. I really thought Malex was the height of showrunner bias and uneven writing, but Venji is so much worse. Alex at least always had a POV and a well-defined personality I could easily empathize with. You can't pile a ton of trauma on a character and never explore it, especially if it's supposed to be half of your main ship. I don't know how reflective a Twitter poll is of the audience split (the one they did on Instagram was much more overwhelmingly in favour of Venji, but they also don't show how many people voted), but it's not surprising that a dynamic that was basically written to be pretty much perfect so far and a fun alternative for the main ship's drama is appealing to so many people. They could have easily sold Venji better this season as a couple. They can lay a better foundation for future romantic them if they spend real time together platonically in s3 and stop putting each other on pedestals. They can also ruin what's appealing about Vahim with drama in s3. It's anyone's guess how s3 is going to play out. All I know is if Venji is still the endgame, I don't want a redo of s1 with Victor trying to work harder at a relationship he ultimately doesn't want to be in than he ever tried to make it work with the guy he's supposedly in love with. That's a recipe for disaster. A lot of shows are guilty of never showing us an endgame ship actually working on screen before putting them back together at the end of the show. I really want better here.

A lot to unpack

Victor did apologize to Mia, said he loves her and never meant to hurt her. It’s a bit complicated because Victor never went into the relationship with bad intentions and it took him the majority of the season to come to terms with his sexuality. Yes, he should’ve ended it right away when he figured it out, and he shouldn’t have kissed Benji when he was still with her. But still, there is a fine line here because there’s only so much of an apology Victor can give without it feeling like he’s apologizing for who he is, for being gay, and that’s not something he needs to feel sorry for. I think we should also keep in mind that Mia had her little thing with Andrew at the same time and never told Victor about it. She didn’t cheat or anything (or when he kissed her she stopped it) but she had obvious feelings for Andrew that she hadn’t dealt with. Luckily they finally got resolved in s2 but they were definitely there when she was still with Victor.

Now, what is it with this Victor slander in my house? He and Benji were pretty much constantly arguing or making up, but I’ve rarely seen people apologize to someone else as many times as Victor did to Benji about things that weren’t even his fault. He spent all season apologizing for his mother, even though he has no control over what she thinks or does, but also assured Benji that she is trying and that she is getting better. And he would know that better than Benji because he knows his mother and Benji does not. Or apologizing for not being ready to come out to everyone. And then turned around and did it anyway, which was what he wanted to do, but it also felt a lot about Benji and something he was doing for him as well. Which, fine, it’s Victor’s decision and he didn’t regret doing it. But then when there were consequences that hurt him by his team being homophobic, Benji first shrugs them off and then encourages Victor to quit the team so that he’s not around homophobic people. Which okay, first of all homophobes exist everywhere but I digress. Victor was miserable after he quit the basketball team. It’s not actually what he wanted to do, and he loves basketball, and Benji had no respect for that either. He acted like basketball with some kind of leftover heteroness that needed to be expelled from Victor. And he talked shit about it with his friends right in front of Victor. In fact, every time Victor tried to express himself, he would be essentially shut down by Benji and end up apologizing. Until episode 6 with the birthday and episode 8 after Isabel caught them together.

So look, I don’t think Benji had to tell Victor anything about his alcoholism because it’s his personal business and it’s really difficult to talk about something like that and it was definitely up to him when he wanted to open up. But then he turned around and was basically pissed at Victor for knowing even though Victor found out by accident. And then he refused to talk about it. And then when Victor expressed his hurt that Benji didn’t want to talk to him, Benji responded by completely attacking Victor and straight up saying it was exhausting work being with him bc he’s got a religious homophobic mom and is newly gay. Like….what?? 

Benji judged Victor for 1) being a jock 2) his mother and 3) being a baby gay. Victor never once judged Benji for his alcohol problems, he was just hurt Benji didn’t share with him. He didn’t judge Benji for anything else for that matter. He definitely shouldn’t have told Rahim about Benji, even though I do understand he needed someone to open up to and he trusts Rahim, it was a violation of Benji’s trust and not okay. But that’s like…the only bad thing Victor has done all season.

As for the pov thing- it wouldn’t be such a big deal if they actually developed Benji as a character, which they have not. We get no moments of him where he’s not with Victor (except the one conversation with Isabel, which was about Victor). If you’re going to have a character not share about their life to the protagonist, you need to find another way to share it with the audience. It leads to a disconnect and lack of emotional investment in Benji for many people. The fact that I feel I know Rahim better after 5 episodes than I do Benji after 20 is saying something. But the writing has given Rahim development that it hasn’t given Benji. It’s not surprising a lot of people in the audience are feeling more connected to Rahim as a result. Polls are never the most reliable thing since it depends on who sees them and how many people (twitters was about 20k respondents iirc but no idea about ig). I see a lot of vahim shipping on twitter and ig, tumblr not so much. But I will say I’ve seen people coming around on vahim who are watching the season now, as opposed to the smaller number who immediately watched the moment it came out, went in shipping Victor and Benji and had a knee jerk reaction about the possibility of another romance for Victor.

This is not comparable to malex in any way so I have no clue why you’re bringing them up.

And personally, I was never invested in Victor and Benji’s relationship. Even in s1 I was like 🤷🏻‍♀️ And now, with or without vahim, I think Victor and Benji should break up. They’re just not a great couple and I feel like the show would do well to make it okay for your first relationship to not necessarily be right for you. Especially for a gay couple because that like…NEVER happens on tv. It doesn’t take anything away from what v*nji mean to each other. Sometimes people just aren’t compatible. I didn’t start shipping vahim bc of anything with v*nji directly, I just loved their dynamic. I love seeing Victor light up. I love seeing him comfortable instead of constantly feeling insecure and apologetic. To me, vahim connect in a way v*nji do not.

Victor did not develop feelings for Rahim just because he was having issues with Benji. Just like Benji did not develop feelings for Victor just because he was having issues with Derek. Implying that does a disservice to both relationships and kinda takes agency away from a character and their feelings. But I want him and Benji to end things for real before anything happens with Rahim. Which might mean trying to make it work for a while longer. 

We will see!!

[writingfortoomanyfandoms]

For Eternity

Pairing: KOH!Calum Hood x Reader x KOH!Ashton Irwin (poly!Cashton)

Summary: 

Requested: Kinda??

Warnings: Religious themes, swearing, HOMOPHOBIA

A/N: The outcome of the survey was overwhelmingly in favour of making this a Cashton fic! So here it is! I hope you enjoy the final piece of the write-fest. And, as a quick thing, I know that I kinda mixed Greek Mythology with King of Hell but that’s how I wanted to write it and I really liked how it turned out like this, and so please don’t give me a hard time about that (I’m aware that a couple of the ‘Gods’ I use in this are actually Goddesses but I just thought it worked better like this) but please remember to let me know what you think of this! Send me an ask, reblog or comment, I love hearing from all of you :)

Also y’all said you wanted some spin-off blurbs from this fic so please feel free to send in any blurb requests you wanna read set in this universe :) I tried to leave a couple of areas unexplored and some questions so that it could be further expanded in those blurbs :)

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat when she realised where she was.

She had woken, laying in fetal position on the floor, everything aching and burning, both from the immense heat which surrounded her and the impact with which she must have fallen.

It didn’t take her long to figure out where she was.

She had grown up in Heaven, hearing the nightmarish tales of Hell. Of the four cruel rules who dominated the underworld. Of the sinners who were banished there for crimes committed in their lives. Of Angels who had allowed themselves to be led astray, towards a life plagued with tyranny and endless guilt.

What she had done to end up here, she wasn’t sure.

“I figured you’d died,” Y/N’s head snapped up and she let out a whimper of pain at the sudden movement, curling further into herself, wanting to get as far away from the figure as she could physically manage, though she knew that it wasn’t likely to happen. “You’ve been lying here for fucking hours,” Y/N winced as the curse left the man’s lips and he let out a cruel laugh. “Shit, you’re gonna have to get used to that if you plan on surviving down here.”

Y/N peaked out at him, glaring at the man, who stood above her with a smirk set on his lips.

“Since you’re up and about now, you better come with me - They’ll be wanting to see you since… you know, you’re one of God’s Own and all,” Y/N didn’t miss the mocking way that the man spoke the words ‘God’s Own’, practically spitting them at her, filled with mirth. Y/N glared at him. “Get up.”

Y/N wasn’t sure she could physically manage standing, needing to recover properly from her fall, gaining back her strength before moving. 

“I said, get the fuck up,” the man roared. Y/N’s eyes closed sharply, her jaw clenching, as though she could escape her situation if she simply willed it enough.

Of course, she knew that wasn’t the case. A fact further reiterated when there was a hand on her arm, pulling her roughly up from where she was laying on the scorchingly hot ground.

Y/N knew she was a delicate figure, all Angels were, and she knew for a fact that the man’s grip on her arm was more than likely to leave a ring of bruises on her skin.

Realistically, though, that was the least of her worries.

As she was marched through the tunnels of Hell and out of the cavern she had initially fallen into, she glanced up to the sky, fancying that she could just about make out the faint outline of what used to be her home, wondering why she had been cast out as she had.

It felt like she had been being dragged for hours by the time they arrived outside the grand doors to the castle that had been ingrained in Y/N’s mind her entire life to hold the very essence of evil inside.

When she was a child, it was these doors which she had nightmares about. 

The man beside her knocked twice, the sound almost seeming to echo in Y/N’s ears, though she wasn’t quite sure how that was the case with her being outside, rather than the one on the inside, receiving the knock. 

“This is where I leave you,” it was the most sympathy the man had shown her, the least harsh words that he had spoken in her direction. 

Y/N’s eyes widened as the man let go of her, allowing her to fall, stopped only from hitting the ground by her arms shooting out to steady herself on the doors themselves. She watched him turn and make his way back towards the cavern.

She didn’t want him to go, she realised with a start. She didn’t want to face the Kings of Hell alone. How bad must it be for her when she sought comfort from the Demon sent to lead her to the Gates of Hell’s Palace?

Y/N jumped back abruptly when the doors began to open, almost toppling to the ground as she no longer had anything supporting her body.

They opened to reveal a grand throne room, four thrones directly in front of her, on a raised platform to signify the hierarchy of those who sat in them. Three of them were filled, the black thorny throne on the far left side of the room was empty.

Next to the empty throne was a dark mahogany one, two men filled it. Sat on the actual chair was a man with jet black hair and hazel eyes. There was a smile on his face that would have seemed welcoming if it weren’t for the fact that Y/N knew him to be one of the four Kings of Hell, causing it instead to seem malicious. The smile, however, revealed deep dimples in his cheeks.

The second man was seated on the back of the chair behind the first man. Unlike most Angels or Fallen Angels in this case, this man had his wings out, in a defensive stance, showing the black feathers. He had one hand on the shoulder of the man seated in his chair, his eyes were cold and he was scowling, jaw clenched and Y/N could see his hand tighten on the other man’s shoulder upon seeing her. The black-haired man responded to that by lifting one of his own hands to gently caress the hand of the stony-faced King seated behind him.

The third throne along was made of bone, inhabited by a man who Y/N could tell was of a tall, intimidating stature even as he sat. He had longish blond hair, his eyes looked dark in the dim light of the throne room. He sat straight in his throne, one leg balanced with the ankle on top of the other, an almost bored expression on his face.

The final throne was made of deep red velvet. The man was slouching a little in it, the unimpressed expression on his face lighting up a little with interest when his eyes landed on Y/N, straightening just a little, a small smile tugging at his lips. Unlike the first man, it didn’t come across maliciously and if Y/N didn’t know any better she would have thought it resembled something like sympathy. 

Y/N couldn’t believe that she was actually seeing them all. Of course she knew who they were. She knew the names given to them once they fell, all four of them at once, the first Angels to be cast out from Heaven. Their real names were forgotten to the inhabitants of Heaven by this stage. It was for the best. There was power in a name.

Less so in a title given as a way to scare Angels.

“Step forwards.” It was the third man who spoke, not even attempting to hide the boredom in his voice, barely looking at her.

“He said to step forwards,” the second man snapped when Y/N made no movement.

“Can’t you see she’s hurt?” The fourth man asked, his voice far gentler than Y/N had anticipated.

The softness in his tone allowed Y/N to identify him easily - Macaria, the ruler of the blessed dead. When Heaven had to have dealings with Hell, Macaria was the one sent to do so, the only one Heaven would allow pass their gates (no minister of Goodness would dare leave Heaven to visit Hell, even if it were essential). He was deemed the ‘least evil’ of the monstrous rulers.

“Then maybe we should put her out of her misery,” the second man sneered. 

The scorn and mirth in his tone was enough to identify him as Erebus, the ruler of Darkness. Often mortals got him confused with Hades, thinking him to be the only King of Hell, not knowing or understanding the truth of the monarchy of Hell. 

There was a rumour in Heaven that Erebus was the only one of the four who was actively feared by God. 

“Don’t be a dick,” the first King said, though the words were laced with affection as he continued to stroke the other man’s hand. “Can you walk?” The words were directed to Y/N who just stared at him.

“He said-”

“She heard,” Erebus scowled at being cut off, but it faded when the other King smiled up at him.

He clicked his fingers and Y/N’s eyes widened at the force which she was brought forwards nearer the thrones.

Hecate, Y/N realised quickly. The man on the mahogany throne with Erebus was Hecate, the ruler of Magic and the Dark Arts. Witchcraft.

“What did you do to be cast down?” Macaria questioned in his gentle tone, even going as far as to smile at Y/N. Those words caught the interest of the fourth and final King who, by process of elimination, Y/N was capable of placing as Hypnos, the ruler of sleep.

“A Fallen Angel. We don’t get many of them anymore,” he mused.

“You say ‘anymore’ as if we had an influx of them at one point,” Hecate stated, raising his eyebrows in mild amusement, but his eyes remained on Y/N.

“I… I don’t-”

“You don’t remember yet?” Macaria asked and Y/N shut her mouth quickly, nodding and attempting to hide her embarrassment.

“Don’t worry,” to her surprise it was Hecate trying to assure her, the mirth in his eyes fading and his smile verging on sympathetic. “It often takes a while for Fallen Angels to remember why.”

“You mean it takes a while for Him to think up a good excuse,” Hypnos scoffed and Y/N felt a stab at offence from his words as the rest of them let out bitter laughs, even Erebus let out a short chuckle.

“There must be something different about you,” Macaria said quietly, leaning further in his throne.

“Or she would have died in the Fall,” Hypnos agreed in a murmur.

“There must be,” was Hecate’s agreement, Erebus’ hand slipped off of his shoulder as he stood up, stepping closer to her, leaving the raised platform used to separate them from her.

He reached out one hand to steady her, seeing how weak she truly was from her Fall, noticing how unsteady she was on her feet. His eyes searched hers and Y/N felt unable to break eye contact, and Y/N desperately wanted to look away from him, getting the feeling that he was looking into her soul.

A flash of realisation crossed his face and he almost physically recoiled from her, quickly letting go of her hand. 

Erebus was quickly by his side, Y/N noticed with surprise the arm which went around Hecate’s waist, pulling the King to him, his wings splayed and ready to attack Y/N, glowering at her.

“What the fuck did you do?” 

Y/N winced again at the swear word, accustomed to softer, sweeter language, no blasphemous words were spoken in Heaven.

“I didn't do anything!” Y/N protested, her eyes wide. 

Hecate stopped Erebus from lunging towards her with a hand pressed to his chest.

“It’s her.”

Erebus’s jaw slackened in shock and he looked helplessly at Hecate before back at the other two Kings, whose eyes had widened, having heard Hecate’s words.

Y/N looked between the four of them in confusion and finally Hypnos stood up, clearing his throat a little.

“Well… I guess… I guess we should… get her settled?”

///

‘Getting settled’ was not a phrase Y/N ever thought she would associate with Hell.

But it was definitely what was happening. The moment Hypnos as spoken, the same man who had greeted her in the cavern appeared beside her, ready to lead her away from the throne room.

In her now less delusioned state, more conscious of her surroundings and circumstances, Y/N was able to remember the name given to him by Mortals and Angels alike - Thanatos. 

Again, his real name was lost to everyone.

He had led her to a room in Hell’s Castle, that had been the first surprise. Y/N had not known what to expect, but she knew that it would be some form of torture - not only was she sent there to repent her Sins, but she was also one of God’s Own, cast out from Heaven. The lowest of the low.

But instead, she was led to a room - a nice one, at that. Thanatos left her in there, with the promise that someone would be along shortly to tend to her injuries.

Y/N had practically collapsed onto the bed the moment she was left alone in the room. She didn’t trust the Kings of Hell one bit, she didn’t understand why she had been taken to where she had been. But she was weak and exhausted and everything hurt and she just wanted to sleep it all off.

When she woke, unsure of how much later it was, it was to the sound of a knock on her door. She stared at the wood untrusting.

“Are you… are you decent?” Came an unsure question and Y/N was taken aback to recognise it immediately as being Hecate’s.

She never thought one of the Kings of Hell would care so much for decency and comfort of the Fallen Angels who ended up in his territory. 

“Yes?” She answered unsurely.

The doorknob turned, opening to reveal, sure enough, Hecate standing on the other side.

He looked less intimidating outside of the throne room.

“Can I come in?” Y/N nodded mutely and Hecate gave her a smile. “Open or closed?” He asked, gesturing to the door. Y/N shrugged in response, moving as best she could, wincing as she did so, to curl herself up and as far away from the King as she could manage to get on the bed. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He left the door open, which did offer Y/N some semblance of reassurance. 

“W-Why are you here?” She asked, her voice barely over a whisper.

“To heal you.”

Never in a million years did Y/N think that the Ruler of Magic in Hell would be using his powers for good - for her good. 

She stared at him distrustfully, unsure of his motives and the King let out a weary sigh at the look.

“I don’t have any ulterior motives,” he told her, moving closer to her and sitting on the edge of her bed. It wasn’t a shock that she didn’t believe him, and Hecate could still see that written clear across her face. “What if I tell you a secret?” He offered. “Something which could give you power over me, over the other Kings.”

“Why would you do that?” Y/N asked.

“Because I also need to tell you why you’re here - why you’re special. And if you don’t trust me enough to let me heal you then… then you’re not going to believe me about that either.” There was a pained look on his face and if it weren’t for how it stretched to his eyes as well, Y/N wasn’t sure she would have believed he was being genuine about how important he felt it was that she understood and believed him.

Y/N gave a slow nod, uncurling herself a little.

“Promise me on something that you’re not lying - about whatever ‘secret’ it is that you’re telling me and… and about why I’m here,” she tried to sound strong in her words, sure of herself but Y/N knew that she was practically begging him. 

“What do you want me to promise on?”

“I-I don’t know.” Y/N admitted helplessly, her face falling as she shook her head, ducking it so that she could hide the tears which had gathered in her eyes. “I… I’m not used to people being able to lie.” She confessed.

She was shocked by the gentle hand which reached out, cupping her face and moving it so that Hecate could look into her eyes, a soft smile on his face.

“You’re so innocent,” he breathed. Y/N knew she likely should have been insulted by his words, but the way he said them, so soft and gentle, something close to wonder in his tone, made her incapable of feeling that way. “I swear to you on my throne, my title as Hecate, One of the Four Kings of Hell, that I am not lying to you. Anything and everything I say to you in this room is true.”

Something rumbled in the underground beneath them and a smirk formed on Hecate’s lips as he raised his eyebrows at her.

“That good enough for you?” Y/N nodded mutely. “My name - my actual name.” Y/N swallowed at his words, her eyes widening as she realised the exact amount of power that he was about to offer her. “Ashton.” Y/N blinked at him.

He seemed a lot less regal, far less intimidating, now that Y/N knew his true name - his Angel name. She could almost imagine him when he was an Angel, in Heaven before he Fell. 

“Now will you let me help you?” Y/N nodded her eyes still wide, unable to believe that he had handed that power to her so easily. “Are you ready to listen?” He added, taking hold of her ankles as he spoke and gently pulling them so that she was laying straight on the bed, rather than curled up and protecting herself as she was used to doing. “You’ve heard of The Prophecy?” Ashton stated more than questioned.

Everyone had heard of The Prophecy, though no one besides those of highest status knew what it entailed.

Y/N nodded mutely at his words, feeling heat rush to her ankle, which Ashton had cupped in his hands, feeling the effects of his magic almost instantly.

“We heard the prophecy before He did,” Ashton began, eyes focused on her injuries and healing them. “It was only a little while after we ended up here,” Y/N wondered if she imagined the strange look of near-discontent on Ashton’s face when he looked up and around the room. “Of course We did,” he scoffed, shaking his head. “It’s far more relevant to Us.” Ashton looked up at her, meeting her eyes and smiling a little bit. “Relevant to you,” he added, the admission causing her to lose her breath momentarily for a moment. “You need to remember to breathe or it’s not worth me healing you,” he informed her, Y/N saw the twinkle in his eyes and couldn’t help but let out a light laugh.

She never would have thought she would be laughing at jokes made by Hecate.

“Sorry.” Ashton shook his head lightly at her.

“The Prophecy regarded mostly Ca-Erebus and myself. We… we’re close,” Ashton settled on, looking at her unsurely, as though feeling out her response to his words. Y/N was more than capable of reading between the lines and nodded, hoping it came across as encouraging. “The Prophecy stated that one day, someone unexpected would arrive at Hell’s Gates. And that, when they did, we would be complete,” Ashton blinked at her. 

“And Heaven would crumble?” Y/N questioned unsurely. 

“Yes. But… that’s not exactly what we’re focused on at the moment,” he confessed.

Y/N’s lips parted in realisation as she caught onto the meaning of The Prophecy. What it was that Ashton was focused on. She was to complete Hecate and Erebus. 

She was to help Heaven to crumble.

“I… I know it’s a lot to take in at the moment-”

“No kidding.” The snarky remark slipped out before Y/N could think better of it. Ashton stared at her in surprise before grinning.

“We’ve had… eternity to get used to it. We weren’t… forced together as I know it may seem like we are being. But…  we can wait.” Now Y/N was capable of understanding the borderline affectionate tone in his voice when he spoke to her. “We can wait for you.”

///

Y/N wasn’t sure how long it was that she had been in Hell, but it already felt like an eternity.

Shortly after he had told her of the part she was to play in The Prophecy, Ashton had left her, with the order to think things over in her own time - she would have a lot of it now - and to rest and recover properly from her Fall. He had done all he could, the rest was up to her, to avoid overexerting herself and to properly rest.

The rest part hadn’t come easy, despite how comfortable her bed was, she couldn’t fall asleep. Somehow, Hypnos (or Luke, as he had permitted her to call him) had registered her troubled and disturbed sleep and offered to help.

A few days after her arrival, she had gotten a visitor to her room in the form of Macaria, who insisted she call him Michael. He had offered her a tour of Hell, so that she knew where she was capable and allowed to go for the time-being. Michael had visited her almost every day in her room, sitting with her for meals on occasion and doing his best to teach her about Hell. 

She had seen Ashton a few times, each time he had sat with her and talked to her, asking how she was feeling and about herself. But he clearly didn’t want to put any pressure onto her, though Y/N wasn’t immune to the soft smiles and adoring gazes he would give her when he thought she wasn’t looking.

Erebus was a completely different matter. She had seen him once since finding out about The Prophecy. 

It was on one of Michael’s visits that he took her to see the Hellhounds for the first time.

As it turns out, they were nowhere near as terrifying as the name suggested. Michael told them that, when they were in kennels and not patrolling or attacking people that they resumed their normal form - looking like normal dogs.

Y/N had fallen in love with the Hellhounds and often found themselves in their kennels, visiting them, just as she was now.

She sat in the corner of the kennels, one of the older dogs had its head rested on her leg as some of the puppies climbed all over her. She let out a giggle, scrunching up her face as they licked her face.

“I’ve never seen them take to anyone so fast,” Y/N’s eyes widened as Erebus melted out of the shadows. Unlike the first time she had seen the King of Hell, his wings weren’t on display, instead they were retracted safely into his back as most Angels and Fallen Angels’ were when they weren’t either in Battle or preparing for one.

She couldn’t deny how soft she felt when she saw the tiny dog curled up in his arms.

“It’s not the first time I’ve visited them,” Y/N confessed quietly, as though excusing the attachment the Hellhounds had to her.

Y/N couldn’t believe her eyes when Erebus took a seat opposite her on the floor of the kennels. 

“I know,” he told her simply. “I’ve seen you here a lot,” for the first time since she had arrived in Hell, she saw Erebus’ smile, which she quickly returned.

“What’s he called?” Y/N asked, nodding towards the dog curled up in Erebus’ lap.

“This is Duke,” Erebus said, fingers lightly scratching at the top of the dog’s head. “He’s an old boy, doesn’t always play well with others but…”

“You’re not supposed to play favourites, you know.” Y/N surprised herself with the joke which left her lips. Erebus looked at her in surprise, before he let out a laugh.

“Yeah well… Duke’s different,” Erebus dismissed.

“Is he the one Ash said stays in your room with you?” He nodded to confirm her words before his eyebrows raised a little.

“‘Ash’, huh?” Y/N ducked her head to hide her embarrassment and shrugged.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay but… I guess if you’re on nickname terms with him, we should probably be on… real name terms,” Y/N wondered if she was imagining the touch of shyness in his voice as she spoke.

“I-I’d like that,” she agreed. “I’m Y/N,” she stuck her hand out before she could talk herself out of it. Erebus stared at it for a moment before nodding and taking it in his.

“I know,” they both laughed a little. “Calum.”

“Can I ask you something?” Y/N asked after a moment, her words uncertain and shy.

“Of course.”

“Why… I mean… everything I thought I knew about… about Heaven has kind of been…”

“Fucked?” Calum supplied helpfully.

“I was gonna say ‘turned on its head’,” Y/N said, smiling down at one of the puppies that tried to climb up onto her shoulders. “But I guess your word works as well,” she added. 

“It’s just a word. Nothing to be scared of,” Calum tried to assure her, but the smile on his face showed Y/N that he understood why she struggled so much with the swearing.

“I know,” she promised. “But… because it’s all been so… confused… could you tell me the truth?”

“The truth about what?” Calum asked carefully, avoiding her eyes.

“About why you were sent away.”

“Right. That,” Calum said grimly. 

“Could you?” Y/N repeated.

“Yeah, of course but… it won’t be easy for you to hear.”

“None of what I’ve learnt since being here has been ‘easy’,” Y/N told him.

“It’s my fault really,” that was the last thing that Y/N had expected to hear him say. Her brow furrowed in confusion but she knew better than to question him yet. “I… I was the one to start everything between myself and Ash,” there was no mistaking the shame that crossed his face. “We had been friends since we were… since we were in fucking nappies, all four of us were. We grew up together, best friends. But… I always felt different about Ash to how I felt about Mikey and Luke. I loved him differently. And I knew that that wasn’t okay.”

“Why wasn’t it okay?” Y/N couldn’t help asking. Calum gave her a wry smile.

“You’re so innocent,” unlike when Ashton said those same words to her what felt like months ago, Calum’s voice was nostalgic and longing, almost regretful. “One day I kissed him - we were older. I couldn’t… I couldn’t help myself,” Calum hung his head. “He was just… everything to me. And… he felt the same,” a helpless shrug accompanied his words. “We snuck around for… for years. Luke and Michael knew - of course they did. We were all so close and Ash and I knew we could trust them with it. That they wouldn’t judge us. And they didn’t. ‘Course they didn’t,” Calum laughed bitterly. “They should have been against us. God, it’s my fault we’re all down here.”

Y/N didn’t know what possessed her to reach out and take Calum’s hand, squeezing it lighty. But it seemed to make him relax a little, and Y/N was thankful that she did as such.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“You don’t know what happened.”

“You were caught, weren’t you?” Calum nodded quietly. 

“We were told we would either be cast out of Heaven or we could live our lives completely separate up there. They didn’t want to toss us down, not really. We were… we were good fighters, warriors up there but… I couldn’t imagine my life without Ash and I said I wouldn’t live it without him, that I’d chance it down in Hell rather than live with the knowledge that I gave him up,” Calum shook his head sadly. “I shouldn’t have done that, though, I shouldn’t have been selfish. I doomed Ash to the same fate and I’ll never forgive myself for that. Luke and Mike… they stuck with us, said they always would. Having them… made it a little easier to bear it down here in the earlier years. Then we heard The Prophecy,” Calum squeezed her hand, which Y/N hadn’t realised until that moment was still in his grip. “We heard about you, and… and I guess we knew then, deep down, that… that everything would turn out alright, in the end.”

“You did the right thing, Cal,” Y/N breathed, hardly able to believe how much of her life in Heaven was forged on lies, the promise that everyone was loved and was given an equal chance.

“We found some other… pretty shitty stuff about Heaven and how things were run up there before we were Thrown… it’s not quite as ‘Heavenly’ as you’d expect,” he added. “Through all of it, I’ve only ever had Ash and Luke and Michael to rely on. I was shit-scared when I heard The Prophecy if I’m honest. I couldn’t imagine having anyone to ‘complete’ me and Ash. That’s why I was so… guarded when you got here, why I avoided you since Ash confirmed you’re her.”

“I understand,” Y/N promised.

///

Y/N knew where Calum and Ashton’s room was. It had been shown to her as a part of Michael’s tour and the first night when Luke did something to help her sleep, he had teasingly suggested she pay them a visit to help with her insomnia. 

Truthfully, though, she never thought she’d find her way to it. Especially when she hadn’t been invited.

Since the day she and Calum had bonded in the Kennels, he had stopped avoiding her. Rather than Michael, it was him and Ashton who would seek her out at mealtimes and sit with her to eat. 

Both men were far less reserved around her, not afraid to show each other - and her, to a certain extent - affection in her presence. And Y/N hated to admit it but she was shocked at how much she loved spending time with them. 

While she was still somewhat quiet and shy around them, uncertain of her every move, she could feel herself getting more comfortable around them with every second she spent in their company, she could feel her confidence growing.

But now she rushed down the hallways towards it. 

How ironic that she had grown up having nightmares about the Kings of Hell, but now it was two of them whom she was running to for comfort after one. 

She paused outside of the door. 

It had seemed like a good idea at the time for her to seek them out, to hide with them against the nightmares that plagued her head. But now that she was here, she was second guessing everything, sure that Ashton and Calum would simply turn her away.

Before she could turn and return back to her room to save herself from the embarrassment of being rejected by the two monarchs, the door opened.

Ashton and Calum were tangled up in each other’s arms, Calum fast asleep and Ashton with a sleepy expression on his face, one hand turned out towards the door.

“Were you planning on knocking or not?” He murmured.

“S-Sorry.”

“No need to apologise,” Ashton assured her. “Everything okay, sweetheart?” The pet named rolled off his tongue, sending shivers down Y/N’s spine and a shy smile to her lips.

“I-It’s dumb, I’ll go.” Y/N shook her head, taking one step back.

“Don’t make me read your mind, sweetheart,” Ashton teased. “Come in,” he ordered. 

Y/N swallowed nervously and nodded her head, stepping inside.

“What’s going on?” Calum slurred out sleepily when he heard the door close.

“Y/N is here,” the man seemed to perk up at the sound of her name.

“Y/N?” He repeated and Ashton chuckled, nodding his head and pressing his lips in a gentle kiss to the top of Calum’s head. Y/N’s heart melted as she watched the easy, soft way in which they showed each other affection. “What happened?” Y/N couldn’t believe the worry in his voice, the seeming concern for her safety that coated his words.

“Nothing I just… I just…”

“You can tell us, sweetheart,” Ashton promised.

“I had a nightmare,” Y/N said in a tiny voice, embarrassed to admit the problem to the two monarchs.

“Oh, Y/N/N, come here,” Calum instructed, holding up the covers of the bed and shuffling over to make space between himself and Ashton.

Y/N didn’t hesitate before rushing across the room and climbing in between them, feeling both of their arms wrap around her, feeling safe in their grasp.

“Sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry,” Ashton scoffed.

“We’re happy that you’re here,” Calum added and Y/N felt pressure on the top of her head from one of them kissing her, but she wasn’t sure who it was.

“We’ll keep you safe,” Ashton promised, hugging her a little tighter. And Y/N didn’t doubt either of them when Calum added his next words of assurance.

“For eternity.”

[chibimyumi]

Hi there! So I've been meaning to ask this for a while after realizing it, but don't O!Ciel's, Doll's, Alois', and Lizzy's color schemes kind of reveal their past and future a tad bit? I've know Alois outfits are bold yet kind of gothic colors like violet emerald green black and brown which all in the world of art are color forms of different emotions depending how you work with them, green being envy or disgusted but he hides it with royal purple, black means wounded which are his shorts & tie

Dear Blackbutlerfandomnerddomain,

While colour symbolism is popular, I personally don’t think the colours in Kuroshitsuji’s costumes are supposed to deliver any meaning other than aesthetic value. Especially with O!Ciel and Lizzie we can say with some certainty colour symbolism is not within the intention, because they change clothes in every single illustration, and every time they wear different colours. Yes, these characters do have tones they tend to wear, but that’s how real people dress themselves too. Somebody who likes calm colours is slightly less likely to have a rainbow assortment of neon, for example.

This is simply the way I understand Yana’s style, there’s not really ONE correct answer here. So feel free to read as much into the colours as it pleases you. But as I personally see it, Yana’s style of using symbolism tends to rely on objects rather than colours. Allow me to briefly analyse two artworks to illustrate what I mean and how I came to my understanding.

Case One

One of the most famous artworks is the front illustration of the second illustration book. Many colours including green, red, blue, white, gold are all present here.

One could make arguments for the black and white of the Earl’s attire being symbolism, but this meaning is quickly overshadowed by the ravens emerging from the Escher patterns. Red is the most eye-catching colour in this illustration. One might say O!Ciel’s gloves being red means to symbolise his hands being blood-dyed, or his shoes red because he walks a bloody path... but then how do we explain the inside of the drape or Sebastian’s waistcoat?

The setting is a place that appears to be a type of greenhouse; a place built to maximise the function of sunlight. And yet, while the illustration seems to suggest it is daytime, the sun is failing miserably in face of the heavy clouds. Rather than painting the sky ominous red or just dark, Yana uses the unsuccessful sun to set a mood or convey symbolism. “Is the white light against the dark clouds not also a type of colour symbolism?” Yes, it may be, but then one should also ask the question: "why choose a greenhouse then, and not any other setting that could have conveyed the light/dark contrast?”

Case two

Another famous piece is this 2014 artwork. The overall tone is gloomy and is mostly lacking in colours. Though held back in terms of colour, there is a lot to be unpacked here!

The first thing that catches the eye is indeed the overwhelmingly sombre palate of this illustration. Black can symbolise many things, but when 70% of the illustration is black, one could say this illustration is either incompetent in conveying symbolism in it being over-saturated with “meaning”, or that the black is merely here to set a tone.

Instead, we can see white lilies in O!Ciel’s hair as well as one stem carried by Sebas. Rather than colour symbolism, Japan has a long history of flower-symbolism (花言葉・Hanakotoba), and Yana herself is big fan of this style. When Western culture was introduced to Japan, black and white lilies were accepted as symbols for death.

The composition of the artwork leads the eye from the bottom left corner to the top right. This guides our vision to the empty plate at the top of the table, where a bright white saucer lies with a conspicuous bit of red sauce.

Red might symbolise blood here, and it is befitting. But more importantly we also need to consider this choice from an artist’s point of view. How many different colours of edible sauces are there? There’s chocolate sauce and other dark sauces, but that would just blend in with the rest of the illustration. Yellowy sauce is certainly a thing, but that’d be overpowered by the golden details. So red is the only bright colour that would make the empty saucer pop out. The Empty saucer has a fork placed diagonally on top, meaning that somebody had consumed food and is now finished. Rather than the colour of red, I think it is the now-empty saucer that is supposed to symbolise Sebastian’s goal of consuming his master.

Next to the saucer is the skeleton of a bird; presumably a crow judging from the size. Skeletons universally symbolise death, but it has nothing to do with the colour.

In Japanese native culture the topic of ‘death’ is big taboo. In older Japanese buildings for example, the 4th floor would often be skipped because ‘4′ (四・shi) is a homophone of death (死・shi).

In the past when Buddhism was introduced, the Japanese embraced this religion with open arms because finally there was something else that would deal with ‘death’ while native culture could stay in its comfort-zone. It was a bit like: “we do we... Hey, Buddhism, can you take care of that thing we’re too afraid of for us? Thanks dude!” Since the introduction of Buddhism, images of skeletons came to not just mean ‘death’, but more specifically ‘impermanence’ (無常・mujou). Impermanence is one of the core teachings in Buddhism, reminding humanity that everything will eventually come to an end, be it good or bad. With Buddhism introduced, skeletons were no longer only associated with pure fear, but instead gained an additional meaning of acceptance of change and the cycle of nature.

The origins of the meaning of skeletons have blurred through the years, many Japanese people probably don’t even know why things evoke certain meanings in them (just like in other cultures, I presume). But fact remains that though still macabre, in Japan a skeleton is now assumed to symbolise the naturalness of death.

That the skeleton of the bird is preserved in a glass dome is interesting. Glass domes’ function is primarily display. Out of all things, Yana chose to specifically display the symbol of impermanence and death, meaning that within this artwork that skeleton is the key object of display. In human subjectivity death is finite and fearsome. To a demon like Sebastian however (from whose perspective we view this artwork as he’s the only one awake here), he probably views death more akin to the way Buddhism views it; as just impermanence. I am NOT saying that Sebastian subscribes to a Buddhist philosophy, but I am saying that he must view death a lot more neutrally than most humans do.

Most Japanese people are not raised consciously religiously, but everyone is always influenced to some extent, Yana included. And therefore it is no surprise that Yana might have been inspired by the neutral view towards death (for at least Sebastian), even if she might not know where this inspiration comes from.

The casualness of ‘death’ in this illustration is further indicated by the coffin that is set up as a dining table. There is no respect, no ceremony, objects are scattered on top and around. The message is rather straightforward so I shall waste no more time explaining the obvious here. But I do wish to point out how this gives further evidence for how the meanings of this illustration should be considered from Sebas’ perspective, just like the crow’s skeleton as explained above. What is finite to us, is just a fact of nature to Sebas.

Conclusion

Yana has created many illustrations. Not all include symbolism, but the more elaborate pieces are usually packed with them. Of course I have only analysed two illustrations, and I would not blame anyone for calling this post insufficient evidence. But... I could just go on and on forever, and I need to draw a line somewhere, right? What I can say with confidence however, is that if you were to grab any artwork by Yana and see it for yourself, rather than colour, item symbolism is stronger.

Also, the way Yana uses colour is just not very symbolism heavy; she has a much stronger tendency to use colours purely aesthetically. Take any of the inside covers of this series, and one would quickly find out there really is no pattern to be found here.

In a nutshell, Yana’s colouring style is mostly aesthetic and used to set a tone for her illustrations. What carries the symbolism instead is in the objects.

Again, this is merely how I personally read Yana’s illustrations and an elaboration of how I came to this reading. There is not one correct answer to read illustrations, because art is subjective in its core. So if the colours do mean more to you than they do to me, please do enjoy doing so by all means ^^

[ominouslyqueer]

The doll was a bit of an oddity among the daycare employees. The kids loved it, which in and of itself could be considered odd, but then again kids will latch on to the weirdest, creepiest things with ease, their minds not yet filled with horror stories about dolls with sunken eyes and faded skin, who seem to stare as you walk around the room. They just saw a vessel to play, and its looks didn't really factor in too much, especially at that age. Kids are going to be kids, and so they don't notice when the employees avoid touching the doll, or being in the same room if they can help it.

It's of little surprise that the employees are not so welcoming to the doll. If it weren't for the fact that the kids adored it (and that had led to several talks about sharing when that love caused conflicts on whose turn it was), they'd have chucked it a long time ago.A few of the oldest employees remembered when it arrived, in its own box among the several that came from the big, old house up on the hill.

Apparently it was passed down from one child to the next, until family line died out and it was left sitting on an empty bed, found by a distant cousin who came to collect their inheritance. The toys were boxed up, the more antique ones sold, and the rest sent to the local daycare where they could be enjoyed once more. Most were a hit, but the doll was special, seeming to connect with every child in a way that drove many to tears when they had to leave her at the end of the day. Another factor that led the employees to do little beyond sitting her in her designated corner during cleanup before doing their best to ignore her completely.

Of course, there would have to be more to explain their feelings for the doll, that for many only barely fell below true fear. The doll possessed many qualities about it, watching eyes, an uneasy grin, hair that no matter what would always end up back in the neat, tight braid. But this was not enough to unsettle them, no, that would be what happened during the night. Because no matter what the doll underwent during the day, the rough play causing lost arms or legs, chunks or hair or even once the button eyes, by the following morning she would once more be in her pristine, creepy glory. At one point they had tried to take her from the building, but again she had appeared, the employee who had taken her home confused and unwilling to even touch her again after that.

They had been worried for the kids, keeping an eye out for anything strange. They had come to the conclusion that some form of spirit was present, and the more religious ones worried that it could be demonic. At one point they had tried an exorcism even, but the same things kept occurring anyways.

The kids didn't notice anything amiss, just continuing to play with her until her fabric skin was worn right through and her stuffing spread across the floor, only to wind up all in one piece the next morning. She never seemed to do anything to the kids themselves, and no parent ever complained of nightmares or whatever other influences such a presence may have had. So, the majority of them decided that whatever was present was simply benign, and for whatever reason wished to spend their eternity with the chaos that is a room full of toddlers. The few who truly feared her managed to ignore her, though their hands were never far from any religious or spiritual items for protection.

That day hadn't been unusual in any way. The kids arrived, bringing with them their endless energy and desire for play. There were laughs, cries, tears, snacks, a single full-on breakdown from a particularly upset kid, and a thoroughly exhausted set of employees by the time the kids went home. That day had had a senior employee and two juniors, who were waved away by their superior when time to clean up. He enjoyed the calmness that followed the storm of children leaving the building, and cleaning was always more of a ritual than a chore. He wouldn't do it every night, but at least once a week he would take the chance to simply go about his duties alone, taking the time and care that showed just how long he had been doing this.

He was one of the oldest employees there, having arrived just after the infamous doll herself. He had quickly become a favorite, always calm and collected around the kids, but always quick with a smile or a joke for anyone who wanted to hear it. He had had many opportunities to rise above his role as caretaker, but he liked his job, and so he stayed put. He'd even met his wife here, one of the kids' mothers who laughed at even the worst of his jokes. It had helped that her daughter had loved him already from meeting with him each day. Now, she was entering college, and he was where he always was.

Slowly but surely, he makes his way through the small building. He cleans up the kitchen, the bathroom and the lobby, picking his way through the building as he wipes up spills and puts away books and toys. He clears up the yard outside, making sure the fence is still latched tightly shut. Once a child had managed to slip through, and it had been a stressful half hour before he had been found, playing under a tree calmly with the doll. He told them she had said to stay put before he ran further, and so he did. That itself had caused some more worries and weird feelings about the toy, but since it seemed she had been helpful overall, nothing more was said.

He enters the toy room last, always the final part of his cleaning routine. Immediately his eyes are drawn to her. She made it through the day mostly intact, the only flaw a small rip in her left leg. He cleans up the other toys, before moving to her, delicately picking up the small bits of stuffing that had fallen to the floor before lifting her too. He sits at the desk, the only adult-sized piece of furniture in the room, and sits her down on top of it so she's facing him. Carefully, he starts poking the stuffing back into her leg, a soft smile on his face as he does.

"It wasn't too bad again today. This bunch seem to be learning for the most part to be more careful."

For a moment his words just hang in the air, only silence answering him. He doesn't worry though, content to wait as he continues his work. It's about half a minute later when, between one blink and the next, there's a woman leaning on the desk besides him. She's tall, though barely taller than he is, a fact that he pointed out to her countless times. At first glance she seemed solid, but he knew how to catch the slight wavering of her form, as though her hold on this plane was slightly wavering.

He didn't look up, focusing still on making sure that all the pieces were returned to their proper place, but he knew if he did he'd be met with a smiling face and sparkling brown eyes that seemed far too alive to be a part of the spirit they were attached to. A small laugh rings out from beside him, and he lets his smile broaden until its a full grin.

"Well they always do once they've been here long enough. I've no doubt you have some influence in that."

Her voice is warm, matching her gaze as he finally turns to meet it. Her hair is in the usual braid, the silvering brown curling down her back. She's about fifty, dressed in jeans and a flowery blouse that flows around her, moved by a wind he cannot feel. She is lit from within with a blue glow, the only thing that truly marks her as otherworldly. Still, he is surprised at just how human she looks, and that thought lets him return his eyes to the work at hand.

"Well someone needs to teach them. Not everything in this world is as forgiving as you are when they play too roughly." He reaches into the drawer beside him, where his faithful sewing kit lays waiting. He picks a needle and thread, and begins sewing shut the small tear. Any trace of it will be gone by morning of course, but he hopes that doing this will at least help at reducing the amount of energy required to make that happen.

She lays a hand on his shoulder, though as always he barely feels the touch. Still, he doesn't hesitate to cover it with his own, feeling as though at any second his hand will fall through hers. It holds steady though, and they smile at each other.

"You are always so good to them, a fact that I have always loved. David seems to have especially been taken with you this year, the boy follows you around like a lost duckling. I'm pretty sure he's trying to copy your every move."

"Well I don't mind it much, he's a nice kid. It helps that he's never been too rough with you, or any of the other toys." Taking back his hand, he quickly finishes off the stitches, tying the red thread tight. He makes sure the doll is still stable in its sitting position, before standing up, moving to lean besides her. It makes talking easier, and even if he excuses it with complaints about stiff knees from sitting too long, he likes being able to talk to her again face-to-face.

"Well you can't hold it against them if they cause a few tears or scrapes, be it on us or themselves. They're kids, they are going to learn the way they learn most things, through clumsy and dedicated experiments with the world and all that's in it." She laughs, the sound floating throughout the room. "Do you remember that one girl, Emma? She was so curious about how everything was built, and every piece that went into it. I thought you were going to cry when you found her after she'd pulled every piece of me apart. I think that was the sternest you've ever been with anyone."

"Well I certainly didn't want that happening again, though I know you don't mind. It was more just letting her know that she shouldn't do that with other people's possessions that being upset with her for doing it at all." He shrugged. "I spoke with her parents too, and they were sure to supply her with a surplus of toys specifically to pull apart to keep her happy."

"Of course you did, I'm not surprised."

He feels his face heat up at her words, as well as the overwhelmingly soft look on her face. She reaches a hand up to cup his cheek, and even if it's barely there he leans into it.

"You always did your best to make sure everyone was happy and safe."

Pulling the hand away after a moment, she seems content to simply sit in silence, the two of them just enjoying being together. It is only when he is once again reminded of the constant question in his mind that he finds himself speaking once more, the calm night giving him the push that he'd needed to give voice to it.

"Why have you stayed, all these years? It takes so much of your energy to fix yourself almost every night, and at times you seem so tired that it is hard to watch. So... why?"

She doesn't answer right away, though his question clearly doesn't surprise her. She seems to mull over his words, picking the right ones to say in response. Finally, she sighs, the sound happy and calm as she meets his eyes once more.

"The children... they feel so strongly, you know? The happiness, sadness, anger, fear, it's all so new to them so when it happens it encompasses all that they are. Either the world is wonderful, or it's terrifying, and there's no in between. The way that they love is exactly that." She runs a hand through her hair, the few that had fallen free from her braid tangling slightly around her fingers.

"They love with everything that they are, and even if that love comes with tears and worn through holes and lost eyes I find that I can't just leave it behind. I was broken when Alison and I found out children weren't in our future, but being around the kids here, it helps. It's fixing the hole that's existed within me for as long as I can remember. Maybe one day it will be enough, and I will be able to move on. But for now... I find I don't want to go."

She seems lost in thought for a time, and he just leaves her to it, his own mind taking in all she had told him. He's drawn out of it when she nudges him in the side, the melancholy look that had taken over her face while she spoke replaced with the usual soft smile.

"Of course, you being here helps." She ruffles his hair, despite his half-hearted protests. "It always has, you know that."

"Doesn't hurt to hear it though." He jokes, pushing the wayward curls back into some form of order.

She grins, though it fades after a moment and she seems to hesitate. When the words do come, he's surprised by the trepidation that lines her tone, as though she is unsure whether she wants to know the answer.

"Erik, I feel like I should ask you the same thing. You have a life, unlike some, and there are so many things you could be doing with it. I know you love the children here as much as I do, but to stay here for all these years? Why?" Her voice wavers near the end, and though they do not fall he can see her eyes are bright with tears. He quickly reaches for her hand, enfolding it in between his as he ducks his head to catch her gaze from where she had averted it. It's only when she's looking at him that he answers, trying to fill his voice with all the love he felt for her in that moment.

"Well, part of it is as you said. I love the kids, and everyone here, they make my days so full of joy and laughter. But," He pauses, making sure she's listening. "A big part of why I came here in the first place is you, you know. I chose to make my life here because you wanted to stay."

She opens her mouth, undoubtedly to protest, but he lifts a hand to stop her.

"That doesn't mean I was forced to, or that you are holding me back from the life I could have had. I love it here, and I love you, and I chose to make my life into what it is now. Maybe I could be somewhere else, doing something that isn't this. But even if that would have made me happy, it doesn't change the fact that I am already so happy here, with you, and with the kids." He sighs, looking down at their joined hands. "Maisie and I talked long and hard about all of this, you know that. The finances are stable and Bea is nice and happy at her school. Especially now that she's all grown, I love the time that I spend here, the kids fill my life with purpose, and the fact that you're here too just makes that purpose even greater."

Now the tears do fall, slightly glowing as they roll down her cheeks, and she lets go of his hands only to throw her arms around him. He welcomes the embrace, happy to just let her cry.

Though she had had no children of her own, no one to give the doll that had been given to her by her own mother, she had doted on him growing up. His mother and her were closer than sisters, though not related by blood, and he had grown up running through the old halls of the house up on the hill. When she had passed, he had been heartbroken, which was made worse when he discovered that the doll that had meant the world to her had just been given away by the distant cousin who now owned the home.

He had worked hard to track it down, but when he had found her he had learned of how happy she made the kids. So, instead of taking her away, he decided instead to stay. It had only taken a week for him to discover she wasn't actually gone, having nearly passed out from shock when she first appeared to him one night when he was the only one left in the building. However, that shock quickly turned to joy, and having discovered the true passion he felt towards his new life's path, he had settled quite happily into the routine they had held for the past few decades.

He was as unwilling to leave her as she was to leave the kids, and it wouldn't shock him if when his time came, he joined her until the both of them could move on together. He had discussed the matter with his dear Maisie, and she had simply laughed, telling him she'd known that from the moment he had told her about the truth of the doll. Quite a remarkable woman, his wife, and he couldn't wait until the time came when he could finally introduce the two of them, even if it wasn't in this world. For now, Maisie seemed content to simply hear his stories, knowing that the time would come when she could speak to the remarkable woman who was such a major part of his life.

Now though, he simply holds her, in the quiet hours of the night when no one else was near. Curling her braid around his fingers, the way he had as a child, he murmurs a few words more, barely enough to be heard but ringing with their sincerity all the same.

"You're stuck with me, Aunt Helena. Forever and always."

[cptsdstudyblr]

Cults & Religious Abuse PART 2: So you’re in a cult?

If you don’t want to see this series, you can block #cptsdstudyblrreligion

tw// cults, religion, religious abuse, religious trauma, mentions of other types of abuse

PART 1: Q & A

In this post I will be speaking somewhat specifically about my experiences that led to religious trauma, so please be cautious when reading this post. The tips and resources are at the bottom and are bullet points, so feel free to skip to there if you aren’t comfy with the post itself.

Maybe you were raised in a religion, maybe you or your family joined a religion later in your life, or maybe you’ve gotten involved in a cult in some other way. But one day you wake up and you realize that you need to get out. But how? In this I’ll be sharing the basics of my experiences in a cult-like fundamentalist religion, how I got out, and some resources I think are helpful for people in similar situations.

Before I get into the details, I want to make one thing clear: I am not a woman. I am non-binary. However, I was raised a woman and that was a huge part of the way these experiences affected me, so I will be including that perspective in this post.

I also want to make it clear that I am not against religion in general or against people practicing religion. This post is not intended to attack religion as a concept, but to shed light on specific extremely harmful religious practices.

My family’s relationship with religion is on the complicated side, but I’ll briefly explain it for context. Both of my parents were raised fairly generically Catholic. My grandparents on my dad’s side are now loosely Catholic, but don’t explicitly practice religion. My grandmother on my mom’s side has since converted to protestant Christianity at my mom’s suggestion. My dad has been either apathetic or even hostile towards religion for as long as I can remember and rarely attended church with me and my mom, but my mom has always been religious. These are the primary influences in my life, as I’m not close enough to any other family members for their religious beliefs to have had significant impact on me. 

My mom is where it gets complicated. Although she was raised Catholic, she explored protestant Christianity starting a few years before my birth and quickly converted. For most of my actual childhood my mom was a pretty average protestant Christian. We moved a lot, so we attended churches in a variety of denominations, including several more charismatic and prosperity-gospel based megachurches, but when I was around 9 years old, my mom fell down a rabbit hole of Messianic Christianity through one of these churches, which I believe is where it all started to fall apart. Just to clarify, although this group of beliefs is technically referred to as Messianic Judaism, I refer to my experience with it as Messianic Christianity as I am in no way Jewish (and thus feel uncomfortable calling my religious experiences Judaism) and the messianic movement is harmful to actual Jewish people.

This move into Messianic Christianity pushed my mom to start rereading and reinterpreting the Bible and she consequently decided that she was not enamored with the teachings of the church we attended at the time. I strongly believe that her understanding of that study was also heavily influenced by the domestic violence and instability going on in our home at the time, as she was unable to connect to the overwhelmingly positive messages that our church preached. So, she moved us to another church. This was a church we had attended some in the past while trying to find a home church after a move, but hadn’t really stuck with, so it wasn’t an entirely new church. Because of this, I generally say that I attended this church from the age of 9 although we did not attend this church consistently until I was around 11. This church was a nondenominational Bible church closely associated with Grace Community Church in Sun Valley, CA, which is pastored by John MacArthur. I’d encourage you to take a look at the basic teachings of John MacArthur and of this church in some depth as they are already quite problematic. The linked article is really just one example of the kind of teachings that are prevalent here, and I’d encourage you to follow this rabbit hole as far as it takes you because it’s fascinating. 

The church that we moved to was extremely fundamentalist. Unfortunately, I’m not comfortable linking the actual church for fear of doxxing myself, but the teachings of this church are pretty much exactly in line with those Grace Community Church and the other organizations I will mention soon. This church also unofficially followed the teachings of the Institute for Basic Life Principles (IBLP). When I say unofficially, I mean that my church was not publically associated with IBLP, but they were definitely associated with IBLP in reality. And again, I’d really encourage you to browse through their website to get a feel for their teachings. However, as a basic summary, if you’re familiar with the Duggar family from the TLC reality show 19 Kids and Counting, they are members of IBLP and everything they teach was taught fairly similarly at my church. I won’t go into the details of what the teachings were, but they were about as fundamentalist Christian as you could come up with. Sexism, racism, homophobia, transphobia, abuse, etc. but turned up to 11/10. And it was a very closed circle. So how did I get out and end up where I am now - a bi-romantic asexual non-binary university student studying STEM at an incredibly liberal university?

It wasn’t easy. But I did get somewhat lucky. Unlike 90% of the kids at my church, I was not homeschooled after 8th grade. Instead, I went to a private Christian school - this was definitely still harmful and contributed to my trauma but it did give me opportunities to be exposed to people and ideas outside my fundamentalist Christian bubble. It also encouraged me to attend university, as it was expected of all graduates from that school. My dad wasn’t religious, and he and my mom divorced right before I graduated from high school. Additionally, my mom did encourage me to continue my education despite the teachings at our church. I’m not sure why she encouraged this, but she did. So I got lucky that things in my life pointed me in a direction of further education. And I got further lucky that the main school in my state is the school it is. It’s a school that is incredibly left-leaning and secular, and ultimately it pushed me extremely far outside my comfort zone.

I am extremely grateful for the opportunities that made it easier for me to get out of this situation, but I did still have to work for it. Here are my suggestions for surviving a cult-like environment and for eventually getting out:

Do everything you can to expose yourself to other ideas and beliefs. I assume that if you recognize you’re in this type of situation and want to escape, you already know that you disagree with the beliefs that are being forced on you at some level. But it’s important to further educate yourself where possible and figure out your beliefs. Figuring out what you believe and being committed to it is key in being able to stick to leaving your environment. If you know you disagree, but you can’t articulate why you disagree or what you believe and you aren’t committed to your beliefs, you will be very easy to convince that you are wrong and you will be very easy to manipulate. 

If you’re on tumblr reading this, you probably have access to the internet, so use that to your advantage. Research things, read articles, and involve yourself in discussions. If you struggle with internet access, you can read books, magazines, and newspapers at your local library and potentially even join clubs through your library or school. Not everything you learn has to be political or about religion. Reading and learning will broaden your horizons, give you concrete interests outside religion, encourage you to learn about things that make you uncomfortable, etc. 

If you are involved in a religion that has a text, read it critically and read nonreligious analyses of it. You don’t necessarily have to agree with these analyses, but thinking critically about the text you’ve been raised to take as complete fact will help you realize what you actually believe.

Find others who agree with you. In high school, I had a couple of friends at church who were “rebels” too, and we’re still friends to this day. We moved on together, and it really helped me be able to get out because I wasn’t doing it alone.

If you have to physically leave to get away, make sure you have enough money and have a backup plan. If you leave and are forced to come back for any reason, leaving again will be infinitely harder. If you leave, make sure it can be for good. It doesn’t necessarily have to be permanent, but if you come back it has to be on your own terms and not out of necessity.

Don’t get yourself kicked out and be safe no matter what.

Some resources I think are helpful:

Find an LGBT Center (US only) - LGBT centers are incredibly helpful for issues that go beyond being LGBT+, and if you’re eligible to use them they can be a great resource

The Trevor Project - LGBT+ resources and crisis lines

Tumblr post describing what to do if you’re homeless - It’s from Tumblr, so take it with a grain of salt, but it seems like pretty solid advice.

How to leave a cult - Very basic guide, but has some good advice.

Quiz to help you figure out your political beliefs (US based, but has some other countries as well) - I’d suggest taking this a few times as you develop your beliefs, and I’d also suggest clicking “more questions” as many times as possible in every category to ensure that you cover a broad range of topics.

How Ideology Colors Morality - about how morality frames US politics

Ethics - a good place to start when looking at different ways of analyzing ethics. My high school ethics class is a huge component in why I questioned my own beliefs. Ethics is an eye-opening topic.

List of all the religions - exploring different religions and belief systems helped open my mind to new ideas and ways of thinking about the world

If you want me to help you research something or find resources for a specific situation, feel free to message me or send me an ask and I’m happy to help (you can also ask me other questions, my asks and DMs are always open!)

And as always, if I made a mistake or linked a bad resource, please feel free to let me know so that I can correct the issue ASAP. I always try to do my research thoroughly, but things can slip by since I am but a human. Thank you!

[ansu-gurleht]

sermon 35 annotated: the scripture of love

before i begin, it’s important to note that this is probably the trickiest sermon in the whole bunch to interpret. i’ve spent months mulling this one over, and there’s still stuff i don’t understand. so if you disagree with me on any of this, great! i’d love to hear what you have to say! but here’s my best guess:

- - -

'The formulas of proper Velothi magic continue in ancient tradition, but that virility is dead, by which I mean at least replaced.'

the ways of the velothi remain the same in practice, but the “virility,” the purpose and driving force, has shifted from the good daedra to the tribunal.

'Truth owes its medicinal nature to the establishment of the myth of justice.'

justice means getting down to the truth. to know the truth means to know justice. but vivec says justice is a myth. although, ze could be using “myth” in its other sense, not so much as “a falsehood” but “a tradition.” a tradition still need not be necessarily based in fact, but it’s still an extant thing which holds sway over culture.

'Its curative properties it likewise owes to the concept of sacrifice.'

for something to be true, that means many other things must not be true. many possible truths are sacrificed for one single truth. (likewise, for justice to run its course, it is sometimes necessary that the guilty go free and the innocent are punished.)

'Princes, chiefs, and angels all subscribe to the same notion.'

all three of these offices are of authority, which are responsible for establishing justice, which here is associated with truth and sacrifice. (also, “princes” are daedric princes, “chiefs” are aedra, and “angels” are magna-ge.)

'This is a view primarily based on a prolific abolition of an implied profanity, seen in ceremonies, knife fighting, hunting, and the exploration of the poetic.'

vivec says that the idea of “truth = justice + sacrifice” is based on getting rid of the things you assume are taboo (“implied profanity”). this means exploring the taboo and redefining it. 

'On the ritual of occasions, which comes to us from the days of the cave glow, I can say nothing more than to loosen your equation of moods to lunar currency.'

the first part might be some kind of reference to plato's allegory of the cave - perhaps equating the dawn era to the cave. "loosen your equation of moods to lunar currency" might mean "don't be afraid to turn towards lorkhan” - see: the lunar lorkhan theory (bear in mind, it IS just a theory in-universe, not a given fact)

'Later, and by that I mean much, much later, my reign will be seen as an act of the highest love, which is a return from the astral destiny and the marriages between.'

despite the many crimes of vivec, ze believes that ultimately hir impact on hir people and the world will be overwhelmingly positive. “the astral destiny” is what vivec believes is hir rightful, fated rule.

'By that I mean the catastrophes, which will come from all five corners.'

“the catastrophes” refer to the “the marriages between” of the last line. note that ze refers to hir sexual assault as a “marriage.” 

what are the five corners? the house of troubles has four. the provisional house has four. is this referring to the house of troubles plus tiber septim? it fits best, i think.

'Subsequent are the revisions, differentiated between hope and the distraught, situations that are only required by the periodic death of the immutable.'

history has been, and (according to vivec) must be rewritten on multiple occasions, either out of hope of bettering the people, or to shield them from ugliness. if history is immutable, unchangeable, then rewriting history every now and then is the “periodic death of the immutable.”

'Cosmic time is repeated: I wrote of this in an earlier life.'

if i were more into the concept of cyclic kalpas, this would be a wonderful reference. otherwise, this could refer to a belief vivec had in hir “earlier life” as a mortal, wherein the same (usually traumatic) events happen over and over again. this could apply more generally to certain events recurring, such as the catastrophes mentioned above.

'An imitation of submersion is love's premonition, its folly into the underworld, by which I mean the day you will read about outside of yourself in an age of gold.'

love causes a feeling of being submerged, but it’s only an imitation, a folly. someday, in a better time, you will discover it was always external to you. once you no longer need love, you will understand “its folly into the underworld”

'For on that day, which is a shadow of the sacrificial concept, all history is obliged to see me for what you are: in love with evil.'

“concept of sacrifice,” part of what makes truth healing, is again referenced. but the better time is the “shadow” of that concept, meaning on some level the concept is null, or no longer necessary. 

who is vivec addressing? hirself? “in love with evil?” is this guilt? vivec knows that the sacrifices ze made are no longer necessary, and the reversal in “see me for what you are” might imply that ze sees hirself as the final sacrifice - very messianic.

'To keep one's powers intact at such a stage is to allow for the existence of what can only be called a continual spirit.'

seems to be a reference to CHIM and zero-summing. in order to achieve CHIM at the stage whereupon you see the wheel sideways is to keep existing as you are, not to join with the tower and zero-sum. (this seems like a nonsequitur following the lines before. maybe those lines hint at this one more than i suspect?)

'Make of your love a defense against the horizon.'

horizon = the world, the unknown world beyond your body and mind. by loving others, you expand your body and mind, thereby expanding your horizon.

'Pure existence is only granted to the holy, which comes in a myriad of forms, half of them frightening and the other half divided into equal parts purposeless and assured.'

on some level, mortal existence is sullied. only immortals, divines, daedra and aedra, can have a pure existence, although it takes many forms, as many as there are spheres of dominion. the daedra are “frightening” and the aedra are “purposeless and assured”

'Late is the lover that comes to this by any other walking way than the fifth, which is the number of the limit of this world.'

confusing. what makes the lover “late?” isn’t the fifth walking way love? how is five “the number of the limit of this world?” is this world vivec's world, limited by the "five corners" mentioned earlier? or does the sixth walking way go beyond the limit of the world?

'The lover is the highest country and a series of beliefs.'

the lover is both of powerful physical (political) power, as well as philosophical power.

'He is the sacred city bereft of a double.'

the hortator has a double in the sharmat. but vivec, the lover, has no double, no equal.

'The uncultivated land of monsters is the rule.'

“uncultivated land of monsters” could refer to morrowind, as it is well known for being a dangerous and unforgiving place. but “monsters” could also refer to the “children” vivec has been hunting in the past several sermons.

'This is clearly attested by ANU and his double, which love knows never really happened.'

anu’s double is padhome. anu happened b/c he said he happened. padhome never claimed to happen, which makes him anu’s double, his opposite. he is defined only by how he is distinct from anu.

'Similarly, all the other symbols of absolute reality are ancient ideas ready for their graves, or at least the essence of such.'

reality is relative, not absolute. absolutist ideas are “ancient ideas ready for their graves,” outdated philosophies. symbols cannot represent absolute reality: they are merely signposts pointing towards it.

'This scripture is directly ordered by the codes of Mephala, the origin of sex and murder, defeated only by those who take up those ideas without my intervention.'

not sure what ze’s trying to say here. could be saying, "i become the lover through mephala. only the lover who becomes such of their own power can defeat me," with an implied, "no lover can do this, so no lover can defeat me."

'The religious elite is not a tendency or a correlation.'

to become “the religious elite” is not something you happen into, it’s something you strive to become. this line seems to clarify the previous.

'They are dogma complemented by the influence of the untrustworthy sea and the governance of the stars, dominated at the center by the sword, which is nothing without a victim to cleave unto.'

sea = seht, stars = ayem, sword = vehk. the sea and stars exist on their own, but a sword requires a victim - just as a lover requires a beloved.

'This is the love of God and he would show you more: predatory but at the same time instrumental to the will of critical harvest, a scenario by which one becomes as he is, of male and female, the magic hermaphrodite.'

“God” needs a victim "to cleave unto", but it’s ultimately very important that ze does so, in order to become what ze’s meant to be. also, "to cleave" is to make one into two, and vehk seeks to reconcile two parts into one - mortal and immortal, chimer and dunmer, male and female. this dichotomy of opposites is important. ze cleaves them apart and then cleaves them together, over and over.

'Mark the norms of violence and it barely registers, suspended as it is by treaties written between the original spirits.'

original spirits = et’ada. if you go about violence in the way prescribed by them, you will achieve little if anything. it's all like games played between gods.

'This should be seen as an opportunity, and in no way tedious, though some will give up for it is easier to kiss the lover than become one.'

but vivec seems to claim that these little victories within ancient boundaries can be useful. the lover seems to live within these boundaries, so as to show others how to escape them. but to take such a position is very difficult, much more so than simply accepting the lover’s assistance.

'The lower regions crawl with these souls, caves of shallow treasures, meeting in places to testify by way of extension, when love is only satisfied by a considerable (incalculable) effort.'

there’s some obvious innuendo here, but i won’t dwell on it. but this line really sums up what i think the walking way of love is. it’s creating a network of “lovers” who (through incalculable effort) help bring all of the souls it can into its breast (‘testify by way of extension’), so as to expand the network as well as help those it can to achieve something greater.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #392

“l.a. is where stars come to die”

Do you think there’s anything you did better when you were younger? I think I was a better writer, honestly. Like I've developed in some areas, like being less over-dramatic, but I just think my creativity in wording and such has dulled down. Who was the craziest teacher you’ve ever had? I've never had a "crazy" teacher, honestly. What’s the last thing you got paid to do? Take pictures. What’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever done for someone else? How should I know? Ask either Jason or Sara. Have you ever wanted to model? No. Have you ever seen someone have a seizure? I THINK my sister? Teddy had seizures in his old age, too. What’s your favorite car? I don't have one, really. Do you know any HTML or CSS? If yes, how much? I know veeeeery little basics. LIke, I can change the color of shit and that's about it lmao. Do you tend to care about the lives of celebrities? Why or why not? Only celebrities I really really care about, like Mark. What do you think of the scene style? #aesthetic and I will ALWAYS be envious of the hair. Have you ever told an extremely inappropriate joke? Oh god, I remember one. What is the highest you have been up, other than in an airplane? On a certain faire ride, I wanna say. Is there any hope of you ever seeing your favorite band in concert? Ozzy does want to do another tour at some point, but he's fighting Parkinson's currently, so it's not guaranteed it will happen. Mom and I planned on going to his last one that was scheduled, but the diagnosis cancelled it. :( What is your favorite non-green vegetable? Uhhhhh I guess potatoes. What is your favorite non-traditional fruit? I don't think I've even had a non-traditional fruit. Just basic stuff. Have you ever had Swedish Fish? Yeah, I'm not a fan. What is your favorite origami shape? Birds, I guess. Do you usually take the stairs or the elevator? I pretty much always take an elevator if one's available because my legs can barely handle stairs at all. It's agonizing for me. Do you need a key card to get into the building you live in? No. What was the last takeout food you had? I had a burger from McDonald's a few days ago. Do you take the pickle off your burgers? No, I love pickles on burgers. Do you share a bed with anyone? Just my cat. If you’ve read or watched Harry Potter, which book/movie is your favorite? I haven't. What’s the last app you downloaded on your phone? I re-installed DragonVale. What do you know the most about? Meerkats, Markiplier, and Silent Hill, probably. What TV shows can you not stand? What's that stupid show on Adult Swim, Rooster Teeth or something like that? That shit was so dumb. Have you ever tasted your own tears? I mean not intentionally. Sometimes tears just fall down a spot where it happens. Are your legs hairy? I can almost guarantee to you that I probably have the hairiest legs of any woman you've ever met. Do you like Cheese-Itz? I love them! We don't really buy them though because both Mom and I can destroy a box of them. Have you ever built a sandcastle? I have. Did you ever watch Barney as a child? Yeah, I loved Barney, but not as much as my older sister. She literally "married" him, haha. Have you ever had a pet rabbit? No, but my older sis did as a kid. That poor thing died and Ashley didn't know for THREE DAYS. Mom took it out earlier and I guess she wanted to see how long it took Ash to notice? She didn't take great care of it, so. Are you wearing anything of any sentimental value? Describe? Yes, my friendship ring with Sara. To you, what is especially distracting? Tapping noises. When was the last time you did some major cleaning? MAJOR cleaning? Good question. How do you feel about people who neglect their pets? It sickens me. Have you ever contemplated cheating on anyone? Nope. When are you likely to lie? Probably when I don't want to seriously hurt someone. What is a personality type that you do not like? I hate people who think they know everything, are unwilling to acknowledge their flaws and work on them, feel they're better than others, are closed-minded, sexist, bigoted, racist... What is a personality type that you DO like? I am drawn to people who are empathetic and try to understand and consider more than just themselves, are caring and genuine, philosophical and think deeply, are calm, friendly, good listeners, and have a light sense of humor. Which of your friends is the least like you? In what way? I actually don't know. MAYBE Mini with her being extremely conservative to a frustrating degree and overwhelmingly religious. We diverge pretty strongly in beliefs that are important to me. How about the most like you? In what way? Sara! We have incredibly similar interests and morals, and we both are wild over animals. When was the last time you felt under-appreciated? I'm gonna be completely transparent here, even though it's uncomfortable to admit. I was very unhappy with the literally two interactions a poem I was really proud of got on dA. Like it was one I was trying to get published prior to just posting it there, so it was really disappointing to feel so overlooked when you worked hard on something you felt came out great. Does anyone take advantage of you or take you for granted? No. Are you taking anyone for granted? I sure as hell hope no one feels like I do. I definitely try to appreciate those I have to the utmost. What is one selfish thing that you do? I prioritize my alone time probably too much. How about something selfless? I'm pretty much always willing to listen to people's hardships and comfort them even if my own mental health is in poor condition. What do you like to do on your favorite holiday? Just be with family and really focus on how lucky I am to have them. What helps you fall asleep? I guess really paying attention to slowing my breathing, but that doesn't always work. It takes me at LEAST half an hour to fall asleep, so I struggle no matter what. Is there anyone you wish you were still friends with now? Megan. I really, really miss her. What is a fear you want to overcome? SOCIAL ANXIETY. UGH. What is something you do not like about yourself, with good reason? I'm lazy. What do you usually cry about? PTSD. Do you like pizza better on the second day? No. What do you like on your pancakes? Butter and normal syrup. Have you ever made up your own emoticon? I don't think so. How do you generally meet people? Online in one way or another. Have you ever seen a Broadway show in New York? No. Are you listening to music right now? Yeah, "God Hates Your Outfit" by Jeffree Star lmao. Look, it's catchy. Can anyone in your immediate family play the guitar? No. Have you ever wished to be an internet celebrity? How about a ‘real’ one? No. Like I've actually *loosely* considered trying to be a let's player with my love of games, but I don't even want to *risk* popularity; not that I think I'd get to that point, but still, I don't like the chance. Have you ever been kayaking? No. Do you still live with your parents? Yes. Do you believe you will never get over someone? I think Jason will always occupy at the very least a small corner of my mind. I just deal with loss so poorly in general, but that... that breakup was something. What do you order at Burger King? I don't like BK. Have you ever lived by yourself? No. Pretty sure I never could with my depression. What brand cell phone do you have? It's just a Tracfone, lol. Did you ever have a ‘security blanket’ when you were younger? Yes, my stuffed moose. What is your lucky charm? I don’t have one. Have you ever been in a wedding? Yeah, I was a bridesmaid in my sister's. Do you believe in yourself? ehhhhhh What time does your dad usually wake up in the morning? I don't live with him, so I can't say for sure. He's a mailman though, so he gets up early, I know. Who was the last person/people you were in a car with? Mom. What movie do you plan on watching next? I've been meaning to watch Jacob's Ladder for like... over a year, lmao. It served as an inspirational work for Silent Hill, and I know its reputation is brilliant, so I really want to see it. I just... don't really watch movies unless I'm in the theater. When something really scares you, what’s your immediate reaction? Gasp or go "what the fuck" or something along those lines. I can almost promise a curse word is coming out of my mouth, lol. Using song lyrics, say something to your most recent ex: I don't wanna get emotional digging through the songs that remind me of her, so pass, lol. You can only watch 4 TV shows for the rest of your life. What are they? Meerkat Manor, That '70s Show, maybe Pokemon even if I don't watch it anymore (it could be like a comfort show if I'm limited to four), aaaaand I think Ginga Densetsu Weed. Do you think it’s possible for a rap song to make you cry? ... Yes??? There are a couple that have for me. Does the idea of having a baby at your age scare you? I'm not having kids, sooo I don't have to worry about this. What band has the power to make you cry by splitting up? None. I'd be really upset if some did, but I wouldn't cry. Who is your favourite famous person who isn’t a singer, actor, or athlete? Well, I WOULD say Mark, but considering he's officially an actor now... guess not, haha. Uhhhh. Put him aside and I guess maybe Bindi Irwin. I'm not sure.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

God Forgive Us All (part one)

[Carrie AU]

(Read Anne as Courtney!Anne)

Word Count: 5694

TW: Blood, bullying, child abuse, unflattering depictions of religious people, minor self harm

———————

-And Eve Was Weak-

You never really do get used to the heat of stage lights. Even after four years in theater, Anne never grew a resistance to the sweltering heat and blindingly bright lights that beamed down on the stage when performing. By the end of a mere rehearsal, her forehead was dotted with sweat and her green earrings gifted to her by her girlfriend felt like twin pieces of the sun blazing against her skull.

“Alright, everyone,” The stage manager, a bold, powerful woman named Catalina de Aragon, boomed. “That’s good for today! You all did wonderful!”

Several sighs of relief swept through the stage. The group of actresses either doubled over or put their hands behind their heads and took deep breaths. Eight-hour-long rehearsals like that always wrung them dry, but Aragon wanted to keep them sharp, and it did, even if it was exhausting.

“If you think this is bad,” Aragon said with a teasing smile, “just wait until our live TV debut. Now THOSE lights will fry you to the bone.”

There was a scattering of grins and giggles. Despite the heat from the lights, they were all excited for the upcoming TV performance of their musical, Heathers, in which Anne proudly played Heather Duke.

“Just wait until you get to be in that trench coat,” A voice said to her left.

She turned to see Jane Seymour, their Veronica Sawyer, grinning toothily at Cathy Parr, who also doubled as their incredibly talented, incredibly wonderful, and incredibly beautiful Jason Dean. Though, Anne may be a bit biased. She was dating her, after all.

“Oh, don’t remind me,” Cathy said. “I’m already soaked enough.”

“Which will make Dead Girl Walking even better,” Jane tittered, earning her a playful elbow to the ribs.

“Oi!” Anne barked. “Paws off, Seymour! She’s all mine!”

“I bet you two make Dead Girl Walking really happen in bed,” Their Heather Chandler, Anna Cleves, commented while passing by. She grinned at them over her shoulder.

“Wouldn’t you like to know!” Anne fired back, making Anna chortle and Cathy whack her arm.

“Enough of that.” Cathy hissed. “Come on, let’s go take a shower. I feel all sticky.”

“Sweat does that,” Katherine Howard, or Kitty, the gremlin-like Heather McNamara, piped in helpfully. Trailing behind her was Maggie Wyatt, the Ms. Fleming. Unlike most of the others in the production, the two of them were both teenagers, with Kitty being fifteen and Maggie being seventeen, but they were absolutely brilliant when it came to acting and signing, so it was no wonder why they scored a spot in a West End show.

“Yes, thank you, Kitty. I had no idea.”

Kitty and Maggie both giggled, but their expressions simultaneously went sour all of a sudden. Kitty slowed down in her stride to huddle in between Jane and Anne, while Maggie wrinkled her nose in visible distaste. Anne didn’t even have to ask what was bothering them, she, sadly, already knew.

“Uh-oh,” Maggie muttered, “Here comes Jitterbug.”

Most people would furrow their eyebrows and look around in confusion, wondering who would possibly give their child such a weird name, but everyone in the theater was used to hearing such a title. They all knew exactly who it was referring to.

The girl was the definition of sickly- shockingly thin, with sharp jawbones, a narrow chest, and deep hollows under her startlingly silver eyes, which were as grey and shiny as the moon. She was very pale, too, like she would shrivel up and die if she so much as stood out in the sun for too long. Her head was dipped low as she passed by the group of actresses cautiously and she had her hands wrung anxiously in her wrinkled baby blue flannel shirt, which helped explain why she had a nickname like “Jitterbug”- she was always doing some sort of nervous tick, whether it being leg bouncing or straw chewing or hand flexing, and it easily became a target of mockery by other people in the theater. She always wore a cross necklace around her neck, and today it was still in the same position as it had been the day before- lying peacefully on her bony chest.

“Her name is Joan,” Anne whispered.

Joan Meutas. A pianist in the pit. Not an actress. So you would think that would make her unimportant and ignored, and yet...

“Yeah, I know,” Maggie said, not keeping her voice low. She probably wanted Joan to hear her, which wasn’t much of a surprise. “But she’s so jittery. And super weird.”

“You know that,” Kitty said, poking Anne. “Did you see her today? When it was lunchtime she prayed before she ate!”

Anne frowned and shook her head. She never really did like the treatment of the poor girl, especially when it came from so many adults and Joan was only sixteen, but she was just one person against an entire theater. What could she do?

“Hey!” A voice shouted from inside the women’s shower room. “Watch where you’re walking!”

Anne and her friends entered the showers and bathroom to find a flurry of towels and clothes and bare skin. Shampoo of lavender and pear, coconut and watermelon, honey and vanilla all mixed together into an overwhelmingly sweet odor that wafted throughout the room. It was almost as thick as the steam whirling from the many hot showers going on.

And, in the midst of all the cleaning and bathing, there was Joan “Jitterbug” Meutas, staring guiltily down at a few fallen bottles of soap she had accidentally scattered with her feet. The look plastered on her face made it seem like this little mishap was much more than a minor inconvenience to her.

“I-I’m sorry,” She whispered, although her shaking voice could barely be heard over the cacophony around her. Her natural stutter was more prominent because she was scared.

“Can’t you use those creepy eyes of yours?” The owner of the bottles, a woman old enough to probably be married, spat. “Or are you as blind as you are useless?”

Anne clenched her jaw. This lady was an adult and she was picking on this child as if it were just a simple schoolyard, playground argument. It was so wrong. So, so wrong.

“I’m sorry,” Joan said again, this time even softer, but it went unheard when Kitty suddenly jumped into the conversation eagerly.

“Did she get in trouble?” The girl asked, eyes glowing with cruel mischief. “I knew she would get in trouble if she came in here! Did you clobber her?”

“I wish,” The woman snorted. She glanced at Joan, as if considering beating the poor girl into a bloody pulp for simply knocking over her soap, but thought against it. “Don’t do it again, brat. Or I’ll have you fired.”

Joan nodded with one more shaky “I’m sorry” before shuffling over to one of the benches and sitting down. She hunched her shoulders around her neck instantly, trying to make herself as small as possible. Her hands were tightly grasping a set of neatly-folded clothes she had brought in for herself. It was so pitiful. Everyone was anxious in some way, but with Joan it ran deeper, all the way to paralyzing fear.

“I can’t believe we have to change with her,” Jane muttered. “She could do something to us. To the children!” She cast a worried look at Kitty and Maggie.

“She’s a child, too, you know,” Cathy pointed out. “Come on, ease up on her. She’s not that bad.”

Jane snorted, but left the conversation there and glided off to a shower that had just opened up, which was also the one that Joan was about to go into, causing the girl to slam herself back down onto the bench instantly. Anne looked at her girlfriend with an appraising expression. Cathy enjoying the bullying of a teenager definitely would have put a dent in their relationship.

“Thank you,” Anne said to Cathy in relief.

“You really thought I would be in on this harassment?” Cathy raised an eyebrow. “Do you have no faith in me?” She grinned teasingly at Anne.

“No, of course not!” Anne said hurriedly. “But you never know. I just worry.”

“I know you do.” Cathy pecked her on the cheek and then went to fetch fresh towels.

Anne smiled, watching her go, then noticed a twitch on Joan’s expression out of the corner of her eye. She turned her head, thinking the girl may have finally gotten angry at her treatment, but instead just saw that her expression was twinged with pain. One of her hands was gripping at her stomach. Curious and concerned, Anne stepped over to her.

“Hey,” She said softly as to not shock Joan, but she still flinched anyway. “Are you okay?”

The look she got was almost comical. It was a mix of shock and adoration, with a hint of caution flickering in Joan’s silver eyes. She blinked several times, opening and closing her mouth like a startled fish that had just been pulled out of the water, before finally stuttering out, “U-uh-huh.”

“Are you sure?” Anne slowly sat down next to Joan, slightly surprised to find that she didn’t jerk away. In fact, she swore it almost looked like Joan wanted to curl up against her and fall asleep. “You look a little hurt. Physically, I mean. I’m sure everything hurts mentally....” She trailed off awkwardly.

“M-my stomach just hurts a little,” Joan mumbled shyly. “That’s all.”

“I see.” Anne said. “Well, I hope you feel better soon, Joan.”

She gave the girl a comforting pat on the shoulder and then stood up, going over to one of the now-open showers. She hung her clothes and towel on the stall door, then stepped inside and got undressed. She cranked the shower nozzle and hot water cascaded all over her body, washing away the sticky sheen of sweat that had been caked over her skin.

It always felt nice to take a shower after a long day of rehearsals. She loved being able to get clean, finally relaxing when she was done with hours of line run throughs and dance move reciting.

Someone got into the shower next to her; she could hear the click of the lock and the splash of water sluicing under feet. When she peeked down, she saw that the toenails weren’t painted, so it couldn’t have been Kitty or Maggie. She didn’t pay much mind to discovering who her stall neighbor was, though. She just tried to relax under the warm spray of water washing her clean and soothing her sore muscles.

And then she heard the shaky gasp.

It came from her left, from the girl without her toenails painted. The noise had been so soft and subtle that Anne thought she hadn’t heard anything at all, that it was just her imagination, but then she heard it again, this time slightly louder.

A shaky gasp. A definite whimper.

She peeked down again and saw something mixing with the water. It spiraled down the drain before she could get a good look, but she merely shrugged it off as none of her business and went back to washing her hair.

Or, she tried to, at least. It was a little hard when the girl next to her suddenly let out a sharp whimper and burst out of the stall.

“H-help me!”

Was that...?

Oh god.

Anne turned off the shower, not caring that she still had shampoo in her hair, and peeked out of the stall. What she saw made her heart sink into her stomach.

Joan, completely naked, was stumbling to a group of women with a horrified look on her face. She reached a desperate hand out to Cathy, leaving a red stain smeared against the woman’s blue blouse, and clung on for dear life.

“Help me!” Joan cried again. “Help me! S-something’s wrong!”

Cathy immediately recoiled in shock, causing Joan to stumble backwards clumsily. Everyone looked down at the handprint stained in crimson on her shirt. Jane gave Joan an evil look.

“What the fuck!” She roared. “Her shirt!”

“What is WRONG with you?” Maggie said.

“Some kind of freak seizure?” Kitty guessed.

And then they all noticed the trails of red running down Joan’s inner thighs.

“I-I’m bleeding!” Joan whimpered.

“Oh my god,” Kitty exclaimed as Jane’s face twisted with nausea. Cathy paled, looking down at her ruined shirt again. “It’s period blood!”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jane hissed.

“It’s just your period!” Maggie said in amusement to Joan at the same time. She went over to the toiletry dispenser and took out a tampon. She offered it to Joan. “Just plug it up!”

Despite the moment of kindness, Joan was far too shellshocked and confused to understand what was going on, and so she reached out to Maggie’s hand desperately, hoping for some kind of comfort. Maggie instantly reeled away with a revolted gag when some of Joan’s period blood dripped onto her fingers.

“Oh fuck!” She yelled. “I got some of her pussy juice on me!”

“Gross!” Kitty squealed.

“P-please help me!” Joan howled. “I-I’m dying!”

“How do you not know what your period is?” Kitty asked her. “Are you that stupid?”

Joan merely let out a strangled whimper. A small pool of blood has accumulated around her feet and she’s now hunched over from obvious cramps. She’s shaking so badly that it looked like she may have actually been having a seizure.

When the other women noticed that they weren’t going to get through to Joan, they all turned to a different alternative instead of trying to help her- throwing tampons and pads at the poor thing.

“PLUG IT UP! PLUG IT UP! PLUG IT UP!” The group cheered.

Joan stumbled backwards and fell to the floor. Blood smeared across her thighs and the floor, causing several women to sneer in repulsion. Kitty took her phone out and began to record the freak out.

“HELP ME!!” Joan shrieked. “P-PLEASE H-HELP ME!!”

“PLUG IT UP! PLUG IT UP! PLUG IT UP!!” The group just sang louder.

Joan began to scream and cry, collapsing onto her side and curling into a trembling ball as blood oozed out from between her thighs and she was hit with a storm of women’s toiletry items. She just kept wailing at the top of her lungs, absolutely horrified and traumatized about what was happening to her. And Anne could only watch from her shower stall as the poor child was terrorized.

“Hey! HEY!!”

The voice was booming thunder in the rain or mockery and tampons.

“Ladies! Ladies! What the hell is going on here?!”

Aragon pushed her way through mayhem to the front and set her eyes upon one of the musical’s young musicians shaking and sobbing and curled up on the tile in heap of her own blood coming from her vagina and pads and tampons. She stiffened and blinked, clearly not expecting this image of all things and definitely not having learned how to deal with it from her training to be a stage manager, but she set her jaw in determination anyway.

“Okay,” She breathed out, pushing her shock to the side. She took a tentative step forward, which was enough to make Joan flinch and flounder awkwardly in the mess around her. “Okay... It’s okay, honey. It’s okay.”

Joan didn’t seem convinced- she kept gasping and wheezing like she was having a panic attack and whimpering in distress. She huddled against one of the closed showers, trembling violently.

“Come on, stand up,” Aragon encouraged softly. “Let’s get you stand up.”

“N-no, I-I can’t!” Joan mewled. Like before, so desperate for comfort, she reached out to Aragon for help, grasping onto her yellow skirt with both bloody hands and hanging on like her life depended on it. Several of the gawkers gagged. “I can’t! I can’t!”

“Joan, come on.” Aragon tried again. If the period blood getting wiped on her skirt bothered her, she didn't show it. “Stand up. Can you stand up?”

“It hurts!” Joan wailed. Her grip on Aragon faltered and crumpled back into herself. “It hurts! It hurts! It hurts!”

Aragon, who was usually so headstrong and sure of herself, looked dumbfounded. “Honey, what’s going on? What’s wrong?”

Cathy, who had been watching silently, stepped up next to Aragon. The stage manager momentarily glanced at the stain on her shirt that matched on the ones on her skirt.

“I don’t think she knows it’s her period,” Cathy told Aragon softly.

“NO!!” Joan cried instantly. “No! No! No! No!” Her panic was building. Her shaking was getting worse.

“Cathy, leave!” Aragon snarled, glaring at the woman at her side.

“But-”

“You aren’t helping!”

Joan’s cries were getting louder and louder and more and more shrill by the second. She was practically heaving, her lanky little body jerking and spasming. She looked so much more thin without any clothes to cover her skeletal frame. Her stomach was sunken in and her ribs were slightly visible through her milky white, doughy skin.

“Joan! Joan!” Aragon shouted to the panicking girl, but nothing she said was getting through to her, so she promptly raised her hand and slapped Joan across the face.

Gasps whisked through the shower room. Joan’s screaming was cut off with a sharp, alarmed squeak. She tentatively touched her stinging cheek with a bloodied hand and then whimpered pathetically.

A light overhead exploded and shattered into millions of pieces.

There were several startled yelps as the women leapt out of the way of falling glass. A few were cut, but not badly. Aragon grit her teeth at the commotion her actresses were making.

“Everybody out!” She roared. “Right now!”

Everyone obeyed, shuffling out as quickly as they could, but not without a few final glances over their shoulder at Joan. Anne was the only one who stayed, remaining hidden in her stall, listening.

“Hey, hey,” She heard Aragon murmur in the gentlest voice she’s ever heard her use before. “Deep breaths. Come here.”

She took Joan into her arms and Joan immediately curled up like she’s never been held before in her entire life. She buried her face against Aragon’s chest, weeping softly.

“Come on, it’s okay. You’re okay, sweetie.” Aragon said gently. “It’s totally normal. You’re not in trouble. It’s okay.”

She just kept reassuring Joan again and again, cupping her head against her chest protectively and using the other hand to rub her back comfortingly. Anne watched them from her shower stall with a frown until Aragon eventually got Joan to stand up, get changed, and walk out with her. Then, she finally got to washing the rest of the shampoo out of her hair in an eerily silent shower room with a broken light and period blood spattered across the floor.

———

“Are you, uhh, feeling any better? Need some Aspirin? Some juice?”

“Juice? Really, Tony?”

The director raised his hands in a mock surrender, then peered back at the trembling girl sitting in front of him. There was a flicker of worry in his eyes, but he seemed more concerned about what this would do to his production. After all, a cast needed to be close to work best, and the actresses terrorizing one of their coworkers would definitely make things difficult to achieve that unity.

“Do you want us to just leave you alone?”

There was no reply once again. Joan was way too shellshocked to answer. Instead, she was just wrapping one of her fingers in the chain of her cross necklace and tugging on it nervously.

“Joan, honey,” Aragon knelt down in front of the chair Joan was sitting in. “I am so sorry I slapped you. I should have handled that situation better.”

Joan just stared up at her with big, sad silver eyes that looked so much like an injured lamb’s.

“You know, getting your period is totally normal.” Aragon tried to smooth her panic out. “Usually it just comes a little bit sooner.” She paused, hesitated, then quietly asked, “Is this your first time?”

Aragon wasn’t sure who looked more uncomfortable: Joan or the director. Both seemed supremely uneasy with the question, but the director was sweating awkwardly and kept trying to open his mouth to interject, only to think against it. Aragon shot him an irritated glower.

Joan herself was quiet for a long time, but eventually squeaked out, “M-my mama never t-told me about it...”

“Oh, baby...” Aragon cooed pitifully. She sat down next to Joan and set a hand on her shoulder, feeling her jump and then lean slightly into her touch. “Do you know what’s happening to your body?”

The director wiped away a bead of sweat from his brow.

“I...I thought I f-felt something m-move...down there...” Joan said softly.

The director’s eyes bulged so far out of their sockets that it was a miracle that they didn’t pop out completely.

“Honey...”

“W-well—” The director suddenly interjected. Aragon gave him a warning glare and he shuffled over to the water cooler in the room, poured himself a cup, took a drink, crushed it, and then tried again with speaking on the topic. “Maybe you could talk to a therapist! Or a nurse! At the A and E!”

Aragon looked at him as if he were crazy. He rubbed his palms against his pants and took a seat at the front desk, clearing his throat. He did his best to make himself look refined and sophisticated, but that was impossible with his lack of knowledge over a completely normal situation and from the way he kept making it even weirder than it needed to be.

“But what I want to know—” He said, attempting to steer away from the period talk. “Is who started throwing...the things.”

Aragon rolled her eyes at his behavior. She expected nothing less from men.

“It was Jane Seymour, Maggie Lee, and Katherine Howard. Then everyone else joined in.” She said.

“Julia-”

“Joan.” Aragon corrected firmly.

“Joan.” The director said again. “Did those three girls start this?”

“Don’t call them ‘girls’, Tony. One of them is a grown ass woman.” Aragon said bitterly.

“But the other two aren’t,” The director said, then turned his gaze back to Joan expectantly.

Joan opened her mouth, looked up at the director, then closed it and shrunk back in her chair. She suddenly found the floor a lot more interesting.

“Sweet pea, you don’t have to defend them.” Aragon told her. “What they did was unforgivable and awful. You won’t get in trouble for telling us the truth.”

“I-I won’t g-get f-fired?” Joan sniffled feebly.

“No, no, honey,” Aragon tucked a stray lock of wet hair behind Joan’s ear and this time she definitely felt the girl lean into her touch. “Of course you won’t. You’ll still work here.”

Joan nodded, but she still wasn’t able to speak up. She gave Aragon a deeply apologetic look and then lowered her head uselessly.

“Well, it doesn’t seem like June-”

“Joan.” Aragon snarled.

“Joan—” The director corrected himself quickly, eyeing Aragon warily, as if he were expecting her to leap over the desk and strangle him. “—is going to point any fingers, so Catalina I’m going to let you handle this with the ladies. Let the punishment fit the crime.”

“Okay,” Aragon nodded. “I’ll fire them.”

The director floundered. Aragon smirked. Even Joan made a tiny, amused sound that wasn’t quite a giggle, but it was something else from her usual whimpers and distressed noises.

“What? No!” The director warbled. “Not that!”

“Why not?” Aragon said dismissively. “We have understudies for a reason.”

“You can’t fire an entire cast! The understudies are not as good as the all-star cast! That’s why they’re understudies! They’re good, but not good enough!”

“I-I think the understudies are really good,” Joan offered meekly. Aragon smiled at her and she even cracked a ghost of her own on her pale lips.

“They are, aren’t they?” Aragon said.

“You are not firing our stars.” The director said firmly. “You can do anything else! Just not that!” He cleared his throat, calming himself. “Now. Due to this...issue...Joan,” He glanced at Aragon when he used the correct name, “I’m going to have to call your mother to pick you up for the day.”

Joan stiffened like she had been struck by lightning. She went horrifically pale- paler than she usually was.

“Wh-what?” She whispered.

“I’m calling your mother,” The director said again. He furrowed his eyebrows at her distress. “You’re a minor, Joan. Your parents have to be called when something is wrong. And you need to be picked up. I know it’s basically the end of rehearsals, but you probably shouldn’t stick around any longer than you have to.”

“No,” Joan said in a voice that’s strangled with fear. Her eyes are wide, like she’s already predicting a million different futures where this goes horribly wrong and gets her in trouble or humiliated again.

“We have to get your mother involved.” Aragon said gently, hoping to get through to the frightened girl. “She needs to know.”

“No!!” Joan cried, and then the water cooler against the wall burst apart.

———

Bernadette Meutas was as sickly as her daughter, but less so physically, and more so mentally. She had wide, wild, and bloodshot moss green eyes that were sucked into their sockets and sunken cheeks that made her head look more like a dead person’s skull. Her lips were frayed and bloodied from constant chewing on the flesh and her wrists were covered in scars, some old, some new.

Joan always hated the scars on her mother’s wrists. They made her feel guilty, like it was her fault that they were there.

“So, you’re a woman now,” Bernadette muttered.

She and Joan were sitting in the car outside their shabby house in the far outskirts of London. The building cast an eerie black shadow across the unkempt lawn. Behind it, the setting sun glowed blood red.

“Y-you should have told me, mama.” Joan said, voice shaking.

Bernadette clenched her jaw for a long moment, then roughly unbuckled her seat belt, threw open the car door, and stormed inside. Joan was left alone in the car, sniffling, trying to hold back tears.

“Maggot Meutas! Maggot Meutas!!”

Her mother had moved them all the way out to the sticks of England in hopes they could get far away from all the sinners and unholy leaches, but she didn’t seem to do a good job because there was a little neighbor boy on the other side of Joan’s window, shrilling like a bat out of hell.

“Maggot Meutas! Maggot Meutas!” He changed again, then pressed his nose against the glass and made what he thought was a good impression of a maggot’s face.

Joan clenched her fists with a pathetic whimper. Her blood was starting to boil.

The boy cackled loudly, twisted his bike around to drive off to celebrate his success of tormenting the city’s local freak, but didn’t get very far. Because Joan twitched and, suddenly, the kid is toppling over very ungracefully into a heap in the grass. He looked up at Joan, just as startled as she was, then scrambled to get his bike back up and rode off screaming.

Joan stayed very still for a long time, staring at her hands. Then, she’s wiggling out of her seat and walking slowly into her house, unable to ignore the confrontation with her mother any longer.

Bernadette was sitting in the kitchen with her back to Joan, rereading the Bible for what was probably the hundredth time and smoking a cigarette. The overhead lights were dim, but Joan could still see bloodstains on her mother’s green sleeves. She whimpered softly, but quickly bit her tongue when she glanced fearfully up at the large crucifix hanging above the dinner table. It was usually used to discipline her for her perceived infractions, and, because of that, always made her nervous whenever she stepped anywhere near it.

“Mama,” She spoke up softly, stepping warily into the kitchen doorway. “Y-you said y-you’d stop cutting yourself...”

She knew, deep down, that that promise was nothing but a hollow lie, but she liked to comfort herself with the thought that her mother would get rid of her self destructive habits and they could be a happy, normal family like she always wanted them to be.

“And God made Eve from the rib of Adam,” Bernadette recited instead of replying. Her voice was hollow and drained. “And Eve was weak and loosed the raven on the world. And the raven was called sin.” She creaked around slowly in her chair to stare at her daughter. “Say it.”

“Wh-why didn’t you tell me, mama?” Joan asked quietly.

“Say it.” Bernadette merely said again, rising to her feet.

“And the raven was called sin,” Joan said and the words were horribly sour on her tongue. She shook her head. “Why didn’t you just— why didn’t you tell me, mama?” She tangled her fingers in her cross necklace like she always did when she was nervous. The cold metal lacing bit into the back of her neck when she tugged on it. “Mama, mama, please. It hurts, mama. It hurts, it hurts!”

Bernadette is unfazed by her daughter’s desperate pleading. “And the first sin was intercourse.”

“I’m not Eve, mama!” Joan wheedled. “I-I didn’t sin!”

“You were showering with other women.” Bernadette said exasperatedly. She looked sick when she spoke that sentence. “You were having lustful thoughts.”

“N-no, no, mama!” Joan stammered, eyes widening in fear. “I-I wasn’t, mama! I promise!”

“You were having lustful thoughts about women.” Bernadette oozed scathingly.

“No! No!” Joan shook her head. “E-everyone has to shower! I-I was j-just cleaning myself up because I was sweaty after rehearsals!”

“So it’s this blasted play that’s doing this to you,” Bernadette mused, not even hearing her daughter. “It was a mistake. I thought putting you into homeschooling would give you more time to focus on your prayers. And you had been doing so good that your reward was to be in this damned show, but clearly you don’t deserve that.”

“No!!” Joan cried. “No, mama, please let me stay! Please! I-I promise that I’ve been a good girl! I do my schoolwork during any free time I have and I always pray! Always! I promise!”

Even if it earned her awful ridicule and teasing.

“But you sinned.” Bernadette seethed. Her voice remained dry and hollow, sending several chills down Joan’s spine.

“I didn’t!” Joan said. “I-I’ve never sinned! Never ever! N-not at school, not at home, no at the theater! S-so please don’t take me out, mama, I love to play mu—”

Joan was cut off when her mother hit her across the head with the Bible. Her frail, lightweight body instantly crumpled under the force of the heavy book and she toppled to the ground with a cry of shock and pain.

“And the first sin was intercourse.” Bernadette said blankly, gazing down at the shuddering figure of her young daughter.

“I didn’t sin, mama!” Joan just said again, hoping she would eventually get through to her mother.

“Say it.” Bernadette said. “The first sin was intercourse.”

Joan stammered, choking on her words.

“The first sin was intercourse. The first sin was intercourse. The first sin was intercourse.”

“Mama-“

“The first sin was intercourse.”

“The first sin was intercourse!” Joan sobbed, tears streaming freely down her cheeks. “Mama, I was so scared! I-I thought I was dying! A-and e-everyone was laughing and th-throwing things at me—”

“And Eve was weak.” Bernadette said. “Say it.”

“No!!”

“Eve was weak. Eve was weak. Eve was weak. Say it! Eve was weak. Eve was weak.” Bernadette chanted over and over again.

Joan covered her ears, pulled her knees tightly to her chest, and wailed, “Eve was weak! Eve was weak!”

“And the Lord visited Eve with a curse,” Bernadette whispered. “And the curse was a curse of blood!”

“You should have told me, mama,” Joan wept. “You should have told me!”

Bernadette suddenly dropped to her knees in front of Joan, making her flinch away. She ripped Joan’s hands from where they’re over her ears and held them tightly in her own.

“Oh, Lord!” Bernadette howled, shaking Joan. “Help this sinning girl see the sin of her days and ways! Show her that if she had remained sinless, the curse of blood would have never come on her!”

“No, mama,” Joan whined weakly, wriggling in her mother’s grasp.

“She may have been tempted by the anti-Christ, she may have committed the sin of lustful thoughts—”

“M-Miss Aragon s-said it h-happens to every girl!” Joan said. “Th-that they all get it a-and it’s normal!”

“No, no,” Bernadette shook her head. She held tighter to Joan’s hands, digging her long fingernails into sensitive flesh and causing her daughter to sob in pain. “Don’t you lie to me, Johanna. Don’t you know already that I can see inside of you? I can see the sin within you.”

“P-please stop, mama, you’re hurting me,” Joan whimpered.

“You need to pray.” Bernadette suddenly said and Joan’s teary eyes shot open wide. “Come. Get in your closet.”

“No! No!!” Joan struggled against her mother as she was forcefully dragged across the floor to a small storage room underneath the staircase. She kicked and screamed, but it did little to free her as she was thrown into the cramped space like a worthless sack of potatoes. She tried to get up and run out, but the door was slammed in her face and promptly locked.

Banging on the door and screaming was fruitless. Joan gave up after a few minutes and curled up in one of the corners of the room, staring fearfully at the dozens of photos of Jesus’s death around her. The statue of him on a cross was by far the worst, though.

Pain seized her lower stomach and she whimpered. It felt like a demon was trying to claw its way out of her belly.

Joan curled up tighter, rocked herself back and forth slowly, and cried.

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

lime green, blood red & caribbean turquoise for the ask game!! ✨

Lime Green: Your favourite kind of scene to write

I love quiet, descriptive scenes that implement clever dialogue but aren’t motivated by it. Any time I get to play with atmosphere and get really introspective while also taking account of details of the world around a character is so fun for me! I thrive off a pretty description lol so scenes motivated by atmosphere are my absolute faves.

Blood Red: Favourite piece of dialogue from your wip

A masterclass in my favourite dialogue from Feeding Habits:

1. “This doesn’t look like eight hours.” - Eliza (ch. 1 - Bad Vegetarian)

Eliza suspects Lonan isn’t sleeping (she’s right) and pulls out this one-liner that I’ll probs use on myself in the future:

“What happened here?” She smooths the dip of his under eyes, her fingertips cold. He smells her perfume, different today, always different, a smell like cloves and lavender. “Are you sleeping?” She presses onto her toes, examines the other side, and her frown deepens. “This doesn’t look like eight hours.” 

2. “It’s probably from the back of our medicine cabinet.” - Lonan (ch. 2 - Wicked Child)

Anya, Lonan and Eliza’s neighbour from a few floors up, appears at the duo’s apartment to pick Lonan up as he’s been voluntold to paint her kitchen, interrupting Lonan’s breakfast of stale sourdough. Anya, a hobbyist baker is hyped to see the sourdough, to which Lonan suggests it's most likely from the back of the medicine cabinet. Anya thinks he’s joking but he def isn’t lol.

“Breakfast?” She points to the crumb stuck to the corner of his mouth.

Lonan swallows the remainder of the sourdough quickly, combing off the crumb with a shallow smile. “Sourdough.”

“Did you make it yourself?”

“It’s probably from the back of our medicine cabinet.”

The woman laughs at this, though he’s not fully meant for it to be a joke. 

3. “I could’ve jumped over the moon.” - Anya (ch. 2 - Wicked Child)

Anya serving with probably my favourite lines of dialogue I’ve ever written:

“When Eliza told me you’d paint the wall, I could’ve—what is that saying? I could’ve jumped over the moon. I would’ve. The entire thing. All its phases.”

4. “I’m so bad at hallways.” - Anya (ch. 2 - Wicked Child)

(Proof I love every line of dialogue Anya has ever uttered:)

Eliza hasn’t returned any of Lonan’s phone calls since he tried dialling somewhere between the first and last half of the wall. It’s obvious Anya knows he wasn’t aware of the plan, which is why every few minutes, she states new reasons for her forgetfulness with the time. “Eliza ran into me in the hallway, and I’m so bad at hallways,” she said, while rolling the dough between her knuckles. “So many turns.” Brushing her benchtop with more flour: “Time as a mother is such a commodity. It’s like, what’s the down payment for five minutes alone? But Joey’s worth it. Joey’s always worth it. He’s just magnificent. Can’t stay away from magnificence.” 

5. “Are you going to clone me?” - Lonan (ch. 2 - Wicked Child)

Anya seemingly collects hair and Lonan verbalizes his concern that she’s prepping to clone him (he seems down for it tbh):

Anya squints, and there the gold goes, focusing on him until she leans forward and plucks a strand of hair from his jaw. It sags with green paint, and before he blinks, she’s clipped it with a pair of kitchen shears.

“You got some paint on you.”

“Oregon,” he says. “Boston. New York.”

“What?”

“You asked where I’m from.”

Anya pockets his hair. He’s sure it’s a subconscious tick—she hasn’t even realized—but still, he wonders what she’ll do with it. If she’ll send it somewhere to get scanned, bagged, tested. How much you can find out about someone with just a nib of hair.

“That’s a lot of places,” she says. “You’re basically transcontinental.”

From her pocket, Anya’s hand twitches. He wonders what she’s doing, if she’s touching the hair, or flaking off its paint, or simply flattening out her pocket.

“Are you going to clone me?” He gestures to her pocket.

Anya doesn’t look.

“I could.”

“Why?”

“You paint walls fast. You’ve got nice hair.”

“Do you collect hair?”

“Just from the people I like.”

6. “You need hobbies.” - Eliza (ch. 2 - Wicked Child)

Always here for the soft Lonan roasts:

“You don’t need a car to do things, Lonan.” She stirs her bowl of congee, the plastic spoon scraping against the Styrofoam. “You need hobbies. Like cross stitch. Pickling. Painting neighbours’ walls.”

7. “I’m the grass.” - Lonan (ch. 4 - Coup de Grace)

Shared this yesterday and idk why but I find this response to this question so hilarious even knowing the context from Isaiah 40:6-8 “All people are like grass, and all their faithfulness is like the flowers of the field.The grass withers and the flowers fall, because the breath of the Lord blows on them. Surely the people are grass.The grass withers and the flowers fall, but the word of our God endures forever.”

“Do you feel you’re the God of these women, Lonan? Are you their saviour?”

Lonan shakes his head. “I’m the grass.”

8. “Wish I believed in this shit as much as I believe nutmeg is my new holy saviour.” - Suz (ch. 6 - Blood Sister)

As we move into Harrison’s POV, we also get a lot more humour because his mother Suzanna just says the most iconic things:

The apartment smells overwhelmingly of cloves and apple peel, and he is unsurprised when his mother rushes over to him, flushed from the kitchen heat, her #1 Dad apron bunching at her hips, and pushes a highball glass into his palm in exchange for his findings.

“It’s a secret recipe,” she says, twiddling through his errands. Suzanna lifts the bottle of holy water to eye level, unscrews its cap, and daps two soaked fingers to her lips just as he dips his fingers into the glass, around its rim, and then into his mouth. The hot mull of liquid bursts against his taste buds, citrusy. “Wish I believed in this shit as much as I believe nutmeg is my new holy saviour.”

9. “The Lord?” - Suz (ch. 6 - Blood Sister)

Suz being the comedian she is:

“Is that the secret?” He runs his pinky along the base of the glass so the last drops of liquid climb up his fingernail.

“The Lord?”

Harrison laughs and accepts the holy water she hands him, rescrews its cap in place. “Nutmeg.”

10. “It sounded illicit.” - Suz (ch. 6 - Blood Sister)

I! love! this! woman!

Like the kittens, its nose twitches back and forth, its eyes small enough to be the ovular black beads on Suzanna’s rosary which hangs, decorative, above the front entrance. “It’s a cleanse for the spirit,” Suz said when he questioned her reasoning for bringing religious memorabilia into a house of two atheists. “Dianne from church told me.” Dianne is a beer-bellied schoolteacher, proud pothead and mother of four who frequently volunteers at the church’s weekend functions with his mother. “She’s into that kind of thing. Seances. Jesus Christ. I think she mentioned they had something spicy going on in college.”

“Something spicy?”

“Spicy. Like hot wings. Habaneros. One-night stands. I don’t know Harry, it sounded illicit.”

Caribbean Turquoise: Which character has the most traumatic past?

I think they all experience or have experienced traumas in their own ways like most of us so it’s difficult to “rank” but if we’re looking at it in this way, Lonan for sure had a very difficult childhood + young adulthood that has leaked into his twenties as he’s finally begun addressing/remembering this trauma. He has very little memory of his childhood so it gets very overwhelming as these memories are triggered back, but slowly, as the series has progressed, we’ve gotten an idea for what he’s gone through. He’s working on it!

[ducavalentinos]

Bellonci clearly had a nasty and evident hostility towards Cesare and throughout her book there are several moments of her bringing him up only to badmouth him, but this page here, that is right at the beginning, I thought it was the most interesting because is kind of an intro to how she will be presenting Cesare, and it sets up the stage for the bad fratricide telenovela she explores later on. Her claims here doesn’t escape the pattern too much of other works when dealing with Cesare, but that’s also why this page is so interesting, because it’s a good example of how many so-called “facts” about him and his life are only presented as such because they were repeated over and over again, and not because there is any substantial documented evidence behind it. So, she starts by saying: “No one could have had less vocation for the religious life than Cesare Borgia, and he was the first to admit it.” This claim is always present in most Borgia works, but it ends up being misleading because what Bellonci and other scholars considers as having the vocation for the religious life wasn’t much of a thing during Cesare’s time, not on his circle at least, at the Vatican. Having piety didn’t mattered as much as having diplomatic skills, political intelligence and the right connections. These men’s families, wealthy and noble in most cases, put them there to secure and support their interests within the Church. It was to guarantee themselves on both fronts, secular and ecclesiastical, to maintain their power and riches. That actually makes Cesare Borgia the rule and not the exception of the rule.

As for his admittance of his “lack of vocation” it can’t be seen as some definitive proof as Bellonci intends here, because whether he was being genuine or not (we will never know) we can’t ignore the political background of his “admittance”, that being: Rodrigo needed someone he trusted to accomplish his design of: 1. bringing the papal states under the full authority of the Church, and to destroy the Roman barons who were a constant source of trouble for the papacy and the city itself, and 2. to carve out a State for his family like other nobles italian families had done over the centuries. So Cesare’s speech had a very specific and difficult goal to achieve: to convince the cardinals and get the necessary votes so he could resign his cardinalate. It would be naïve to think that this speech, one in which their family’s advancement depended on, wouldn’t have been meticulously prepared by Cesare, alongside others, and with the supervision and approval of Rodrigo beforehand. And there is a some debate and assertions that Cesare forced his father into releasing him from his cardinalate, but there is no evidence for this. If anything Cesare seemed unsure, or at very least cautious about leaving his ecclesiastical life which brought him immense wealth and security, for a secular life where everything was yet to be determined. In any case, his feelings over this would have hardly mattered, the final decision about the family’s matters always came from Rodrigo. To think that Cesare had a voice, a “dark influence” over Rodrigo about these things is to underestimate the power and character of Rodrigo Borgia. He was a loving and generous father, but for that he expected nothing less than full obedience from his children, and he did not liked being contradicted. Cesare didn’t had a voice in these things anymore that Lucrezia, Juan or Gioffre did. If Rodrigo wanted him to stay a cardinal, then he would have stayed a cardinal, if Rodrigo wanted him to leave his cardinalate, then he would leave, whatever benefited their house better. “But after the collapse of the marriage negotiations with King Ferrante of Aragon, his hopes of escaping from the ecclesiastical life evaporated and it looked as if he was prepared to accept the career that his father had planned for him.” Cesare never accepted the career his father planned for him, and that he wanted to escape his ecclesiastic life, but are there any grounds for these claims? In all his years in the Church, there is not one recorded instance of Cesare showing an overwhelmingly distaste or any rebellion towards the career Rodrigo chose for him. And there is nothing, not even anecdotes hinting that he was trying to “escape it.” Taking a look at the administrative and pastoral activity that his vicars developed in their dioceses, demonstrates Cesare exercised his role dutifully and responsibly, and with interest. There is evidence of this intense management from the man he appointed for the headquarters of Pamplona, Martín Zapata. And from Jaume Conill’s pastoral work in the archbishopric of Valencia. There’s even a report from Conill to Cesare from August of 1494 in which he updates Cesare on the increase of confessions and rejoices at the shortage of victims due to the plague. Moreover Cesare wasn’t exactly as faithless as some authors like to claim he was, he had piety. It wasn’t a fervent, fanatical, blind piety, because it didn’t seem to be a trait in his family, from his father to his sister, they all had a pretty interesting and particular relationship with religion, but there’s more than one example where we can see religion was a part of his life also (another topic that needs exploring and maybe I’ll do it later), so there is nothing serious indicating that the ecclesiastical life was so alien, so dreadful for Cesare as that he sought to escape it, as it is assumed by Bellonci and others. Then she says: “What mattered to him most in any career was to avoid servility and mediocrity and to direct his energy towards the immediate acquistion of some position of authority.” I love this bit because I love how she mixes shady, groundless claims along with claims that do have more ground of being true. It’s true that Cesare always seemed to have tried to avoid mediocrity, although that wasn’t exclusive to him, the upbringing of noble children didn’t exactly leave room for mediocrity, it didn’t for Rodrigo Borgia’s children, he gave them the best education money could buy, and I don’t think he would have been satisfied with anything less than excellence from them, which in retrospect could be another reason why his relationship with Joffre wasn’t the same as his relatioship with Lucrezia, Cesare and Juan. As for avoiding servility, it’s actually difficult to ascertain. He doesn’t come across as someone who had an excessive willingness to please others (I don’t think that’s a bad thing btw lol), and maybe he did avoid it. But there’s some evidence that indicates he did enjoyed pleasing others, when possible, esp. those he appreciated it, just not at his and his family’s expense, which wasn’t that different a behavior from the rest of his family. He was generous and overall he seemed to liked being useful to people and to help solve problems. And the acquistion of some position of authority, it’s kinda of strange that Bellonci seemed to think that’s where he directed his energy towards, given that by 1492 right after his father became pope, if we judge by his letter to Piero de’ Medici, Cesare already had a pretty high position of authority, and he was perfectly aware of it. I mean after Rodrigo himself, Cesare was the one who had the most authority to deal any political affairs. Rodrigo trusted and relied on him, he was constantly by father’s side so he was privy to matters few others or no one else was. What Cesare seems to have directed his energy towards was trying to secure himself and his family’s power as much as he could so that when Rodrigo died, he wouldn’t be in a poor situation having to rely on others. It’s an entirely subjective point, we will never know what truly were his plans and feelings, but he doesn’t come across as someone wanting authority for the sake of wanting to have authority over others, nor does he seemed to have wanted power simply because he was power-hungry or something, but because he was painfully aware that all of his wealth and privileges were tied to his father, that power was essential for his survival and well-being, and that it was his responsibility (just as once it had been Rodrigo’s) to advance his family’s glory and perpetuate the legacy of the house of Borja. “Cesare was well aware of the gulf between his aspirations and reality and he had learnt the art of dissumulation. From infancy he had been destined to follow a career to which he knew he was unsuited, just as he knew Juan was ill-suited to his destined career of arms.” Bellonci is going on the premise that there was such a gulf between Cesare’s aspirations and his reality, when honestly there really wasn’t. This is a fabricated notion that comes from a modern perspective that men of the Church are men who are only fit for matters of spirituality, but as I said above, that doesn’t correspond with the reality, not even today, and definitely not in Cesare’s times. Men of the Church were first and foremost politicians and they acted both on spiritual matters as well as secular ones, even commanding armies and going full-on warriors if it was necessary. Bertrand du Pouget is a good example, also Ippolito d’Este, pope Leo IX, pope Clement VII, although he’s seen more as an anti-pope, and of course Della Rovere. Except for marriage, a churchman could do pretty much anything a layman could. Cesare surely knew that, so he wouldn't necessarily have felt this “gulf” between his reality and his aspirations, whatever those might have been, as it is claimed. His “warrior” side could be accommodated just fine within his ecclesiastic role. As for him learning the art of dissimulation, of course he did, as did Lucrezia and Rodrigo. It would a mistake to think they wore their hearts on their sleeves in public. If we’re being honest, any noble that wanted to survive the court they lived in needed a goal deal of dissimulation to go about with their lives. Cesare was no different than any of them on that. And finally, Bellonci has no way of knowing that Cesare from infancy knew he was unsuited for the career Rodrigo chosed for him, much less what he thought about Juan and his career. Bellonci is mostly projecting her own beliefs onto Cesare here and presenting it as a fact. His so-called unsuitablessness is unsubstantiated, apart from him sharing the same small vices his fellow cardinals did, as Alvisi amusingly says here: “Nè gli mancavano i piccoli vizi de’ giovani cardinali, e con loro fuggiva dalla mensa papale cui era convidato, perché vi era servita una sola vivanda. /Nor did he lack the small vices of the young cardinals, and with them he fled the papal table to which he was invited, because only one meal was served there.” And him apparently prefering to dress more as a layman than in his cardinal robes—which could have been for any number of reasons honestly, maybe he didn't liked it, yes, but also maybe it was just because they were more comfortable? esp. during the summer? and drew less attention to him? it's just a big leap to use his apparent dislike for ecclesiastical clothing as proof he hated being a churchman lol—there is surprisingly no scandals, nor accusations of bad behavior during these years of his life. Surely if he was so ill-suited, we would have at least one anecdote like the one about Rodrigo when he was still a cardinal at Siena? There is nothing of the kind. These claims come from a hindsighted stance of events, and it just serves to build up a motivation for the crime that is about to happen, without motivation, you can’t accuse Cesare as the culprit of Juan’s murder, and this personal drama is easier to sell than the simple jealousy over Sancia d’Aragona. “And so, twenty years earlier than most men, he had had to face the reality of a solitary existence, and he experienced either burning ambition or icy pessimism. His rancour doubtless played a large part in alienating him from the rest of the world, and he passed his complicated youth in that silence which is the first and last refuge of the frustrated. His sensitiveness got twisted into cruelty and made him monstrously lucid, he understood his father’s weakness, but the second-sight by which he infallibly got his own way was diabolical.” Beautiful writing, one that is meant to convince the reader he/she has a grasped the soul and mind of Cesare Borgia. But then again, as most of this paragraph, it’s all just literary without any substance. Reading Bellonci I wondered many times if she had a time machine or the Borgia family’s secret journal, because she speaks as if she were there with them, and they confessed all of their feelings and private thoughts to her. This is fiction.  She is implying that his solitary existence came from the fact that his reality was at odds with his desires, when there’s no proof to suggest that was the case, and that he was kind of a lone wolf? and that’s just blatantly incorrect. Maybe we can guess he might have felt lonely sometimes in a way that people with a high intellect, people who are ahead of their time usually does because it’s difficult to find other like-minded people, but he was and remained very close to his family and some friends until the end of his life, he was far from being a solitary man. He must have experienced “icy” pessimism and burning ambition just like any human being, but it certainly wasn’t his only two emotions, and very likely had nothing to do with Juan and his own career, and more with his family’s enemies and the political scenarios he was a part of. Was it really his rancour that alienated him from the world or was that the world he lived in so hostile to him and his family that they alienated themselves in order to feel safe? Hmmmm. And I’m sorry but, throwing complicated youth and Cesare Borgia in the same sentence is simply absurd. Are we talking about the same Cesare Borgia? The handsome, incredibly rich young man? Whom his contemporaries had to admit was charming, cheerful, polite and graceful? The one that when he wasn’t studying or working hard, we see him having fun with his Spaniard buddies, have love affairs, hunting, finding any excuse for dancing and bull-fighting, basically enjoying life wherever he could, this Cesare Borgia? Give me a break, I wish my youth was as complicated as his djsdjsds. The image of this dark, sulking, frustrated man, full of bitterness is very much a product of fiction, and totally incompatible with the reports written about him. As for “his sensitiveness” that got twisted “into cruelty”, i find it irking when scholars throw these words out there and don’t bother pointing out exactly what they are referring to. Borgia scholars are always talking about Cesare’s cruelty, his alleged “mean-streak”, but they don’t give any examples. If you are going to say a person is cruel, then I, at the very least, expect you follow that by an event where their cruelty is revealed. Explain your thought process, that’s all I’m asking. What are the pieces of evidence that revels Cesare’s sensitivity? and what are the pieces of evidence that revels Cesare’s cruelty? Otherwise it’s impossible to know what you mean and I’m not going to take your assessment of this person’s character seriously. Now I understand that when scholars speak of Cesare’s sensitivity, they are usually referring to his reaction towards the men responsible for the libels slandering him and his family, and although it would be understandable for him to feel outraged, I think it’s a mistake to link Cesare’s punishment of those men with his inability to take insults as Rodrigo says to the Venetian ambassador. If Cesare really was so sensitive about insults against him and his family, wouldn’t we have a long list of his victims that died simply for the deed of having offended him? which remarkably we don’t. That implies that Cesare could take insults, but when these insults were tied up with politics, he acted. The men spreading these libels, the Savelli letter being the main one, weren’t doing so to entertain the people of Rome and Italy. It wasn’t just titillating gossip. It was a clever and effective political propaganda made by Rodrigo and Cesare’s enemies to “kill” their reputation since they couldn’t, at that moment, literally kill them. It was meant to overshadow any and all positive policies their governments were doing, and put public opinion against them. Cesare understood what his father couldn’t, and he rightly tried to contain it somehow, which brings me to these men’s punishment and how it’s the only documented example I can think of that would fit the general definition of cruelty, and even so, it’s not a great one. There’s an anecdote about Cesare shooting bandits from his balcony at the Vatican with Lucrezia by his side that imo, would fit better the definition of “wanton cruelty” and having a “mean-streak”, but the authenticity of this story can't be verified, and it seems to have been just slander. Although it is odd Lucrezia’s biographers never mention this in their works, given that they don’t seem to mind authenticity when it comes to Cesare, and it would provide them with the best example for Cesare’s cruelty they go on so much about. I wonder why that is.  But when Bellonci wrote this sentence, she is aiming to conclude both her presentation of Cesare and why he murdered Juan. The whole point of this page she wrote was to create the right environment for the fratricide act. Cesare’s sensitivity made him incapable of dealing with his feelings of anger and frustration over his life, and that manifested into cruelty, that here is tied to the murder of his brother along with other crimes she uncritically pins on him, which turned him into a monster and only then he had the lucity to see what it had to be done since his father was too weak when it came to Juan. If he were to get his way, then he would have to commit a diabolical act. But apart from what I already wrote on why all the claims about Cesare’s being unsuited for this career, how he hated it and envied Juan are baseless, there’s another hole in this narrative, Rodrigo Borgia’s own decisions about Juan. They’re ambiguous af, and I think his plans weren’t always so set in stone as it is sometimes imagined, he was a shrewd, pragmatic man, so he probably changed his plans according to the political scenarios around him, and the benefits it would bring to his family and the papacy. Yes, he appointed Juan as Gonfalonier and Captain General of the Church, and invested many benefices upon him, but he also married Juan to Spain, and after the fiasco with the Orsinis (which to be fair, wasn’t just Juan’s fault) it seems he was sending Juan back to Spain, and it really looks as if Rodrigo’s design was to secure the Borgia’s power in both his native country and Italy. Juan seemed to be the one ensured to make that happen in Spain, while in Italy, it was up to Cesare, Lucrezia and Gioffre. Considering all this definitely puts obstacles to Bellonci’s assertions, and it’s easy to see why she ignored it. “His solitude was his fortress, and he used his inhuman courage and self-sufficiency to serve his idolatry of power.” No, his family was his fortress, again he was not a lone wolf, he worked in sync with his father, his brothers and his sister, and he very much relied on them and on others. He was brave, but it was far from being inhuman, and I absolutely have no idea what Bellonci means with his self-sufficiency given that his whole life was depended on others, and he knew it too, and he tried to change that. And his idolatry of power, it’s another thing scholars like to claim about him, but Cesare’s fascination with power, if we can call it that, wasn’t all that different from other nobles, and it wasn’t such to say he worshipped it.  I have no idea where there came from, probably from bad interpretations of The Prince. It wasn’t a fascination of power for the sake of it. Having power at Cesare’ time and environment was tightly connected with your survival. If you were a person in a high position of power, maintaining that power was important if you wanted to keep breathing. If you lost it, you could die. Just like many spaniards did when Della Rovere became pope. The reason Cesare wasn’t among them is precisely because he had enough influence and power within the College of Cardinals to afford some protection. If he hadn’t cultivated that, if he hadn’t accumulated power in the Romagna, he would have been murdered not long after his father died, like it happened with the children of other popes. And I guess that finishes it. It’s a powerful page, but then again I do think that most Borgia authors are very talented when it comes to writing, and constructing narratives, but when you break it down phrase by phrase, weighting in the evidence that exists for such claims, 80% of the time you will come up empty handed, or with contradicting information. Many of the things said about them, esp. about their characters, it’s a historical construction, or authors’s personal interpretations of the material they studied, since much of the Borgia’s history (that was shaped by their enemies) is wrapped in mysteries and subjectivity. Bellonci’s biases are all over her work, and it’s the strongest I’ve read with so far with Borgia bios. She had a mentality of only being fair to those she sympathized with. She detested Cesare the most, so she didn’t cared about being fair to him, she accepted all sources and gossip said about him without any discernment. He is the embodiment of only bad traits and his actions only carries chaos and “dark unrest”, but also I do believe she believed most of what she wrote about him. It’s not difficult to see why. Cesare’s black legend, alongside the unfortunate Machiavellian prince image, that is usually attached to his name with its awful connotations are always looming in the back of people’s imagination, and it’s almost impossible not to carry these preconceived notions to his historical figure when writing about him I imagine, not that she tried lool, she didn’t. She seemed to have already made her judgment about Lucrezia, Rodrigo and Cesare even before she studied all the material about their lives. Her mission was to rescue Lucrezia from her horrible reputation at all costs, and put her on a pedestal, while dragging the Borgia men and anyone else she didn’t liked, and well, she did succeeded at that, at least to a general audience and some academics.