#discrimination against Catholics

[seachranaidhe]

Policing Board criticises PSNI after The Detail probe shows Catholics are more likely to be arrested

FIGURES showing that Catholics are much more likely to be arrested by the PSNI than Protestants were never shared with the Policing Board until an investigation by The Detail, a new report has revealed. 18th January, 2023. In December 2021, The Detail reported that almost twice as many Catholics as Protestants were arrested and charged over a five-year-period in the North of Ireland.From the…

[tevatron]

i'm so glad i won't be working with my pi after this month. i think i've reached my limit. i just can't deal with her anymore

[theheadlessgroom]

@beatingheart-bride

"No, it doesn't, judging by the sound of it," Callahan nodded, before smiling to Lon and Erika, saying warmly, "But it could always use more Paces in it, I feel."

Even as breakfast continued to wind down and many of the spirits began to break away from the tables to begin their day, the Pace-Burke family remained seated a while longer, enjoying their drinks of choice and some much lighter conversation, the topic gradually shifting towards plans for the day: The Pace brothers were planning on further exploring the mansion and hanging out with some of the graveyard spirits, who they'd met and hit it off with the night before.

"You been teachin' these folks any games, Willy?" Colin asked, at which Wilhelm nodded as he set down his coffee mug, saying, "Oh yeah, I've taught 'em Rings, Crookey, Darts...been teachin' Lon and Erika as well, they've really taken to 'em!"

"Good to hear it!" Colin grinned, as Callahan rubbed his chin, saying, "Well, if anyone wants to join us, you know where we'll be-met those three odd fellows down in the crypt last night, was thinking about playing a little blackjack with 'em!"

"Just watch your wallet around Ezra if you do," Randall chuckled, as Josephine said, "Well, I'd like to spend a little more time getting to know my grandbabies. Is there anything you like to do together? Maybe something we can all have fun doing?"

"We like to watch movies!" Lon proclaimed proudly and excitedly, with Erika brightening a little at this suggestion. "We watch movies, and Papa likes to knit or sew while we do! Sometimes we all play board games while we watch!"

"Oh, that sounds like fun!" Josephine grinned, as Randall looked back down to Erika, who looked back up at him in turn. The question now was what she'd rather do: Play out in the graveyard with Uncle Colin and Uncle Callahan, or watch a movie with Grandma Josephine? Whatever she chose, he would go along with her for, as promised.

[lakecoded]

8 shows to get to know me. tagged by @thehitchikerdude :)

supernatural 😔 (self explanatory) (gave me brainworms at 13 AND at 20)

please like me. i legitimately watch this like once a year and sob through the last 2 episodes every time.

black sails. show of all time. a story is true a story is untrue. wough 😵‍💫 have never been able to fully rewatch this show

the oa. watched this in april 2020 and SOBBED for 2 straight hours after finishing the second season because it was cancelled. its SO good and SO sexy (the house in s2 that eats people. my god....) and SO beautiful. forever mad it got cancelled because the cliffhanger makes me so crazy (i simply love when actors play themselves in things). jason isaacs

murdoch mysteries. well this show is not good (and is somehow still running) but i was Obsessed with it in middle/high school which has to count for something

dispatches from elsewhere. this show made me so crazy i genuinely believed the characters were going to walk out of my television screen and into real life. v funny and v heartfelt and also richard e grant is there to monologue at the camera

taskmaster. its fun! i love watching comedians fail to do tasks. shoutout to the guy on youtube who's uploading the new seasons :) also the new zealand and australian versions are v good

halt and catch fire. i watched this while i was quarantining in a hotel for 2 weeks and joe macmillan is the character of all time. keot yelling HE'S A PERSON at my laptop screen because he's real to me

tagging @taros @liapher @bettysweep @blacksails2014 + @werewolfcafe ❣️

[homophyte]

was just subjected to a self righteous post about how we need to learn to respect second generation atheists (important context: i am one) and how their existence begs the question of if atheism is always in reaction to something or if it can be an independently held position. which then followed it up with a 'summary of responses to this post' that included, peppered among things second generation atheists said or remarks about never hearing about this before, extremely reactionary positions about the necessity of religion in life all couched in the language of simple 'concern' for these atheists upbringing. like omg yesss your post is soooo important we really need to interrogate this group that is persecuted by literally every large religious organization on the planet about if their way of life is legitimate! its sooooooo crucial we open doors to religious mandates. its imperative that we teach them about religion, a thing they are so cruelly denied, but dont worry guys, for some of them, its not their fault! we can help them! by making them religious i mean teaching them about religion! remember that some jewish people are atheists too <3

[spiritofthespork]

Note: I'm more awake now so hopefully this is more comprehensible

Maybe this is just me looking through my gay goggles, but I feel like the real reason Cullen couldn’t be bi in inquisition is cause it would lead to a major shift in his world view that the games don't neccesarily want to commit to. Like sure, homosexuality is accepted in Thedas (Tevinter is the exception), but like, outside your party it still seems more like an anomaly than the norm, and the game still uses a Very heterosexual worldview. Combine that with how directly they pull from the medieval papacy for the Chantry (creed, aesthetics, templars, and geopolitics) and like all of the anti-magic views of the Chantry is giving 'love the sinner but not the sin' vibes.

But if you’ve ever done the Cullen romance straight or with the bi mod, you know that while the lyrium stuff gets addressed once or twice, him changing and actually accepting mages isn’t ever addressed? It's implied and he never acts anti-mage really past act 1, but we don’t dive into that. And I enjoy this romance but I'm adding in these changes and story moments in my head, which is what makes it work for me. (Part of that is that I played DAI first so I didn't have Cullen from the previous games to compare to) But I feel like to write a satisfying character arc with a male partner especially either mage and/or non-human, they would Have to include him coming to terms with the fact that the problem IS the Chantry and the Templars, its not just Meredith or a few people or something fixable.

BUT we did not get that, because the games tend to try to 'both-sides' all of the social issues outside of Tevinter. They start it a bit and as I said, they imply it in DaI with him going off of lyrium and not technically being a Templar and all that stuff but like don’t really actually deal with the emotions and ramifications that would come with that for him. Just imagine though how funny it would be though, like this dickhead mage comes in, tells you your plan is dumb, but his ass is so fine that it completely resets your worldview. I just find it alot more compelling than cis, straight white boy religious cop gets a girlfriend and lives out their traditional life dreams, the end.

tldr: Cullen coming to terms with being queer would also require him to reevaluate his entire Chantry/Templar worldview further than he does in DAI, we can't have nice things so he remains cannonically straight and boring. But, if you are willing to do the mental writing for a queer romance, its a neat story

[ikusayu-no-hana]

sometimes all it takes to fix ur mental health is getting handed an award by ur fave prof for a short story about ur ocs gay proposing ❤️‍🩹

[halogalopaghost]

Religion has NO place in a hospital. Yes, catholic hospitals absolutely SHOULD be forced to perform abortions against their will, especially if they're providing emergency healthcare. Shut the fuck up. Healthcare professionals take a vow to care for their fellow man whether they agree with the individual's decision or not, this is taught in medical school. If they're discriminating, by ANY measure, they need to be prosecuted full stop.

[apothheosis]

while i immensely appreciate my friends’ support of me being trans and their efforts to do right by me and call me the right name and pronouns whenever anyone asks anything (good heartedly) about my identity i get soooo shy and anxious i want to explode

[belqva]

₊˚⊹౨ PTOLEMAEA (C.M.) ৎ ₊˚⊹

warnings: emotional and physical abuse, inappropriate comments (only one), parent issues, confessional themes, religious themes, mentions of miscarriages, alcoholism, cheating and gambling

summary: In a church’s embrace, faith and desire collide. A daughter’s silent struggle beneath parents’ guise, seeks solace in forbidden thoughts.

pairing: charlie mayhew x reader

word count: 2.8k

a/n: umm.. what can I say? I’m just a girl and I am obsessed with Nicholas Chavez so ofc I had to write something for him!! Sorry if there are any inaccuracies I am not a roman catholic Christian, and in no ways do I approve of any kind of religious discrimination or whatsoever!! This is just a work of fanfiction. Just to mention yet again English is not my first language so sorry if there are any mistakes. Feel free to write your thoughts and opinions, requests are open as long as you are respectful!! And as always I hope you enjoy <333

You stood at Sunday morning mass beside your parents, the familiar scent of candles and incense filling the air. Your hair was tied back in a neat ponytail, a delicate bow resting against it—just the way your mother liked it.

You wore a knee-length skirt with an appropriate top, an outfit that aligned with the image of a good Christian girl. You were supposed to be focused on prayer, absorbing the priest’s sermon, but your mind wandered elsewhere.

The morning had already been eventful, and your thoughts kept replaying the chaotic scene at home before you arrived at church.

It had all changed so quickly once you stepped through the church doors. Your mother and father, as if by some silent agreement, shifted into their usual roles.

They greeted neighbors with wide smiles, exchanging pleasantries as though everything in your household was perfectly ordinary. Then, during mass, they stood on either side of you, hands folded in prayer, playing the part of a devout and happy Christian couple.

But it was a charade, and you knew it all too well. Only an hour earlier, their voices had echoed through the house in another heated argument.

Your father, as always, was a shadow of the man you had once imagined he could be. He had wanted a son, a dream he clung to until after your birth. But after several miscarriages, his hope dissolved, replaced by bitterness. His drinking became a constant, and gambling soon followed. He found his escape in these vices, and over time, he drifted further from any sense of family.

Your mother, meanwhile, had her own form of escape. The affairs started when you were still too young to fully understand, but over time, even your father became aware. They would argue and scream, but the fights eventually gave way to indifference. They had stopped trying to fix anything, stopped pretending they even wanted to.

And then there was you. A silent observer, a helpless child who could only watch as her parents’ marriage fell apart piece by piece. You wondered, even at a young age, what you had done wrong. What could you have done differently? Why did you feel like it was your fault?

It wasn’t uncommon for your mother to slap you when things got particularly tense. Your father, too, had his moments—he would make inappropriate comments about your appearance that left you feeling small, but thank God, it never went beyond that.

Still, you tried so hard to be the perfect daughter, the ideal Christian girl. You volunteered at the church, memorized Bible verses, and always said your prayers, hoping that maybe one day it would be enough. Maybe one day Jesus would answer your prayers and fix what was broken.

But as you stood there in church, surrounded by people who had no idea what your life was really like, you felt tired. Tired of pretending, tired of praying for something that never seemed to come.

“Why don’t you focus, sweetheart?” your mother whispered sharply, her breath hot against your ear as she nudged you with her elbow.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, casting your eyes down. You forced yourself to listen to the priest’s voice, though his words washed over you like water over stone. But the truth lingered, always at the back of your mind.

You prayed every day, but sometimes, even you doubted if anyone was listening.

“We talked about this, Y/N. Pull yourself together,” your mother hissed, her voice sharp as she leaned in close.

Then, just as quickly, her face softened into a warm smile when an elderly woman nearby turned to glance your way. The performance was flawless—an image of maternal grace. But you felt the sting of her words sink in, a quiet reminder of how fragile your role in this family really was.

Your attention drifted back to the priest, Father Charlie, whose voice filled the room with conviction. “…Remember, the Lord hears all cries, even those spoken in silence. He sees every tear and knows every sorrow in your heart,” he said, his tone both soothing and firm.

“And He asks that we carry these burdens with faith, for through Him, we are never alone. We are called to forgive, to love, even when it feels impossible. For if He could forgive us, how can we withhold forgiveness from others?”

Father Charlie had been the priest at your church for a few years now, and in that time, he had become somewhat of an enigma to you. He was young, undeniably handsome, with a presence that was both comforting and mysterious.

His words held weight, and you admired him for the way he commanded the attention of the congregation, always knowing what to say.

You were fond of him—perhaps too fond. But you couldn’t entirely blame yourself for it. The girls at your Christian school were the ones who started the gossip.

You thought back to the way they whispered about him, shamelessly thirsting after him as though he were some untouchable prize.

“Did you know he was a personal trainer before he became a priest?” one of the girls had said, wide-eyed.

“What a waste,” another had added, grinning. “Who wouldn’t want to be with a man like him?”

At first, you found their comments disgusting and inappropriate. You tried to dismiss them as nothing more than vulgar fantasies. But then, despite yourself, the idea of Father Charlie as something other than a priest began to creep into your mind.

You imagined what he might have been like before his vow to the church. Your cheeks flushed as the thought of him—of his strong body and sharp features—set your nerves alight, and soon an embarrassing heat bloomed in your body, spreading across your skin.

You prayed it away. You really did. You asked God for guidance, for the strength to rid yourself of these sinful thoughts.

You even tried to crush on someone more suitable, someone your age, but it never lasted. Your mind always wandered back to Father Charlie, back to his deep voice and the way he seemed to command every room he walked into.

As he continued preaching, your gaze lingered on him longer than it should have. For the thousandth time, you marveled at his otherworldly face, the perfect symmetry of his jaw, the way his lips moved as he spoke of forgiveness and grace.

And though you knew better, though you told yourself it was nonsense, you swore you saw something—some glimmer in his eyes when they landed on you.

His gaze lingered, just for a moment, but it was enough to send your heart racing. You shifted uncomfortably in the pew, a wave of guilt and excitement washing over you.

What if he knew?

What if he could sense what you were thinking?

Of course, it was impossible. But each time his eyes flickered in your direction, the thoughts in your head grew louder, more intense, and far more dangerous.

You fought to keep your composure, but it felt like you were unraveling. Even as his voice carried on with words of love and forgiveness, you couldn’t shake the weight of your desires—desires that no prayer seemed capable of silencing.

—

The soft echo of footsteps faded as the last congregants filtered out of the church, leaving behind the lingering scent of incense and the faintest hint of candle wax. You fidgeted with the hem of your skirt, glancing at your parents as they walked toward the car, your mother’s back rigid, your father’s shoulders slumped. A familiar heaviness settled in your chest.

“Aren’t you coming, dear?” Your mother’s voice sliced through the silence, sharp yet feathered with concern.

“Just a moment. I would like to have a word with Father Charlie... alone,” you replied, your voice almost a whisper, tinged with trepidation.

Your mother narrowed her eyes, her expression a mixture of disbelief and irritation. “Oh dear, I’m sure Father Charlie is quite a busy man. You shouldn’t be bothering him with... pointless nonsense.” Her forced smile did little to mask her annoyance.

“Mother, I—”

A throat cleared nearby, interrupting you. You both turned to see Father Charlie standing there, his friendly smile disarming and warm.

“It’s quite alright, Ms. Y/L/N,” he said, his voice a soothing balm. “I am here to listen to everyone’s worries and thoughts. It is a part of my calling.”

Your mother opened her mouth to protest, but Father Charlie cut her off effortlessly. “I assure you I am more than glad to help your daughter with whatever it is.” His gaze shifted to you, filled with an understanding that made your heart flutter.

After a moment of tense silence, your mother relented, though it was clear she was not pleased. “Well, alright. We’ll be waiting with your father in the car. Don’t take too long.” Her words dripped with coldness as she turned to leave, casting one last accusatory glance your way.

“Yes, Mother,” you murmured, your heart pounding.

“Father Charlie,” she nodded, the tone of her voice suggesting she was dismissing him more than acknowledging him. He smiled again, the kind of smile that felt like sunlight breaking through clouds.

“I hope to see you soon, Ms. Y/L/N,” he said, his tone light but sincere.

As the heavy doors of the church swung shut behind your mother, a sigh escaped your lips, heavy with the weight of unspoken words. Father Charlie chuckled softly, the sound like music—a melody far more pleasant than the hymns that had echoed just moments ago. “She is quite the figure,” he observed, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Oh, that she is…” you muttered, the embarrassment creeping into your cheeks.

“Come, walk with me.” He gestured down the long aisle, and you fell into step beside him, your heart racing as you moved past the rows of empty pews. The church felt different now, as if it were just the two of you in a sacred, intimate space.

For a few moments, silence enveloped you both. The quiet was comfortable, yet heavy with anticipation. Then, Father Charlie broke the stillness. “I don’t mean to rush you, but why did you wish to speak with me?” His voice was gentle, with a hint of curiosity.

You hesitated, the words caught in your throat, feeling more vulnerable than ever. “I—um…” The embarrassment was suffocating.

“It’s alright. No need to rush. Take your time,” he encouraged, his gaze unwavering, offering a safe harbor in the storm of your thoughts.

Taking a deep breath, you tried to steady your racing heart. “Well, I’ve been having some... inadequate thoughts about certain things... and aspects of my life. I’ve tried to pray about it, but it doesn’t seem to help.” The confession spilled out, the weight of guilt and confusion pressing heavily on your chest.

Father Charlie nodded, his expression one of understanding. “That is understandable. Sometimes it is hard for us to connect with the Lord. Temptation is not an easy thing to deal with.” He paused, a shadow crossing his features as if battling something within himself.

“And resisting sin is certainly…” He faltered, the words hanging in the air, unfinished.

“Perhaps coming to a confessional could help?” he suggested, tilting his head slightly, his eyes glinting with a mix of warmth and something else—something deeper.

The thought of confession made your stomach churn, but you felt drawn to him, the connection between you sparking with unexpected intensity. “I don’t know if that’s what I need…” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

“Sometimes, sharing our burdens can lighten the load we carry. It’s a safe space, a chance to speak freely. I’m here for you,” he assured, his tone steady and inviting.

You looked up at him, caught in the sincerity of his gaze. “It just feels... wrong, you know? I’ve been trying so hard to be the perfect daughter, the perfect Christian. But I keep failing.”

A flicker of something akin to sympathy crossed his features. “It’s not about perfection, Y/N. We all have our struggles. It’s part of being human. What matters is the intention behind our actions and the effort to seek forgiveness.”

His words resonated within you, echoing the very truths you had been grappling with. “But what if my intentions are... inappropriate?” you confessed, your voice trembling slightly.

Father Charlie stepped a bit closer, his presence enveloping you like a warm embrace. “We all have thoughts that we may not be proud of. It’s what we do with those thoughts that defines us. Have you spoken to anyone about this before?”

You shook your head, feeling exposed. “No, I’ve kept it all inside. I’m afraid of what they might think—especially my mother.”

“Your mother may not understand, but that doesn’t mean you should suffer in silence. You deserve to express your feelings.” His voice was firm, yet tender, grounding you in the moment.

“Do you really think so?” you asked, searching his eyes for reassurance.

“I know so,” he replied, a soft smile breaking across his face. “You are not alone. I’m here, and I’m listening.”

A warmth blossomed in your chest at his words, filling the void of loneliness that had settled within you for so long. “Thank you, Father Charlie,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckled softly, a sound that wrapped around you like a comforting blanket. “It’s my calling to help. You’re brave for reaching out; that’s a step in the right direction.”

You took a moment to gather your thoughts, the weight of your worries still pressing down but feeling a little lighter. “I just wish I could find a way to... reconcile what I feel with my faith.”

Father Charlie nodded, his expression serious yet encouraging. “That’s a journey many embark on, and it’s not always straightforward. But I believe that through honesty—both with yourself and with God—you can find a path that feels right for you.”

His words hung in the air, resonating within you. “But how do I begin?”

“Perhaps we can start with confession. It’s a way to unburden yourself—an opportunity to speak openly without fear of judgment. I would be honored to guide you through it.”

The thought sent a shiver down your spine, both thrilling and terrifying. “I’ve never done that before,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly.

“It’s perfectly alright. Everyone starts somewhere. Just remember, it’s a safe space,” he reassured, his eyes locked onto yours, filled with an intensity that made your heart race.

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the decision pressing down on you. “Okay... I’ll think about it.”

Father Charlie’s smile widened, a genuine warmth emanating from him. “That’s all I ask. Just take your time.”

You felt a sudden rush of emotions, a mixture of gratitude, fear, and something akin to hope. “Thank you, Father. For listening, for understanding.”

“It’s my pleasure, Y/N,” he replied softly. “Remember, you are not alone in this.”

The moment felt suspended in time, an electric charge hanging in the air between you. You were acutely aware of his presence, the way he seemed to draw you in, making the world outside fade away.

But reality came crashing back as you glanced toward the church doors, where the shadows of your parents loomed. “I should go,” you said reluctantly, the weight of the outside world pressing back in.

“Of course,” he said, his tone understanding, yet a hint of disappointment lingered in his eyes.

As you turned to leave, you felt a sudden urge to say more, to linger in that moment just a little longer. “Father Charlie?”

“Yes?” He looked at you, his expression expectant.

“Can I—can I come back and talk to you again?”

“Anytime, Y/N. My door is always open for you.”

You nodded, a small smile breaking through the uncertainty. “Thank you.”

With one last glance, you stepped toward the heavy doors, your heart racing with the thrill of what you had just shared. As you pushed them open, the sunlight flooded in, illuminating the path ahead.

“See you soon, Y/N,” Father Charlie called after you, his voice wrapping around you like a promise.

You took a deep breath, feeling lighter as you stepped outside, the echoes of your conversation lingering in your mind. The conflict within you still simmered, but for the first time in a long while, you felt a spark of hope.

As you made your way to the car, your mother’s cold gaze met yours, but you held your head high. You were beginning to understand that seeking guidance, even from a handsome priest who stirred feelings you never knew you could possess, was a step toward finding your own truth. And perhaps, just perhaps, you were on the brink of discovering a deeper connection to both your faith and yourself.

© COPYRIGHT BELQVA 2024

SHARING THIS, ANY OF MY OTHER WORKS OR A TRANSLATION OF THEM WITHOUT CONSENT ON THIS OR ANY OTHER PLATFORM IS STRICTLY FORBIDDEN !!!

THE PLOT OF GROTESQUERIE OR ANY OF THE CHARACTERS EXCEPT FOR THE ONES I CREATED DO NOT BELONG TO ME THIS IS JUST A WORK OF FANFICTION !!!

tags:

[lackadaisycats]

I've seen some edit in tiktok spreading some 'fun' facts about Lackadaisy... And some seem to make their own theories but telling it like it was the truth. One that I remember correctly is that there's some kind of racism going on, they said that it was because of Rocky and Freckle was originally Irish, they got discriminated? They even said once that Freckle is suffering from poverty (That I may disagree, looking at those mini comics of their childhood). And even the whole "police academy" is not working for him is also because of the discrimination. Do you had anything to say about this? Cuz I love your comic, and seeing people spreading false information about it were making me concerned...

There was a lot of pronounced anti-Irish/anti-Catholic sentiment in the US stemming from Protestant 'nativists' in the mid 1800s. But, by the late 1800s, the Irish were making a concerted push into positions of relative societal and political power. That included joining police forces.

Although there was still plenty of anti-Catholic sentiment in upper echelons of American power in the 1920s, the children of Irish immigrants weren't up against the same degree of establishment bigotry that their ancestors encountered, nor did they generally face the same levels of hostility and discriminatory practice that other immigrant groups and people of color were grappling with.

Anyway, Freckle's ancestry was not standing in the way of his becoming a police officer. Those fun facts sound like someone's head canon.

[sissa-arrows]

Americans who plan on voting for Kamala thinking the lesser of two evils is a solution need to take a serious look at France.

Macron was the “lesser of two evils” the first time. By the second time we knew the solution was to kick him out because he was NOT the lesser of two evils but too many white people kept believing in his lesser of two evils bullshit.

You know what’s happening now? The left won the election in the beginning of July. Macron chose to ignore it.

Macron chose a prime minister from the party that got the 4th place at the election. That party is a far right party labeled just right wing. Yesterday we got the new government chosen by that prime minister.

The Home Secretary believes that colonialism had great positive aspects (on the indigenous population) and that “Africans want for France to not repent and to accept that there was positive aspects and to take back its leadership in Africa”. He is also against making “forced conversion therapy” illegal against LGBT+ people.

The Higher education and Research Secretary, believes that “Islamoleftism” is a problem and a threat in higher education and that it must be fought against (Judeo-Bolshevism is so 1917-1945 so France switched things up a couple years ago). He also voted against putting abortion right in the French constitution and against gay marriage.

The Secretary of State against Discrimination was going to change its name to include the protection of secularism (which in France means the protection of Islamophobia and even supporting and being an islamophobe) after a pushback it looks like it wasn’t included in the name BUT it will still be one of his jobs. So the guy chosen supported Stanislas a private catholic schools who was involved in a scandal about favoring students but also about encouraging homophobia, Islamophobia and sexism in the school. He also believes that racism and homophobia exist in France like everywhere else but that very few people are racists or homophobes and that the real problem for minorities is the left who accuses people of being racists and/or homophobes. He thinks that there’s a problem with immigrants and immigration in France and that mass immigration must be stopped (for the record if you respect the Tumblr rules every single one of you was born before he got his French citizenship). But hey he is Moroccan so apparently it automatically means he ain’t racist and anti immigrants. (Say whatever you want about France but this country is hella good at finding the sell outs in each community)

I could go on and on about these three and about the rest of the government. Some of them want to go back on the legalization of gay marriage, how some of them want to make the access to universities and any public space to women with a hijab which will quickly turn into a ban for Arab and Black women to wear baggy clothes as a whole in public spaces…. But I will stop here.

All I have to say is that voting for the lesser of two evils even when people were saying that the lesser of two evils was still a danger for People of color and LGBT+ people turned France into Germany before WW2 except the targets are Muslims and people indentified as Muslims instead of Jews. But go on and vote for Kamala if you want but don’t say that nobody warned you and don’t pretend to be all righteous.

[jo-harrington]

Charitas. (An As Above, So Below Story)

Gratia. Charitas. Solamen. Grace. Charity. Peace. The oath of the Knights of the Holy Order.

Summary: You and Eddie--separated by time and endless suffering--don't realize how many strings keep you connected on the web of fate. What players are there trying to cut those strings? And when will you both find out that they are unbreakable?

Word Count: 3.7k

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!OC (The Knight - Written in 2nd Person POV - You/Your - No Use of Names of Physical Descriptors)

Warnings/Themes: Soulmates, Kas!Eddie, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Grief, Minor Character Deaths, Manipulation, Transformation, Corruption, Supernatural Encounters, Religious Elements, Discussion/Criticism of Religion, Biblical and Other Literary and Pop Culture References

Note: Sorry this one has taken forever. The next part is already written, just gotta clean it up. Shouting out @powderblueblood and @rosewaterandivy for being my fellow media vacuums and not only enabling me to do this/what's next but also Powder specifically for her love of the Archie-verse because CAoS is one of my favorites and why would I not let the Knight get a chance to face Faustus Blackwood one on one while also maybe alluding to The VVitch and criticizing religion even more?

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

“But the rage passes and leaves no trace behind.” ― Rainer Maria Rilke, Sonnets to Orpheus

November 12, 1986

You'd developed a dislike for small towns.

Hawkins might still be home in some ways, but it was more because of the people who had lived there--the memories--than the town itself. But it, too, fell into the category of small towns that you'd grown to hate:

Small, unassuming places that held some kind of dark, terrible, dangerous secret. Atrocities in the making.

You'd walked into Hawkins fully oblivious to the monsters that lurked there, though.

Here and now, with Greendale, you were almost too aware.

Jinette had entirely too much to say about it and that unsettled you.

Strange energies and missing children and sudden turns of fortune for seemingly innocent townspeople. Rituals performed in the woods and a possible portal straight to hell.

"I'll knock on the door," you joked as you read through a report he'd provided about the Greendale Mines. "Maybe I'll get some kind of time off for good behavior if I hand Satan my soul in person, instead of waiting to die for him to take it."

Jinette ignored you; jokes were lost on the clergy.

Instead of a lecture though, he simply gave you a warning: to be on the lookout for witches.

"Thought the Order vowed not to discriminate against religions," you'd scoffed at him. He ignored you again and just sent you on your way.

The Order against discrimination? Sure. The Catholic Church? Definitely not. And Jinette? The most judgmental bastard of all.

Still, his warning was front and center as you felt an unnatural, chilling frequency of magic in the air upon your arrival in Greendale.

"Let's get this over with," you slammed the door shut and shouldered your backpack so you could start investigating.

Greendale was nice enough--it had that hazy, natural beauty of the late fall that was synonymous with upstate New York--and if you weren't in such a sour mood, you probably would've enjoyed it. This stage of your work was always somewhat fun. Talking to people and learning local histories, seeing different buildings as you walked around, eating a little lunch at some hole-in-the-wall off-the-beaten-path type of place.

But you were surrounded by ghosts. Both literal and figurative.

Someone died on that street corner, heart stopped cold as though someone had stuck a pin in it.

There was a bakery that had apricot kołaczkis; not Italian but still one of Nonna's favorites.

The dentists office used to belong to a serial killer who'd never been caught; the spirits of his victims rapped on the little window at street-level, begging to be let out even decades later.

Cerberus Books was a beacon for classic horror with neon lights and mannequins dressed as monsters in the windows...and Eddie would have loved it.

You fought the urge to flinch as you felt the phantom feeling of his hand in yours, his voice in your ear urging you to go inside and look around.

You closed your eyes and took several calming breaths to clear your mind. Little by little those ghosts were banished and you'd regained your cool, your focus.

If the Order wanted you to be a weapon, you would be one. You'd break whatever darkness lurked in Greendale and then onto the next job, and the next one, and the next one. Until you could go home. Your real home.

Then you wouldn't need to rely on ghosts anymore.

Or fear them.

Your world was knocked off its axis as someone exited Cerberus Books and crashed into you. Even moreso as a surge of unearthly, dark power clashed with your heavenly one, and you fought the urge to tap into that power to repel the intruding force away from you.

The man that crashed into you grabbed your shoulders to steady you before you fell, and you breathed in the smoke-and-brimstone tinged air that surrounded him. It was suffocating and further tapped into that instinct towards defensiveness.

But as you regained your bearing, all you could see was how unassuming he looked.

Truly, his visage belied that imposing aura--a kind older man in a suit and fedora, with neatly-trimmed facial hair, and a gentle smile--but you could sense that he was a witch, just as he sensed you were...

What were you?

He held you there for a moment and you watched as his brow quirked. He read you, just as you read him. A mutual discovery. Tenuous, so as not to alarm one another, but curious.

Although naturally adverse, you could sense no danger to each other.

"I'm so sorry," he apologized softly. "I wasn't looking where I was going."

"N-No, no," you insisted. "I was caught up in my head, it's my fault."

"You're...new to Greendale." he stated.

"Just driving through," you answered, an excuse that was well-used in the past few years. This time you had a feeling you meant it. "Maybe sticking around for a few days."

"The diner has a great cherry pie."

"Cherry's my boyfriend's favorite."

"Is he traveling with you?"

Yes.

It was on the tip of your tongue. Because yes, actually he was just here with you. The memory of him, the ghost of him. You wished he was, and maybe that was enough to make him real.

Maybe that was enough so this witch felt him.

"No," you said instead. "It's just me."

His gaze softened as you continued to study each other. You held out your hand to him.

"Anyway, I should get going," you told him and you held out your hand to shake. "Thank you for the recommendation, and sorry again Mr..."

"Spellman," he replied, hands letting go of your shoulders so he could shake yours, but his words were like a shot to your heart. "Edward Spellman."

November 6, 1983

Henry was an observer, a thinker, a visionary.

He took care of them, offered mercy when he wasn't required to. He simply demanded obedience in return for all that he provided for his children in the Upside Down.

But for some reason beyond understanding, chaos had broken out.

And he was livid.

Eddie stood tall and received the images that his master filtered through his mind; strange growths, riotous creatures, and the partial reformation of the beast that Henry himself gave life to: the Mindflayer.

All with a will of their own.

"You must fix this," Henry demanded of his right hand, his general. "You must restore order."

The efforts of the physical communication winded him, as he was still fragile and healing from the attack by Eleven's friends, so he continued to relay unspoken demands through the collective consciousness. He strained to spread his authority as far through the dimension as he could.

Destroy the malcontents or you shall be destroyed.

A warning not just for Eddie, but for any of the creatures that resided under his rule to reconsider their rebellion before they met their demise.

Then came a jarring mental image of a wasteland of bodies, torn apart but still writhing and alive. The pain that would come in the wake of any betrayal would be immense, and he would keep all of them alive for as long as he saw fit to extend their suffering.

No Gods or devils could enact the devastation he could, if only they tested him.

"Does that mean you too?" you sowed doubt inside of him. "The destruction? What would happen if you didn't listen?"

Eddie stiffened as he felt the tug of your presence at the corner of his mind, hidden in that deep, dark pit. A spark amidst the void. He growled, both in acceptance of Henry's orders and to silence you.

"Do you know what this reminds me of?" He fought the urge to twitch under Henry's all-knowing gaze as you continued. "The Emperor. And Vader. Do you remember Return of the Jedi?"

His mind was a flurry of images again, these vague and distant though, twining with the ones that Henry had just relayed to him: spaceships and planets and furry little creatures, and Vader towering over Luke--

"Do you question me?" Henry snapped at him, gnarled body shaking with the effort. Eddie's eyes focused on his master once more. "Beast?"

He ducked his head and growled again. Grumbled. Repentant in his errors.

"Question him," you hissed, emboldened to no longer stay buried and hidden in the pit but slithering along his skin. Unseen, but acutely felt. "Do it. What's happening? Why are they rebelling? Ask him."

He let the growl turn into a roar, a battle cry and a warning to keep you silent. He then took to the air, determined to succeed in snuffing out this insurgent blight that had taken root in the Upside Down.

His master needed him, relied on him.

He wouldn't fail.

No matter how much you tempted him to.

November 14, 1986

To find witches, one often had to think like a witch.

Though the term witch when it came to those who practiced magic was just as broad as the term Abrahamic when it came to some of the so-called “major” religions of the world. One of your fellow Knights considered themselves a witch, more of a polytheist with an affinity for Hecate, but they derived their abilities from nature.

Technically you did too, your powers rooted as deep within the earth as they were tied to the Heavens.

Maybe it was all the same? Or maybe it was all bullshit.

The type of witch that you were looking for though, the type that Edward Spellman was, was something else. Dark rituals, blood curses, deals with demons, names signed in books, machinations with The Devil himself.

“Arthur Miller was popping a boner somewhere right now,” you muttered.

You supposed it felt a little unsettling, but less in a way that made you fearful, and more in the way that oil floated on water. Similar, both liquids, just...not meant to mix.

Which is why you kept yourself calm and open minded.

"I'm not here to kill them," you reminded yourself. "Find out why innocents are disappearing...stop them, maybe...but they'll carry on unharmed."

Truly, you could have just followed Edward Spellman as he went about his business in town, but you figured that that would have probably been as suspicious and rude as you could get.

That's why you enacted your own sort of a tracking spell.

Witches didn't always move in the world like mortals did; they transmuted, teleported, moved along the shadows cast by clouds and trees and blades of grass.

But if you reached out…asked the clouds and trees and grass to show you what they’d seen? Well, then it would be impossible for them to stay hidden.

So you walked.

Left your car at the motel and set foot into the lush forests surrounding Greendale, letting instinct guide you.

The further away from town you got, the more unruly your surroundings became, until you ended up following an old, overgrown set of railroad tracks deeper into the wilderness. Bats or birds--you couldn't quite tell--flew overhead; omens of some sort urging you to give up and go back to safety.

"How bad could it be?" you asked aloud, only to skid to a halt as something larger and shadowy crossed your path ahead.

Once again, you couldn't make out what it was, but the energy it left behind felt dangerous and smokey, an ephemeral stain of dark magic.

You took a calming breath and clenched your fists, ready for whatever you might find, and soldiered on.

Eventually, the treeline thinned, and power lines sprung up along the track, and then a structure. Large, looming, and made of stone and glass; it was overgrown with dead ivy and surrounded by tall, dry grasses.

Gehenna Station.

You scoffed at the name, at the implication, but the longer you observed the structure, the more you felt the underlying darkness that churned within. In fact, the longer you stared, the less sure you seemed to feel of the building's existence itself. Your eyes started to lose focus of the structure; your perception wavered, almost like it didn't want you to know that it was there.

Maybe it wasn't even there at all?

"Good afternoon Miss."

You whirled on your heel, ready to defend yourself, only to find a young boy standing there. His eyes were large, cheeks round and soft, and there was a small smile on his lips; kindness and innocence emanated from him, but also a deep sadness.

It didn't take long for you to realize that he was dead.

"You don't belong here," he stated matter-of-factly. "You should go."

"I'm here to help," you told him instead. There was no duplicity when it came to ghosts; they could see through you, no pun intended. "Kids are dying. Kids like you. Can you tell me what happened? I can try to stop it and find you some peace."

His brow furrowed, and he pouted.

Then he held his hand out to you, palm upwards for you to lay your own hand in his small grasp. You hesitated for a moment, but gave in.

He was solid and your hand didn't sink through his form like you expected. But as your palms touched, you saw.

A dank cell illuminated by the moonlight with sights that would drive one insane.

A desolate forest full of dead trees and a clawed beast that slunk unseen.

And a looming tree laden with thirteen rotten apples and a swinging noose.

The Harrowing. And it truly was as it's name described, as you watched one child after another succumb to the trials.

You blinked and the images were gone, but the sound of screaming still rang in your ears.

"It's always been this way, Miss," the boy said sadly as he pulled his hand away again. "You can't help us. No one can."

Something burned in your chest at his words, the finality of it, the acceptance of this fate. How many times had you heard that from your father or Jinette or the other Knights? This is the way it always would be. Cycles. Downward spirals.

You'd already decided that that would end with you.

This would too.

"The hell I can't."

You let go of the boy's hand, turned back towards Gehenna Station, and started walking.

Every step felt heavier and heavier, but you proceeded onwards until the doors of the building opened of their own volition and then slammed shut behind you once you were inside.

November 6, 1983

Eddie soared over the vast landscape of the Upside Down alone.

He had gotten used to flying with legions of bats at his sides, wings beating in tandem. It was a euphoric experience to be with them. Be one with them. To dip and roll, swarm, and even play.

He tried calling out to them through the bond—

Help me, the master demands your cooperation, your obedience.

—but there was no response. Not even a reluctant one.

It was irritating. He was leader after Henry, for all intents and purposes. Even their friend in some cases, their own flesh and blood.

Why wouldn't they come at his call?

He could feel them. Some waiting in the trees, cowering. Some were tempted to fly with him, soar with him, safe with him in the lead.

But there was something in the air that stopped them from answering the call.

A strange sense of foreboding, a shift in the presence of the dimension itself. A change in frequency, in the fragile balance of control that Henry had over everything.

Even the particles floating around him didn’t seem right.

“Are you sure he’s in control?” you whispered deep within him. “Are you sure Vecna is telling you the truth?”

Of course, you were still there clinging to the edges of the pit inside of him, snatching at his thoughts like the parasite you were.

He curled his lip and growled at you again, willing you to be silent. But you simply refused. Whispering worries and warnings.

It was curious how your tone had changed. You seemed weaker here. Unsure. In contrast to how you’d been earlier in his master’s presence. There was a tenuous quality to you now.

He had considered, more than once, that you were some machination of Henry’s. To weed out the disloyalty in him. A little remnant of his humanity to taunt him and tempt him. A test.

But even with unhindered access to Eddie’s mind, there were simply things Henry couldn’t be bothered with. Memory, emotion, humanity. Those were all things he sought to destroy when he created the perfect weapon.

All of the things that you tried to bring out of him.

“Be careful,” were the final words slithering from you before you went silent once again.

He scoffed despite the pang in the hollow space where his heart should be.

Careful.

That was another indicator that you couldn’t possibly be of Henry’s design.

Careful wasn’t in his nature anymore.

Had it ever been, though? Even when he was alive, even when he was truly Eddie Munson, had he ever been cautious or careful? If he had been, he wouldn’t have brought Chrissy Cunningham to his trailer that fateful night.

Then he wouldn’t have shed that fragile body and become something greater.

This was fate.

He could feel you scoff at the thought now, and he grinned ferally, hoping his great and dark destiny would keep you quiet.

His wings beat harder, propelled him faster, motivated by the thought of some peace and quiet from you. At the prospect of being his master’s great weapon and champion.

He preened so hard, he didn’t realize how human the action actually was.

Until he crossed some seemingly invisible threshold, some metaphorical membrane made up of static electricity, that made everything go quiet.

The constant buzz of the hive mind was suddenly gone, thousands of consciousnesses silent, and his body seized momentarily as he reacted to the tangible loss.

Everything felt harder to do--breathing, thinking, feeling--and he went into freefall.

Down he went. Falling and flailing, air whipping about him. If he thought flying had been a freeing feeling, falling was another kind of freedom; something deep down and dark inside of him welcomed it, the prospect of a hard and fast demise.

But as his eyes drooped closed, the phantom feeling of your hands grasped at him, encircled his torso and willed him to take flight once more. Your phantasmic voice sounded underwater to his uncooperative ears, to his non-existent soul, as you screamed for him.

“Eddie!” His name brought him back into focus as hands grasped his face. Your invisible touch was electric and abruptly brought the world back into focus. “Eddie, wake up!”

He gasped a breath as your spark kickstarted his reflexes, but it was simply too late. He crashed heavily into the ground, barreling through the earth, until he came to a halt.

His body, unbreakable, seemingly bent with the impact. His ears rang, he couldn’t move, couldn’t think.

There was a distinct absence of being.

An absence of everything.

But he swore, before he lost himself, he saw the impossible.

He saw your face.

November 14, 1986

The inside of Gehenna Station was exactly what you expected.

That is to say, it was nothing that you expected; you had expected the unexpected.

If you reached out with your consciousness, you felt...a vast infinity. Halls that led everywhere, rooms of an unimaginable quantity. No wonder the outside of the building felt as if it wasn't there, because it really wasn't. This pocket reality was folded inside of it.

And what this pocket reality was, was a school.

A suspiciously empty school.

There were empty classrooms and hallways, an auditorium with a slide projector showing a list of incantations on a screen at the front, a cafeteria with trays of abandoned lunches.

You explored and searched--looking for someone, anyone--until you found yourself back in the main atrium, before a statue of a man with a goat's head and lower body, winged, with two fingers pointed up and two pointing down, surrounded by statues of children.

Baphomet.

"Interesting," you muttered as you encircled it.

You'd think a place like this, a place of satanic witches, would have some kind of idolatry towards Satan himself. Traditional depictions of devils and demons, maybe even some kind of artistic imagery of the archangel Lucifer?

Not this.

Your thoughts raced.

Hadn't you just contemplated your fellow Knights and their differences of beliefs outside? Yes. And that was where the mystery of this school and these witches remained. Everything had meaning; imagery like this had meaning, words had meaning.

Gehenna had ties to Hell and eternal suffering, places of divine punishment, and yet this was a school. A place for children to learn and grow. And Baphomet? People often mistook it for something sinister but Baphomet symbolized balance, the equilibrium of opposites; as above, so below and all that. Equal light and darkness inside everyone and everything. Peace at finding a balance with it. Equality in all and for all.

How could a statue that depicted children, trusting and reverent, stand for an institution that killed kids?

You supposed that the contradictions found here were akin to those in your own beliefs; how the church was supposed to be merciful, but you only found wickedness--like Jinette...like yourself--tied to it. That's how you were in this mess in the first place; someone using God as a justification to kill and steal.

"Guess all religions are shit," you snorted.

That's why you needed to find out what was actually happening here and stop it.

Unfortunately, in your rumination, you'd let your guard down.

You felt it before you saw it, the slide of your sneaker on the uneven floor. When you looked down to investigate, the tiles--made to look like a thousand eyes--began to fall away right under you.

The last thing you did before the floor beneath you disappeared and you fell into some dark oblivion wasn't an attempt to save yourself or find something to hang onto.

Instead you snorted and thought:

Guess the whole thing about being delivered right to Satan wasn't such a joke after all.

"I am good, but not an angel. I do sin, but I am not the devil." — Marilyn Monroe

[ravi-is-my-beloved]

I just read the interview that Ryan did and I'm glad he talked about how the mustache is like Eddie's way of telling Gerrard he won't find an ally in him. (That's like the gist of what he said, I'm paraphrasing.) Because honestly, I can see Eddie doing that because he doesn't want to use his white-passing privilege as like an advantage to not be discriminated against by this terrible captain. It's in character imo.

Also, yay, Eddie's catholic guilt is confirmed to be something Eddie will work on in this new season! I know that most of us already thought that was happening, but it's good to know that it's confirmed. And I'm so ready to see how Eddie views his religion because as Ryan said, it is different than how Bobby approaches his religion.

All in all, this interview did a good job of making me excited for Eddie's storyline this season.

[usaigi]

How @yellowocaballero and I Fixed Daredevil by Headcannoning Him as Mexican

When Daredevil first appeared in 1964, he was a second-generation Irish-American from Hell’s Kitchen, a working-class Irish-immigrant neighborhood. In a time where Irish people weren’t viewed as “white” or “real Americas.” They were a part of the oppressed working class, the bottom of the food chain, who had nothing but their religion, the vehicle of their culture from the old world, to keep them together.

Note: Today, the argument that “Irish people aren’t really white” has been co-opted by white supremacists and has often been used in bad faith against POC. I want it to be clear that what is considered “white” is and has always been a political term with no backing in science. Discrimination against the Irish back in the day was tied to anti-Catholic sentiment in predominately Protestant states, such as England, Scotland, and the United States. Naturally, Anti-Catholic discrimination overlaps with nativist, xenophobic, ethnocentric and/or racist sentiments (ie Anti-Italian, Anti-Polish, Hispanicphonia).

Jack Murdock was a poor boxer with no education or prospects who had to exploit his body to provide for Matt. And recognized that not a way to live and thrive, so he pushed Matt into academics for social mobility. Sound familiar?

At its core, the story of Matt Murdock is an immigrant story. Matt has the immigrant mentality;  immigrants-get-the-job-done type of thing. Gotta hustle and became a lawyer because that’s how he moves up the social and class ladder. And when he does “make it” he chooses to stay and help his neighborhood because he has a cultural connection to it. 

This worked in 1964, I don’t know how much it works now.  

Hell Kitchen isn’t a rough neighborhood primarily occupied by working-class immigrants, it’s another gentrified hipster hellhole. Irish people and people of Irish ancestry in the United States no long face systemic discrimination. 

Therefore, modern-day recontextualizing is to make Matt Mexican. 

Technically, Matt can also be from any other Latin American country or Filipino but I lean towards Mexican since a) this is my post go make your own and b) we get the most discrimination from the mainstream media. Yes, a lot of it is because racists use “Mexican” as a catch-all term for anyone from Latin America but still. Trump made his presidential platform by calling Mexicans illegal rapists and druggies. 

If Matt was actually the son of Jack Murdock*, an undocumented brown immigrant living in a working-class immigrant/POC neighborhood, it gives him the underdog immigrant arc the character is missing in modern-day adaptations. Matt's core is still the same Matt we know and love, he’s still the son of a boxer, whose dad’s pushed him into succeeding academically, who lost his dad to gang violence, and who is extremely Catholic. Someone who wants to fit into middle-class educated (white) society and feels like he has to suppress the "devil" inside until one day he can’t. He's seeing discrimination and poverty and crime and gentrification tear his neighborhood apart and the police turn their back on it since it's predominantly POC. The law has failed them, he's not going to fail them too. 

Meg made the fantastic point that Matt should still be white-passing (and ginger) so he could exist somewhere in between worlds.  And Matt takes advantage of that, as well as his Columbia Law degree to help his community. Matt not using his conditional whiteness and the fancy degree to “escape” his community and instead help it.

[professionalchaoticdumbass]

you are pope for the day what are you doing

catholic church headquarters are moved to a randomly chosen spot in the Arctic Circle. theres a big hole where the vatican was

formal apology for all wrongdoings of the church in history, with church funding immediately going to victims and/or their descendants. condemn discrimination against other religions. do my best to stop whatever the fuck american evangelicals are doing. hey, i gotta do something good with this power.

all the priests get put in a boxing ring and fight to the death, the survivor becomes my apprentice in the dark side

order matpat to give me a copy of deltarune chapters one and two

every bible has a little flip animation of jesus dancing in the bottom right corner that you can see if you flick through the pages really really fast. it's a different dance for each copy.

sermons must be delivered in uwu speech

bishops are only allowed to move diagonally and cannot jump

invite those guys to play megalovania again

chocolate flavoured communion wafers

homosexuality no longer illegal; now compulsory

the popemobile's official name is "the popemobile" just to piss off that one other pope

using the lord's name in vain is encouraged

ask god to build a ramp to heaven

Steve gets added to the bible as Adam's boyfriend