#consider going to any kind of religion after hurting someone else and then he left LMFAO

[bitegore]

HUH. i think i just got, like attempted-converted but i did not notice LMFAO

[johnhardinsawyer]

The Door is Always Open

John Sawyer

Bedford Presbyterian Church

3 / 17 / 24 – Fifth Sunday in Lent

Matthew 18:15-22

Psalm 119:9-16

“The Door is Always Open”

(Wandering Heart – Week 5)

I have told this story before, but there was a woman in my former congregation.  We’ll call her “Doris,” because this was her name.  At the time, I was serving as the Associate Pastor of the church and I worked closely with a Head of Staff/Senior Pastor, named Jarred.  One day, after church, this woman who we will call “Doris,” because that was her name, went up to Jarred and said, “The next time you talk with John about his sermons, tell him that he pushes his glasses up too often on his nose.  Maybe he needs new glasses because they keep falling down and he has to keep pushing them up.”  

Now, consider – for a moment – that Doris did not come to me, asking after my glasses or the complexion of my oily nose upon which the glasses sat.  No, Doris went to Jarred who then came to me, forming this bizarre triangle of communication.  

If you spend any time learning about how groups of people work together, you might come across this concept of triangulation,  in which, I have a problem with someone but instead of talking with them, directly, about it, I go and share my frustrations with someone else who then goes and shares my frustrations with the person I’m frustrated with.  Does this sound confusing?  Yes, it does.  Does it sound unnecessary?  Yes.  Does this sound like something that has ever been done to you?  I’m willing to guess, yes.  Does it sound like something you and I have ever done to someone else?  Yikes!  Probably. . . ?  Alas, Doris moved away before I was able to address this matter directly with her.  Let’s just say that some things are. . . still unresolved.

In today’s reading from the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus teaches us about proper communication and healthy group dynamics.  We also learn that even when the group dynamics are not healthy, the door should always be left open for healing.  

The first part of today’s reading seems fairly straightforward.  Jesus starts by telling his disciples (which includes those of us who would seek to follow Jesus in our own lives) that, “if another member of the church sins against you. . .”  (Matthew 18:15). In the original language, Jesus is talking about someone who is as close to you as a sibling.  Jesus uses the word “brother” here, which implies a brother or sister in the faith who sins against you – someone who is part of the broader community of believers – someone in the household of disciples who harms you in some way.[1]  

Now, if you are new to church or think that everyone in church is super nice and nobody ever does anything to make anyone else feel bad, I’m sorry to shatter any illusions you might have.  Alas, we do not always live up to the ideals we profess.  There are any number of historical accounts, and books, and podcasts, and personal anecdotes about how people have been hurt by other people in the church.  In recent years, we have witnessed clergy abuse scandals, and churches torn apart by questions of sexual orientation and ordination, and marriage, and politics.  People can get hurt – physically, spiritually, emotionally – even at church.  Many of these hurt people might leave a particular congregation and never go back, or they might walk out of church-as-a-whole – the very idea of church or organized religion – and never come back.  In my mind, the church has a lot more confessing and repenting to do and a lot more relationships to heal.  

When it comes to healing relationships, Jesus tells us that the best kind of reconciliation happens face-to-face.  In today’s reading, there are the oft-quoted words of Jesus, which you heard earlier, “where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them.” (18:20)  I’ve always thought of these words in a, “whenever two or three people get together in Jesus’ name, Jesus is spiritually present and it’s all wonderful” sense.  Upon reflection though, I’m thinking yes, it is true that Jesus does bring wonder and joy in moments of fellowship and community, but also, “whenever two or three people – who do not agree or who have hurt one another – get together in Jesus’ name, Jesus is there among them and it ain’t easy. . . but Jesus is there, bringing grace to the table, even when the people who have gathered around that table are fresh out of grace for one another.”  

You know, after the presidential election of 2016, I preached a sermon right here that rubbed some people the wrong way.  I admit that I did not choose my words wisely in that emotionally charged time.  But I only heard about the negative response to my sermon through back channels and specific names were never shared with me.  There was one person, though, who did come to talk.  They walked right into my colleague Karen’s office to talk to her about me and my sermon.  It could have been another “Doris” situation, but Karen – who knew something about the dangers of triangulation – immediately pulled that person next door into my office and we spoke face to face.  It took such courage for them to speak their mind directly to me.  And what they had to say was not easy for me to hear. But, in that moment, I sensed so much grace – grace that didn’t come from the brave, though hurt, person sitting in front of me; grace that did not come from me, the person who heard some hard things, but grace that came from the Holy One who was present among us.  

To this day, whenever I see that person at church, I am so thankful for them and the lesson God taught me – through them – about how much power words can have, especially when they are spoken from the pulpit.  And I am so grateful for the grace that abounds when the truth is spoken – and heard – in love.  

This is what Jesus tells us to do.  Go directly to the person in question.  Or, take someone with you and go directly to the person in question – the person who harmed your sensibilities, your spirit, you body. . .  This can be so hard.  There are some people who don’t mind making others feel uncomfortable, but most of us would rather just let things slide or take the easier path.  And when we do take the easy path – we sidestep the truth that leads to healing.  As someone told me just the other day, there are times that we may have hurt someone without knowing, and we might never know unless they tell us.[2]

We need to take great care, though, because there are times – especially in this post-“Me-too” world – when it is important to acknowledge that someone should not – for their own safety and spirit – be in the same room as the person who hurt them.  

In just a moment, we will sing a hymn that includes the lyrics, 

For everyone born, a place at the table, abuser, abused, with need to forgive, in anger, in hurt, a mindset of mercy, for just and unjust, a new way to live.[3]

“Abuser, [and] abused, with need to forgive?”  You know, whenever we have sung this song over the past few years, we have left this verse out because. . . well, it’s too hard for many of us to wrap our minds around.  In a 2013 article on Patheos, called “When My Abuser is Welcome at the Table, I am Not,” the title says it all.  The author writes that if the church were to welcome the person who had previously assaulted the author then she, herself, would feel unwelcome.[4]  

How do we reconcile this, especially when – in today’s text – Peter asks Jesus, “How often should I forgive?  As many as seven times?” (18:21)  There are many who find it hard to forgive just once, much less seven times.  And yet Jesus says, “Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times.” (18:22)  Other ancient versions of this text have Jesus saying “seventy times seven” or “four-hundred ninety” times.  As one commentator writes, “Jesus’ response effectively knows no limits.”[5]  How many times should we forgive?  Jesus’ answer is “Infinite.”

But, before we throw up our hands and say, “Jesus, this is too much!” I think it is important to state several things:

First, God’s ability to forgive is far greater than our own human ability to forgive.  Remember, when Jesus is hanging on the cross, he prays, “Father, forgive them – the people who have put me here to suffer and die – for they do not know what they are doing.” (Luke 23:34)[6]  God’s power to forgive and restore goes far beyond our own power or understanding.  And sometimes, as the song infers, the forgiveness that abusers need can only, in the end, come from God.  

Second, it is important for us to note that the church has some standards for what reconciliation looks like and it does not put the onus for forgiveness solely on the person who was abused.  You know, I don’t often quote from the Book of Order of the Presbyterian Church (USA), and when I do, I rarely quote from the part of the book that centers on church discipline, but the church has put procedures in place – including an internal court system – whose primary goals are, in part:  

• To honor God by making clear the significance of membership in the body of Christ;  • To preserve the purity of the church by nourishing the individual within the life of the believing community;  • To pursue and reveal the truth;  • To achieve justice and compassion for all participants involved;  • To correct or restrain wrongdoing in order to bring members to repentance and restoration;  • To uphold the dignity of those who have been harmed by offenses; • To restore the unity of the church by removing the causes of discord and division. . .[7]

Just so you know, the “church court system” is not a substitute for a civil or criminal court system – a crime is still a crime – but when Jesus tells his disciples in today’s scripture reading that they have the authority to “bind and loose,” he is telling them that they have the authority to set some standards for what communal life in the body of Christ should look like, based on prayerful discernment of the scriptures, and the example of Jesus, and the movement of the Holy Spirit.  

Today, when we sing the line, “abuser, abused, with need to forgive,” there is part of this forgiveness that involves the restraining of wrongdoing and true repentance on the part of the person who has done wrong.  And, the good news is that the forgiving and reconciling work of Jesus is not finished.  God’s new way to live is something that we might not see or experience this side of heaven, but there is promise and hope that God will, in the end, make all things right.  

Justice will be done and relationships will be made right in the kingdom, even if it is hard for us to see right now.  For God, the door is always open.  And, for us. . . well, in that spirit, may our minds and hearts always be open to the life and example and teachings of Jesus – even the difficult teachings that we can understand and embody only with God’s help.  

In this time when relationships between friends, and neighbors, and even siblings in Christ can be strained and tested and sometimes broken by all that is going on in the world, my prayer is that this place may be an example of right relationships, of speaking the truth, of accountability and repentance, of listening with grace, and, ultimately, a place of healing.  

May God make it so.  May God make us so.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.   

------ 

[1] Warren Carter, Matthew and the Margins: A Sociopolitical and Religious Reading (Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 2000) 367.

[2] M.J.

[3] Shirley Erena Murray, 1998. Glory to God: The Presbyterian Hymnal (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2013) No. 769, v. 4.

[4] Sarah Moon, Patheos, June 9, 2013.  https://www.patheos.com/blogs/sarahoverthemoon/2013/06/when-my-abuser-is-welcome-at-the-table-i-am-not/.

[5] Warren Carter, 369.

[6] Paraphrased, JHS.

[7] Presbyterian Church (USA), The Book of Order: The Constitution of the Presbyterian Church (USA) Part II (Louisville: Presbyterian Publishing, 2023) D-1.031.  

[angstama]

god knows you tried | manjiro (mikey) sano

pairing: bonten!mikey x reader 

genre: angst

warnings: heartbreak, attempt suicide(?), original characters/manga plot (pls do not read if you haven’t read the manga D: ), mentions of religion, implied sex (no smut ok!)

summary: god knows you tried your best. if only mikey knew how hard you’re trying too then perhaps this love wouldn’t hurt as much as you thought. 

 words: 1823 words 

 a/n: i think this sucks but... i hope you enjoy it! <3

god knows you tried.

you watched the ex-toman boys eagerly catching up with takemichi quietly, hands resting against your chin as you took in the rare sight in front of you with a sad smile etched on your lips. this was the happy ending that mikey had sacrificed for everyone but himself. 

“a penny for your thoughts?” mitsuya asks, plopping down next you on to the stone steps. that’s right, it’s june 19th 2018, toman’s formation day anniversary and everyone had gathered around to re-open the time capsule from twelve years ago. “hm? nothing much. just missing a particular someone.” you hummed, dragging your fingers across the ground to draw a heart. mitsuya nods understandingly, knowing not to pry any deeper anymore and for that, you’re thankful. 

crouching down, you hesitantly picked up the the blue coloured envelope you left behind twelve years ago. unsure if you’d wanna read the contents of the letter your naive self written back then. with a deep breath, you slipped open the cover. revealing a photo of candid photo of you and mikey leaning on each other asleep with your mouths wide open taken by emma. 

dearest y/n, 

i wonder what you’re doing right now? 

are you perhaps finally studying in film? 

has that idiot manjiro finally proposed to you?

 or are you the one who proposed to him? 

“y/n, you’ll be with me for a long time right?” mikey asked, staring at the very sky that you both loved oh so very much with your hands intertwined. having grown up with each other since young had pretty much given you both the illusion that the two of you will always be a part of each other’s world. and you hoped with every inch of your heart that mikey wants it to be that way forever. “of course. you’re my heaven and home mikey. i wouldn’t go anywhere else without you by my side.” you squeezed his hand in assurance, knowing that at this very moment, mikey was at his most truthful and vulnerable self with you. 

whatever it is, i hope that you’re living the happy life with him that you’ve been dreaming of. 

signing off, 

toman’s honorary member, y/n l/n. 

everyone was silent. even hakkai who had been making fun of everyone’s letter kept quiet. the boys knew how much you loved and you still love mikey. each opting to give you the concerned and sympathetic look. you could feel you heart breaking even more for you knew you weren’t doing anything that you had hoped for back then. 

you felt mitsuya’s comforting hand softly grabbing onto yours. “well that’s depressing,” you chuckled softly, wanting to get rid of the awkward tension in the air as soon as possible. “let’s grab some ramen, i’m starving.” and with that, you let your feet drag you away from the heavy atmosphere with your head hung low. 

perhaps the hurt wouldn't be as painful if you weren’t the only one who knew what kind of path mikey had chosen to go down. you see, when mikey turned his back against all his closest friend, you had the privilege of staying as his only constant thanks to your stubborn nature but even with that, you weren’t enough to keep him away from his dark impulses. mikey chose the path to destruction and the only thing that you could do was watch from the sidelines and be there when he shows up at wee hours of the night to borrow your body. but you didn't mind. it was during these most intimate moments with mikey that you finally get to feel a piece of him again when he spews the words of “i love you” so effortlessly. 

god knows that you tried. 

“mikey those aren’t good for you.” you frowned, snatching the capsule away from his hand seconds before he could flush it down his system. “what the fuck y/n?” the angered male snaps. you felt yourself falling and back colliding against the hard ground. opening your eyes, you see mikey pining you down with nothing but void darkness in his eyes. “i’ll fucking kill you if you do it again.” mikey taunts, he was serious and you know it. 

“then kill me mikey.” the words slipped out of your tongue instantly. you were tired. tired of trying. you don't know what else can you possibly do to help mikey anymore. mikey says nothing but got off you. he dusted himself and without sparing you single glance, he showed you his back again, walking out of the door where sanzu was already holding open for him. “get her home.” you heard him say. 

it’s been a week since you guys opened the time capsule. nothing much had happened since then except you’ve been spending more time with hina considering how she’s often over to mitsuya’s studio for gown fitting. you admired and envy her love story with takemichi. but who were you to complain? you were lucky enough that mikey still wanted you around. so it shouldn’t hurt so much when you sae her adorning the beautiful wedding gown that mitsuya had spent months on tailoring. 

you let out a tired yawn, stretching your arms above your head as you finished touching up the last few bits of editing on your laptop. you looked over at the calendar on your table, a pink heart circled over today’s date and smiled. “mitsuya, i’m gonna knock off first okay?” you announced, tidying up your table and reaching out for the bag of the familiar favourite deserts of a certain male. 

mitsuya nods, “thank you for your hard work y/n”. he flashes you a smile, eye slowly trailing to the white plastic bag dangling from your side as you waved goodbye, back facing him and walking away. “you’re going to see him aren't you?” you stopped in your tracks. “i know he never left you. plus you got a bag filled with dorayakis and taiyakis. that’s pretty obvious.” mitsuya chuckles. you always knew mitsuya to be perceptive but it never once occured to you that your best friend who is also your boss would ever catch on to the secret you’ve been hiding for twelve years. 

“how did yo-” 

“be careful y/n.” mitsuya waves you off, going back to whatever he was doing. a fond smile creeps onto your lips as you watched mitsuya working hard. “thank you mitsuya. for everything. really,” you whispered, but loud enough for the dual dyed coloured hair boy to look up again when you walked away. 

you made your way towards the secluded vip section of the club through swarms of body swaying around you until you saw the familiar tall pink haired male standing outside the golden door. 

“hey sanzu,” you greeted, barely audible over the loud booming music. you were about to push the door open when sanzu towers over you immediately, denying you of your entrance. you looked at sanzu in confusion, “it’s me, y/n. i’m here to see mikey.” you said loudly, voice straining to over power the background noise. “ i know. but mikey will not be seeing anyone right now.” he retorts back. 

surely mikey knew that you were visiting tonight right? after all it’s your anniversary date. you tilted your head at sanzu. not fully understanding what he’s saying. to say that you’re feeling absolutely livid would be an understatement right now. you’re too tired, angry and broken hearted to process anything anymore so you exploded. you only wanted to see your boyfriend. was that a very difficult request? 

“sanzu,” you said lowly, eyes staring blankly into his and as if on cue, you brought your knees to his precious manhood before making another high kick at him, bringing him down. it was a technique that mikey had taught you when you were younger and attending martial arts lesson together with baji. god you missed baji so much. 

“y/n because you’re short, you can do this instead.” mikey suggested smugly, kneeing poor baji’s little friend before swinging his legs much more harder than he intended to at baji’s profile when he bent forward. the main point was to get your opponent to lean forward so that your legs could reach high enough to create an impact on their skull. you eyes lit up in excitement, “wow! that’s so cool! let me try it!” you jumped impatiently. turning towards mikey to execute the exact same move. “wait n-! AHH,” mikey’s eyes widened, and before he knew it, you had completely knocked him over. 

that day, as mikey and baji lied down with pain still intact barely moving an inch, shinchiro only gave you a thumbs up and praised you for taking down the invincible mikey. you were the only one who could do that. 

“sanzu, i’ll see my boyfriend as and when i’d like to.” you said curtly, eyeing sending daggers at him lying on the ground before stepping over him to swing the door open, revealing your petite self to the other bonten’s executives and hostess who were staring at you in surprise. 

you don’t see anyone else but your lover who’s currently sitting in the center with two pretty hostess sitting by his side. you don’t hesitate and begun walking  towards him. “get your hands off my man.” you said calmly. there was tension in the air and from the corner of your eyes, you could see the executives slowly getting up to leave as if on cue. 

“aren’t you as stubborn as always,” he raises a brow as you settled down next to him, pouring the bag of dessert on the glass table in front of you. you smile softly, grabbing a packet of taiyaki and handing it to him before grabbing one for yourself too. “happy 14th anniversary mikey.” you mumbled softly before grabbing a bite.  14 years, that was how long you two had been together for. “mhm. happy 14th anniversary y/n.” mikey hums, allowing you lean in close to him and resting your head on his chest. 

you take in the scent of mikey for you knew that this is going to be the last time you’re going to be able to hold mikey close to you. you didn't want this moment to end but you were too tired to continue on and see what's going to happen the next when you go back to just another normal day. you held tightly to the gun you hid in your bag, shutting your eyes tightly. 

“hey mikey,” you called out. you never thought you’d see it again but you saw a flash of endearment in his eyes when you called him. “i love you so much, promise you’ll take care of yourself alright?” you smiled warmly before pulling the gun out of your bag and putting it against your head. 

god knows you tried. 

god knows you did your best and now you’re going home. 

bang!

[loquaciousquark]

Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E111 (Redux! Oct. 13, 2020)

Gooooood evening good evening good evening, all! I started the VOD late for this recap and somehow the first four or so minutes of the show have a Twitch audio copyright claim, so I am reduced to only reading Brian's lips when he asks if we're on the internet. Hilariously, Marisha's background room is a comfy-looking blue/gold fabric wall with a ceramic colorful abstract lamp and a yellow silk scarf over the lampshade, and Taliesin's is an industrial looking games room in grey and black with multiple monitors, overhead speakers, and mysterious metal fixtures behind him. What a treasure this group is, honestly.

Tonight's guests: Marisha Ray & Taliesin Jaffe, discussing episodes 110 and 111 again. I wildly speculate once more about what might have caused their absence: jury duty? Sam appearing on The Masked Singer? Something to do with the animated show? One day, we’ll know, one day... (One day this “copyrighted audio” section will come back from the wars, too. Ugh!) Finally! The audio comes back to reveal Brian discussing the endless reality of digital meetings and Marisha talking about (I think) her glare-reducing glasses she’s wearing. Welcome to the New Age (welcome to the New Age, to the New Age).

Announcements: Marisha suggests checking out Dimension20, another live tabletop gaming group, which premieres live on Wednesdays at 4pm (CollegeHumor). 

Brian immediately wants to know how they feel about the revelation that Molly is alive. Taliesin’s personal reaction: he “knows some things” he can’t talk about and is aware of several possibilities that might be going on, but had a sneaking suspicion that there would not be a body for them to find. He says it’s almost all there for anyone to see in past material. Marisha’s personal reaction: she just wants to know how she’s doing with her theories, & was trying to block Tal’s face out deliberately as she was going off on her theories in the last episode. Taliesin says he thought her ideas were pretty good!

Cad has no clue what to think - it’s like listening to your friends talk about Buffy. Marisha thought it was a 50/50 Molly would still be there, but Beau had no idea. Not that it mattered, because as soon as Matt went through with it the reveal still blew their minds. Tal laid out his plans for the character with Matt during Campaign One (towards the end) after they all got their VM tattoos.

It is a “horrifying and gross” thing to dig up a body, and Beau was pretty reluctant to do it. Tal, as Cad: “Sometimes dead’s better.” The moral quandary of trying to speak with a dead friend was very different here than the frequent occasions they used the spell in C1.

Taliesin says his poker face is very bad, so it’s easier for him to over-react and let it all play out. The only other player he can see very easily from his place in their current setup is Travis, and because he knows Travis doesn’t watch TM, tweet, or participate in social media, he admits he thoroughly enjoyed watching Travis freak out at his freaking out. He says he only knew about 20% of what Matt described at the end of that episode. He was picking things to mug to increase Travis’s surprise. I love this so much.

Taliesin provided the table left leg shake; Travis provided table right. Ha!

Beau is really accepting her role in the Cobalt Soul. It’s good when “as a person, you feel like you can settle into your calling. Sometimes you can do more from the inside than fighting from the outside.” It’s a mirrored but opposite path of Keyleth from C1; Beau felt like she was too good for her duty, while Keyleth thought she wasn’t good enough.

Caduceus is not a big believer in jumping to conclusions. He does have an idea/notion of the “city of the undead” and thinks all this necrotic energy must come from somewhere, and wonders if this is the “capital of anti-death.” He’s willing to believe whatever he sees. This is one of the few things that trigger a bit of loathing and disgust in him. It was terrifying that the Wildmother didn’t know anything.

Beau is pretty confident in her Charlie Day impression laying-out-the-research last episode. She enjoyed taking the things that were known & extrapolating around them; this is a huge facet of Marisha’s own personality and she really enjoys it, so she built a character this time that would allow that kind of puzzle-solving. It’s also why she repeatedly notes when Beau journals, so she can avoid metagaming. Trent’s mention of Vess Durogna’s tomb raiding was completely circumstantial, and the only reason she’d made the connection to the Tombtakers was because she’d recently reviewed those notes for a separate unannounced project. Sometimes she tries to make connections and Matt is like, “It was...just descriptive. Just flavor. The curtains were red...” and she has to discard a paragraph of notes. She feels like it’s still something they have to do because of “look at what he does! Look! It’s totally valid!”

Cosplay of the Week: @kitsunstudios with a gorgeous Caduceus with a very intricate silk vest.

Caduceus’s takedown of Trent! One of my favorite moments in the entirety of C2. Taliesin felt Trent was an asshole; Caduceus felt sorry for him because of how dumb he thought he was. Caduceus’s response was "this is the dumbest man I’ve ever met in my life. He’s so dumb! Is nobody going to tell this guy how dumb he is? Oh, they’re all freaked out. Somebody needs to tell this guy he’s an idiot before somebody gets hurt.” (Marisha: “Before?”) Tal says it was the product of several years of therapy and many drunk conversations with Whitney Moore. It was from a genuine place of concern from Caduceus. “How are you allowed to have this much power and be that dumb?”

Brian loved how funny it was to watch everyone tiptoe around Trent and then Caduceus bulldoze through the end of the meal.

Taliesin: “Damage doesn’t make you interesting or better. It’s not what makes you good. Character isn’t found in damage. Just recovery.”

Brian & Marisha commiserate going through the stage where believing surviving something automatically made you a stronger person, better for the pain; instead it just meant you had to pick up the pieces after. Marisha talks about how strength through survival may be true for some people, but it shouldn’t be considered a necessity. Taliesin talks about how he used to think he had to be miserable to write. Brian talks about how believing he liked reading and writing miserable things only limited him for years.

Marisha feels it’s a C2 theme that almost all the PCs have someone trying to handwave or take credit for their accomplishments or explain their pain as being for their own good (Trent, Beau’s dad, Obann). She thinks it’s interesting to see all the various ways people try to take credit for your work/delegitimize you as a person. She loves that RPGs allow you to explore these odd moralities in interesting ways. The only way to fight it is to have a sense of your own self-worth, which is a problem a lot of the M9 started with.

Caduceus likes everyone, and really likes people who appear to need role models (Eodwulf). “With the right friends and the right bar and the right attitude, I think he’d be okay. Come over here where it’s so much better. That seems like an exhausting friendship that you have there.”

Marisha loves the mix of personalities in the M9; Veth, Cad, & Jester were all “we kind of like them!” after the dinner, and she immediately made eye contact with Travis and they both shook their heads. She knows Beau has to go along with it for Caleb’s sake for now, but she & Fjord are pretty sus of Trent’s proteges.

Beau is less concerned about Artagan’s relationship to Jester because “he showed his ass--she’s less worried about Jester now because a little of the magic is gone.” It’s a little like becoming an adult and realizing your parents are also just adults & human. Caduceus wasn’t suspicious of the Traveler for a long time until they got to the island. Aside: Taliesin loves the pantheon in D&D. “The notion of attempting to apply common Western conceptions of religion to a world where you have a pantheon of interventionist gods as baseline makes no sense to me. Everyone admits that every other god is there and doing shit; it has more in common with ancient Rome than anything else.” Now that he knows it was a con, he feels the wind had been taken out of it. He does have a sense that Jester’s gotten back together with an ex: “I hope that I’m really happy for you.” They’re both interested to see how Jester navigates the new relationship.

My internet goes out, of course. I panic for a second, thinking I’ve lost everything above, but all is well! Thanks, Form History Control addon!

Marisha loved punching Artagan, but regretting rolling so poorly. “I miss violence.” Dani lets us know it’s been about four episodes since the last battle.

There’s no way the Cobalt Reserve doesn’t have a single document on the Eyes of Nine. Beau believes “there are no real secrets” because people are just bad at not writing things down. For there to be no information at all seems really suspicious for her.

Fanart of the Week: @oddalchemist on twitter with some awesome Beau conspiracy red-thread boards overlaid a distant shadowy Molly walking away.

Caduceus feels a little guilty for really enjoying his time right now with the M9 and not wanting to go home. He’s starting to suspect that he’s going to go home very different than when he left. “He has the softest problems. I don’t know if I want to move back in with Mom & Dad.”

Beau is trying to get comfortable with the idea of being happy. Jester is probably Beau’s first real best friend & one of the first healthy female friendships she’s ever had. As long as she still has Jester in her life, she doesn’t care. For Yasha... “At the end of the day, Beau is a lonely person and has always been a lonely person. And I think you kinda reach this point where once you’re not lonely anymore, you can kind of come out of the fog and realize that was horrible! And terrifying! And is even more terrifying now that I know what I could have, and I don’t want to go back to that. At the end of the day Beau doesn’t want to be lonely anymore. There’s always been that flirtation with Yasha, but everyone had to figure their own shit out. And now it feels like it’s coming out a little bit of that haze, maybe this actually could be...” There are a lot of ways they complement each other & are good-different from each other. Marisha believes people can be attracted to more than person at once.

Caduceus doesn’t think nature turned against him on Rumblecusp, it was just a reality of nature being dangerous and violent. “He has a complex relationship with nature.” He doesn’t expect special treatment.

Thoughts on the mansion: “Man, it’s nice to be seen.” Marisha: “I don’t know how I ended up becoming the Scanlan of this campaign, but I’m living for it.” It felt like an echo of “I’m better for having known you.” They compare Marisha taking specific notes on the campaign to Liam taking specific notes on people’s favorite tapestries, comics, etc.

They talk about missing theme parks and daydream a park version of the mansion in CritRoleLand. It’s lovely.

Taliesin never expected Divine Intervention to work; he just wanted to roll some dice. He’s still processing what he saw/heard. They all agree it was very useful in the Vokodo fight.

Vilya! Marisha: “Ah! Ah! Ah!” As a player, Marisha was so deep in Beau’s eyes she didn’t pick up it was Vilya at first (especially since Matt really emphasized they should not be looking for C1 NPCs). Marisha’s brain melted. She bawled her eyes out on the ride home after that episode. Right after it ended, Laura told Marisha “Keyleth finally gets her happy ending,” and it makes Marisha emotional again since Keyleth’s story ended so bittersweetly. She talks about the very real feelings of “just wanting them to be happy, though!” She went back and listened to all her old Keyleth playlists. Everyone was teary after the episode. “Everyone has these 100% real memories of being these characters and having these good times.”

And that’s that for that! Thanks for your patience, all, and is it Thursday yet?

[i-am-bitterly-jittery]

Simply Meant To Be (pt 2)

[Part 1]

You don’t need to read part 1 to read this one since that one is Roman backstory and this one is Janus backstory

Rating: teen

Word Count: 3456

Pairings: Remile, Moxiety kinda (they’re kids, but they’re soulmates so I guess it’s future moxiety), Roceit but only at the very end

Warnings: religion, religious cults, religious guilt, child abuse, internalized homophobia, childhood trauma, stalking, threats of kidnapping, throwing up, psychological warfare (?), paranoia, swearing

I think that’s everything

It’s worse than you’d expect after the first part, but not quite as bad as the warnings make it sound, but if any of the warnings make you uncomfortable then feel free to skip this part

I started with some religious stuff right off the bat, so I put the entire fic below the cut

~~~START~~~

When Janus was growing up, he was taught that the colorblindness that everyone was born with was a test from God. God created a beautiful world full of wonderful colors, then gave man the ability to view only a fraction of this beauty. The wicked ones searched selfishly for ways to see even more, but the humble ones were grateful for what little beauty they were given. 

Soulmates were frowned upon in the Community. Janus was taught from a young age that soulmates were a trick, sent by Satan to lead people away from God. Even those who met their soulmates by accident were expelled from the Community. 

As such, Janus never expected to see color — for a while he’d even dreaded the mere thought of it — so he taught himself to discern between shades of gray. He was very good at it, almost to the point that someone who could see color would be fooled into thinking Janus could too. 

The Elders were not very pleased with this skill, and the Community as a whole was torn as to whether it was a sin or not. They said it was a reflection of his desire to see colors, of his desire to stray from God. 

So Janus repented. He begged forgiveness and promised to abandon his skill. He was devoted to God and only God. 

That was a lie of course, Janus prided himself on his ability to discern shades of gray, but he didn’t see why that had to be mutually exclusive to being devoted to God. 

Pride was a sin, and so was lying, but they were lesser sins to the Community than soulmates and colors. God would forgive him. 

He lived in the Community for twenty years, rarely leaving the town and when he did it was only for a few hours. 

He carries a lot of baggage from those twenty years, but he’s doing his best to shoulder it, to not let it affect his relationships with those around him, to not let any of the Community’s teachings hurt his son. 

Sometimes the little voice in the back of his head told him he was being selfish. Janus always silenced this voice with one thought: there’s nothing wrong with a little selfishness. 

Janus started going to gay bars on Saturday nights to feed his selfishness. He was never looking for anything, he had a young son at home after all, but one time, he kissed a man — he threw up in the bathroom afterwards, but he still counted it as a victory. 

There was a teenager that lived in the apartment next to Janus and Virgil’s first home outside the Community, and they were always willing to watch Virgil for a few hours, even if Janus couldn’t afford to pay them much. Elliot was Janus’ first friend outside of the Community, probably his first real friend ever. 

Janus hit Virgil once. Virgil was about two and a half at the time, and he’d proudly told Janus that his favorite color was magenta — after the dog on Blue’s Clues — and Janus hadn’t even thought, he’d just slapped his own son across the face. In the Community, a slap on the face would be the least of a child’s concerns after saying such a thing, but this wasn’t the Community, and Janus was trying to be better than them. He’d been completely consumed by guilt before the tears even began forming in Virgil’s eyes. 

“I’m so sorry baby!” Janus apologized, pulling Virgil in for a tight hug and rocking back and forth in a soothing motion. Virgil easily accepted the hug, and that only made Janus feel worse. Virgil trusted him completely, and he’d betrayed that trust. Janus was going to be better; he was going to do better. He was never going to hurt Virgil again. “I’m so sorry darling. You didn’t do anything wrong. It was all my fault; I shouldn’t have done that. I did a very bad thing, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay daddy. I forgive you.” Janus’ heart broke even more; he didn’t deserve forgiveness. He didn’t deserve this child. 

After Virgil went to bed that night, Janus searched the internet for therapists. Doctor Emile Picani came highly recommended, and after a brief email exchange, they agreed to help Janus, even though he couldn’t afford their usual rate. 

Picani was an… interesting character. They made several strange statements then told him that they were references to cartoons that Janus had never even heard of. TVs in the Community weren’t for children to use, and Virgil was only two, he mostly just watched Blue’s Clues, Dora the Explorer, and Sesame Street. After telling Picani that, they changed their references accordingly, telling Janus that they had their own two-year-old at home, and they were more than familiar with the kind of shows Virgil was watching. 

Picani didn’t think Janus was a bad person, which was a foreign thought for Janus, who was certain that he was going straight to Hell. They were good at finding ways to make the little voice in Janus’ head shut up. It took Janus a while to believe him, but it got a little easier every week. 

Over the years, Emile became his friend, and Janus was grateful to have them every day. 

Emile was the one who insisted that Janus let them throw a birthday party for Virgil’s 5th birthday. Birthday parties hadn’t been a thing in the Community, and even after he left, Janus mostly just celebrated Virgil’s birthday by getting him new clothes, a whole party was a completely foreign idea. 

But Janus had said yes and agreed to bring Virgil over to Emile’s place the following Saturday. The party, he’d been told, would just be Emile, Emile’s husband Remy, and their son Patton. That was good, neither Janus nor Virgil were very good in crowds. 

Of course, whether there was a crowd or not hardly mattered when Virgil had met Patton and informed Janus that “everything is prettier now!”, Janus had a panic attack either way. 

Virgil can see colors! That isn’t allowed, they’ll take him away! He’s only five he needs me! They won’t let me keep him! This is all wrong!

“-five, six, seven. Out, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. In, two, three, four. Hold, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Out, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. Good. Are you with me, Jan?”

“Yes,” Janus croaked. He was in a different room now, with only Emile. Virgil was nowhere to be seen. “Where’s Virgil!?”

“Breath, Janus. Virgil is in the living room with Remy and Patton. Remy is teaching them all the different colors.”

“They’re going to take him away!”

“No one’s going to take him away. There is absolutely nothing wrong with him meeting his soulmate. Everything is going to be okay.”

“I don’t want to lose him.”

“You’re not going to lose him. You’re not in the Community, there’s no reason anyone will take him away.”

“I’m sorry,” Janus apologized, wiping at his tears. “I probably scared the kids.”

“Would you like a hug?” Janus nodded. That was one of the nice things about being friends with Emile, they gave great hugs and gave them freely. “Virgil was a little concerned about you, but Patton didn’t notice. Remy’s with them now, they’re okay. Do you want to go join them?”

“Not yet.”

“Alright.” Emile allowed them to sit in silence for a while before speaking up again. “I’m proud of you.”

“Why?” Janus asked miserably. 

“Your son met his soulmate and you didn’t respond with anger, you didn’t repeat any of the Community’s teachings, it’s a big step for you.”

“It doesn't feel like a big step.”

“Well it is.” And that was that. 

Ten minutes later Janus was feeling up to joining the others. Virgil climbed into Janus’s lap as soon as he sat down, and having his son in his arms did wonders as far as calming himself down went. 

“This is my source material!” Virgil informed Patton and Remy happily. Patton accepted that information easily, but Remy shot Janus a bemused look. 

Janus shrugged in return. As soon as Virgil had started getting anywhere near being able to speak, Elliot started teaching him weird phrases in the hope that Virgil’s first word would be strange, some of them stuck. 

Virgil started babbling after that, telling Janus about how ‘Mr. Remy’ was teaching him about colors and soulmates. Internally, Janus was grateful that someone else had given Virgil the soulmate talk, someone who hadn’t grown up with a cynical and toxic view of soulmates. 

Other than the hiccup at the beginning, Virgil’s birthday party went pretty well. Patton was a very nice boy — though he’d have to be considering he was Emile’s kid — and Janus truly couldn’t have picked a better soulmate for Virgil if he tried. Patton seemed to have an absurd amount of emotional intelligence for a not-yet five-year-old, and when Virgil starts fatiguing towards the end of the night, Patton’s energy level changes appropriately. 

Janus headed home that night with a sleeping child, two new stuffed animals — one of Blue and one of Magenta — a box of Playdough, a Sesame Street coloring book with crayons — a last minute addition thrown in because of Virgil’s newfound colors — and newfound sense of peace. His son met his soulmate and nothing bad had happened. 

Play dates became a regular thing, and Janus was glad his son would already have one friend going into kindergarten in the fall. One of the kids’ favorite things to do during play dates was painting, and as a result, Janus found himself using his skill to baffle Remy with his ability to paint everything the correct color, even when Remy tried to trick him. Painting, however, was not particularly fun to Janus in and of itself, and wasn’t something he partook in when he and Virgil were at home. 

Remy was actually the one to suggest a different medium for Janus: makeup. Remy even allowed Janus to use him as a canvas, and Janus’ skills on a living canvas soon flourished. Often he would sit down to practice on Remy, and Virgil and Patton would do the same with Emile. Janus’ work would of course look a lot better in the end, but Emile vehemently claimed to love both looks equally. 

Eventually Janus started a YouTube channel dedicated to makeup tutorials. He always used Remy or Emile as models, appearing himself with contacts and half his face painted to look like a snake, hoping that was enough to obscure his identity in case anyone in the Community ever came across his channel. 

His channel became fairly popular, not enough for Janus to make a living from that alone, but he did make enough from the channel for it to pay for itself. He could afford better makeup brands, which meant he could make cooler designs, which made his channel more popular. It was going well. 

Until his mother showed up on his doorstep one day, nearly a decade since he’d last seen her. 

“Janus.”

“Mother.” He didn’t have anything to say to her. Not a thing. Ten years and he hadn’t once felt the need to reach out to her. 

“When are you going to stop this silly game and come home, Janus? We miss you, and this is no environment to raise Virgil in.” She gestured to Janus’ apartment, and Janus’ blood began to boil. 

“Well excuse me for not meeting your standards, mother, but as I recall, it wasn’t my choice to leave in the first place!”

“If this is about Emmaline-”

“It’s not just about Emmaline! Virgil and I are perfectly happy where we are, and I’m not about to go exposing him to your toxic-”

“TOXIC!? Janus Lysander Hadley you take that back this instant! I will not have you speaking about our faith that way!”

“It’s not my faith, mother, it’s yours, and it has no place in my home!”

He should have been expecting the slap, it was a common way for his mother to respond to anyone disagreeing with her, but it had been so long, the sharp sting on his cheek came as a complete surprise. 

“Step aside, Janus, I’m taking Virgil home whether you’re coming or not. You’re clearly not fit to raise a child.”

Her trying to push past Janus and into his apartment shook Janus out of his shocked stupor and he blocked her advance. 

“You’ve never been fit to raise a child in your life!” He hissed, pushing her away from the door. “Now kindly fuck off, mother, you aren’t welcome here!”

He slammed the door on her shocked face, and quickly locked the door, locked the deadbolt, and slid the door chain in place. As soon as the door was thoroughly locked, his mother started pounding on the door, the gravity of the situation sunk in, and his panic started mounting. 

His mother found him. She knew where he lived. She wanted to take Virgil from him. He yelled at his mother. She knew where he lived. He made her angry. She wanted to take Virgil from him. She knew where he lived!

“Sperm donor?”

His son’s voice snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts. Virgil was peeking out from behind the partition for the living room, where he wouldn’t have been visible from the door. He was clearly scared, because of course he was, his father had just had a screaming match with a woman he probably didn’t recognize outside their apartment, and said woman was proceeding to yelling abuse through the apartment door. It had to have more than a little unsettling for the ten-year-old. 

“It’s okay, mini me, everything’s going to be fine.” Janus crossed the room to pull his son into a hug. Virgil latched on to him immediately, shaking from stress. 

“I don’t want to go with her,” Virgil mumbled into Janus’s sweater. “She’s mean.”

“You don’t have to.” Janus tightened his arms around his son protectively. “You’re staying with me.”

Janus’ mother stopped pounding on the door eventually — presumably because one of the neighbors either threatened to call the police, or actually called the police — but Janus and Virgil’s nerves were both shot for the rest of the day, and they both ended up spending the night at the Picanis’. 

Janus didn’t see hide nor hair of his mother for weeks after the incident, but his paranoia levels were through the roof. He wouldn’t let Virgil be home alone anymore, instead having him go home with Patton after school, staying at the Picanis’ until Janus could pick him up. Every day when he got home he would search their apartment for anything out of place that would suggest that someone broke in, he even went as far as constructing minor booby traps for anyone who tried to root around through their things. 

“Janus — I’m saying this as your friend, and as a mental health professional — I’m concerned about you,” Emile told him one day when he came to pick up Virgil from their house. “You’ve been on edge for weeks, it’s not healthy, for you or for Virgil. He told me he’s been having nightmares, you know.”

“I know, I know! But I don’t know what to do!” Janus stressed, he was dangerously close to his breaking point, but he didn’t know how to stop it. 

“Have you considered moving?” Emile asked gently. “It’s clear you don’t feel safe here, maybe putting some more distance between you and your parents will ease your distress.”

“I can’t move; you guys live here. I can’t just take Virgil away from Patton, he’d be devastated.”

“I’m not saying move to Antarctica and become a hermit, we can visit, and Patton and Virgil can Skype. Yeah, it’ll be hard and both of them, but this is hard on them too. Janus, I think it’s important for you to feel safe in your own home, and you obviously don’t.”

“I don’t know…”

But a week later, Janus would be pushed over the edge. 

He came home from work — thankfully before picking Virgil up — to find his apartment door wide open. Cautiously, he searched the apartment for any intruders, but after twenty minutes he was confident that no one was around. 

There were a few things missing, mostly all of Virgil’s crayons and colored pencils, as well as his coloring books and some of the drawings he’d made that Janus had put on the fridge. There were also a few photos of Janus and Virgil missing from their frames, and a tile with Virgil’s baby handprint missing from the kitchen. And three of Janus’ booby traps had been sprung telling him that whomever broke into his apartment — presumably his mother — had opened the hall closet, the cabinet next to the fridge, and the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. 

As if that was bad enough, there, in plain sight on the dining room table was a copy of the Community’s version of the Bible. 

“We have to move.” Janus wasn’t sure how he ended up at the Picanis’; everything after finding the bible had been a panicked blur. All he knew was that he couldn’t stay at that apartment anymore. 

Moving was hard. Virgil didn’t like it, but he was afraid of their apartment too, and if Janus and Virgil just moved in with the Picanis — which Remy had suggested — then Janus’ parents would just start terrorizing them too, and Janus couldn’t have that. No, it was better that he and Virgil move away, not just to a new apartment, but to a new city, a new state even! Somewhere his parents wouldn’t find him or Virgil. 

They ended up moving to Florida, halfway across the country. Remy had a cousin in Florida, one that he swore up and down that Janus would love, and moving somewhere where he sort of knew someone was better than starting over from scratch a second time. 

Remy and Patton came with them to help them move and to allow Patton and Virgil to spend as much time together as they could. Emile stayed behind since they couldn’t reschedule all their appointments on such short notice. Emile did suggest a new therapist near Janus’ new home, and included a suggestion for Virgil too. 

Having Remy around for the moving process was good because he was able to parcel things out in ways that didn’t make Janus feel overwhelmed with the amount of work that went into moving. Having Patton around for the moving process was good because when all Virgil could see were negatives, Patton pointed out the positives and had a way of making Virgil begrudgingly agree to them. 

Part of the moving process was for Janus to change his and Virgil’s name in the hopes of throwing his parents off their scent. Since Virgil was taking the move so hard, Janus let him pick their new last name to make him feel better. Of course Virgil was beginning to enter his emo-pre-teen-angst phase, so he picked a name that was edgy and extra: Storm. 

Janus Storm. 

He sounded like a supervillain, but it made Virgil happy, and he could never resist anything that made Virgil happy. 

Before Remy and Patton went home, Remy introduced Janus and Virgil to his cousin: Thomas Sanders. Thomas owned a theater in town, and offered to let Janus use him as a model for his YouTube videos. He was alright; Virgil seemed to like him well enough, and Janus trusted Virgil’s instincts on these kinds of things. 

It was a teary goodbye when Remy and Patton went home, and Virgil refused to speak for the rest of the day, but once their plane touched down, Patton called on Remy’s phone, so maybe the distance wouldn’t be too bad. 

The Picanis came to visit for Virgil’s eleventh birthday since it occurred during Patton’s winter break. They ended up staying for almost a week.

Almost a year after Janus and Virgil moved to Florida, Thomas called Janus to tell him that the makeup artist at his theater quit, and that the job was Janus’ if he wanted it. 

Taking that job turned out to be the best decision of his life. 

“I’m Roman.”

The moment Janus had been dreading since he was a child was finally happening. The moment Janus had learned to be cautiously optimistic about was finally happening. 

Slowly, as though someone were carefully turning up the volume on a speaker, the monochrome world around Janus began to change, and he finally understood what Virgil meant by ‘everything is prettier’, because it was. It was wonderful and terrifying all at once. 

“Janus.”

~~~END~~~

Janus’ backstory wasn’t supposed to be quite this angsty but  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ here we are. It’s probably never going to get this heavy again

Let me know if I forgot to tag anything or put anything in the warnings

taglist:

@royalty-of-all-things-snuggly @pixelated-pineapple @northlight14 @mistythegenderqueermess @bluerosesbleedred @sevencrashing @awkwardjester @everythingisstardust

400 followers!! Thank you all 💜💜💜

[barbasbodaciousbeard]

When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me.

Summary: From an abusive father to taunts at Harvard, Rafael Barba had worked hard to stop being emotional. Too often, it gave fodder and power to those around him. That’s why when someone truly loved him, he had to hurt them first. That said, ending a life changes you.

Pairings: Rafael Barba x OC

A/N: Just a little thing based on Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen

I did my best. It wasn't much. I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch. I've told the truth. I didn't come to fool you.

“Rafael?” 

“Rebecca,” he breathed, and he shouldn’t have been surprised she didn’t step aside to let him in. It was just before Christmas, and he was finally back in the city after the two years in Iowa. The nearly three years since seeing her. 

“Why are you here?”

“I needed to see you.” 

“You don’t get to come here like this.” Her arms were wrapped around herself, and she was crying now. He hated seeing the way her brow knitted together and her hands fisted the sleeves of her dress. That meant these were hurting tears. There wasn’t any reason for her to be happy to see him though. 

“I love you, Becca. I’m so stupid.”

“You don’t get to say that, Rafael. You left me. This is a mean joke.”

“It’s not a joke, mi corazón. I’m not cruel.”

He didn’t like this. He didn’t like the way his voice was cracking, thick, and desperate as he stood on her stoop. Ending a life will make you reevaluate a lot, even if you don’t think you did anything wrong. He’d never appreciated the way Rebecca had always described love to him, considering it as sacred as the crucifix above the door or mass they attended on Sundays. After seeing the love baby Drew’s mother had for him and for her husband, even after everything, he thought he could see it more. Religion was difficult for him; he believed, but he wasn’t sure yet that he believed in a benevolent God. Fifty was awfully late to e coming to that decision. Rafael’s relationship with paternal figures probably played into that. Still, he wore a cross against his heart, and he prayed often. But emotions? They made life messy and painful and complicated, and the hurt they caused him sometimes made him believe in the old testament God that was so full of rage and punishment. Still, he went to mass with mami and then Rebecca.

As a child, he’d fought to tamp them down to save himself from his father. The man was made of rage, and when his son expressed anything but gratitude, the older man would beat him down. In school, the other boys had made fun of him the few times the feelings broke through. If it weren’t for Alex and Eddie, he’d have had his ass kicked more times than he could count. For a little while, he’d been able to tell them how he felt. Los tres mosqueteros de Jerome Avenue gave him a defense and a camaraderie he didn’t have at home. He realized his openness about the situation at home and his feeling for people in their lives was given to the wrong person when he found Yelina in bed with Alex. His friend had known how in love Rafael was, how sure he was that upon graduation from Harvard he’d give Yelina abuelita’s ring. That’s when Rafael realized he couldn’t have feelings around anyone from home but mami and abuelita.

Then there was Harvard. He’d thought that once he left the Bronx, earned the scholarship he’d fought so hard for, he’d get the friendships other people seemed to have. Instead of acting as though the years seeing his father abuse himself and his mother, the torment from other boys, and betrayal from his friend didn’t bother him, there would be other people who fought as hard as he did to get there who he could forge emotional connections with. After Yelina, he found it hard to trust a romantic partner, but he also quickly had his illusions shattered as he realized no one at Harvard felt he belonged. He worked hard to temper the accent he didn’t know he had when a hushed whisper asked if he was even legal because he sounded too Cuban. A couple of times, he expressed his insecurities about his social status and background, but each time it became fodder for whatever the next competition was, so he replaced his jeans and sweatshirts with polo shirts and chinos and was careful to keep his accent as neutral as possible until he returned to the city. 

When he did, he found that he’d hidden down the emotional side of him sufficiently, only the smart mouth and snark that masked insecurity left. Rafael was conscious of his decision to ignore the trappings of love. In his experience, only two of the many people he’d loved, whether romantic or platonic, had not hurt him, and both were women related by blood. By the time he reached forty-five and met Rebecca, he’d replaced the love he’d always been desperate for with work and casual encounters with the men and women he met when working from bars.

Not since Yelina had he been so willing to follow someone to the ends of the Earth. He’d always craved love from his father, the friends he tried to make throughout school, and Yelina, the one person he was romantically interested in he ever let himself feel exposed around. Maybe it was because Rebecca was so raw, so unafraid of the way love could hurt. Where he’d carefully constructed a wall, unwilling to show his inner machinations to anyone, she cried openly and freely when they’d watched a documentary on Fred Rogers because she didn’t understand why people thought it was so hard to be kind. She was free like he couldn’t be, loving each stranger she met, even the ones most people found unlovable. It was probably what made her such a great teacher. He’d worked so hard to open himself up, to give her the same vulnerability, but he didn’t know how. 

Well, maybe there's a God above, but all I've ever learned from love was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you.

He knew how he could be, and Rafael Barba should have known better that to act off of his first instinct given his history. Outside of the perceived safety of his friendship with Alex and Eddie, he’d only told Yelina about his father and the way rejection from his peers had hurt him. They’d been together that first year at Harvard, with Yelina promising to wait for him. She even knew how he cried when his father left, the realization washing over him he’d never have a happy ending with the man. Yelina had been supportive, but also reminded him he needed to move on and become a successful attorney. Within months, he walked in on her with Alex.  When he told Rebecca the same things after a year, she’d held him close and dried the tears he eventually let fall as she peppered kisses to his hair. She thanked him for trusting her, told him how strong he was for talking about how he felt and called Yelina callous for not appreciating he could be so kind. 

Feelings don’t make you weak, Rafael. They make you strong.

Rafael was lucky she was as patient as she was. She’d told him with confidence that she loved him three months in. He couldn’t bring himself to say it back to her, a knot weighing his belly down as he explained to her he’d only said it once, and he didn’t want to again until he felt secure she’d stay. It made him feel as stunted as he was; years after Yelina and he’d never met anyone else he loved? Maybe if he’d given someone more than the one night. Then again, if he had he wouldn’t have Rebecca. Once he opened up to her, he slowly mentioned things to the Manhattan SVU squad and forged a friendship with Olivia. Things were going well until Rebecca started talking about Al, another teacher. They were going to lunch together. They were going to chaperone the field trip together. She just adored Al. 

The only thing Rafael Barba knew was that the last time he trusted someone, let them know all the scary parts and given them the power to hurt him, they had. It all came to a head in January of 2018. If he’d known how badly he’d need her soon, maybe he’d have been able to temper the fury and hurt that radiated off of him in waves. He wasn’t his father. He didn’t lash out physically or even raise his voice. Instead, as she got excited to tell him about the plans she’d made with Al to prep for the semester, he’d snapped, latent insecurity finally bubbling to the surface. His voice, to his credit, was calm, though his words aimed to hurt her before she inevitably found someone better and hurt him. Someone who wasn’t emotionally stunted and would cry at movies with her and didn’t take a year to say I love you. 

Just get a fuckin’ room already.

Raf, he’s my coworker. We’re friends.

You know exactly what he wants from you, and you want it too. 

What are you saying? I’m a slut or something? You know you’re it for me.

A spade’s a spade. 

The impact her hand made with his cheek stung, but the look on her face made him feel like the villain, which he supposed he was. He had to be for sweet, loving Rebecca to slap him. Her wide hazel eyes always sparkled, but they were suddenly dull and overflowed with tears. He’d never seen her hurt before, and he wanted to crawl into the sewers or walk off the tallest building in the city. Without a word, she’d taken her purse, dropped the glass she’d been holding, and marched out. From his window, he could see her cry as she talked on the phone. Probably Al. He left voicemail after voicemail, and wasn’t surprised when he found a three page letter underneath his door. Instead of a scathing rebuke, as he’d prayed for to make the loss hurt less, it was full of kindness. Promises that she loved him and wasn’t angry, but that she couldn’t do this. Apologies for slapping him because she knew that probably brought up traumatic memories. That if he’d get help learning to handle the swarm of feelings she’d come back to him, if that was an option. Al was just a friend. Hell, Al didn’t like women, but she understood how hard it must have been after Yelina. She knew it probably felt like the same thing was happening. Even after what he’d said, she loved him and knew he’d find happiness when he took care of himself. He couldn’t love anyone else until he loved himself enough to do that.

You say I took the name in vain. I don't even know the name, but if I did, well really, what's it to you?

Rafael Barba had spent so much of his time fighting his feelings, but he’d come to realize that love was sacred. It was the one thing that had the power to hurt and heal him, whether it was said with all the reverence he’d whispered it into Yelina’s hair, the adoration he’d said it to Rebecca, or the brokenness with which he’d  just said it as he stood in the snow on her stoop. He didn’t know that before, had bastardized something Rebecca viewed as so holy. She’d always made it apparent that while she thought all of her feelings were blessings, even when they gave someone the power to hurt her, she thought love was what could bring you the closest to God. It was, according to the verses from 1 Corinthians that he’d noticed were exceptionally dogeared in the bible she kept at the desk, patient and kind. It believes, hopes, and endures all things. He hoped she still believed the latter. When he thought back over his life, he realized the love he felt was easily angered and certainly did envy. It kept account of wrongs. All these things were so directly expressed as what love was not. 

But ending a life changed you.

Rafael had spent the years he’d been gone working on himself, as her letter had begged him to. Therapy helped, but so did his ruminations on the verse he knew she loved so much. He’d bastardized love, letting his jealousy and hurt tangle with it and pull it further from the holy feeling Rebecca always described and therefore further from the love God felt for his flock. Maybe God was good after all if love could make him feel that way one day, if it wasn’t too late. She felt jealousy, he knew. She wanted to keep scores and would start to want the things others had in their love, but she could step back. She’d write it out or talk it out and go back to being so implicitly loving. In his time rereading the lines he knew she loved, he found another that resonated for him:

When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me. 1 Corinthians 13:11

When he was young, he thought repressing his feelings made him a man. He now realized that repression was the childish act. He hadn’t been a man yet, wasn’t ready for a healthy love like the one she offered. Mami had heard him ramble on about it during one of the late night phone calls when he’d had too much whiskey too early in the evening. His therapist had made him acknowledge that he’d lashed out at her. The therapist had also made him remember she wasn’t perfect. Rebecca had her own shortcomings, but he found them beautiful because they were the extreme of what he craved. She cried so easily, and sometimes he was jealous of that. The inability to build any kind of defense, however, meant she was always at the brink of a come apart. Quick to feel the martyr, though he supposed she was. Maybe he could be a man now, put the jealousy away and be there for her, patient and kind.

“It’s been years, Rafael. I tried to call you when I learned what happened. You didn’t answer me.”

“The press and people who consider me a murderer got my number. I had to change it.”

“Still. You had mine. Just because you weren’t well doesn’t mean the responsibility is all mine for us to reunite.”

“I’m on your stoop my first time back in the city, aren’t I?”

“Why?”

“Because I love you.”

“Why am I supposed to believe you?”

“You aren’t, I guess.”

[deerth]

my first mistake in witchcraft

yes i’m going to be petty over religion for a second here.

i have been slowly inching out of the broom closet as i now consciously move on from the atheist mindset to the pagan one. i was looking for more resources to research my path, and i ended up on a witchy server... woe unto me as i try to fit in once more, for it seems that not even witches are unified.

forget about all that shit about garden, cosmos and whatever witches. the religion actually broadly branches into two practices - Wicca and regular witchcraft. so you are primarily the one or the other, no matter what flavour of ritual you practice.

the primary difference between Wiccans and general witchcraft is your belief of whether religion can be used for harm or not. in short, Wiccans state “an it harm none, do as ye will” (as long as you don’t hurt anyone [including yourself], go bonkers), therefore you will not find Wiccans casting curses or hexes. we know the responsibility of our faith and we know that if you radiate bad vibes, it will come right back around to bite you in the ass later. that said, most Wiccans don’t mind witches who do curse or hex. some cultures use practices like voodoo, and even old eastern European practices were not free of rituals that were made to directly interfere with someone’s will (love spells that were supposed to make someone love you). therefore, a disclaimer: I’m not anti-hex. I would not use a hex because I feel that hate will not solve hate, and as long as you’re an adult, I trust you know what you’re doing with your power. maybe you are of an oppressed culture and have good reason to exact revenge on someone who severely hurt you, especially if you have a long-standing tradition of hexes. even Nina Simone sang “I Put a Spell on You” (albeit this is also a love spell). I know curses and hexes and even spells affecting with another’s free will are an inherent part of witchcraft and I won’t deny it. I follow my doctrine, you follow yours, that is fine by me.

what is NOT fine with me, however, is propagating hex culture among minors. why? because minors are not ready to take on that responsibility!!!! just like they are not truly ready to make healthy decisions about sex, alcohol or other substances, they cannot take true responsibility over causing harm, be it spiritual or otherwise. “what’s a little hex do?” you might ask, if you’re a minor. not to sound like a boomer, but when I was 16, I was edgy as fuck. I hated everyone while claiming to love everyone. I was in NO correct mental state to make decisions about the aforementioned things. even without casting any hexes, I made many mistakes. big ones. I hurt a lot of people. yes, I regret it all deeply. I wish I had thought things over rather than stay stubborn. in fact, most people under 20 are not ready to enter discourse, drama or a vicious cycle of hatred purely because it will always turn into “all bite but no bark”. I purposefully say it that way because although youngsters are admirably spirited and ready to take on the world... they often bite off more than they can chew. I see girlies straight out of high school trying to solve huge problems like racism, and although, again, admiring these young people, they have researched their stuff. to an extent, they know what they’re talking about... but I do believe hate will not solve hate.

one of the moderators of said server retaliated with it not being a universal truth, and claimed my take to be “unverified personal gnosis” (what is a verified gnosis, anyway? how do you measure it? especially in a practice like witchcraft where every bloody individual practises it differently and there are no priests or churches?). if the moderator happens to read this and wishes to elaborate, i’d be welcome for a bit of constructive discussion over what is and isn’t personal gnosis. I acknowledge that “hate cannot be fought with hate” is not a universal truth... that is perhaps where I went to the extreme. but believe me, I did not say it to be holier-than-thou. I was actually shocked to be called out by not one, but two moderators on my behaviour, instantly. I did not read in the rules that one would be forbidden to state their opinion or softly disagree, but perhaps it is so and I did not pay enough attention.

there comes another food for thought: is it possible to socialise without being opinionated in any way? would shutting down opinions truly prevent conflict? because I’m feeling very bitter and left out now. I know everyone on that server is not Wiccan. but to get slapped in the face right after I attempted to be friendly (laconic and feeble as that was), among who I considered to be my own people... I feel conflicted. now mind, I’m not going to leave witchcraft behind. it is my religion, and thanks to this experience, I learned that Wicca is the right thing for me. I don’t want to advocate for violence and a vicious cycle of hatred. my grandfather was Romani, therefore I believe I know a thing or two about mislabeling and hate enacted upon minorities and outcast people. does that mean I want to kill and hex every white in sight? the answer is no. if anything, me being both Wiccan and Romani, it would just add fuel to the fire. especially because Romani are stereotyped as evil witches in the first place, so it would be a double suicide. by propagating violence, I would give these people more reason to hate pagans and Romani people. both cultures are already feared and hated upon as it is. I am not going to give people more opportunity to hate me.

coming back to the minor I disagreed with in the server. I was shocked that the first thing that came to a teenager’s mind was a revenge hex. it screams of naiveté and irresponsible behaviour towards your faith. and not JUST your faith. as I am a student of psychology, I am well aware how mind patterns work, and here’s the funny thing: psychology has proven that witchcraft’s law of returns is somewhat true, not on a magickal level, but on a mental one. if you ponder over violence and revenge excessively, you are reinforcing those neural pathways in your brain. there is a reason why they say “hate breeds hate”. it is the same reason why depression is so hard to deal with. anything you obsessively ruminate over reinforces it again and again until escape seems impossible. I’m not only speaking as a witch, I’m speaking as a human being. is it correct to propagate petty violence among minors when we as adults can do better and guide young people to better paths?

I’m not saying young people shouldn’t use hexes. but I am questioning their ability to take on the responsibility of potentially hurting someone, or even just thinking of hurting someone. you plant a seed of hate and it may just grow. you knock on the devil’s door enough times and he will answer (disclaimer: I’m not Christian either, I just like the saying). soon there shall be nothing left but hate. if the person in question had not been a minor, I would have left it at that. but religion is sacred. a witch’s magick is essentially making something important to you sacred. it’s not a plaything. it’s not to be used light-handedly. it’s not a trend. and hexes should be the last resort if all else fails OR the person you hate has a damn good reason for being hated.

is it wrong to vote for love and peace? yeah, I sound like a hippie, but I think they’re right. love was not born from continuing to fight each other - love was born from unity, from coexisting. how does one fight racism? psychology says see more poc, interact with them, understand their struggles. how to fight religious fear? spend time with people of different views. how to get over homophobia? spend time with the gays and try to understand their views, and like, actually understand them. spending time with someone just to berate them is still bigotry. the interaction I mean here is coexisting with minorities in a shared space and them slowly, but surely becoming more accepted and normalised because we finally see them. even a bigot can’t stay a bigot if they are brought out of isolation. if they’re forced to see people different than them.

unfortunately, not even your own faith can comfort you sometimes, mostly because the community is still divided. there are rules on what should and shouldn’t be done, and woe upon thee if you dare to even peep one of your thoughts. I merely said thank you and sorry and left, as I always do when I feel misunderstood. it was a valuable yet harsh lesson, and I regret hoping for acceptance or even offering me a moment to be understood without being shut down without a second thought. I regret hoping for a little discussion where it is seen as a violation of rules.

again, as long as you are ready to bear the responsibility of harming another, do whatever you want. as a Wicca, I prefer staying benevolent and kind, even to those who traumatised me. you might argue that this essay in itself is not benevolent... after all, Wiccans don’t slander people behind their backs, you might say. but it is not my intent to slander. it is just me expressing sheer confusion over what I expected to be a community to hear out all voices, because why have a community at all if you allow for no discussion? do we shut off discussions entirely in fear of fights? but alas, it is human nature to be opposed, but it’s also human nature to still hold hands despite the differences - one just needs to acknowledge it.

blessed be.

[numbaoneflaya]

8, 21, 22, 26 for Caz , 25, 27, 29, 39 for Felria, 23, 30, 40, 43 for Suds, and 21, 25, 26, 35 for Nirn? 👀👀

HERE THEY ARE IM SJORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG GDSHEDG...

Caz

8. How does your character feel about religion?

Not a big fan! Hates the chantry and Andraste and the Maker and the Qun. Being raised in the circle run by templars and nuns and seeing the corruption of the church firsthand from the inside really left a bad taste in her mouth for organized religion.

21. What are your character’s manners like? What is their type of hero? Whom do they hate?

She has the ability to flip her manners on or off depending on who shes with. If shes comfortable then shes going to be more crass and impolite, but shes capable of really cleaning up her act and pretending to be professional if she needs to be. Her type of hero is anyone who goes against the status quo and disrupts systems of oppression- She considers Thurwen/the HOF and Hawke personal heroes (if Hawke sides with the mages) as well as Anders. Has read all of Anders manifestos and reports on Thurwen and Hawke and would geek tf out meeting them.

22. Who are their friends? Lovers? ‘Type’ or ‘ideal’ partner?

Friends are anyone who accepts her for who she is and doesnt snitch on her, people she can trust to do the right thing or atleast try to, and people she can have a good laugh with. Lovers are only a couple in the past as she needs to get to know someone well/find them interesting to want to sleep with them. Her type is large, charismatic and rugged. Anyone who looks like a good brat tamer but is also intelligent and keen. Iron Bull.

26. What does your character’s home look like? Personal taste? Clothing? Hair? Appearance?

Everything is covered in tomes and journals but theres a method to the madness. She likes to keep her things organized, surprisingly. She likes cool colors like greens and blues, likes dressing comfortably. Oversized shawls that second as blankets and loose pants. Her hair she likes to keep down with the sides pulled into little braids in front of her ears.

Felria

25. What are their hobbies and interests?

People watching and painting! She knows how to blend into a crowd pretty well or how to find a hidden vantage point where she can just sit and watch people… for hours. She finds peoples behaviors/reactions fascinating and makes little journals of interesting things she sees. Finding how other people work differently than her is vital to figuring out how best to manipulate and control them and she loves learning new ways! And painting because she has an artist's eye and enjoys beautiful things. A few bottles of blood and a quiet evening in front of an easel is a great way for her to unwind.

27. How do they relate to their appearance? How do they wear their clothing? Style? Quality?

She relates her appearance with how easily she will be able to blend in or stand out of her surroundings, and how to dress in order to play the role she wants to play. Because of her line or work (professional assassin and information gatherer) she has to have a lot of costumes available to fit the personalities she plays. Shes a performer at heart but only for herself and the joy she gets in deception. Her own style, if shes not performing, is simple reds and blacks and silvers. She keeps her hair long so shes able to do more with it.

29. What is your character’s weaknesses? Hubris? Pride? Controlling?

Her pride could definitely be her downfall as well as her curiosity. She believes shes just better and different than everybody else and that its her right to play with people as much as she wants, I can see her eventually trying to play with the wrong person. She believes she can get out of any situation by herself without help and that she deserves the finer things in life, and if someone gets in her way, they deserve whatever harm befalls them.

39. What do they like to ridicule? What do they find stupid?

She will really ridicule anything and anyone because she finds most things stupid or benign. She likes to ridicule any of the gods and aedra, and anyone who worships them. She ridicules mortals and werewolves and any other creature that's not a vampire.

Suds

23. What do they want from a partner? What do they think and feel of sex?

Back in his youth he wanted spontaneous fun, a charming and outspoken person to sweep him off his feet. He always wanted someone to take him on adventures and be dangerous and in the moment. Now? Poor guy just wants commitment and someone genuine. Hes tired of charismatic liars who he always seems to fall for. He wants someone to help tend his garden and bond with the bees. He feels that sex is a sacred thing to be shared with people you trust, not something thrown around haphazardly. Relationship and trust come first with him, and he casually waves any flirtation most of the time as if he hadn't noticed it. He's been hurt too many times to trust easily like that.

30. Are they holding on to something in the past? Can he or she forgive?

Yeah hes holding onto a long ass past full of betrayal from the people hes held dearest to him :/ He by nature is a very forgiving person and believes one must be generous in forgiveness. Hes holding onto his past hurt from Felix and cant seem to get away from it- hes forgiven him many times and each time Felix just does the same things as before.

40. How is their sense of humor? Do they have one?

A little dual natured in this aspect. Generally pretty reserved and soft with other people and can seem serious to those who dont know him. Underneath that is his reputation as a trickster- fond of pranks and revelry. The little twinkle in his eye is the only thing that would give him away as the culprit when everyone is looking for who filled a bucket of mud over Nirns chamber door. His favorite kind of jokes are the really long ones, the ones that have a seemingly normal storyline and go on forever and then end in a way where the joke is really on the person listening. And everyone around goes “AAAUUGHH!”

43. Does your character have any secrets? If so, are they holding them back?

A lot of them! Hes a very good secret keeper as hes who many people go to with their problems. After being alive so long and being somewhat involved with politics he probably knows more than a few that could take down nations, and always seems to know whats going on wherever in the world. He has his connections, his mushrooms and his bees and such have eyes everywhere. And don't tell anyone but he is an ardent fan of juicy gossip.

Nirn

21. What are your character’s manners like? What is their type of hero? Whom do they hate?

Impeccable manners. The posture of a God, obviously. Always eloquent and polite, knows which spoons to use for certain dishes and common diplomacy practice from all over the world. Nirn has no heroes, hes never held anyone to a pedestal or been one for hero worship. If he had to choose hed say his mother, for how graceful yet ruthless she was in politics and trade. He also does not hate anybody, he considers strong feelings a weakness and to harbor such resentment would only make him act rashly. He dislikes the slovenly, though. Not the common man but the drunken aristocrat with wine breath who gambles his savings and acts impolitely.

25. What are their hobbies and interests?

Chess and games of strategy are some of his favorites in the odd chance he has any free time. He also plays the violin and the harp and the lute, instruments he's known since he was taught them as a child. Wine tasting as well! Hes one of those mfs who can just sniff a certain drink and say with precision the date time and location it was made.

26. What does your character’s home look like? Personal taste? Clothing? Hair? Appearance?

Everything is refined and elegant with a certain air of someone who enjoys the arts. Many expensive paintings and sculptures on display. He prefers the colors red and gold and white, sometimes a darkish blue or purple. He is always dressed to impress, satin and velvet and exotic leathers. He keeps his hair long to the small of his back, or tied up in a bun. In appearance hes intimidatingly tall and knows how to stand to look even taller, does not tilt his head down to you but moreso stares down his nose.

35. Do they always rationalize errors? How do they accept disasters and failures?

Failure is only a means to greater success to him. To win a game sometimes you need to sacrifice a few pawns, etc. Takes them calmly and with little indication that hes upset at all. He usually has four or five backup plans for any endeavor, so hes able to quickly jump tactics if something isn't working. In game or battle hes typically a good sport at losing, though he very seldom does. Hed be more impressed that someone managed to make him fail, and get to thinking on how to get them in his employ.

[lookbluesoup]

I’ve seen a lot of talk about anti anti culture lately and an emphasis on canceling people who write stories where bad things happen (i.e., rape, molestation, abuse). I’m really interested in facilitating a positive, open space here on my blog. So sharing my personal opinion about this at all is something I thought about for a while, and my hope is that it offers a helpful perspective as well as solidarity to people who use fiction the same way as me.

It’s not directed at anyone in particular or any event in particular. The tl;dr version is – people should always have a choice, they should be allowed to read or choose not to read, they should be allowed to write and share or choose not to write or share. Taking that choice away from people ultimately hurts survivors by making topics taboo and forcing everyone to fit a specific moral narrative for their pain or experiences to be valid.

Trigger Warnings: Rape, abuse, cancel culture, child molestation, depression, suicide, dogmatic religion, homophobia

1. These things DO happen in real life, and yes, they are harmful, and yes, reading about them can be triggering. Fully, completely acknowledge all of these things and have experienced my share of it firsthand.

2. People should be allowed to know before they get invested in a story whether triggers might be present so that they can choose to avoid it if they want to. It is their choice, and responsibility to decide not to read something that is appropriately tagged. (And please, please tag appropriately!)

3. Being interested in reading about dark subjects does not make a person evil. Somewhere between 31-57 percent of women admit to having rape fantasies. (x) That does not mean women want to be raped in real life. It does not mean that half the population of women are perverted degenerates. Reading fiction, like indulging in our fantasies, is a safe place to explore and enjoy sensations, dramas, and experiences we still don’t want in real life.

In less touchy examples - I love reading about gladiator arena battles! I love playing apocalyptic games where monsters jump out of the dark and scare the shit out of me! I do not want gladiator rings or to live in an apocalypse in real life! That doesn’t mean my interest in these stories or games condones them in real life. It doesn’t mean I think it was right that Rome irl forced slaves to fight to the death for entertainment.

4. I grew up in an environment without grey areas. The dogmatic Bible-beating hatemongering kind. Someone was good and did everything right according to my beliefs and worldview, or someone was bad and a direct threat to me. If I did something wrong, I had to punish myself physically and emotionally to make up for not being perfect. I was taught to despise myself. My parents believed there was only one correct way to view any situation - their way. I was petrified of punishment and learned that it wasn’t even worth trying to do better or accommodate someone else’s experiences because I would never measure up and would be condemned for doing something that wasn’t perfect. That is immensely, cripplingly harmful to an individual and to society. Cancel culture does the same thing. It excommunicates people who aren’t pure and allows others to get by with abuse because they are ‘teaching’ or an ‘authority on morality’ – and guess what? Nobody is pure. We are all human, we all make mistakes, and we are all learning. None of us have moral authority.

We cannot build a healthy, inclusive society if we are unsafe. We cannot be safe if we are not allowed to first admit that we ALL make mistakes and have prejudices that we can improve on. So we need to be kind and nonjudgmental whenever we have the chance to be. And we have to accept and respect that what’s fun or helpful or healing for us might be the opposite for someone else, or vice versa. Which is okay if we are respectful of each other’s boundaries and don’t try to force a way of being onto someone else without their consent.

5. With regard to writing, this means that people need to be allowed to explore difficult, even painful topics if they wish to. Even for fun. Even if someone else might not want or need to explore those same topics. That doesn’t make either person inherently evil or wrong. It just means we all have different needs and wants and diversity is normal. 

As a serious example, as someone who was molested by a teenage neighbor as a child, I can guarantee you that the fact these topics were considered so disgusting and taboo by society made it very difficult for me to cope. It was not my fault, and I’ve healed from it, but when it happened I didn’t even understand what was going on, and the guilt and self-blame that followed me for years afterward were almost crippling. So yes – what happened to me in real life was wrong, inexcusable behavior. But censorship did not protect me. First it made me ignorant and vulnerable to manipulation, and then it made me feel dirty, disgusting, and isolated. 

What I needed was a safe avenue to talk about it and the thoughts and sensations it stirred up, in order to heal. I needed to know it was okay to have automatic thoughts – they were a result of fear and trauma or even just being human, not a moral failing on my part. I needed to actually talk about and explore what I had felt openly, and how that related to the rest of my life, before I could move past it and have a healthy view of intimate acts that weren’t soaked in guilt and self-loathing.

I read a book after that happened, set in ancient Rome, where pederasty took place. And the victim was allowed to admit that he’d enjoyed some of what had happened to him while enslaved, and was then assured that even though he didn’t hate everything that he experienced, it didn’t make him to blame, nor his abuser right, and those thoughts/feelings did not define him or his morality. That has been immensely healing to me – but this ‘grey’ exploration of a topic is not compatible with mainstream cancel culture.

Or alternatively, I watched the series 13 Reasons Why. I hated it. It felt like nothing but shock value entertainment and not a respectful management of topics like suicide that were very, VERY real to me. Except for someone else I knew who had also struggled with suicidal thoughts and impulses, 13 Reasons Why was immensely validating. They were glad that a series showed such graphic representation of these events in a way that couldn’t be ignored or brushed over. What had been hurtful to me, was empowering to them.

I believe it is not mine, or anyone else’s place, to decide that a piece of media should be across the board banned because of what it might do. Because while some of us share traumas, we still each have different experiences, needs, and healing processes.

Such strict censorship allows for only victims who meet a certain “standard” to receive care and healing. The rest are left to suffer or are even punished further.

All of us have gone through life with vastly different levels of privilege, opportunity, expectations, etc, which leads to vastly different interpretations of the world, none of which are 100% correct or true.

6. Cancel culture hurts LGBTQ+ rights. I’m neither straight or cis, and I might never have learned that if I hadn’t been able to build friendships outside of my social circle who allowed me to integrate and ask questions without being obligated to agree with them. Where I grew up, there was immense prejudice against gay people. My cousin was disowned and disinherited for coming out. I was sheltered from anyone who might argue for gay rights, and discouraged from looking at or being curious of the deep south’s version of ‘problematic.’ That’s what I was taught – to be uncomfortable toward, judgmental, and condemning. If I had been on tumblr during those years and gotten ‘cancelled’ I would have been even more suspicious and condemning of Others, and even more determined that my way was the only right one. I specifically avoided tumblr social circles because I ‘knew’ they hated ‘people like me.’ It’s not exclusive. This trend where people become even more convinced to pick an opposing side because the Other person is being hateful is one of the first things they teach you in social psychology. 

The kind of intolerance that goes with mobbing people for saying anything they consider problematic at all is the same cruelty that makes me unable to tell my parents I identify as agender or pan. It’s what gets women stoned to death and gays beheaded. It’s not moral. 

What changed my point of view was friendships. One of my friends came out as gay and my world turned upside down because here was someone that didn’t match any of the stereotypes I’d been taught to fear. He wasn’t hateful or condemning of me, he was one of the most thoughtful and peaceful people I knew. That is what started to change things for me, and made it safe for me to explore other ways of thinking and interpretations of scripture. Because I cared about him more than I needed to be right.

7. Nobody is obligated to interact with someone who is being violent or hateful to them. You’re not even obligated to interact with someone you disagree with, if the topic is too painful or you simply don’t want to talk about it. Keep yourselves safe. But within the world of writing, live and let live. If someone posts a story you don’t like, and they’ve tagged it appropriately, please, please consider that your experience is not universal. You have the choice not to read that story. Someone else might need to read it. Let them, and don’t shame them for it. 

[jalapeno-princess]

Give It a Try

Mark Tuan X Male Reader

Word Count: 3.2K

Genre: Fluffy with a tiny bit of angst

Summary: You and Mark have been tip toeing around each other’s feelings for the last few months but that’s because you’re afraid to give him your all. However, after coming to the conclusion that he genuinely cares for you and wants to take things further between the two of you, you no longer see the point in preventing things to blossom in to something beautiful.

A/N: This was requested by @xavi-in-kpopland​ this is actually my first time writing a male x male story so I hope you enjoy it! I’m sorry if it doesn’t reach your expectations :( but thank you again for requesting! (Based on the song Fire by the Pointer Sisters)

I'm ridin' in your car You turn on the radio You're pullin' me close I just say no I say I don't like it But you know I'm a liar 'Cause when we kiss, ooh FireLate at night You're takin' me home You say you want to stay I say I want to be alone I say I don't love you But you know I'm a liar 'Cause when we kiss, ooh Fire

“I can feel you looking at me. You’re not exactly discreet about it Mark. Stop that. You’re supposed to keep your eyes on the road. If we die tonight because you can’t keep your eyes off of me, I’ll kill you.” His adorable high pitch laughter that you loved yet hated so much because of the effect it had on you echoed throughout his car and overpowered the playlist of songs he claimed reminded him of you. 

The two of you had just finished watching the new Keanu Reeves movie that recently came out and Mark’s been begging you to go and see it with him as soon as he saw the movie poster posted up at the mall. At first, you rejected him just to play around with him but deep down you knew you were going to give in to him. You’d do anything for the beautiful boy behind the wheel; he meant a lot to you. More than you wanted to admit out loud to him and even to yourself. 

You enjoyed playing hard to get; something about knowing that the most admired and desired guy on campus having eyes for nobody else but you sent fire to your bones. You knew you had Mark hooked, but you wanted to make sure he was in it for the long run and that his intentions were pure. The last thing you needed was for the most popular guy in school to dump you like you were nothing and leave you in the dust, making you look like the biggest loser at your university. 

To your dismay, the more time you spent with him, the faster you began losing your resolve; but it was inevitable. You and Mark have been fooling around with one another for almost four months now. There was a little voice in the back of your head telling you that he would’ve left a long time ago if he didn’t have at least some kind of romantic feelings for you and you were well aware that Mark was where you kept your heart. It took you a while to accept your feelings for him, but you loved Mark. 

Although some people may consider it too early to really know how far your feelings went for him, when it’s love you just know. There was a warm feeling in your chest every time you’d spend time with him and once he would drop you back to your apartment, you were left feeling empty and counted down the hours until you got to see him again. You wanted to wait it out a little bit more to see that he was worth risking your heart for. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him. No; in the last four months, he’s shown you nothing but kindness, support, patience and generosity. 

He helped you learn to love who you were and to embrace your sexuality. It’s just that you’ve been hurt a few times in the past by assholes who thought it would be funny to pretend that they too were interested in guys knowing that you were one of the only people who genuinely did not care if everyone knew your gender preference when it came to your significant other. Knowing who he was and who his friends were, you were afraid to let Mark in your life the day he approached you in your religion class asking you for help. 

All the girls in your class were extremely obvious about their attraction for him and you couldn’t blame them; he was indescribably good looking and quite the charmer. But from what you heard through the grapevine, Mark had no interest in girls. There were days where you found yourself daydreaming about what it would be like getting to date him, hold hands with him, go on cute little dates with him and to kiss those plump lips of his; but that’s all you had thought would happen. 

If someone were to tell you months ago that you’d be in a complicated relationship with Mark, you’d laugh in their face. You didn’t know when your tutoring sessions turned in to meeting up with him to get food at two in the morning, or cuddling with him while he played video games over at your apartment, but it was in those moments where you’d find yourself questioning the status of your relationship with the older boy. The two of you were more than friends but less than lovers and you knew it was because you weren’t ready to take things further just yet. 

If you were to put a title on what you and Mark were, you had a feeling things would only go downhill from there and you didn’t want to lose him before you could really enjoy being with him. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him hesitantly moving his hand towards your lap; something he always did whenever you’d go on drives together. Most of the time, you’d swat his hand away even if you wanted nothing more than to intertwine your hands together. There were days where you allowed him to hold your hand or to even pull you in to his embrace, but for the most part you would always push him away the second you felt his touch. 

Whenever you’d see him flush in embarrassment from the rejection, you felt a pain in your chest and you hated being so rash towards him. Especially because he treated you as if you were the most delicate flower. Sooner or later, you were going to have to give in to him before he finally gave up on this frustrating game of car and mouse. You had a huge feeling he was probably getting tired of how cold you would act towards him but not once did he complain or force you to do something you didn’t want to which was what you admired about him the most. 

Unfortunately, for the last few days your mind has been all over the place. You couldn’t help but overthink that the longer you kept pushing Mark away and prevented things from blossoming between the two of you, that he would soon grow tired and find someone who was willing to treat him the way he deserved. Mark could get anybody he wanted; this you knew was true and you didn’t know why he settled for someone like you, but you weren’t going to continue to push him away. Tonight, you planned on allowing whatever it was going between you and Mark; a fling of some sorts turn in to whatever it is that he wanted for the two of you.

 Since he didn’t seem like he was going to initiate anything, you reached over the console and pulled his hand on to your lap before intertwining your fingers together. Seeing his breath hit at your sudden movement made you smile softly to yourself. Was this man really going to be twenty-seven years old in a couple of months? Sometimes you’d forget how old Mark really was because of how childlike he’d act around you. 

“Are you—is everything okay?” His question caused you to look at him in curiosity. 

“I’m fine. Oh—are you not okay with this?” As you were about to pull your hand away, he tugged on it all but gently and brought yours hands up to his lips before placing a gentle kiss on the back of it. Your heart rate began increasing as soon as you felt his lips on your skin; in the few moments that he’d kiss you, whether they were chaste kisses against your cheek or passionate, steamy make out sessions, any moment spent with his lips on any one of your body parts sent your body in flames. 

“No no—I’m okay with this—more than okay. Trust me. I just—I’m not used to you initiating things like this. You’re always so quick to push me away, so it’s taking a little longer for me to get used to your clingy side—ow! When did you become so strong? Just wait till we park y/n, you’re going to regret that.” 

You playfully rolled your eyes and squeezed his hands as you turned your attention back to the road. “Ooooh, I’m so scared.” His little giggle at your sarcasm made you blush. God, this man was going to be the death of you. 

“Hey y/n do you—would it be okay if—ah, never mind.” When it was just the two of you, Mark would always be so shy and soft spoken sometimes. It wasn’t something you were used to, even after months of getting to know the real him. The Mark that nobody else got to see. To the world; his friends, your professors and fellow classmates, Mark was an extremely outgoing, talkative and an all-around guy. He had this aura about him; a kind of confidence that made people gravitate toward him. 

He portrayed himself to be such a dominant and superior individual but when it was just the two of you, he could turn in to the biggest ball of fluff. Although he didn’t say it, he never had to. It was obvious that Mark was whipped for you, and you were hoping by the end of tonight you’d prove to him that you felt the same exact way. 

“What is it?” Once he got to a stoplight, he turned and looked at you with an unidentifiable look on his face before shrugging indifferently. “Is it alright if I come over tonight? I kinda don’t want to let you go just yet.” You could tell it took him a lot of courage to ask you something he knew you’d probably say no to. Hearing that he wanted to spend more time with you sent warmth to your cheeks. How could you say no to him knowing that he wanted to stay with you just a little while longer? Especially because you had an idea of what was going to happen as soon as you both reached your place. “Hmm, I don’t know. I’m actually kinda tired. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Oh—uh—yeah, sure. That’s fine.” His nose sullen demeanor pulled at your heartstrings and you found yourself reaching over to humorously pinch his cheek. 

“I’m fucking with you Mark. Of course you can come over. You can even stay the night if you’re too tired to drive home. I washed your clothes from the last few times.” He nodded in agreement and the small grin that was slowly growing on his face from the change in your tone caused you to mirror his expression. Just a couple of minutes later, he was pulling up to your apartment and ran over to your side to open the door for you. It was his actions that proved to you that he harbored romantic feelings for you and it always made you feel almost childlike. 

You couldn’t explain the way Mark made you feel. But all you knew, was that nobody else has ever made you feel so important, so needed; wanted—loved and it scared you because you were sure nobody ever could. He helped you out of the passenger seat and grabbed at your hand; not giving you any time to process anything before pulling you towards the lobby. 

Out of all the skin ship the two of you shared, holding hands with Mark had to be your favorite. He had such pretty fingers; they were so long and skinny and his hand practically swallowed your tiny ones whole. You always felt so safe with him and you could feel the confession of love for him at the tip of your tongue. When he saw you walking towards the elevators, he let out a snicker and you rolled your eyes; you knew exactly what he was laughing at from past experiences and you weren’t having it. 

“What now Tuan?”

“Nothing—it’s nothing—you live on the second floor yet you always take the elevator. You are the definition of lazy—what the hell do you do in your free time? Bench press your television? Your biceps are getting bigger and your punches are harder—okay I’ll stop. I just thought it was cute but fine—be an asshole.” 

The bickering stopped right as you reached your apartment and you made your way in with Mark trailing right behind you. He’s been over to your place a few times, so he knew where everything was and he even had a few of his things scattered throughout your apartment. A couple of his jackets were in your closet, he had a pair of shoes on the shoe rack and there was his shampoo and body wash in your shower. You knew he wouldn’t leave all his things over at your place if you were just someone he was messing around with. 

“Thirsty?” He shook his head in disagreement before throwing himself on your couch and turning on the television. You on the other hand wanted to give yourself some time to prepare what you were going to tell him. 

Mark, I love you. You mean a lot to me. I’m sorry for giving you such a hard time these last few months but thank you for not giving up on me—us these last few months. I’m ready now. I’m yours if you’ll have me. 

You wanted to say it all, but you felt as if you were going to throw up just thinking about it. “Hurry up over there, I’m lonely.” You took in a deep breath before making your way back in to the living room. 

It was now or never y/n, whatever happens, happens. 

If he didn’t end up feeling the same way, then you could just kick him out and pretend as if none of this happened but deep down you knew there was no way you could ever forget this; forget him. There was no way. Mark was tattooed on your heart and etched in to parts of your soul that you were so scared of what would happen to you if he were to end your relationship. You took a seat at the end of the couch, giving yourself some space away from him but he wasn’t having it. He got up from his spot on the couch to reach out for you and pulled you on top of his lap, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist as he placed his chin on top of your shoulder. 

No matter how many times you’d find yourself in this position with him, you could never stop the blush that always seemed to grow on your cheeks at the close proximity. 

“Mark.” He hummed in curiosity against your neck and waited for your response before saying anything. “Can I ask you something?” The nod against your cheek made you giggle; his stubble tickled as it rubbed against your recently shaved skin. 

“What are we? Better yet, what am I to you. Like—what do I mean to you?” Feeling him pull away as soon as those words fell from your lips worried you. You knew it was too good to be true. There was no way Mark could ever look at you in the way that he wanted to. Tears were brimming at your eyelids and you were so upset with yourself from ruining things. Right as you were about to try and take back what you had just asked, you were being thrown on to the couch as he roughly brought his lips to yours. He brought his hands up to your face and cupped both of your cheeks; his mouth felt hot on yours as he molded your lips together perfectly. 

His kisses never failed to send your body to flames and it felt as if electricity was running through your veins. Mark deepens the kiss; his lips were chapped but tasted like fried chicken and beer; a combination you were used to seeing how that was his favorite food and alcoholic beverage pairing. He licked and sucked on both your top and bottom lips before he brought your tongue in between his teeth. To your dismay, he pulled away to catch his breath and placed his forehead against yours while plopping himself on top of you. 

“Mark, get off of me! You’re so heavy you ass—“

“You’ve never complained about being a bottom before—will you stop hitting me? Why aren’t you this physical in bed? Anyways, before you ruin the mood with your brash commentary, if it wasn’t already obvious, I have feelings for you and to sum it all up, I love you. I know why you’re afraid of love and I’m sorry you had to go through all of that, but you can trust me. I hope you know that and I hope you do or at least plan on learning how to. My feelings for you are sincere. I don’t know exactly when my little crush on you turned in to this beautiful thing called love, but I love the effect it has on me. I love the effect you have on me. You mean so much to me y/n and if you give me the chance, I’d love to be yours. I’ll take good care of you. I promise.” 

He brought his pinky out to yours and you looked up at him to make sure his expressions matched his words. You stole a kiss from the corner of his mouth and twisted your pinkies together. 

“Okay. Let’s do this.” You tried to push him off of you but he gave you a knowing look and made it even harder for you to try and escape.

“Mark—“

“You didn’t tell me how you feel yet. You’re not going anywhere baby. I know you love me too, you just have to say it.” Hearing the term of endearment was going to take some getting used to, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like how it sounded coming from his pretty lips.

“Wow, cocky aren’t we? Bold of you to assume that I love you. Where’d you get that idea?”

“I don’t know if you are aware of this, but when you doze off sometimes you murmur things. Maybe it’s your conscience but I swear I heard you confessing what I’m assuming is your feelings for me, how thankful you are for me and how you’d love to be mine—“ you covered his mouth to prevent anything else from coming out and hid your face in the crook of his neck to prevent him from seeing how crazy he was driving you. 

“Whatever! I love you! There? You happy? Oh, and I just—before I say anything this is going to be the only time I’m ever going to say sappy shit so listen closely. Thank you for not giving up on us. Thank you for being so patient with me and not running away no matter how much of a dick I was. You mean the world to me Mark and I really don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I hope that getting to love you every day is enough to pay you back for everything you’ve done for me in the last few months. You’re amazing, and I love you.” He grinned down at you and you could feel butterflies growing in your tummy the longer he looked at you with so much love and adoration. 

“I’m never going to get tired of hearing you say that. Now kiss me.”

You had a hold on me right from the start A grip so tight I couldn't tear it apart My nerves all jumpin', actin' like a fool Well, your kisses they burn, but my heart stays cool

Well, Romeo and Juliet Samson and Delilah Baby you can bet A love they couldn't deny My words say split But my words they lie 'Cause when we kiss, ooh Fire

Ooh fire Hot kisses like fire Burn me up with fire I like what you're doin' now, Fire Touchin' me with fire Touchin' me, burnin me with fire Take me home Fire Kisses like fire

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #426

“insatiable furnace, burning up our surplus  /  watching all essential life become another servant”

Are you a brunette? Yep. It is way past due time that I get it dyed... What is your favorite channel on TV? I don't really watch TV, but if I did, I'm pretty sure it'd probably be Discovery. Have you ever been to Chicago, IL? Yes!! It's my only experience with a truly BIG city, and though I'm not a city person, the experience was pretty magical. It was something I wasn't even remotely used to. Just so much life and business and energy to feel there. Who was your first friend? Brianna. She was the sister of my older sister's best friend. What is your favorite holiday? Christmas. :') Do you regret your last kiss? Nope. Have you ever taken a karate class? No. Who was the last person to tell you ‘I love you’? My mom. Have you ever been to the Statue of Liberty? No. Do you live on your own? Noooo. I don't think I ever could. I would have to stay VERY busy, or else the loneliness would kill me. Hell, even if I was very active in stuff, I still don't know if I could. With how bad my depression is capable of being, it doesn't sound smart at all for me to move out unless it was with somebody. Are your the oldest child? No, I'm the middle kid. How many X-rays have you had in the last 2 years? Two, maybe? One for my legs and the other for my teeth. Are you on good terms with your last ex? Yeah, we're best friends. Do you have scars you don’t like to talk about? Nah. Do you freak out if a bee/wasp flies near you? ... yes lol. What subjects in history interest you most? The Holocaust. It's just so... shocking and extreme that it's oddly fascinating, but of course horribly sad. Are you superstitious in any way? Nah. How do you get rid of anxiety? Do what? Are there any items of jewelry you never/rarely take off? Yeah, my two rings, my lip piercing, and tragus piercing. Has a song ever made you cry before? There are many. ^If so, what about it brought you to tears? Again, I said "many," so this would be a horribly long list. There are four though - "Eternally Yours" and "Another Life" by Motionless in White, "Stairway to Heaven" by Led Zeppelin, and "The Mortician's Daughter" by Black Veil Brides - that I really, really try to avoid, because I WILL cry. They're all associated with Jason for one reason or another. "Stairway to Heaven," especially, is absolutely forbidden for me to listen to. Would you consider yourself open-minded? Very, honestly. Have you ever met someone online that you wanted to meet in real life? I've met Sara! :') There are a handful of others I'd love to meet, too. Tell me about the last thing that made you laugh until it hurt. Wow, I have no idea. I don't remember the last time I laughed THAT hard. When you graduate, what color will your gown be? Ugh, it was this insufferable red. We got to vote on it, and I really wanted navy instead, as it looks more formal and not as obnoxious to me, but red won. Do you own a gun? No. My household legally can't because of my suicidal history. What color of shirt are you wearing? It's a black tank top. Do you use any acne medication? Nah, I don't really get acne anymore. Are you emotional or very stoic? I'm emotional as shit. Have you ever watched an anime series, start to finish? A few. There's Fullmetal Alchemist (as well as the Brotherhood expansion), Deadman Wonderland, and Ginga Densetsu Weed. I've seen bits of others. Which baby animal is your favorite? MEERKATS!!!!!! :') Once they reach three/four weeks, they're fucking precious. I also really like kittens. Do you like jam on your toast and biscuits? Sometimes. Have you ever reread a book? It is very, VERY rare I do this. The only cases I remember are for Because of Winn-Dixie and Meerkat Manor: Flower of the Kalahari. Do you have any religious symbols in your home? I think Mom has some religious quotes on the walls? What religion do you identify with, if any? None. What is you favorite flavor of pudding and/or yogurt? I love chocolate pudding, but I'm not very big on yogurt because of the sourness. I can sometimes eat a cookies 'n cream one, but occasionally I'm like "ew." We’re going to the best amusement park ever, first ride you choose is? One of those water rides where you go down a big slope. Did you have intense night terrors as a child? No. Know anybody who works in a tattoo parlor? No. That'd be dope. Have you ever had a piercing get infected? Ugh, yes. Worst was the first time I got my tongue pierced. It was early into infection though, thank God; I ended up having to take it out and get it re-pierced later. Have you ever shoplifted? No. Do you hate when people say, "Everything’s going to be fine,“ when it’s not? Sometimes. It can feel kinda dismissive of your extreme situation, and sometimes, things simply won't be okay. Like, you can't tell that to someone on their death bed. Do you check your fire alarms when you’re supposed to? No, oops. Are you a shorts-wearing kind of person? Absolutely not. Nobody wants to see my legs, not even me. Is your grandparents’ house obsessively tidy? My grandma's sure as hell was. She was very old-fashioned and "proper" and took cleanliness and manners very seriously. Do you know how to jumpstart a car? Nope. Would you date someone 8 years older than you? Probably. What did you do today? I WENT TO THE GYM AND DID A FULL HOUR OF EXERCISE!!!!! :') For once I am SO fucking proud of myself. I left drenched in sweat, but I also left with a feeling of great accomplishment. I'm going to be going twice a week now with a personal trainer. (: Who was the last person you fell asleep with? Sara. Have you ever punched a hole in the wall? No. People doing that shit terrifies me. Have you ever felt replaced? Sure have. Have you ever kissed someone who was high? No. If you caught your significant other cheating on you what would you do? I don't have a partner, but hypothetically, leave their ass in a blink. I don't fuck with those kind of people. Do you know who Jeffree Star is? Well, yes. I watch him on YT sometimes and (astonishingly) love his music, and I find his work ethic extremely inspiring. That man knows how to hustle. What’s your favourite alcoholic beverage? Probably sangrias. When was the last time you saw a photo of your ex? "The" ex, it's been years. I've removed all pictures I have of him, irl and digitally, because it's triggering for me. How many push-ups can you do? Probably zero. Do you play any games on your phone? There's Pokemon GO, DragonVale, and Dragons of Atlantis that I play semi-regularly. Have you ever received a compliment from a stranger? Yes. Have you ever shaved your face? Just my upper lip to avoid the lady stache, ha ha. What colour is your front door? It’s white. Do you take the stairs or the elevator? If an elevator is available, I will ALWAYS use that. I have an extreeeemely hard time getting up stairs because of having just about no leg muscle. Do you get motion sickness? No. When was the last time you went to your favourite restaurant? Oh man, it's been forever. :/ Olive Garden sounds soooo good right now. Do either of your parents have any tattoos or piercings? No. Well, Mom has her earlobes pierced once, but that's it. Are you desperate for anyone’s approval, in particular? It's funny, even though he hasn't been a part of my life for years, I still desperately crave what I think would make Jason proud. There have been many times where my mind has wondered to what he would think of me now... and I know it's not good. Are there any activities you enjoy doing, but can only do for a short amount of time before you get bored or tired of them? Reading. When was the last time you felt hopeful, and why? Today, after finishing my workout at the gym. I think, finally, that I may be taking another stride forward in life. Do you find yourself asking for the same things for your birthdays and for holidays? Ha, yup: a new tattoo, 100%. What is something someone recommended to you that you disliked/hated? Girt's recommended some music to me before. He loves sharing songs he likes with me. Of course I didn't tell him it sucked, ha ha. What’s a fact about the last person you kissed? She is very passionate about animals, reptiles in particular, and is simply amazing with them. If you had a child, would you rather have a girl or a boy? A girl for sure. Has anybody ever accused you of doing drugs? No. Have you ever fallen asleep with the last person you kissed? Yeah. Honestly, do you think that you will wanna settle down in the same town you’re currently residing in? HELL no. I hate this place. Does anyone call you darling? If so who? Sara does sometimes. Are you close to any of your cousins? No. Are you a romantic person? I think I am. What’s the coolest thing you’ve seen out the window of an airplane? Mountains. Have you ever been in the mountains when the moon and stars were up? NO BUT FUCK I WANT THAT. Just lay in a grassy spot with some s'mores or something and just ~vibe~. Do people like your hair? I get complimented on it a bit. Have you ever held birdseed and a bird came and ate out of your hand? Yeah, at a bird sanctuary. Could you ever live in Alaska? Hell yeah, I'd enjoy that. On the main page on YouTube, what’re the three recommended videos? There's one by a WoW gold maker, a song by 3TEETH, and a video of bullsnakes hatching. Do you really care how many friends you or anyone else has on Myspace/Facebook? Couldn't care less. I only "friend" people I know and care about. Does your significant other have any piercings? I'm single. Do you ever get bored of yourself? Oh, all the time. I feel like I'm extremely dull and plain and, well, boring. How many band shirts do you own? Which? Oh goodness, I have no idea. I own a lot. Do you go to shows mostly for the music, the moshing, or the merchandise? I go for the music. It's nice to buy merch, but it's SO expensive that it's dumb. Moshing, I think is just stupid. Have you ever had anything pierced that you don’t have now? Many places, actually. So many holes closed because piercings had to be taken out when I was in the psych hospital. I was so annoyed. Who were you with the first time you watched the last movie you watched? I was alone. Do you have any twins/multiples in your family? Are they identical or fraternal? No. What is the highest number of jobs you’ve had at one time? One. Is your mom a good mom? She is the actual best. Last thing you threw in the garbage? The crust of some leftover pizza I had this morning. I generally eat the crust, but this time it was WAY too hard.

[merakiaes]

An Arranged Marriage - Arthur Shelby

Pairing: Arthur Shelby x reader

Requested: Yes. 

Prompts: #25 from the fluff-list.

Warnings/notes: This turned out longer than I meant for it to and I got a bit side-tracked. It’s so incredibly cheesy too hahah. Sorry if this piece makes no sense and is messy. I haven’t written fanfiction in a few months now so I might be a bit rusty, and it’s not proofread either so sorry in advance for any mistakes. Buuut I hope you will like it xD (The religion you hold in this story is borrowed from Game of Thrones)

Wordcount: 4373

Summary: You’re in an arranged marriage with Arthur for the sake of the Peaky Blinders and your father’s business. 

Arthur had been all for it when Tommy married John off to Esme to make peace with the Lees, but now that he was in the exact same situation, he finally understood why John had reacted the way he had when he first found out he was about to walk into his own wedding.

Arthur was older than Tommy by three years on paper, but in mentality… even though he probably didn’t even realize it himself, he was younger than both Tommy and John.

Out of all of his siblings, he was the one who took their dad bailing the hardest. He had been forced to step up and help his aunt Pol take care of and raise Finn. 

It had robbed him of a part of his childhood even though he had been a young adult at the time, and in a way, caused him to stay in that younger part of himself mentally; that vulnerable, soft, emotional part.

This was one of the several reasons Tommy had taken on the leading role, both of their family and the business. Usually, Arthur didn’t mind. He didn’t like being in charge, he preferred someone else handling everything, Tommy in particular.

But now, now he wished he was the leader of the family. Because now, his younger brother was making him marry for the benefit of business. He was making him marry a woman he had never met in his life before and who was twelve years younger than him.

The biggest problem with the entire situation wasn’t that he didn’t want it, though. The worst part of it all was that he knew that no woman your age and with your status would be happily married to an old, at best average looking man like him.

And his age and looks wasn’t the worst part, either. It was his personality, or lack thereof, really. He had no personality. He was just angry, reckless and generally uncontrollable. Anger, that was all he was, and violence was all he had ever been good for.

He was terrified of marrying you, because he was terrified of terrifying you. And he knew he would at some point.

He had heard a lot about you from his brother when he had told him about his plans and that your father had accepted his offer. He said you were kind, thoughtful and pure. Everything that Arthur was not.

A girl like you didn’t belong with the likes of him. You belonged to someone much more worthy. Royalty, even.

But what Tommy had left out, because he had no idea, himself, was that your father would never marry you off without your approval. He would never make you do anything against your will.

Sure, you weren’t in it to the fullest, but you had never been in love before, and at this point, you feared you never would be with the way all men bored the crap out of you.

So what was the worst that could happen? You would eventually end up with someone you didn’t love wholeheartedly, anyway; you knew you would. So why not let it be while helping your father expand his business and partners?

The thought didn’t make you jump up and down with joy, but it didn’t appall you either. You could take care of yourself, and if your husband-to-be ever dared raise his voice or lay a hand on you in ill-meaning, you knew your dad would throw his agreement with the Peaky Blinders to the curb in a heartbeat to protect you.

The day of your wedding came only a week after your father’s parlay with Thomas Shelby, and your sister had been chatting your ears off all morning about everything that could possibly go wrong.

“What if he’s, like, really ugly?” She asked, tugging on your hair a little to roughly.

You flinched at the feeling and glared at her through the mirror, giving her the same answer you had given her the other thirty times she had asked that question.

“You should know by now that I don’t judge people based on the way they look, I judge them based on their personality. A man with a good soul is automatically b-“

“-is automatically beautiful no matter if his face is considered nice or not by the standards set by society.” She cut you off, imitating you in a much higher voice than you actually sported, rolling her eyes. “Yeah I know, you’ve told me.”

You gave her a flat look. “Then don’t keep asking.”

“What if he doesn’t remember the words?” She asked then, which actually got your gears spinning. What if he didn’t?

You belonged to a religion not many people outside your family did nowadays; The Faith of the Seven. A God with seven faces – the Father, the Mother, the Maiden, the Crone, the Warrior, the Smith and the Stranger – each aspect representing one part of life or existence.

You didn’t know whether or not your husband-to-be was religious. You didn’t even know his name. But either way, you felt slightly bad for the fact that your religion would be pushed onto him.

The wedding vows in your religion could be a mouthful for some people, yourself included.

“I barely even remember the correct order of the words myself, so if anything, chances are we both mess up.” You answered finally, causing your sister to huff.

But she said nothing more, quietly getting back to brushing out your locks. Eventually, your cousins and aunts filled into the back room of the church as well, no one wasting any time in getting you ready for your big day.

It was only when the wedding bells started ringing, indicating that it was time for you to make your entrance, that the anxiety any normal person should’ve been feeling the entire time but you hadn’t, caught up with you.

What if your sister was right? What if he was a real nasty man who would hurt you? What if he was so ugly you couldn’t look at him? You never cared much for people’s looks, barely at all, in fact. But now all the judgment seemed to come crashing down at once.

You knew this man was a good bit older than yourself, a whole forty years old. You had met many older men taking care of business in your father’s name, and you had encountered your fair share of men who in reality were just pigs in human vessels.

You could only hope to the Gods that the man you were about to get married to didn’t turn out to be one of them. 

You walked into this mess fully prepared to never be able to love him, whoever he was, but you still carried some hope in your heart that you would grow to care for him.

And Gods knew you wouldn’t be able to if he turned out to be a grade A asshole.

But there was no time left to wonder, as the wedding bells were ringing over your heads in a way that was almost deafening, and your father stepped inside the backroom where you and the rest of the women in your family were gathered.

You stood up from your seat at his entrance and his eyes instantly found you, turning wide for a moment, before his entire face softened in a smile.

“Ah, darling…” He started, looking as if he was on the verge of tears. Which really wouldn’t surprise you. Your father might have been a fearless mob boss, but he wasn’t afraid to show his feelings. In fact, he cried a lot.

You plastered on a smile, feeling your lips tremble slightly with anxiety, as was the rest of your body.

He approached you, carefully grabbed your face in his hands and planted a kiss on each of your cheeks before pulling away to look at you with a big smile on his lips. “You look absolutely beautiful.” He complimented you. “And so much like your mother.”

Your heart tugged in your chest at the mention of your deceased mother, and you knew his did as well judging on the way his smile fell ever so slightly.

But he quickly shook it off and suddenly turned serious. “Are you sure you want to do this, angel? You don’t have to feel like you have to do this to please your old man, there are plenty other businesses to join with.”

His words tumbled around in your head for a moment, but you already knew what you wanted to do. 

“I know you would never make me do anything, baba.” You smiled. “While I am doing this for the sake for the business and our family, I am also doing it completely out of free will. And besides, you’ve met this man’s brother, haven’t you?”

He nodded. “I have. He seems to be a very troubled young man and he still has a lot to learn, but he has a strong judgement, and I know he would never even propose something like this if his brother wasn’t just as honorable.”

“Then I trust your judgement about his judgement.” You nodded back.

Your father smiled at you for a moment, before finally letting go of your face and taking a step back with a heavy sigh. “Right.” He straightened out his suit and offered his arm to you. “Shall we?”

You took his arm without a second thought and got into position by his side, allowing your aunt to drop the veil to cover your face.

Her and the others then left the room, each wishing you good luck before leaving you alone with your father. You took a deep breath, staring straight ahead at the open door.

“Don’t let me fall.” You said to your father with a breathy laugh, your entire body shaking with nerves at this point.

You couldn’t see him through your veil, but judging by the ruffling of his suit, you knew he shook his head as he answered. “Never.”

The walk towards the entrance of the church was patronizingly slow, probably more so in your head than in reality because of the situation at hand.

You walked straight forward for about a minute, before taking a left turn, and by the sound of people standing up in the church benches and the bells having grown louder, you knew you had now reached your destination.

Your family was positioned at the left side of the church, and the entire Peaky Blinders clan that you had yet to meet and learn all the names of occupied the right side.

You still couldn’t see shit through your white, almost full coverage veil, of course. You only knew this based on what your aunts had told you while they had been getting you into your wedding gown.

Quiet murmurs could be heard the entire way down the aisle, most coming from the right side, although you couldn’t quite decipher if they were good murmurs or bad murmurs.

Out of instinct, you squeezed down harder on your father’s bicep, feeling your hands getting cold with fear.

You were beginning to have real second thoughts for the first time since accepting the indirect proposal, but it was too late to voice them now, as your father suddenly stopped, and only a second later let go of your arm, directing your icy, shaking hand into another, much warmer and bigger one.

The skin of his palm was calloused, evidently pointing at the fact that he had been through some hard labor in his life, and only causing your heart to thump harder in your chest as hard-working men were more often than not the ones who also beat and raped their wives.

Seemingly having gotten lost in your own thoughts, you had entirely missed the fact that the bells had now stopped ringing and that your father was giving you a soft nudge to the back, telling you to step forward.

You did as silently instructed, carefully squeezing your husband-to-be’s hand and using his help to step up on the small stairs he was standing on.

Turning to face him, you soon felt his hands graze the sides of your veil, and for a moment it almost seemed as if he was hesitating. But the next second, he had lifted the veil over your head, revealing your face to him and allowing the two of you to get the first look of each other.

And when your eyes met his and his face became visible to you, you almost sighed out loud in relief.

He wasn’t ugly, but rather on the opposite hand, quite handsome. His face was aged, without a doubt by the same labor that had caused the rough skin on his hands and fingers. And his eyes. His eyes were so blue, and so soft, you knew at once your father’s judgement had been correct.

This was no man that was going to hurt you. This was no man that would ever hurt any woman; he was a good man.

But while you gazed at him with deep interest, Arthur was absolutely speechless. 

His brother had told him you were a looker, but you were absolutely beautiful. Painfully so.

And as he had no idea of the optimistic thoughts running through your head, he only grew more panicked at this, even more scared to ruin you now that he had met you, and fallen in love with you at first sight.

“Dear friends and family, ladies and gentlemen.” The priest, who you hadn’t even noticed up until this point, suddenly started, causing you to jump slightly out of fright. 

You quickly recovered, and your husband-to-be gingerly grabbed your other hand to hold them between you.

“We are gathered here today, to witness and celebrate the union of (Y/N) (Y/L/N) and Arthur Shelby Jr. in marriage. With love and commitment, they have decided to live their lives as husband and wife. Today, as we create this marriage, we also create a new bond and new sense of family – one that will undoubtedly include all those who are present here today. Through your commitment to each other, may you grow and nurture a love that makes both of you better people, a love that continues to give you joy and also a passion for living that provides you with energy and patience to face the responsibilities of life. In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity, to symbolize your new union of love, trust and friendship.”

The priest carefully tied a pure white silk ribbon around your hands, binding them together with a pretty knot on top.

“Now please, look upon each other and say the words.”

But the two of you were already looking at each other, him looking at you with astonishment, you looking at him with interest, but both of you looking at each other with satisfaction and just a hint of anxiety.

Together in unison, you began reciting the words your ancestor had done oh so many times before.

“Father. Smith. Warrior. Stranger. I am hers, and she is mine, from this day, until the end of my days.”

“Mother. Maiden. Crone. Stranger. I am his and he is mine, from this day, until the end of my days.”

His voice was rough and held a thick Brummie accent. Any other peson probably would have found his deep voice a bit threatening, but you found it the exact opposite. It was soothing. 

Surprisingly, he got through the words without as much of a stumble. You had expected him to mess up at least once, but no. Not one single mistake, and it made a weird kind of pride build up inside of you.

“You may now finally seal your marriage by sharing a kiss.” The priest finished, and you had never seen a man as uncomfortable as the one in front of you right then.

He was looking straight into your eyes, and in the corner of your own eye, you could see everyone awaiting the final finish with anticipation.  

So you looked back at the man you now got to call your husband, gave him a nod so small it was barely noticeable. But he saw it and took that as the permission he needed to do the priest’s bidding.

He removed his untied hand from yours and slowly raised it to your face – so slowly, you almost wanted to hit him and tell him to hurry it on so that everyone could stop staring. 

But you caught yourself. Who were you to judge him for being nervous? You had no idea what was going on inside his head, and you were just as nervous as he was.

And soon enough, his lips met yours anyway. 

It was the lightest, most careful kiss you had ever received in your life, but in that moment it was enough to send your families into a roar of applause and whistles, the loud volume of it all bouncing off the church walls and echoing through the entire building.

The mere sound of their enthusiasm and support was enough to make you laugh, and much to yours and Arthur’s surprise, you grabbed a hold of the front of his suit and pulled yourself into his chest to shield your blushing face from everyone else as you laughed.

He visibly froze at the sudden act of affection, but when Tommy clapped him on the back in congratulations, he instantly came back to reality and put his arm around you, pulling you closer and with him down the steps to join your families with a proud smile of his own.

The rest of the evening was spent celebrating in the Garrison, a pub on Watery Lane that you found your husband was the proud owner of. 

You drank and you laughed and everyone got along.

At some point, your father reached the absolute maximum limit of the amount of alcohol he could possibly consume, getting up on the table on shaky legs with your two uncles and a few men from the Peaky Blinders who were equally as drunk, all of them staring to sing on the top of their lungs.

You sat by Arthur’s side the entire evening, feeling strangely safe tucked under his arm despite barely knowing him, but when your father and his boyband eventually all fell down from the table, smashing another one in the process and sending the entire bar into absolute chaos, it was all getting a bit too much for you and you asked Arthur to go home.

To his home, where you would now be staying with him.

You had barely even stepped outside the door before a cold breeze went past you, pulling at the red dress you had changed into after the wedding ceremony, and your hair still put up in the wedding hair-do.

You didn’t shiver, actually enjoying the chilly breeze after being stuck inside the pub for several hours. 

When that many people were crowded into the same room, most of them smoking and all of them jumping around like headless chickens on drugs at some point, the air eventually got very hot and humid.

But still, Arthur instantly started opening the coat clasped in his hands. ”Do you want my coat? It’s really cold out here.” He asked, holding it up and looking at you with careful eyes.

You were quick to shake your head. “Oh, no. You don’t have to do t-“

But he was already pulling it over your shoulders, smoothing the fabric out over your back carefully before quickly pulling his hands back to himself, stuffing them into his pockets.

“You’re my wife now.” He said, voice coming out as a mumble thanks to the alcohol he had consumed throughout the night, but you could almost sense a tinge of sadness to it, too. “Even if this probably isn’t the life you would’ve wanted, it’s my job to take care of ya and I’m not letting ya go cold.”

You felt your eyes, heart and entire body soften at his sweet words and obvious insecurity. 

At the beginning of the day, you had had no expectations whatsoever to actually fall in love with the man you would be marrying, but with the way your heart skipped a beat just by being in his presence, your attitude was quickly changing for the better.

While you actually enjoyed the cold night air, you didn’t have the heart to tell him so when he was so obviously trying his hardest to keep you happy. And either way, you appreciated the gesture more than you could put into words.

A small smile pulled at the corners of your lips. You didn’t know if it was the whiskey currently pulsating through your veins or if it was the actually growing attraction that made you do it, but you soon found yourself taking a step closer to him and raising a hand to his face to make him look at you, as he was now looking at the ground.

His eyes met yours, and even though it was almost pitch black outside, you could see the sparkling blue color as clear as day.

“I don’t think I’ll have too much of a problem with the life I’ve been given.” You confessed, your thumb absentmindedly starting to rub circles on his clean-shaven cheek. “I already feel more for you than I’ve felt for any other man in my twenty-eight years of living.”

He shuddered under your touch and despite being a full-grown adult, he gave you a look so vulnerable and exposed it reminded you of a child. But not in a bad way.

Now, you weren’t sure whether it was the alcohol or genuine feelings that had made you act like you had up until now, but you were absolutely certain the next thing you did was purely the alcohol’s doing.

Without another word, you leaned your head up to meet his lips in a short but sweet kiss. He was startled by your sudden and unexpected action, that much was clear to you with the way he stood frozen in his spot.

But the alcohol being the cause of your boldness in this situation particularly wasn’t in a bad way. You knew you wouldn’t forget it happened, and you wouldn’t regret it, but you knew you never would have had the courage to make a move if you were sober.

After you pulled away, you just gazed at each other for a moment, before another breeze pulled through and this time made you shiver visibly.

Arthur came back to his senses at that, and wasted no time in taking you under his arm and starting to steer you in the direction of his house.

To a start, you had enjoyed the cold air, but now that the heat from the night’s festivities had died down, you were more than grateful that Arthur had given you his coat, as it was the only reason you weren’t a shivering mess upon arriving home.

That night, you slept in the same bed, but Arthur never tried anything. You didn’t talk much and neither of you made any move to get intimate. You just slept. Soundly. And so you did for the rest of the weekend, as well.

The first week was good. Really good. You didn’t talk much, but you shared glances, you got along, and enjoyed each other’s company. But going into the second week, everything was an absolute disaster. For you, at least.

You never would have thought you would catch genuine romantic feelings for him this quickly, but you did. 

The first week you had appreciated the respect he was always sure to show you, but now that you actually harbored feelings for him, you craved his company and touch.

But he was scared. He was still so terrified of losing control, hurting you, or just scaring you away, because he knew from the moment your eyes met for the first time that he was completely whipped and never wanted to lose you.

He never told you out loud about how he felt, but you knew. 

You had bonded with the entire Shelby clan during your first week together, Finn more so than anyone. 

He was young, and despite having been raised by Polly and having several women around him daily, he had never really had a mother.

Unintentionally, you stepped up and took that role almost immediately despite only being ten years older than him. He told you all of the things Arthur wouldn’t talk to you about himself. 

He told you about his time in the war, his issues and the demons that haunted his thoughts and came knocking when he least expected it, causing him to lose control. 

And from that, you could draw the conclusion yourself that he was scared to hurt you.

You had planned to confront him on it one night, to tell him that you knew he wouldn’t hurt you, that you weren’t that easy to scare away, that you had developed real feelings for him and wanted to take your relationship to the next level.

But before you got the chance to do so, you proved it to him wordlessly when some asshole tried picking you up at the pub in the presence of the entire Shelby family, and you socked him right in the face and went off on him about his sexist tendencies like a mad-woman, having him running out of there with his tail between his legs and a bloody nose.

That was the moment Arthur realized that he had nothing to be afraid of; he didn’t have to worry about breaking you, because you couldn’t be broken. 

All of the doubts fled his mind that day, and only a few days later, you were attached at the hip and acting like you had known each other and been in love for years.

Another two months later, you found out you were pregnant with your first child, and every night from then on when he would come home to find you sleeping with your hand resting on your growing belly, he could only stop in the doorway and stare at you.

Because who would’ve thought someone like you would fall so easily for someone like him? The most unlikely match in the entire world, and still, there you were.

Happily in love.

[gay-otlc]

Monsters- Chapter ב

Previous chapter

Summary (changed from last time btw): Eyphah has monsters in hir head. How much do the monsters have to control hir life before ze becomes the monster?

Content warnings: OCD/intrusive thoughts/trich, religion, cursing, low self esteem, violence, lmk if I need to add anything.

Playlist (if anyone’s curious)

Word count: 1762

“Monster,” ze whispered to hirself again, as ze walked through hir door. Ze swallowed and put on a fake smile. “Shoshanah! I’m home!”

No response.

Heart thundering, Eyphah rushed across the hallway and up the stairs, footsteps echoing loudly. “Shoshanah!” ze yelled again, ripping the door open. The lights were off, bed empty, sheets slightly ruffled. Hir eyes flicked around wildly until they fell upon a sheet of paper resting on the nightstand.

Eyphah exhaled, grabbing it.

Eyphah-

I know you get worried when I’m not here, so sorry to worry you, but I had to fill in for Yakov at the hospital. I won’t be home until late, so you can have dinner without me. I’m alright and I love you!

Love,

Shoshanah.

“Fucking idiot,” Eyphah muttered, setting the note down and rubbing hir temples. Why did ze have to freak out every time Shoshanah didn’t answer immediately? Why did the monsters in hir head have to fill it with images of Shoshanah lying in her bed, unable to move, dying before hir eyes- or already dead.

And ze was still fucking anxious. “She’s okay,” ze muttered again, shaking hir head. Hir eyebrows itched. A lot, like the fear of stabbing someone with hir sword and finding Shoshanah dead had all physically manifested in hir left eyebrow, needing to be extracted from hir body.

Ze pulled.

And pulled again.

And pulled again.

And then wrapped hir hands behind hir back and sat on them, determined not to pull again.

And pulled again.

“I fucking hate you!” ze yelled at hirself. Frustrated, ze stood up and grabbed hir notebook, opening it to the most recent page.

Reasons I don’t want to die:

I want to learn the new sword move.

I love Shoshanah

Shoshanah loves me

Maybe I’ll find a new ahav

No babka when you’re dead

NO RUGELACH WHEN YOU’RE DEAD!

The thought makes me feel sick

I don’t want to die

I don’t want to die

I don’t want to die I don’t want to die I don’t want to die

Eyphah remembered writing that. Ze’d been baking; latkes, was it? It was Tammuz; last month, and one of the summer ones, but ze hadn’t wanted to let the wrong season stop hir from enjoying latkes. The rest of the memory was a bit blurry. Ze opened up hir drawer to get a spatula and flatten the latkes, but hir gaze fell upon a knife.

Ze imagined grabbing the knife instead of the spoon.

Ze imagined quickly thrusting the knife into hir chest.

Ze imagined bleeding out on the floor, Shoshanah coming to discover hir body and screaming.

Eyphah hadn’t opened that drawer since, nor had ze baked.

It was sad. Ze used to love baking.

Baking and sword fighting; those were hir favorite things to do for fun, but the monsters in hir head made hir terrified of that. What would happen next? Would ze have to avoid Shoshanah, someone she liked to do for fun as well?

Do you even love Shoshanah? Or are you just her ahav out of pity?

“SHUT UP!” ze screamed, and wrote down ten reasons ze loved Shoshanah.

The way she bites her lip and looks down when she finds a joke funny but doesn’t want to admit it’s funny.

Her kisses. She tastes like strawberries.

The way her eyes light up when someone calls her a girl.

The little twirl she does when she wears a dress.

Her singing voice for Havdalah prayers.

Her determination to help others.

When she talks about picking her name and has this sweet little smile on her face.

The way she flaps her hands when she’s happy.

How her hand fits in mine perfectly.

Her laugh, like sunlight.

When Eyphah was thoroughly convinced ze actually loved hir ahav, and wasn’t just faking it and toying with her feelings out of some sick sadism, ze threw the notebook down and paced across the room, trying to release the nervous energy bubbling up inside hir.

Normally, when ze had this buzz of energy, ze tried to get it out by practicing with hir sword. But that wouldn’t work now, would it?

Convenient.

Until hir stomach rumbled, ze had no idea ze was hungry, but ze gratefully accepted the distraction of going to get food. Ze was good at baking, but terrible at cooking, and ze hated using the stove anyway- too big a risk ze’d set something on fire. Bagels, maybe? Shoshanah bought bagels yesterday, and they should have at least a few left. No cream cheese, though; ze’d have to use a knife for that.

Eyphah focused on the motion of hir legs, lifting one up and swinging in front of the other, over and over again, until ze reached the kitchen, because otherwise ze’d get too lost in hir own head to move.

Even without cream cheese, the bagels tasted pretty good, and ze ate them quickly. After reciting the birkat hamazon, the sound of hir voice stopped echoing through the house, and it fell silent. Ze was just alone in here, and it was dark out, and there was nothing stopping the monster in hir from taking over.

Maybe ze should go out into town? Ze hated being around people, always had, and ze was probably a danger to them, but maybe it would be better than being alone in this empty house. Eyphah shifted hir weight on the chair as ze thought, and even the creaking seemed to whisper monster at hir.

It was official, ze had gone insane, and Eyphah needed to get out of this fucking house.

After pausing just long enough to leave a note for Shoshanah- Shoshana didn’t worry like ze did, she probably wouldn’t need it, but maybe it would be nice- ze changed into a cleaner shirt, short sleeved and white like before, but not covered in imaginary blood stains. Then, ze left the house and decided to walk to the jewelry store, hoping to get hirself a new magen david necklace.

It was raining lightly outside, the sky clouded over with grey so ze couldn’t see any stars. Disappointing. Other than that, Eyphah didn’t mind the rain much; sure, hir hair was getting wet, and hir scalp where ze had a bald spot, but it felt kind of nice. Calm. Ze could almost imagine that the rain was washing away all the evil that lived inside hir.

Almost.

Slowly, ze breathed and focused on the noise of hir shoes clicking against the pavement, of the rain gently pattering on the windows of the stores surrounding hir. It had been such a long time since ze just focused on what was going on in the world around hir. Most of the time, ze was too caught up in hir own head, obsessed with the past or dreading with the future. Eyphah let hir eyes linger behind hir a little too long, or narrowed hir vision on the world ze was hurtling into, and and never took the time to look around.

It wasn’t so bad.

Ze ran a finger through hir damp hair, making it look a little more presentable, before walking into the jewelry store. Was it even open this late? Maybe ze should have checked that first. But the lights were on, and loud voices flooded the building, and there were people in there. It felt much warmer than hir empty house.

“Eyphah! Shalom!” someone called, and ze started a little, not having expected to be welcomed. It was easy to forget people liked hir, when ze struggled with liking hirself so much.

Ze waved, responding with “Hey, how’s it going?” Hopefully, if ze initiated a conversation, whoever called hir name would come closer to hir and ze would figure out who it was. Their voice wasn’t instantly recognizable.

They did, in fact, come closer; Chaim, Eyphah remembered. They had been extremely close as children; he had done an aliyah at hir B’nai Mitzvah a few years ago, and while they hadn’t spent as much time together recently, they were still good friends. Eyphah smiled a bit.

“Pretty good,” Chaim said, grinning. He was usually grinning, his slightly crooked teeth showing and dark eyes lighting up. His hair had gotten longer since the last time ze saw him, dark and curling around his warm, copper colored face. “I’m getting a boat soon, finally. I’ve been saving up for years.”

“That’s great! I’m really happy for you!”

“Yeah, I leave in a few weeks, but I’ll be sure to write. How about you, anything interesting going on?”

Eyphah tugged at hir hair, a few strands coming loose. Chaim must have noticed the bald spots, wider and more obvious than the last time they’d spoken a few months ago, but he was nice enough not to comment on it. Nothing very noteworthy had gone on in hir life recently, especially not something ze’d want to share with people.

“I’ve been working on sword fighting more often,” ze said finally, omitting how terrified ze was of hurting anyone. “Gotten pretty good at it.”

“Nice! Please don’t stab me though.”

That’s what I’m worried about. “Haha, I won’t,” Eyphah said weakly, clawing at the skin where hir neck sloped into hir shoulder and tearing it off.

Chaim took a step forward in line as whoever was at the front left. Eyphah followed. “A lot of people here, huh? I thought there’d be hardly anyone.”

“Tu B’av is coming up soon, I guess. A lot of people buying their ahavs jewelry.” Eyphah usually made Shoshanah a cake for Tu B’av; ze supposed ze’d have to come up with something else this year. Hopefully ze didn’t disappoint her.

“Right. Forgot about that.”

Eyphah nodded, shoving thoughts of disappointing Shoshanah out of hir head. “Are you here buying anything for your ahav?” ze asked, the corners of hir mouth turning up.

Chaim snorted. Eyphah had thought he would find that funny, considering he had never and would never love people like ahavs, the mere thought that he would was ridiculous. “I was hoping to get earrings, actually,” he said once he stopped laughing. “Lost my old ones.”

“Disaster,” ze teased.

“You’re one to talk, Mx. I got my hair cut because I burnt it cooking.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“You love me, bitch.”

“I do.” Eyphah smiled again- a real genuine smile!- and leaned against Chaim’s wide frame. He made hir feel like a person. That was nice. Ze had forgotten what it was like to feel like a person, not a monster.

[waywardwrestlewritingwaif]

The Guardian’s Oath, Part Six

Since this is a horror/ supernatural story, I’d hoped I’d have it finished before the end of October. In fact, I’d hoped to have it finished well before that because I had another horror-type thing that I was also supposed to get finished before the end of October. And now I have a few other ideas that aren’t horror-driven that I want to get done because... Yeah, you know. Life.

Anyway, if you’d like to get caught up on this story, you can find the previous sections here: 

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five

Pairing: Feargal Devitt/ Finn Balor x OFC

Word count: 2,392

Content advisory: Graphic sexual content, dub-con, possibly disturbing moral/ religious themes

For several days, the dour mood in the house persisted, although the children did start to brighten up a bit. Things made a sudden shift, however, when the Reverend, who continued to stay at home, returned from a meeting. He was smiling and some of the color had returned to his face, and as he entered the house, he immediately called the children to him. I still felt that he was cross with me from the incident at dinner and so I stayed back, watching them from the drawing room. 

“Did you get good news, Papa?” Sophia inquired. 

“Very good news. At least, the best news I could hope for. And I want to apologize that I haven’t been myself with you lately. I hope you know that I always love you, even if my mood is low.”

I glanced in his direction, faintly hoping that he might indicate that I was included in his apology but his attention was entirely given to his children. He didn’t go into any detail about the nature of his news but he did tell them that they would finally be able to properly bury their mother and to “say their goodbyes”. Considering that he had been rather cold to me since that night in the dining room, I was a little surprised and perhaps a little hurt to hear him use my exact words as if they were now a good thing. 

The children returned to me a few minutes later, seeming more content. I suspected that this was not so much because of the news but because their father seemed like himself again. I tried to reflect their good mood back at them as I continued our French lesson, even though I felt like I had been left out. 

To my surprise, Reverend Devitt stayed in the doorway, watching us with a curious expression. Perhaps he wanted to see if I was doing an adequate job. I definitely felt as if he were judging my performance and I found myself quite nervous. Nevertheless, I worked my way through everything I had planned to cover before I released them for their afternoon tea. Their father hung by the door after they’d left, watching me speculatively. 

“May I help you sir?” I asked meekly. 

“Will you be taking tea with us?”

“I would be happy to.”

I had been mostly taking my meals by myself in the last several days, frightened I might anger him more or that my very presence would be aggravating. He had given no acknowledgment that he even noticed, so it was very gratifying to know that I was being invited back into the fold. 

He stepped inside the room and offered me his hand, which I gladly took, blushing a little at the unexpected contact. He continued to hold it after I rose and he made no move to leave. 

“After an investigation,” he began, “the authorities determined that there was no evidence to proceed with a full inquiry into my wife’s death. So there is no imminent disaster and no shame that will be visited on me or my family.”

“I’m glad to hear it, sir. I have prayed for you.”

I shivered a little, remembering who else I had asked for help and how I had agreed to pay him. 

The Reverend bent his head and lightly touched his lips to my fingers. 

“I don’t know why, but I feel that somehow your presence and your prayers are somehow responsible. I shared the story of my most terrible memories with you and for the first time, some of the burden of carrying them has been lifted from me.”

“You’re too kind, sir.”

“Feargal, Helen,” he reminded me softly. “Call me Feargal.”

He turned my hand over and kissed my wrist and palm, lips as soft as dew, and I felt the sensation reverberate throughout my body. When he raised his head, the look in his blue eyes was like nothing I had ever seen before, slightly playful and at the same time a bit dangerous. I felt as though he were searching for something inside me, but I could not fathom what it was. Gradually, his expression changed to a gentle smile as he lowered and released my hand, leaving me to wonder what had just passed between us, or if I had been imagining things. 

*

The funeral for the late Mrs. Devitt was organized for the following week. A lay minister was brought in from the city to conduct the service so that the Reverend would be able to sit with his children. The family asked that I attend and I agreed, although my secret feelings towards the head of the house made me feel awkward about it. I didn’t like to admit it, but in my heart I hoped that finally being able to say goodbye to his wife might open my employer to the possibility of someone new. 

Many times, I replayed the moment his lips had touched my hand and the look in his eyes afterward. He was on the road during the intervening days and by the time he returned, I had worked myself into a state. I was barely able to look at him, afraid that my face would betray the entirely inappropriate thoughts I was having. At the same time, I longed to know if he was looking at me and, if so, in what way. 

The day of the funeral was the first when autumn’s chill could be felt cutting through the warmth of the late summer. We walked to the church together- The Reverend, the children, Kate and me. I had been a little disappointed when I realized Kate was coming too since it diminished the pride I felt at being asked to join. Of course, she had known Mrs. Devitt and I certainly didn’t object to her pleasant company, but I felt less special as a result. 

A few women from the town were in attendance, ones I assumed had tried to befriend Sarah Devitt when she first arrived. No one, not even the Reverend, knew how to contact her family and so they had no presence that day. The service was simple and warm, in keeping with what I had seen of the Reverend, if not what I had heard of the woman we were mourning. 

I was  a little surprised that neither of the children cried, but it seemed likely that their mother had been dead in their minds since the night she disappeared. Both of them looked forlorn and Sophia’s face was a mask of anxiety that seemed inappropriate to her tender age. My heart ached for her, knowing too well the pain of losing a mother, of feeling the need to behave like a young woman while still being very much a child. 

We returned home and the visiting reverend joined us for an early supper. He and Reverend Devitt immediately fell deep into conversation and I allowed myself to look at him from under my eyelashes, marvelling at how very handsome he was and at the serenity of his clear eyes now that the shadow had passed from them. I had to force myself to take the children upstairs and put them to bed because I would have happily sat there all night, watching him in silence. 

“Would you like me to read you anything in particular?” I asked the children as they settled in bed. 

They glanced at each other and shook their heads simultaneously and yet I could tell there was something they wanted to say. 

“You both did very well today,” I commended them. “I was inconsolable at my mother’s funeral.”

“Miss Miles,” Sophia began crisply, “my brother and I have something we want to know. Can you help us?”

“I will try my best.”

“Is it true that unbaptized babies go to Hell?”

I stared back, aghast at how her cool tone never wavered. It was like she had asked me why apples came in different colors. 

“Well,” I stammered, not knowing what to say or why they wanted to know and remembering all too clearly what had happened the last time I had tried to give advice on a matter of death and religion, “that is what we are told. Baptism absolves us of Original Sin and therefore…” I struggled to come up with something that made things seem less bleak. “These matters are really in God’s hands. We know what He has taught us but ultimately all of these decisions are his to make.”

“But He has told us that unbaptized souls are always lost, no matter what the circumstances,” Sophia persisted. 

“That is so,” I answered quietly. 

“What if the baby hasn’t been born yet?” William chimed in. 

Again, I was astounded at how easily these questions came from them. William sounded a little more emotional than his sister but not by much. 

“I don’t know that there is anything in the Bible about that.”

“But aren’t there many babies who are stillborn?” Sophia, cooler and less affected than ever, took over the questioning again. 

“There are. But the Bible says that man is born in a state of sin. So I think the child would have to be born and alive.”

I could tell that my argument was unconvincing and their expressions became worried. 

“Wait! The Bible also tells us that life comes in breath, so in order to be considered fully alive, the baby would have to have taken at least one breath.”

The two of them immediately looked relieved and Sophia only gave a little smile. 

“Why did you want to know about such things?”

“We were just thinking about all of the unborn children when we were at the funeral,” Sophia explained. “We didn’t like to imagine them all going to Hell.”

I smiled to know that I had relieved their minds on that score and yet I knew in my heart that she was lying. I felt hurt by the lack of trust and wondered what could be so shocking that they felt they could not share it with me but so pressing that they had been compelled to ask their unsettling questions. 

Back in my room, I continued to ruminate over the meaning of what had just happened and wondered if I should tell their father as I dressed for bed. Within hours, I had found myself overwhelmed with sympathy for the vulnerability of my two charges and frightened by their almost inhuman coldness. 

I knelt at the side of my bed and asked God for His guidance. As I prayed, however, I became distracted by an acrid scent, smoke and seawater, filling the room. I tried to tell myself that I had left the window open and that the smell was coming from outside but it was useless. I could feel the presence in the room with me. I sensed his dark form circling the room and felt the weight of his body on the bed before me before his talons ran down the side of my face. I desperately wanted to keep my eyes closed in the hopes that he would simply leave but finally I had to see for myself and confirm what I already knew. 

Balor leaned his head down, continuing to cradle my face in his hand. He regarded me with an expression of perverse delight, his pale eyes almost luminous. 

“You see how I protect what’s mine,” he hissed. 

I nodded a little, frightened to find out what I had to bargain for now. 

He pressed the knuckle of his thumb under my chin, forcing me to stare back at him. 

“But that wasn’t all you wanted.” He gave a knowing smirk. “Say it.”

“I just…” I trembled at the voracious look on his face. “I only wish that he loved me.”

“Then pray,” he snarled. 

“I don’t know what you mean.”

He unfolded his crouched body, easing his legs off the bed on either side of me and pushing my head against his thigh, close to his erect member. 

“Pray.”

He guided my mouth over the swollen head and down his shaft, rocking back and forth and giving quiet yet lascivious moans. I waited for that first painful thrust into the back of my throat but this time he pulled me off him and dragged me onto the bed by my hair. I landed on my stomach and felt him pounce on me, gripping my hips and lifting them from the bed, which caused my nightdress to fall forward. 

Within a second, he pushed inside me, the shock and the burn of being stretched out almost making me faint. If he noticed this, he gave no sign, pounding away at a frantic pace, claws dug into my flesh to keep me somewhat steady. Gradually, he slid one hand around to the front, pressing his fingers against that point near the top of my opening, the one that had made me fall apart for him before. And, once again, the pleasure obliterated every other feeling I had in me. Wrong though it was, I wanted him to continue like this forever and at the same time, I wanted to rush towards the peak I knew was coming. 

He seemed to prolong the act before finally pressing me over the edge, my body spasming around him until I felt the hot, thick liquid he released inside me. His arms wrapped tight around my chest and he used his weight and strength to press me flat against the bed. He continued to thrust slowly, bestial growls escaping him until he finally stilled. I felt his breath heavy on my neck, and the movement of his rippling muscles as he too began to relax. 

When I came to, I was on my back, under the covers, as if nothing had happened. I could feel every scratch and welt he had left on my body but when I examined my skin, there were no external marks. I tried to sleep again but lay awake, terrified of what might be happening to me and trying to decide if it was worse that I had entered into some kind of pact with a demon or if I had gone mad and these fantasies were just the dark contents of my mind. 

[noragami-ru-manga]

Calamity bears human face

These are my thoughts on the first half of 87-2. Spoilers ahead!

I really, really liked the second part of chapter 87. Adachitoka still refuse us Yukine’s entire past, but maybe that’s for the best. If what we’ve been shown so far causes this many emotions in the fandom, I’m scared to think what would have been if they revealed everything at once. But… this post isn’t about Yuknie. Not because I don’t like his character, but because I really want to discuss the first 10 pages of the new chapter.

As I expected, we got some of Father’s flashbacks this time. Except they were about the part of his life that had Yato in it, probably several years (?) after Sakura’s death.

Yato not wanting to kill people isn’t that strange, since he started “slacking off” because of Sakura’s influence, and we know that by this point Hiiro would take initiative whenever Yato wouldn’t put his heart in performing Father’s jobs, as shown in chapter 47. Interestingly enough, when Yato suggested that Father should kill people himself, the former answered that he “was killing gods, at least” – implying that he didn’t kill humans with his own hands.  Father’s words about killing gods do sound sinister but as we’ve already seen and will see later in the chapter, not all gods are warriors like Bishamon, Takemikazuchi and Yato himself, so I wouldn’t be too intimidated by this phrase.

His line about the uselessness of killing gods without killing people though … The idea is obvious and logical, so I don’t see the point in developing it further, but even now I think that Father did not choose the most efficient way to do it. Even if Yato stayed under Father’s total control, one god of calamity doesn’t seem to be that big of a threat on a global scale, contrary to whatever Nora has to say later in the chapter.

The thing that caught my attention on these pages is Father’s words about shrines. Yato already revealed before that someone would always tell him he didn’t need a shrine, that someone being Father. Up to this point I simply thought that this was needed to cultivate Yato’s fear of being forgotten – if he doesn’t have a shrine, it’s all the more easier for him to disappear without any chances to reincarnate. The idea that Father actually thinks that shrines are useless somehow never crossed my mind, although now that I see it on paper it makes total sense.

And since Yato raised the question, I’ll take it from here. He said he didn’t understand why did needed to destroy humans if life would be boring without them. I’ve always asked this question in regard to any character whose end goal is total annihilation – what’s the point? Sure, Father isn’t aspiring to be an evil overlord as to ask him a question “who are you going to rule over if there’s no one left”. But his goal, apparently, is killing all gods and also all humans so that old gods can’t reincarnate while new ones can’t appear. But what exactly is he going to do if he succeeds? Die while feeling the satisfaction of revenge accomplished? It’s just so hard to understand someone whose views  are so different than your own.

I wish I could say that the small local kami that attacked Yato proves that Father’s words about shrines are wrong, but what happens next actually corroborates his statement. Partially.

One the one hand, the villagers’ prayer was heard, and the local kami attacked Yato for destroying the village. But Father just crushed her. So in the end, the kami wasn’t able to so anything about these humans’ problem, so yeah, their wish wasn’t granted.

This scene also demonstrates that yes, Father can actually kill gods. The more important thing about it though is that Yato sees it. We have already seen just how much Yato used to fear death for the majority of the series. However, knowing that Father has the ability to kill Yato by forgetting him is one thing; but witnessing him kill a kami just like Yato really drives it home. And it’s all the scarier how Father simply intercepted Yato’s weapon – he just summoned Chiki, who moments earlier was in the boy’s hands. Just look at Yato’s face, you can see the terror.

And Father didn’t really have the need to kill that kami. What could they have done with a chopstick anyway?  Maybe he god mad at this kami actually answering people’s prayer, disproving his point. Or maybe he just hates the gods so much he couldn’t stand even seeing one of them, so he just had to kill them.

(BTW, does anyone know what’s with the blindfold? I’ve tried looking it up but never found anything).

Nora and Hiyori’s dialogue is my favorite part the chapter, there are just so many things to unpack here. First, “Father would praise the god called Yato”. Is it just me, or is Nora jealous? We saw in Yato’s memories that Father actually praised both his children. Then again, we also saw that he punished Nora when he wanted Yato to behave. Considering that Yato grew increasingly reluctant to kill humans, and Nora had to take the lead and finish Yato’s work, this kind of jealousy is unsurprising. Nora was Father’s right hand girl and supported him all the way, but between the two of them Yato would receive more attention.

“But at some point, Yato started mourning the deaths of other people”.  Yeah, we know at what point – Nora must be referring to the time when Sakura was still alive. I’ll just throw in a couple of pics from chapter 47 to remind you why Yato started mourning people.

“When calamity strikes, people always become more devout”. This must be one of the most powerful quotes in the entire manga, because it encapsulates one of the foundations of the Noragami universe. Gods exist to grant human wishes, but who would have more reasons to pray – someone who has it all, or someone who’s in trouble? Remember the main reason why people start seeing the Far shore and things that relate to it.

Of course humans would turn to gods if they can’t solve their problems themselves; that’s the reason they exist. I’ve already mentioned it in the post about memory and memories – the idea of a being that isn’t bound by human constraints, is immortal and can help out when there’s nothing else left takes shape of a person, and that’s how a god is born. Although there’s another reason, too – people hope that if calamity is sentient, you can bargain with it. That’s how people started worshiping Tenjin – not to ask for something they don’t have, but to beg him not to take something they already possess.

It may be that, by sending Yato to obliterate villages, Father was hoping not just for thinning out people, but for a somewhat different reaction from them.

“That boy loved people”. This line is just so heartwarming. And Hiyori already said it before. She saw Yato’s past and how even back then he tried to help humans – like making snow shoes for people in need. She understood him and accepted him.

I don’t really have anything to add to Father wanting “to do something” though. I’ve already said before that Father is done with being the game master and wants to be an actual player. Apparently, he is waiting for Yukine to discover GGS completely before summoning him as a weapon.

The line about natural disasters having human faces caught my attention before the chapter was even translated.  When people die because of natural disasters, it’s horrible, but there’s nothing you can do about it. We can say that “we need to build sturdier houses/dams/etc.”, “we need to take better precaution measures”, and we try, but you can’t possibly predict everything. But in a world where the sun, the moon, the lightning, etc. are personified as gods, a.k.a “have faces”, not only there’s a way for someone to direct their wrath at those faces, but there’s the question of why these sentient elements of nature do these things that hurt humans.

Let’s look at some of the examples of gods harming Nakatsukuni, the world of humans.

Chapter 7 – Bishamon cuts down a grove to get to Yato

Chapter 8 – Kofuku’s vent releases a horde of ayakashi, which results in rising crime rates in Tokyo

Chapter 60 – Bishamon causes a local hurricane to locate Father

Chapter 66 – Takemikazuchi transforms into lightning to fight Yato

The gods harmed the world of humans, but it wasn’t for fun. Bishamon was guided by her thirst for revenge both times. Kofuku was helping her friend. Takemikazuchi became angry because his guide was hurt. All of them felt very human emotions. Except, since they are gods and their power surpasses that of an average human, the result of their outburst is a dead grove, rising crime rates, a damaged school. They aren’t actually trying to purposefully hurt humans but for those who suffer from these actions that’s hardly a consolation. And like I said, it’s one thing when you don’t really have anyone to blame, because the wind that destroyed your house doesn’t hear you, and another, when that wind has a face.

I think that when Father sent Yato to destroy villages, he hoped that the calamities would make people turn away from the gods. After all, people don’t always become more devout during trying times, sometimes they turn away from religion, which is what happened with Father himself. There’s a phrase going around the Internet – it was allegedly written on the wall of a Nazi concentration camp by a Jewish inmate: “If there is a God, He will have to beg for my forgiveness”. I don’t know how true this story is, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s real.

And even with all this in mind, I still don’t understand Father’s logic. Suppose he doesn’t destroy all of humanity, but does manage to kill all gods. I don’t think it would change that much. Amaterasu, for example, is depicted as the sun incarnate, but… if she’s killed forever, will the Sun go out, too? I understand that I’m going off the rails and into the cosmogenic myth territory here, but I can’t help it. If there are no gods left, but the forces of nature continue to destroy human lives, then Father’s actions hardly change anything. (Look at me, trying to find a reasonable explanation for an unhealthily long revenge plan). Also, don’t forget that gods of other religions canonically exist in Noragami – what is Father going to do about them, I wonder?

As for “someone” being killed by the Heavens, I’ve recently made an assumption that the pock-marked girl’s death could have been a payment of sorts to bring Father back from the dead. I made this assumption knowing that Father’s words in chapter 60 imply that gods were more involved than that. What Nora said here about Father hating attributing gods’ actions to natural disasters makes it obvious that the girl died because of one of such catastrophes. I’ve looked some more at that page from chapter 60, and I still don’t see any visible damage on the girl. However, Adachitoka emphasize a skeleton lying in a field near a dead tree. Also, I’ve turned the page upside down to get a better look, and now this skull haunts me.

Was it a drought, a famine that killed her? Or the smallpox? If these are her remains, why didn’t Father bury them? Who then helped him return from Yomi? We know it was a soul summoning, after all. So many questions that are yet to be answered.

However, even if we didn’t get all the answers yet, these ten pages did reveal a lot.

-          Nora knows Father’s backstory, but not all of it. Apparently, it’s a thing so painful that Father can’t tell everything even to his most devoted supporter.

-          Sakura’s influence on Yato was even stronger than I thought.  It’s possible that Father changed his course of actions and started giving Yato jobs that involved punishing criminals soon after the scene we saw in this chapter.

-          Father, apparently, thinks of himself as some kind warrior of justice while ignoring the fact that he does as much harm as the gods, and that he is a calamity with a human face.

 P.S. that page with the human faces of nature absolutely rocks.

[indigoelfinspirit]

all of them for Paris please :D

That was a lot – like hours, and you owe me Tharen x Rayland goodies now or gay werewolves I'm not picky. Also it wouldn’t paste right so the numbers are missing. Oops. Answers under the cut because it really was a lot.

BASICS

What’s their full name? Paris Sonata Royale

What does their name mean? Why were they named that? Paris means “Lover” and it doesn't get more accurate than that, does it? His parent's were going for important prince from legend though. His middle name is just his mom's maiden name – They were those type of rich people. Why I picked it was because I looked at him and said he looks like a Paris and it stuck since it fit the Greco-Roman and/or space themed naming thing I had going on, and more importantly it fit him. Royale was just

Do they have any nicknames? Just the normal coupley stuff like “Babe”.

How old are they? He's about 33 when the story starts, and 40ish as of the latest post

When’s their birthday? July 6th

What’s their zodiac sign/element/birthstone/etc.? Do they believe that holds any significance?

No idea unfortunately (if anybody has an idea drop it in the comments).

What’s their species/subspecies? Do they have any special/magical abilities?

In the Starfall universe berry sims are descendants of the Fae and other mythological creatures. Which is the long was to say he's an Elf. No magical abilities unfortunately.

What “class” do they belong to (for fantasy characters)? If none, what weapon do they favor?

N/A

APPEARANCE

What do they look like? About 5'11”, light purple, curly black hair.

Do they have a face claim? N/A

What’s their style like? Clothes, hair, makeup? Comfortable clothing mostly – lots of t-shirts and sweaters and jeans. Hair is usually mid length, curly, warn down.

How do they carry themselves? What’s their default expression? Paris is normally pretty confident and smiling. Of course some of that has to do with his former career and learning how to act confident even when he isn't.

Do they have any physical ailments or disabilities? Yes, he has a degenerative muscular chronic pain condition. It's hereditary and incurable.

PERSONALITY

What’s their alignment? Just a guessing, but probably something like Lawful Good.

Which one of the 16 Personality Types do they fit into? No idea... he's an introvert though.

What are their hobbies and interests? Do they have any particular “favorites” (food, books, and so on)? He loves music. He plays both piano and guitar. He also loves running when his health is good enough. Oh, and traveling – especially with Callie.

What are they bad at? Do crowds count? He's really bad at keeping on a schedule. Probably has to do with the crazy work schedule he kept for decades.

What kind of things do they dislike/hate? Being patronized/people assuming/deciding he can't do something. Being left out. Crowds.

Do they have any vices/addictions/mental illnesses? He does struggle with anxiety as a result of his medical issues and the way his family treated him after he got sick. Wolfbane helps.

What are their goals and motivations? When he was younger his goals were all music related, and he achieved most of them. Now his goals are all associated with taking care of his family and being there for them as long as he can.

What are their manners like? Any habits?

What are they most afraid of? Dying young. Not being there for his family.

BACKGROUND

Where were they born? What was their childhood like? So Paris is a rich kid. The big multi-generational family company, and he disappointed everyone by becoming a professional musician (right up until he started winning awards and they changed their minds). He actually had a happy childhood. Despite being rich, he had a mostly normal childhood with loving parents and a large extended family. Super rare for one of my main characters. It's mostly just him and Elio on the normal childhood thing.

What’s their family like? Paris' family situation is strained now. For most of his life he had a pretty good relationship with everyone, but after he got sick, particularly after the diagnosis, the situation wasn't so great. They were very overprotective of him and controlling, so he lost his independence. Paris didn't take it well, so he left which strained his relationship with his family. His parents both passed away before he and Callie got together. He's on a “Solstice cards and birthday phone calls” basis with his extended family. So the Aunts and Uncles and cousins on his side know about Callie and the kids even if they never met them.

What factions or organizations are they a part of? What ranks and titles do they hold? He's a platinum record artist and Siren award wining artist and composer.

How do they fit into their “story”? Someone will have to explain this to me, but if I had to guess what was intended: He's the main love interest.

Where do they currently live? What’s their place like? Lorelei Island, Nixieberg. In a small and chaotic little vacation home on a cliff near the beach.

How do they eventually die? SPOILERS! Can't have that.

RELATIONSHIPS

Do they have any friends? Would they consider anyone to be their best friend? Ares Morrigan from his band is his best friend (we'll see him eventually). And Callie, of course.

What’s their friend group like? What role do they play in it? He and Ares are definitely the partners in crime type. They work really well together, but loose track of time easily. They feed of each other's creativity. It's part of what made Sons of Jupiter such a great band.

What’s their love life like? (See also: ship question meme.) Do they have any kids? Love life: Very good, though occasionally hard. He and Callie are very affectionate. Kids: 3 kids together and 1 from Callie's previous relationship.

Who do they look up to? Who do they trust? Not sure about the look up to part, but he trusts Ares and Callie, though Callie's tested that recently.

Who do they hate? Do they have any enemies? Not worth the energy, though he isn't particularly fond of Callie's father or the ex who stalked her (note: the ex that chased her away from home is not Rusty or O).

Do they have any pets? Wolfbane, the Shepherd of Chaos.

Are they good with kids? Animals? He's very good with kids and animals. He loves spending time and playing with them.

FUN FACTS

Which tropes do they fit? Which archetypes? He's very much the hurt guy who has given up on relationships and then finds the right girl and becomes totally sappy.

Do they play any instruments? Sports? Instruments: Piano and Guitar well, dabbles in anything else he can get his hands on. Sports: Running. He swims a bit too, but running is his big thing.

What are some items they always carry? His phone and his faithful dog.

Do they collect anything? Fans from the looks of things – pretty sure he's more popular than Callie is. On a more serious note the only collection he really had in game was pictures of his family (mostly Callie) and sheet musics for songs he wrote.

What position do they sleep in? Cuddled up with Callie.

Which emoji would they use the most? The happy crying face and probably the kissing face.

What languages do they speak? Shoot I never named the languages. Um, so he knows how to say phrases in several languages for work – you know stuff like “hello”, “How do you like the show?” “Thanks for coming out”.

What’s their favorite expletive? Probably fuck since it has so many uses, though he can't really say it now that there are always kids around.

What’s their favorite candle scent? Not really the scented candle type, but whatever Callie buys.

What songs remind you of them? …. I really should create character playlists so I can answer these, huh?

Which animal would you say represents them? A wolf. Everyone associates them with loners, but their really pack animals.

What stereotypical high school clique would they fit into? Oh, he was the guy who was always playing/listening/talking about music. The garage band rocker.

What would their favorite ride at an amusement park be? Okay so if you ask me about amusement park rides I will relate them with Disney attractions. I would imagine Paris loving things like the Three Cabelleros or Small World where he gets to laugh about how they interpreted the different cultures and places he's seen in person.

Do they believe in aliens? Ghosts? Reincarnation or something else? He wouldn't rule them out.

Do they follow any religions/gods? Do they celebrate holidays? Okay, so lore time Berries are mythological creatures and all those myths – Greco-Roman, Celtic, Nordic etc – are their histories. So it gets a bit confusing, but it's definitely a pantheon situation. Paris isn't overly religious though, so he generally believes in the Fates, like most Berries, but doesn't really practice the religion. He does celebrate stuff like Solstice (Winterfest), and Love Day which is of course associated with Aphrodite.