#girl all the saints have it out for me today for skipping church on a holy day of obligation i guess. well fuck those guys.

[mashmouths]

does anyone know how to stop the body from keeping score? i have shit to do

[gayerthanevertbh]

say your prayers - one.

pairings | dark!priestess!natasha romanoff x reader

– summary: your school have church service once every week. of course, as a good little schoolgirl you are, you attend to it. which means you always have to see your priestess, natasha, who you are secretly infatuated with. until there was an unexpected turn that made you feel something else other than good. but maybe, even better.  

– warnings: smut/dark taboo themes - 18+ YOU’VE BEEN WARNED! non-con/dub-con, religious themes, sacrilegious acts, blasphemy of religion, biblical references, rough sex, loss of virginity, dark!natasha, oral sex (r receiving), Mother kink, heavily detailed smut, natasha being a creep, and more.

– notes: this was so well written i’m actually kind of happy about this chapter. there will be more in the future, for now this. enjoy! <3

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I attend the chapel every week. The school requires you to, so I don’t really have a choice. Usually, my choices are: to drop my scholarship and move to a new school so I don’t have to do all the religious routine or suck it up. And mostly, I do suck it up. Mainly because my parents are believers of God and would be a saint when it comes to him. I’m like that too, I pray and confess my sins and sometimes even ask for help when I do need it. I’m a good girl, as they say. And I am a good girl.

It just simply goes away once I see my priestess once a week.

Ruther Catholic College has been my high school life, I’ve been in boarding school ever since I turned fifteen years old. My parents, who are religious people, think that Catholic schools do good for schoolgirls like me. I am a good schoolgirl, I just have issues that I’d rather not talk about. I have never been vocal about it either, not finding a sense in it since I don’t talk to a lot of people. I do have friends, but I skip my time with them so that I could read my books. I’m an aspiring writer, a journalist. I write the simplest stories that are book worthy and it makes me think that I am talented and educationally smart–since I was raised that way. I’m a Rogers, for Christ’s sake. Of course, being academically smart has to be on the charts.

But I cannot shake off my infatuation with my priestess, Natasha, who is twice my age. She has the kindest eyes that I’ve ever laid my eyes on, all my teachers are bastards and have soggy jawlines. But Mother Natasha has a face of a babe with the maturity that comes with it. Her lips are subtle and thick, and her hands are quite long and neat. She wears this attire every Friday and does the chapel, preaches the word of God, and makes us go to the confession room to reveal our sins with no shame. I still have to wonder who was behind that divider, because there are many women in that church that could possibly be forgiving my sins. I’ve blatantly confessed to many women, not knowing who they are.

Anyway, the humanities building is the largest dorm of all in New York. We have our own rooms, our own food too. But we are still required to go to the cafeteria to say our prayers, to bond with other schoolgirls. I, personally, do like having my own space. The context of someone being in your room can be very intrusive, which I am not fond of. I have a desk that has most of my writings, and poems that are short. On the other side, my single bed was there as well as my long rectangular-shaped window. Beside the door are my bookshelves which have the cross of Jesus Christ above the wooden shelf. I’d invite a friend or two to have a book date, but never less sleep there. There would be a couple of nuns on the watch, especially at night. That means we aren’t allowed to even get out of the building without permission and say where we are headed. Only our parents can pick us up from our school.

Today is Friday which is my luck to see Mother Natasha again. I hiked my white long socks all the way to my knees and got into my black shoes that felt hard on my heels. Though, I have no choice but not to wear them. When I was in the hallway, I could feel the cold breeze of the air. It’s September and it’s the start of my year, I turned eighteen a week ago and spent it with my parents. Some of them say I still act like a fifteen-year-old kid, but I don’t think that way. With how smart I am, I felt like an adult once I reached this age. I see Wanda with her hair tied up that shows off her brunette locks, she smiles at me and brings her arm inside mine.

“Guess what?”

“What?” I asked while trying to stop the itch from my feet, making my face scrunched in a weird look.

“I’m getting a laptop soon!” she says joyfully, squealing with her arms tightening around mine. It hurt, but it didn’t matter. I smiled to silently tell Wanda that I was happy for her, truly I was.

“That’s nice,” I responded with a huff because of the cold wind. “I was wondering when I’m going to get mine. I could write better stories there.”

“You’re always writing and reading, don’t you ever get bored?”

“No,” I huffed again. “Not really. It only keeps me away from reality, I get to choose what it feels like to be loved and unloved. I also get to choose whether I’m religious or not.”

I was a good girl but never came to terms with my religion. I believe in God, though. I truly do think he’s capable of all of us sinners and people, it’s just hard to believe when your teacher says something about the world ending. Revelation is not the best chapter in the Bible, it never was. Truly because I think it’s fictional and hypothetical for these things to happen, it has been said for many years. I still don’t see it happening.

Maybe that makes me a sinner of not being afraid of death. I'm not afraid of the underground world once I die, because I know that it’s a place for me and other people who go through my struggle. I’d rather not admit it, it makes me feel ashamed of myself.

When we reached the big wooden doors that lead to the chapel, I gulped. I could feel my throat restraining as if I’m not allowed to talk–which was the case, you aren’t allowed to talk in the chapel. Once it opens, all of us schoolgirls come rushing in quietly. Of course in line. I see my teachers being in the back row while there are a few nuns in the front row, and the section of my class sits in the right row in the middle of the church. So I sat there quietly with Wanda, who had her feet pressed together. A nun was at the altar playing the piano that was ringing in our ears beautifully, and I do find it relaxing. And once everyone was in the chapel, the priestess made her entrance.

Mother Natasha.

I could hear Wanda mumbling, “I wonder if she has a husband. She seems lonely, I mean look at her stance. It screams I want a husband. Do you think she wants one? Or does she have one already?”

I imagine Mother Natasha bringing her husband, who is possibly a priest. And I almost made a grimace look because of that imagination. I’d like to think Natasha is a lonely person who has her personal space and has a wonderful mind. And even if I don’t know her, she radiates that kind of mood. Especially how well-spoken she was, even if they are scriptures from the Bible. I responded to her quietly that I don’t think that she wants a husband, and Wanda just shrugs saying with another mumble: “That’s sad, I don’t want that. I would like a husband someday.”

Why do everyone has to think about marriage? Why can’t we just be happy with ourselves? I do personally think that marriage is a waste and something impulsive to do. There’s nothing forever in everything, even with stupid marriage. The thought of the word forever cringes me, it makes my body feel tingly with that word. I hate it, I hate it more than my dad.

“Please stand up for our prayer,” says Mother Natasha with a broad voice, everyone else closing their eyes. I had to do it as well but urged them to open again just to see her, to take a glimpse of her. After a long prayer, the service began. I was holding onto my Bible while still listening to her preaching, appreciating how there was so much power in her voice. I wish I could easily do that, to attract people with just my voice.

“For rebellion is as the sin of divination,

And insubordination is as iniquity and idolatry.

Because you have rejected the word of the Lord,

He has also rejected you from being king.”

When she says those words with such vulnerability, we make eye contact. It was brief, yet it meant so much to me. She looked at me. And I could see her creating a small smile that was so fainted, you could barely see it. My body tensed from the way her eyes were looking at mine, it was like I couldn’t breathe. My heart stopped. How utterly infatuated I was with something sinful that I cannot despair. She was a woman, a grown woman. I was a kid, practically a teenager still. Yet, she still looked at me without meaning.

After the service, we were asked to go to the confession room as always. It had to take a while since there were a lot of students and it took at least a minute or two. I was waiting in line with my fingers playing on the edge of my skirt. I bit the inside of my cheek, wondering about the possibilities that could happen later once I confess. But mostly, I thought about how Mother Natasha looked at me and almost gave me a smile. Was it sinful enough for me to want it from her?

“Y/N Rogers,” a nun calls me. I lifted my head up in response. “You’re up next. Don’t take too long.”

I mumbled a thank you for being polite and walked inside the small booth, closing the curtains. It felt intimate to be here again, to sit on the warm wooden chair and be faced by a divider. I start by saying with a light voice: “Bless me, Mother, for I have sinned. My last confession was about watching sexual films that my friend and I did, and I have thoughts about it. And for my next confession, I began to research abortion so that I could be prepared for the future. I know that it’s sinful to kill a child inside of your womb, but I was very curious. I will never do something like that again. And for my last one, I’m having an infatuation with someone that they do not know me. They barely made eye contact with me, and I’ve been thinking about them for the longest time.”

There was a short pause until the priestess asked, “Is this person a schoolmate?”

I began to shake my head. Lies, full of lies. I can’t confess something like this, it would be sinful enough to commit to it. It was just a stupid girl crush, no big deal. Wrong, it was a big deal–especially at this church. Homophobia is the real issue here, and they ban any homosexual acts from this school. So, I lied through my teeth.

“No, Mother. Someone else outside of school.”

“By the authority vested in me by the church, I absolve you of your sins in the name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost. May your confession be a reminder of you, child.”

I then realized how feminine the voice of that woman was. It sounded younger, and not some haggard old voice that you’d usually hear from another priestess. No, this sounded different. It sounded exactly just like Mother Natasha, although more feminine. Much lighter. I overthought this conversation until I made my way back to the room, where I had to do my project in English Class. My teacher, Mrs. Davis, is an outstanding poet. I love learning from her, but she seems too old for me to like. I’m assuming she’s in her sixties or maybe late fifties, but who am I to care about her age? I just simply love her class.

I kiss the small cross from my bracelet as I do a little prayer by the window, apologizing for my sins. It’s a daily ritual, a routine where I knelt down peacefully and talked to God. Whether he’s hearing me or not, I could tell how disappointed he was with my simple infatuation with a woman who was in her forties. I was ashamed, but never truly understood with the exception of being homosexual. Perhaps, I was. But I try my best to push it away, and it’s working.

“Forgive me, Lord Father, for I have sinned today. I know I may have disappointed you, and I will do my best to remain pure to your eyes. In the name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

                                                       —

Saint as she was on the outside, the devil she was on the inside. Natasha has urges, sexual urges. Maybe infatuation too, but more on the concept of fucking someone has been on her mind. Especially to me, specifically to me. How she’s trying to condemn herself whenever I'm around, how to try not to notice my eyes whenever she preaches. She prays to the Lord every day to push the feeling off, to be a saint in front of his eyes. But her urges continue on as if it was hunting for prey.

Mother Natasha is now inside your room with the door being quietly closed. She holds her clerical collar around her neck, trying to hold off the animalistic self to not grow out immediately. She takes in the coolness of my room, hearing the sounds of the clock ticking as well as the lights outside from the window are yellow. She looks at my desk and places a finger down, swiping across from the wood. She brings her finger to her tongue and licks it–rolling her eyes back at her head at the image of me on her desk. It’s getting worse day by day whenever she sees me by the halls of Ruther College, she wants to bite me. To simply take me that no one else could. Mother Natasha takes a few steps to my bed and simply admires my slumbered body, smiling to herself and whispering: How beautiful you are, my little lamb. How effortlessly pretty you are.

She takes out her hand and ran her knuckles against my soft cheek, afraid enough that she’ll wake me out of my slumber. Relief left her body when I didn’t stir awake and continued her actions. Mother Natasha has always admired me, especially whenever the teachers would talk about me to her. They would say how well disciplined I am and how much they love my writings, saying that some of my essays could be poetry. She admires that very deeply and takes it in by heart. Before she could do further action, she goes to my desk and starts opening drawers quietly. Something catches her eyes, it’s underwear that has never been washed.

“Perhaps this is yours, little lamb,” she murmurs to herself while touching the cloth of my old juices, running her thumb against it. She brings it to her nose and smells it, almost making a euphoric sound out of it. She’s insane, utterly and completely insane to me. “How beautiful you are, how much you make me crazy.”

Mother Natasha shoves the sheer pink panties inside of her pockets and maneuvers toward me once more, looking down at my body. She takes the ridge of the blanket and moves it down slowly, her eyes staring at my face to see if there are any reactions. None. So she continued until the blanket was at my feet. I was still asleep, deeply in fact. My eyes were so shut that I didn’t even know she was already behind me, her hands remained untouched from my hips. It was as if she was afraid to even hold my arms, to smell my neck. Forgive me, Father, she thought to herself and takes a good amount of smell of my hair. Strawberries. She began to be obsessed with me at this moment and thought about numerous acts that she could do to my body.

I was awoken with a strong pair of hands on my mouth, making me scream from the top of my lungs. Above me, there was a familiar sight and I will never forget this day when I found out that it was Mother Natasha who was on top of me. I was bewildered, scared, and distraught. But scarier if that made sense. I tried pushing her off with my hands fighting against her, but she was unbelievably strong. Was this happening? Am I dreaming? I was infatuated with her and wanted her to notice me, but never like this.

“Shh, baby, please,” her voice sounded like a beg, her eyes are now kind but I could see much evil that was inside her green eyes. “Please stop, quiet down. Shh, it’s okay. I won’t hurt you. I just want a little taste from you, okay sweetheart? Just a little taste…”

Once she put her hand away, I wanted to scream. But her lips were attached to mine and I simply almost passed out because of it. Is this what it feels like to be kissed by your priestess? Her lips were so soft, so plump. My eyes went from terror to closing them, almost giving in to how well she pressed her lips on mine. My hands went immediately on her chest and pushed her as hard as I could, but her hands were caught on my wrists and her eyes are no longer kind. Her eyes were in pure anger.

“Stay down,” she demanded, hovering over my small body as I tried fighting against her. Tears are starting to form in my eyes, but she didn’t care. She needed to let it all out. “Baby, you’re breaking a poor old woman’s heart. Please stay still. I need to take you, I want you so much.”

I wanted to be freed from her arms, away from her lips. I didn’t want it, I told myself not to want it. It was a sin, an awful sin especially when it comes from another woman. Would’ve it been better if she was a man? Hell, that’s even worse. If I do admit that I like it, I might as well be as sinful as she was. Her hands were absolutely everywhere, she was holding my hips with a grip–making me think there would be a mark as well as her kisses on my neck. She was desperate. So so desperate for me. My face was pressed against the soft pillow as she assaulted my helpless body, smiling faintly to herself when I was only wearing a pink tank top along with white cotton panties.

“How beautiful you are, my little angel…” she whispers to my ears and hooks her fingers to my underwear. My eyes bulged out and I was quick to say something before she could even pull them down.

“I’m not experienced, I don’t–can you please stop what you’re doing to me, Mother?”

She clicks her tongue and juts her lower lip as if feeling bad for me. I started to whimper when she shakes her head a “no”. Meaning, that she doesn’t want to stop. She was about to hurt me and I’m going to like the hell out of it.

“Jus’ be a good girl for me,” Mother Natasha mumbled while kissing the corner of my lips sloppily, trying to pull away from her mouth but she makes a threatening voice: “Stop moving or I will hurt you.”

I quivered from the voice that she erupted, I trembled vigorously when she put her hand on my right breast–her mouth near my ear as she shushes me down, threatening me some more. I wanted her to stop, I wanted her to leave. Because knowing myself, I could lose control once she doesn’t stop. I was inexperienced, I don’t know how to touch a woman or even a man. My lips are no longer a virgin, they have been manipulated by her lips instead of a precious one. But maybe, she is the precious one. Maybe, I was just stubborn to realize that.

“Forgive me, Father,” I whispered to myself while her lips were biting on my neck–hissing myself with a loud whimper and immediately covering my mouth once more. From the corner of my eye, I could see her smirking as she whispers hotly on my face: “There’s no Father here, my little girl. It’s just me, Mother. I will take good care of my precious baby.”

She brings down my panties with a grunt, her other hand still on my mouth as she throws the discarded undergarment onto the ground. Mother Natasha quietly gasps to herself as she sees my unshaven core, her mouth-watering from the sight. I could feel more tears trickling down from my eyes as she touches my cunt, knowing how dry it was.

“I’m going to get you so wet, little lamb… You shall see the ecstasy from the Lord. This is his gift, bringing me to you, kitty.”

With those nicknames, it made me wet. Those words are so foreign in my ears like I’ve never heard of them before. And I never did, so the way her sultry voice speaks to me makes me want her to touch my sensitive parts until I was eaten by her. How much I wanted her and how endlessly I denied it. I continued to cry and so on, letting her dominate my poor body while she was smiling at how much has been revealed to her.

“Recite the whole Hail Mary for me,” she quickly says with a domineering voice, turning me until my back is pressed against the mattress. I looked at her and pulled my tank top upwards with effort. “Detka, stop fighting it. Eventually, your virginity shall be mine. We were meant to be this way, accept it.”

I couldn’t. I thought this was supposed to be different, I thought that she’ll only be my priestess and nothing more than that. But I was so driven by her stamina and her harsh kisses that I’m making myself give in, I must give in to not disappoint her. So I did. She smiled widely once I took off my tank top, throwing it across the room and I was fully naked beneath her. I covered my chest with my arms and shyly said, “I think we’ve had enough, Mother. I–I think we should stop.”

“There’s no stopping here,” she harshly whispers and kisses my lower lip; biting it even, which made me let out a tiny whimper. “Give yourself to me, little lamb. I’ll make sure you’ll be filled with so much love from me, I promise.”

She pushed my legs wide and gasped quietly once she saw the full view of my vagina, I could see her hungry eyes far from here. It’s a sight that I’ll never forget, that I’ll imagine once I go to sleep every night. Her mouth lands on my stomach and makes swirling kisses with her tongue, whispering biblical words that I cannot comprehend due to the fact that I’m a mess. Tears are coming out like a river, as well as my whimpers of mercy. She gives open-mouth heated kisses on my pelvis and finally, her mouth was on my cunt. I arched my back in response, my hand went flying to her hair to grip it; she didn’t mind. To her head, she loved it.

“Please,” I begged and took a deep breath, releasing the tension inside of me. “You have to stop, Mother. I–I can’t do this with you, this is wrong.”

She shakes her head in disagreement with her eyebrows scrunched together, but her eyes are still glued to my clitoris. She whispers with a deeper voice: “This is never wrong for the both of us, my child. It’s meant to be.”

Her tongue squirmed all over my folds as I covered my mouth with my mouth, moaning when her lips were attached to my clitoris. She sucks on it, making a sipping sound while her hands are roaming around my stomach to calm me down. Her mouth was rough, as well as her tongue. Especially her tongue. It’s like she knows what she’s doing with it, and I don’t even understand the techniques that she’s releasing from within her. Mother Natasha continued to eat me from down there as I prayed to the Lord for my sins; quietly.

“You taste divine, my angel…” she praises, her eyes closed as she licks and licks my departed folds, the tip of her tongue prodding against my cunt. “So fucking good, this pussy is so beautiful… Want you to shave it for me.”

I still had my hand gripping her hair tightly and let her assault my cunt with her mouth and her tongue that would draw me from my orgasm. She still had her chapel outfit on, which kind of made my body feel hot. I could still see the clerical collar around her neck, as well as her cross necklace that was made out of wood. But none the less, I was in true heaven while she ate me out like a starved animal.

“I’m so–Lord, Forgive me,” I begged, and I pleaded. My chest starts to heave deeper as my pants become more ragged. “Stop, please stop! It’s too much–I can’t take it…”

“You taste so fucking good,” she groaned against my cunt, admiring my clenching hole. “Look at that, you are nothing but my child. I’m cleansing you away from your sins, I’m the one who listens to them. Don’t be a dumb baby.”

I let out a whining moan at the sound of her voice and how she says them with so much sexual power within her body. I began to whine more once I felt two fingers dipping inside of my vagina, and I immediately lifted myself away.

“No, please. Anything but that. I’m saving myself for the Lord,” I whimpered in pleading but she never wavered. She just kept her arms around my hips as her fingers rubbed my clenching hole. I said with a louder voice, “I said stop, Mother! You’re going to hurt me with your fingers…”

“No, no, baby…” she coos, smiling at me gently while still rubbing smoothly against my hole. She could see how terrified I was, could see how pure I was. And she was grown enough to know that she was taking advantage of me. Should I let her? If I was going, to be honest in the vein of the Lord, yes I wanted her to take my virginity. “Don’t be scared, my child. I’m here to take care of you, remember?”

She thrust two fingers inside my womb without warning, making me scream from my hand. It felt like something broke inside of me, like a river flowing out of my vagina. And to my thoughts, it was my juices. She loved the way I screamed, the way my body squirmed to get away from her. But really, I just wanted more. I needed more even though it stings, it hurts.

“That’s it,” she kisses my clitoris again while pulling out slowly to just pump in again, with more force this time. She could see the way my hips arched and with that, she pushes my lower stomach down with a growl. “Be a good angel, little girl. You’re giving yourself to me, what a saint. Beautiful, just like that… You’re so tight.”

She completely lost her temptation over me, she was a whole new person. And either way, she didn’t care. She wanted me as much as I wanted her–now that I have figured that out. She curls her fingers inside of me with a vigorous moan, latching her mouth once again on my clit while flicking that blud. I start praying once again, asking for forgiveness. Telling to God how much I’ve disobeyed him, it was a sin to commit an affair with a woman0–especially a priestess. I can’t help myself, I’ve fully grown to the feeling of her inside of me. I wanted it, even though on the outside I didn’t.

“Stop,” I whined while I still had my eyes closed, trying to get away from her hungry mouth. But her arms were so strong that you’d think twice if she’s a woman. Maybe she’s just a very strong person. “Please stop, I can’t take it! I’m sorry, forgive me, Father… For I have sinned. Oh god, please–I’m feeling so–”

“You’re loosening up,” she chastises, pulling herself up to smother her wet lips against mine. Our teeth clad together and made a clink, which hurt a bit. But I was so lost from the pain and pleasure that she was giving me, that I couldn’t help but let out a desperate moan. She smiles against my wet lips, almost tasting me. “I broke you in, huh? I love your pretty little body so much…”

She gropes my breasts while thrusting inside of me hard, her fingers curling to hit my special spot. My eyes were shut completely as my mouth gaped open, giving her access to kiss me. I could feel her dark redhead locks against my sweaty skin as she pumps her fingers, feeling my walls not as tight anymore. She loved the feeling of her taking my virginity, the one where she gets to taste a girl first. And god, I have made her crazy. Utterly insane.

I moved my head away from her lips and held onto the headboard steadily, almost coming from an orgasm that I’d never had before. She still has that smile on her face, it was as if she had won some trophy. And then I realized I was that trophy, I was her prize. I could feel the cross dangling onto my face as she whispers harshly, “Good little girls like you make me feel alive, lamb. You have no idea how attracted I am to you, how obsessed I am whenever you pass by. I know your little stares, baby. I’m not dumb enough to not see them.”

Immediately, I was embarrassed. But that feeling was at the corner since there are multiple emotions that I’m going through in just one night. I wanted to hate her, to never see her again. She was a saint that I always praised, but a demonic human being at night. Though, I love her. I love the way she manipulates my body, how she could control it–knowing what she wants. I was just some little girl in her eyes and felt innocent. Maybe those were her type, good little innocent girls like me. Except that, I was at the right age. It would’ve been an awful turn if I was a bit younger.

Our kiss was like an unforbidden fruit, like how Eve finds a beautiful apple from the snake. She was Lucifer, I was Eve. She knew how to manipulate me into some kind of sick action that I really loved, and I hate myself for it. I loathe thinking that this was not destiny because it felt like it did.

“I have so much desire for you,” her breathing becomes hard and I don’t know how to respond to her desperation. Her eyes are closed now, but I felt her forehead against mine as she gropes my right breast with a tight grip. “Forgive me, my child. I just couldn’t help myself any longer… I had to take you.”

Come for me, angel. Come around my fingers.

Those words repeat in my head as her mouth latched now on my nipple, sucking it while still rubbing my clitoris with her thumb–her fingers still inside of me. I felt disgusted. Yet, alive. My cunt was now abused with her power and I wasn’t ashamed of it, but I could still feel my tears falling down from my eyes endlessly, it was as if I am truly ashamed of what is going on. Eventually, I came on her fingers and she had her mouth on me to muffle my screams. She knew what she was doing, she damn knew. I was so lost with the feeling, the mixture of pain and pleasure. My body trembles from her fingers inside of me as my body sweats like crazy.

“That’s it,” she whimpers, kissing my lips harder with her rough mouth. “That’s it, come on… You’re so good to me. You’re such a good little schoolgirl, huh?”

I nodded relentlessly and continued to come around her fingers. Once I am done, she pulls out slowly and brings her lips to her mouth–sucking my come with her eyes closed. I watched the way she lathers her other all over her fingers as if she was starved. And truly, I was too. I panted loudly and laid my head back onto the pillows, sobbing after our sinful encounter.

Her eyes soften and touch my cheek with her knuckles, whispering: “You did good, my child. You did very well. I hope to see you again next week. Will I see you again?”

Why was she acting desperate? She knows she has more power over me, why is she giving me the control to see her? Mother Natasha has the willpower to control me, to make me feel like a bad person. It all felt different, too different. But I gave her a slight nod and tuck myself away from her, still whimpering from the sex that we made. I hear her say: “I made love to you, my child. Don’t act like you don’t like it. You came around my fingers, I hope you get to do that with my cock too someday.”

Someday? And what does she mean by that? Was there something else that I did not know? I felt scared now but wanted her to hold me close. Eventually, I felt the bed dip and watched her as she fixed herself, mumbling a few words that I could barely hear. She turns over her shoulder and gives one last smile before she leaves my room, closing the door quietly.

I cried during that night, feeling ashamed of what I’ve felt or thought. I hate to admit that I loved our sex, I loved the way she took me. But it felt so sinful that I could feel my body as a dirty thing; a dirty creature. I never want to show up in her chapel again, I never want to see those eyes.

But I do, so badly that it aches me.

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[binniedeactivated]

saint. || soobin🌪(3)

🖤┊𝔰𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔱 . ೄྀ࿐ 𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: 𝖘𝖔𝖔𝖇𝖎𝖓 𝖝 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗 𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊: 𝖘𝖒𝖚𝖙/𝖆𝖚  𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙; 1893.

the both of you halt and open your eyes swiftly. Soobin’s eyes widen at the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. He lifts you off of him and carries you to his closet, telling you to shh before locking you in there. As soon as the closet door shuts his room door opens, and it happened to be his mother. she looks around his room for any proof that he was studying. 

“soobin-ah did you hear me? What have you studied?”. 

soobin awkwardly clutches the handle of the closet door trying to stand as normal as possible. 

“well hello to you too mom. yes I had a good day today. yes i ate today”. 

she narrows her eyes at him. 

“don’t disrespect me choi soobin”. 

“I’m not. But you haven’t asked me those things for as long as I can remember. What does it matter if I studied? Don’t you care if I’m okay?”.

“You know I care about you soobin I’m your mother after all”. 

“so why do you treat me like i’m one of your church goers?”. 

“soobin ah! You will not talk to your mother like that do you understand me?”. 

His father’s booming voice was overly audible down the hall. you bit your lips nervously trying to keep still before you knocked anything over. 

“We’re not doing this again soobin. We had this talk already. you need to be prepared for the sin outside of this house and since I’m your mother I’m going to make sure you’re well armored”.

soobin scoffs rolling his eyes. 

“All you care about is sin”. he mumbles not expecting his mother to hear it but she did, and she heard it clearly. 

“Excuse me what was that?”. 

“Mom when’s the last time you actually really checked on me instead of checking on this biblical catholic shit?”. 

she gasped. and so did you, quietly of course. there he was. that was the Choi soobin you knew. 

“This is my house soobin do you hear me?! mine! and as long as you’re living under this roof you will not use any type of profanity are you hearing me clear?”.

“maybe I wouldn’t have to use profanity if you would treat me like your fucking child for once! For once!”.  he repeats becoming angry. 

“soobin get in here right now”. your father called overhearing the both of them. He brushes past his mother down the hall to his parents bedroom. His father was currently undressing, taking his suit jacket off and hanging it up in his closet. He keeps a stern look on his face. It was cold. harsh. mean. And that’s how it stayed for as long as soobin could remember. It was the look he always gave him when he misbehaved in school or failed tests. 

“you know what I’m about to say to you soobin”. his father addresses. Soobin raises his eyebrows in distress. “But dad! It’s true and you know it”. his father glares at him. “Why are you still going and why are you raising your voice and cursing at any adult in this house? That’s 20 licks”. 

“dad!”. 

“25 shall we raise it any higher?”. 

soobin sighs in defeat. he hated this. He removes his shirt tossing it on a chair next to his father’s bed. He gave his father a deathly glare before he places his two hands on the bed. His father reaches in his drawer and grabs the flogger. He looked at soobin’s bare back one more time before slamming the flogger down on it, to which soobin winces at how hard he did so. “Count!”. he demanded before taking the flogger and whipping it across soobin’s back again, watching his skin welt red. 

“2″. soobin says breathlessly, trying to keep himself together so he could withstand the pain. He should’ve been used to it by now but he wasn’t. It had the same burning and stinging sensation it did every single time. Merciless, his father whips him again and again while his mother watches from the doorway. Soobin could feel his arms shaking as he struggled to hold himself up. He felt the skin on his back grow redder and redder with each hit, and whenever his father whipped the same place (which he often did) it left aching bruises for weeks. 

“15″. soobin uttered feeling his eyes well with tears. You overhear everything, you didn’t know when would be the proper time for you to go or how. You knew his mother had left the room though, and this was the chance to make your grand escape. You open the closet door slowly and shut it softly enough for no one to hear. Not that they’d be able to hear anyways over the sound of soobin’s cries. 

soobin’s cries. you would love to say the jackass deserved it. that you hope he felt every lick with deep pain and sorrow. but you wouldn’t wish abuse on your worst enemy. Not even Choi soobin. It broke your heart the way he was crying, his dark voice getting choked up as he counted. you eye the rest of your surroundings making sure the coast was clear before you stroll down the stairs and exit out the front door as silent as you possibly could. 

“now that this is out of the way, i want you to apologize to your mother and I don’t want to see you come out that room until you’ve finished studying. Do you hear me?”. 

with his face red from his crying soobin nods, painfully trying to stretch his arms to put his shirt back on. He grimaces at the feeling of the wool touching his wounds. 

“i’m sorry”. soobin stated while looking in her eyes with the sincerest look he could give. She nods her head and accepts it, dismissing him. He goes to his room and shut his door. He forgot you were in the closet and dashed to open the door. Only you were gone. He was relieved that you got out on your own. He also couldn’t help but to wonder what you heard. 

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

It was a rainy day at the Academy of St. Joseph and the fourth years had mass in the morning. The bell on top of the temple rung obnoxiously. You had been in your biology class finishing up work. you hurried to scrawl your name across the top of the page before pushing it into the completed work bin. All of your classmates gathered at the door while sister Agatha stands in front of them all urging them to be quiet. As if they’d listen. These children barely prayed when they’re told and you expect them to be quiet? You collect your books and swing your bag over your shoulder. 

“I have a date with Choi soobin friday night”. you overhear your classmate Mia say. She was chewing her gum way too wildly and curling her blonde dead ends with her finer. Mia was pretty. She had these big glassy blue eyes and long eyelashes that were to die for. She was also considerably well dressed, making her a target of many guys. You didn’t hate her. She was just one of those arrogant girls that you paid no mind to. Her friends scoff in complete disbelief.

“No you do not!”. they laugh. “I do! he’s going to take me to a fancy restaurant in his metallic mercedes benz. We’re going to look like barbie and ken in human form i can’t wait I’ll take pictures to show you guys”. you had to admit even if she was lying she was selling it pretty well. But you had this small conflicted feeling each time she said it and you didn’t know why. 

you enter the church and sister agatha is guiding your class to fill up the pews. you would be the less fortunate one to not be able to sit with your class but to have to squeeze into a pew with a different one. You hated that. At least you could tolerate your biology class. You didn’t want to have to tolerate some other. She directs you to a different pew. You weren’t surprised at all that you were seated next to soobin. you knew you’d run into him sooner or later. you were all directed to pray. everyone slides off their seats and gets on their knees, pushing their hands together to really sell the idea. you know most would be secretly sleep anyway.

you push your hands together. you always prayed for real even when no one else did. Soobin prepares to pray too. Only he spent most of his time watching you pray rather than doing any praying himself. Feeling his eyes burning holes through your face you flutter them open to meet his gaze. His face was closer to yours than you thought.

“can you stop staring at me like a weirdo?”. you whisper, looking around making sure none of the sisters heard. he swiftly looks at your lips and then fixes his eyes on you again. 

“did you hear anything yesterday?”. he whispers back. 

you swallow, giving him a sorrowful look. 

“Is your back okay?”. 

“yes jesus healed me overnight”.

“I’m sorry soobin”. you whisper. you really were sorry though. 

“Don’t be. My parents are assholes”. 

“makes sense”. you nod, trying to make it look like you were praying at least before you got in trouble. 

“do you want to come over again? my parents are going to be gone for a conference until the end of the weekend”. 

“are they ever home soobin?”. you ask curiously. he shakes his head. 

“no they aren’t”. you felt sorry for him. honestly you did. i mean, your parents weren’t the best people either but at they least stayed around.

“I guess. What time?”. 

“we can go after school”. 

“alright. I’ll tell my mom I’m going to study group again”. soobin chuckles silently. It was refreshing to see a smile on his face after what he endured. 

“what’s so funny?”. 

“you’re cute. telling your mommy where you’re going”. 

“is that bad?”. you asked curiously. He shook his head and just smiles, laying his head back onto his folded hands. 

Before you went over soobin’s house it was normal to see his mischief in your everyday life. but while you went from classroom to classroom it was weird seeing him with his friends skipping class or teasing some kid. It was hard to believe this was the same soobin that asked you if you were hungry and was willing to feed you if you were. He’d just got finished putting laxatives in the coffee grounds in the teacher’s lounge before he approached you. You were taking your books out of your locker. 

“are you ready?”. he questions holding his backpack strap. you jump, startled at his voice and he laughs. “Do you ever announce yourself?”.

“hey soobin!”. mia calls from across the hallway. he turns around waiting for her to say something. 

“what? are you going to continue talking to some unknown weirdo or are you going to hug me goodbye?”. she says loud enough for everyone to hear. Loud enough for everyone to laugh. 

“seriously soobin who is that and where did you find her?”. His friend Jacob called out joining in the party. His group of friends laughed from across the hall. soobin glances down at you. you were embarassed to say the least. All eyes were on you now. And couldn’t help but to think about how stupid you looked next to him. seriously who did you think you were? 

you’d never fit in with Choi soobin. 

“I--”. 

“just go soobin”. you wave him off. 

“what?”.

“hello! are you going to keep me waiting? I’m pretty sure church girl has nothing relevant to say”. Mia calls again. 

“just go to her. I’ll be fine”. you mumbled shoving your books in your bag. Soobin sighs, he jogs his way over to Mia. You glare at them both. Maybe they were Barbie and Ken together. maybe you actually did look like a fool next to him. 

you swing your bag over your shoulder and started your walk home. 

“I’ll see you this weekend”. Mia flirts, kissing him on his cheek. It was an unexpected kiss that made soobin uncomfortable. It made her friends squeal though. He gives her a head nod and rolls his eyes once he turns around. he looked across the hall to see you gone. 

you were halfway down the hill once you saw a car driving slowly beside you. At first you thought it was a predator until the driver’s window rolled down and you saw soobin’s face. you should’ve known that it was soobin driving such an expensive car. 

“what are you doing?”. he yells so you could hear him. “I’m walking home. What does it look like?”. you retort. 

“I thought you were going to come to my house? I was going to drive the both of us”.

“no i’ll just go home soobin. besides, mia is probably tracking your every move as we speak”. 

“so?”. 

“so I’d rather not get humiliated by the whole school because of some guy that I kissed”.

soobin smiles as your cuteness. he knew it was a serious moment but he couldn’t help it. 

“we did more than kiss”. 

“shut up soobin”. 

“come on why are you being such a downer now?”. 

“why do you care now?”. 

soobin shakes his head smiling, muttering a ‘pfft’. 

“can you just get in the car? i’ll drive you home”.

“no thank you. I’ll walk. my house is only around the corner. I need the exercise anyway”.

“Walking around the corner isn’t much exercise. No serious calories are being burned”. 

“oh yeah? since when did you get so smart?”. 

soobin drives his car in the middle of the sidewalk right in front of you to stop you from walking the rest of the way. He gets out of the front seat and approaches you. you didn’t want to hear anything he had say, if we’re being honest. 

“listen i’m sorry about mia today. she’s a real bitch and that’s pretty much the type of girls I attract I can’t help it. she shouldn’t have said that stuff to you. it isn’t true anyways”.

you fold your arms. Choi soobin? apologizing to anyone? Was the world ending?

“oh yeah? and what about your friends?”.

“they’re all jackasses and you know that. Why do you care about what they say anyways and why are you mad at me for it? it isn’t like I said it”. 

“whatever soobin”.

“so? are you going to get in the car now? because I’m hungry and I want Mcdonalds”. he pouts. you wrinkle your nose to keep from laughing. he was a big baby. 

“fine”. you agree, walking to the other side of the car. He slides in the driver’s seat as do you in the passenger’s, and the both of you buckle up. The inside of his car was very well kept and expensive looking of course. His parents probably hire people to clean his car for him. 

lucky jerk. 

“what’s a millionaire like you doing eating Mcdonalds anyway?”. 

“I ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich yesterday. Mcdonalds is like a five star meal compared to that”. you laugh. 

“what? you think I just sit around eating filet mignon?”. he questions again eyeing you before looking back at the road. 

“yes pretty much”. 

“no. I’d rather waste my money on food I enjoy. Rich people food is gross and it comes in small portions”.

“at least you’ve had that experience”.

“do you want to experience it?”. 

“what?”. 

“I can buy you some if you want to dip your feet into that lifestyle. negative 1/5 would not recommend though”. 

“you don’t have to do that soobin”.

“you sure?”.

“yes i’m sure”.

“I’m glad. you wouldn’t want that food anyways”. soobin expresses before he pulls into the mcdonalds drive thru and practically orders the whole menu. To your surprise the workers knew him very well and brought his food out quickly. He parked his car in a random parking spot. 

“wait you’re going to EAT in here?”. you ask looking around at the clean interior. Soobin pulls the lever to his seat to recline it a bit. he had no space with all those bags in his hand. 

“yeah why not?”. 

“you’re not worried about getting it dirty?”.

“no because I don’t clean it myself”. 

you knew it.

he digs into the bag and hands you a huge wrapped burger and fries. He lifted the tray beneath him and puts a milkshake inside of your cup holder. 

“soobin seriously i’m not hungry”. he looked at you while chewing on a fry. 

“just try it. it’s good i promise. I think that’s a peanut butter banana smoothie you have”. 

“wait really?”. you mumble picking it up. you sip it. it was sweet yet delicious. the flavors were blended so perfectly together, you haven’t tasted anything like it. You never had time to go out to eat often.

“Is it good? I’m getting jealous”. soobin chuckles before biting into his burger and making the biggest mess ever. 

“it’s amazing”. 

“really? let me try it”. soobin opens his mouth waiting for you to put the straw to his lips. you turned it away from him. 

“don’t you have another straw? I don’t know where your lips been”. 

“on you”. he mumbles before biting into his burger again. you smack his chest and he laughs. 

“what! it’s true”. 

“whatever soobin. you’re making a mess again”.  you fish through the bags to find some napkins. You swipe his lips and pick the contents off his shirt. it didn’t make sense how messy he was. he practically had pickles and onions all over his lap.  you used another napkin to pick them up, trying to make sure he was as clean as possible. 

He watches you while he chews, waiting for your eyes to meet his. and to your dismay they did. And there was that stare again. It was even more awkward this time around for you at least, considering the fact that you were bent over in his lap. Soobin never thought it was awkward though. He admired you. 

“You know, I’d kiss you if I didn’t have an onion slice halfway down my throat”.

you reach up and pluck his nose. 

“you’re a dork, soobin”. he scrunches his nose and smiles like the baby he was.

[morsking]

i was told to come here for fate zero kotomine kirei questions? i was thinking about kirei in f/z and realized i don't think i actually completely understood his arc and specifically how it relates to his spirituality/belief in God? can you explain to me what happened to this strange knife-throwing man

i’d be VERY happy to, i love talking about kirei even if i don’t do it very often.

this is something that becomes a little more clear later on in heaven’s feel but the gist of it is that kirei has an inexplicably sadistic nature he does not understand where it comes from or why he has it. for the majority of fate/zero’s first part, he doesn’t even know it exists until gilgamesh slowly draws it out of him by making him deconstruct his own thought process and personal beliefs.

kirei was raised catholic and had a priest for a father, so kirei had catholic teachings of altruism and asceticism hammered into his young brain on top of risei’s, his father’s, expectations and desires for kirei to be “pure and beautiful”, just like kirei’s name suggests. 

kirei, however, secretly felt repressed by those teachings and expectations since forsaking personal happiness and helping others never brought him any joy, and because he never felt any joy in helping others, he reasoned that joy and pleasure were sinful indulgences that a believer, much less a priest, should never partake in. he therefore internalized displeasure and complete emotional detachment as a natural and righteous state of life. this, coupled with the catholic belief that selflessness in life would mean salvation in death, resulted in kirei becoming far too guilty to ever chase after pleasure because doing so would mean betraying not just the faith in his Lord, but also all the hard work and love his father had put into raising him as a pure and beautiful person. kirei respected his father’s ideal and tried his best to live up to it, but fundamentally could not understand it, and he could not love the man it belonged to. in response to these emotions, kirei resorted to grievous and deadly methods of self-harm to keep himself walking the righteous path.

nevertheless, kirei could not contain his curiosity (and unbeknownst to him, his yearning) for pleasure and travelled the world attempting to find meaning and enjoyment in different activities. he graduated top of his class, skipped grades as an exceptional student, worked diligently as an executor, and even ate some of the most exquisite delicacies known to man... and found them all tasteless and unfulfilling. kirei was a truly hopeless individual with no direction or sense of self and personhood. he had failed to find meaning in basic, and even some luxurious, delights every human being desires to experience.

in a desperate, final gambit to connect with the inner humanity he lacked his entire life, kirei attempted to fall in love with a woman called claudia ortensia. claudia was terminally ill, and was not expected to live for much longer. while she did love him, he could not bring himself to reciprocate despite his best efforts. they were together for two years and had a child, caren, out of wedlock. throughout his time with claudia kirei could only find salvation in claudia’s suffering. but claudia, an incorregible saint, was willing to suffer if it meant bringing him joy and salvation. claudia slowly died, and soon enough her time was at hand. kirei believed that as her husband it was his duty to at least say his farewells on her deathbed. as claudia lay dying, kirei relayed the simple fact to claudia that after all their time together, he did not love her. to prove him wrong and save him, she disconnected her life support machine. kirei cried at the sight of wife selflessly dying to save him, and claudia, with her fading strength, told him that those tears were proof that he did love her, and that love is proof of his humanity. 

unbeknownst to either of them, the true reason kirei cried was because he didn’t get to kill her himself.

kirei handed over his child to the church. if marriage did not save him, parenthood wouldn’t either. kirei contemplated suicide, but instead opted to return to his teachings and live as an executor, craving even the most artificial of purpose to justify his existence. 

we then reach fate/zero. kirei is at his lowest emotional point, and sensing the pit in his soul yearning for purpose, the grail bestows him with command spells. kotomine risei contacts his ally tohsaka tokiomi, and takes kirei under his wing as an apprentice in magecraft. 

kirei is a natural prodigy at magecraft, and is able to almost master every single discipline before abandoning it in frustration at his failure to find fulfillment and joy in it. (interestingly enough, he has a particularly high affinity for spiritual healing and surgery.) while kirei intends to follow tokiomi and risei’s orders to crown tokiomi as the victor of the grail war, he secretly begrudges being a bored pawn with no freedom and bears no actual loyalty to either of them.

in the world’s most bizarre boy-meets-girl scenario in the history of anime, kotomine kirei learns of emiya kiritsugu. kiritsugu is a mercenary employed by the einzberns to participate in the holy grail war. he has fought in countless battlefields, only joining the fight when combat is at its fiercest. he has killed scores upon scores of mages who deviate from the clocktower’s rules, and has been reported to have taken extreme measures in his assassinations such as bringing down an entire commercial airline just because his target was in it. kirei is mystified by kiritsugu’s lack of moral restraint, personhood, and regard for his own life. kirei immediately projects his own lack of self into kiritsugu and is desperate to understand him. he vows to meet kiritsugu in battle to finally grasp the answer to the question that is his existence.

as he attempts to meet kiritsugu throughout the story, kirei is approached by gilgamesh, the world’s most ancient hedonist. gilgamesh senses that kirei is repressing a fundamental part of himself, and that’s the true source of kirei’s unhappiness. gilgamesh attempts to make kirei realize that kirei has never lacked anything, he’s just tried to avert his gaze from the truth of his own nature. gilgamesh tells kirei that pleasure and joy aren’t things that are inherently sinful. human beings instinctively seek pleasure as and end in and of itself, and kirei is no different. because pleasure is a natural human drive, it can never be something unforgivable. to drive his point further, gilgamesh asks kirei that if he can’t see himself winning, then he should try to imagine a scenario where the war’s weakest combatant, matou kariya, does. 

kirei does try, but before he can tell kirei what he envisions, gilgamesh stops him. gilgamesh reveals that there was no point to engaging in speculation when kirei asks if there was one, but the fact kirei did anyway shows he found a meaningless notion entertaining, and therefore, fulfilling. this comes to a head when kirei decides to heal kariya’s burn wounds after his confrontation with tokiomi. kirei experiences a rush he’s never felt before. he hasn’t just helped kariya stay in the race for the grail out of his own volition, he has done it against his master’s orders and best interests. 

when risei is killed by kayneth, kirei finds his grief to be oddly forced and empty. surely, he must be devastated at the death of his father, the man who loved him, raised him, taught him, and made him who he is today. but strangely, his grief seems to be directed at something else. that’s when gilgamesh appears to him and tells him the reason why he’s sad isn’t that his father died, but that kirei didn’t get to kill him himself. this shocks kirei to his core, but he’s also forced to entertain that notion. once he realizes that gilgamesh IS right about what kirei really wanted out of his father, he’s ordered by tokiomi to leave japan and exit the war as demanded by irisviel if an alliance between the tohsakas and the einzberns against the matous is to take place. kirei secretly meets with gilgamesh, who is bored and frustrated with tokiomi, and they agree to partner up and kill tokiomi. kirei realizes that there was a satisfaction in killing tokiomi and having the last thing he ever saw be kirei betraying him and asserting his personal desire over his obligation to his teacher. 

kirei, now fully committed to discovering what he yearns for the most, tells kariya he will allow him to duel tokiomi once more in exchange for bringing him the container of the holy grail and the person closest to kiritsugu: irisviel. unbeknownst to kariya, tokiomi’s wife aoi has been summoned to the church by kirei. kariya finds tokiomi already dead, and aoi walks into kariya holding tokiomi’s corpse. aoi believes kariya has killed tokiomi, and angrily accuses kariya of never having loved anyone. kariya reaches the breaking point of his rage and suffering after being rejected by aoi, the person he was enduring torture and humiliation for, and asphyxiates her in madness. realizing what he’s done, kariya runs away from the church wailing in grief and guilt. kirei and gilgamesh had watched the whole affair, and kirei realizes that what he finds meaning and pleasure in is inflicting suffering upon others and watch them collapse under the crosses struggles they carry. while he does not understand why he is this way, he nevertheless wants to find out to feel complete and intends to use the grail for that purpose.

kirei meets with irisviel, and demands answers for his questions about emiya kiritsugu. irisviel reveals kiritsugu is not the heartless killing machine kirei believed him to be, but fundamentally an altruist who wishes to shower the world in peace and blessings and seeks the grail for that purpose. she condescends kirei by telling him kiritsugu is not like him, he is far better and that’s why kiritsugu will not lose. finally understanding the man whose nature has eluded him and finding where kirei’s karma stands in relation to him, kirei kills irisviel and vows to destroy kiritsugu’s dream with his own hands. 

when kiritsugu and kirei fight and the grail interferes by crowning kiritsugu the winner rather than reach a stalemate, kirei watches kiritsugu speaking with angra mainyu. he observes kiritsugu realizing that what he wanted all along was to live peacefully with his family even if it meant forsaking the world to a violent extinction. he is baffled at kiritsugu rejecting the cursed genocidal grail, and demands kiritsugu to hand it over if he doesn’t want it, because kirei has the need to find the defining principle of his own existence. after kiritsugu kills kirei and has saber destroy the grail, the curses that spill out of it engulf kirei’s corpse and resuscitate him. angra mainyu has declared kirei as the winner for the sake of using him as an anchor and a midwife for his eventual birth. 

upon seeing angra mainyu’s catastrophe, kirei concludes that the calamity he is standing over is what his heart has yearned for all this time. he laughs in shock, irony, and glee that despite kotomine risei’s righteous nature and teachings, kirei is simply a monstrous and heretical cur who thrives in the agony of mankind. when gilgamesh asks if the sight of angra mainyu’s birth has satisfied him, kirei replies that it doesn’t, because kirei has been shown the end result of his desire rather than the actual philosophical principle and logical process that guides to the outcome. so for the next 10 years, kirei wrestles with the fact that he still cannot abandon his teachings and his obligation to be somewhat helpful as a priest for the desire to reject and challenge god and allow angra mainyu to fully manifest in this world and engulf it completely to finally give his existence meaning and validity because he knows his impulses to be wrong and yet needs to know why he has them and whether he is still worthy of living while having them. he is willing to manipulate and kill and betray and curse and deprive and destroy the world just for that chance at redeeming his existence because not understanding himself and having denied himself joy for so long has utterly broken him as a person and this is all he has left after a lifetime of denying himself happiness, empathy, and understanding to work through his feelings. to bless angra mainyu’s birth as a man of the cloth would reconcile his religious principles and belief in a merciful all-loving god with his yearning to accept and comprehend himself, because if angra mainyu can be allowed to live and prosper in this world while being the unforgivable culmination of all sin, then maybe he can too. (this is also a powerful and intimate parallel to both shirou and sakura that deserves its own post that i may or may not write later.)

that’s pretty much his development throughout zero and his defining character struggle in fate/stay night. this is something that spring song will delve into further and it’s actually quite interesting how such a bastard of a man suddenly becomes so sympathetic towards the end of the entire game. 

grace if you ever have time for it i heavily encourage you to read through the heaven’s feel route whether through letsplayarchive or by playing realta nua yourself whilst we wait for a spring song release in the west because your perception of everyone will change drastically as you understand them at a much deeper level the movies could not show because of runtime constraints. i hope this explanation wasn’t too long or convoluted or raised more questions than delivered answers. three good friends of mine, thessaliah, kurozu501, and avicebro here on tumblr can probably elaborate further and offer more insight if you’re interested. 

[couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name]

Yo did u make that post about your 9th grade science class

oh my God I was talking about it with my friend last night and now I’m losing my mind about it all over again sdkjhdfskh

so the school I went to for 9th grade was a Catholic high school, and it was one with like a GREAT reputation. Like, all the Catholic high schools in my area were ‘good schools’ but this was the like the Big One. Always had the best grades, happiest students, best sports teams, best plays, always did the most outreach with the elementary schools, like it was a very popular school. 

But then,

The summer before I started, the city shut down like...a fucking hundred Catholic schools, because no one wants to fund education I guess? And if your parents send you to Catholic school, they usually want you to stay there no matter what. So instead of all these students going to public school...a ton of them were forcibly transferred to this school (in the suburbs). Everyone was pissed- the city kids were mad because they had no attachment to this place and the commute was annoying. The teachers that transferred with them were pissed off about the whole affair. The teachers that previously worked in this school and didn’t lose their jobs to new teachers were stressed and had no way of controlling the overcrowded classrooms. Tuition went THROUGH THE ROOF. And their was a lot of tension between the city kids and the suburb kids for...literally no reason at all tbh, it was just There so all the classes were insane.

But my science class. Took insane to new levels. 

So, I need to preface this with the type of student I was: I liked science, I thought it was interesting, but science did not like me, and thought I was a bitch. No matter what I tried I was always just scrapping by in the class- but. I always dedicated myself to being the nice, quiet girl who sits in the front, because then the teachers like you, and whether you’re actually a good student or not they’ll give you allowances. 12th Grade gov class, I literally handed in my requirement-for-graduation research paper in a week and a half late and still got a hundred on it, because when the teacher asked me where it was I told her ‘I handed it in on the due date?’ and she immediately was like ‘Oh my God, you did? I’m so sorry!’, then gave me a day to get a ‘’‘new’’’ copy to her, and she felt so bad she gave me extra credit. Like, genuinely, I was determined to play this part and it paid off lmao. 

So for 9th grade I was obviously doing that, but compared to everyone else going crazy, I looked like a literal saint. The teachers in this school weren’t authorized to give detention- we had a school ‘Disciplinarian’, and basically you had to go to his office for him to tell you you have detention, it was weird, but if an entire class was acting up, each room had a call button so he could be summoned to the room to give the full class detention. But all 3 of my science teachers that year, instead of pressing the button, would send me down to his office to bring him back up to the classroom personally, so he would know that everyone EXCEPT me was getting detention. Like, every time one left they literally left in their notes for the new teacher ‘send Molly to get Mr. Chia if the class gets too bad’ it was so fucking funny. 

We went through 3 teachers that year. 

The first one was this old man with an impossible to pronounce last name, who walked with a cane and was considered one of the toughest teachers in the school. Before the end of October, he had mysteriously vanished. Like- they literally wouldn’t tell us where this man went. I feel like if he died or had a stroke, they would’ve had us pray for him during homeroom or something??? He left us no clues, he literally said to me ‘you did great on the worksheet today! Skip the homework, I’ll see you tomorrow’ and then for the next few weeks we had rotating substitutes until they found a new teacher kjshdgjkhd where did he GO

But anyway- he hated our class. He had the toughest teacher rep to live up to and he literally could not control a single student. Screamed his throat raw. Was constantly changing seating arraignments to try and keep certain kids apart. Was constantly getting bombarded with paper wasps and rubber bands and annoying kids asking invasive questions about his stroke. Kids were threating to fight him if he sent them to get detention. No one ever did the homework, everyone always yelling over him when he was trying to teach- in the later weeks before he disappeared, he literally just taught to me and like 3 other students in the front and tried to tune out the other kids. This poor dude omg. 

So, we had various substitutes that just put on movies for a few weeks, and then they found our second teacher. He was a cute, young guy, eager to mold young minds, was active in the church and his sister actually went to the school, so they though they could count on him to get our class together and stick it out for the full school year.

This man was mistreated so badly by these 15 year olds that he RAN AWAY TO ITALY.

I’M NOT EVEN BEING DRAMATIC HE LEGITMATELY MOVED TO ROME TO GET AWAY FROM US. 

He stood no chance. The SECOND he walked in all the kids could smell he was weak blood. The chaos went to new levels- people released real wasps into the room so everyone would run around in panic. Physical fights broke out *just* for the sake of disrupting class. No one would ever stop talking over him. A used tampon was once thrown at the chalkboard. I was shot in the arm with a homemade blow dart that a kid made during a test. People were always trying to hack into his laptop to get answers. A fire was started in the trashcan. Someone tried to climb out the window when he snapped and started screaming at everyone. He screamed so much his voice was almost perpetually hoarse in the days before he left. People would make inappropriate jokes about his fiancée and little sister. Someone tried to steal his camera a few times. The all had terrible nicknames for him.

I literally saw this man transform, before my very eyes, from someone happy and excited to live his passion, into a depressed and stressed out man who just wanted an out. I felt SO bad for him. I genuinely cannot imagine being pushed to my breaking point so hard that I decide my only option is to FLEE THE COUNTRY. But he literally came in one day like ‘guess what fuckers! I’ll be in Rome by the end of the week! Have fun in hell!’ ksdjfdskjfd

The third teacher- they had a hard time finding. Even people who were actively looking for teaching positions didn’t wanna take the job because word got around about us literally driving a man out of America. They ended up finding a teacher at another school who was good with ‘’’’’difficult students’’’’’ and offering him an obscene amount of money to switch. He...listen. He was nice.

He comes in the first day, says ‘So I don’t actually know what physical science is- I’m just gonna teach you guys chemistry’ and then proceeded to not actually teach chemistry. 

He got mad at the kids every now and then, but he was a lot calmer than the other teachers. He let A LOT slide and put on a lot of science videos to get out of trying to get through to the class. 

He was...not the most attentive. I distinctly remember being in the lab, and we were doing that thing where you make flames change colors, and while he had his back turned a guy at my table lit his worksheet on fire, laughed, wasn’t paying attention and let the flame get to his sleeve, had his sleeve catch fire, panicked and beat it out, all in a few moments, all before Mr. Sliffy managed to turn around to catch him. It was an almost completely silent affair, but I feel like the teacher should’ve noticed the residual smoke coming off a kids arm??? He didn’t say anything though khdfsfhkds

So we really skated through for the last trimester that year- apart from a few labs he’d just put on like, ocean life documentaries and if he saw you paying attention he’d give you full class credit. He gave out candy to ‘anyone who’s not being an asshole’, so while some kids were still wild and unruly, everyone calmed down enough so the constant screaming turned into more. Bearable chatter. Tests were few and far between and not that difficult. 

But I still cannot believe I had to live through this class like....I think I developed tinnitus just from sitting in it everyday. I was like constantly on guard for a fist or a dart to hit me for months afterward. It was too much like...can we please do something about schools oh my God. I don’t even know how to officially end this post. Please be nice to teachers oh my God. 

[theworldsoul]

Uhh warning VENT!!! Talks about self harm and shit... also religious bullshit and gender bullshit??? Like I'm really trans and also Catholicism really fucked me up so if ur uncomfy with that just... skip this post. Also if ur Christian and can't handle seeing ur shit defaced then skip this post. Also if ur gonna clown on this post as "cringe atheism" then fuck you because I'm literally coping with pain lol

:readmore:

Anways now that the disclaimer is over... here comes the real shit.

I... have been going through a LOT lately, jesus christ. I was HAPPY today, yknow? I thought I was gonna be happy the whole day.

I was dancing today. That's how happy I was. For the first time in like... a whole year... I was really so happy. I thought I was gonna cry. But then I got home. And well,,,, I did cry. But not from happiness. I just got my math grade back. A fucking 49 percent. MY AVERAGE RIGHT NOW IS A 57 PERCENT. I MIGHT FAIL MATH 20. I MIGHT HAVE TO RETAKE IT. oh my god I'm such a failure I cant do anything ever i try SO fucking hard but honestly??? I cant fucking do this. I can't, I'm not mentally capable. "Just work harder"... BITCH I AM WORKING AS HARD AS I CAN. I AM SPENDING HOURS AND HOURS OF MY LIFE STUDYING AND PRACTICING. I'm starting to think that how hard i try doesn't even fucking matter because I'm STUPID and all i know how to do is PAINT SHIT!!!! NOBODY CARES ABOUT ART!!!! IF I FAIL THIS CLASS I MIGHT NOT BE ABLE TO HAVE A HOUSE IN THE FUTURE!!!! A HOUSE!!!!!

I dont even want to be a fucking orthodontist. Okay??? I wanna do what I love: painting. But NOOOO. I have to get a "respectable" job that will "pay me enough money to live". WHY SHOULD I HAVE TO MAKE MONEY TO LIVE??? WTF??? THATS LITERALLY SO FUCKED UP. everyone deserves to live (unless they like murdered someone? I guess? Idk) BUT LIKE I DIDNT KILL NO ONE SO WHATS ALL THIS BS ABOUT WORKING TO LIVE???? WTF??? I rly gotta do all this shit I hate, all this shit I'm mentally incapable of doing... so i can have a house. Fuck this. Yknow with my average at a 57... I might fail this class even if I get a really good grade on my next quiz. Can you fucking believe it??? I'm literally so fucking stupid I cant even pass a dumb fucking math class god i hate myself. I cant fail this class. I've NEVER failed a class. Almost failed... but never HAD TO RETAKE A CLASS. that's the ultimate failure. I think my parents would hate me if I failed this.

And on top of that... I'm really struggling with uhhh, dysphoria and body image... and it's so fucking horrible man I want to rip all my skin off I want to suffocate god I want to KILL him I want to MAKE HIM SUFFER. I want to gouge his eyes out and force him to eat them. WHY WOULD HE MAKE ME LIKE THIS????? WHY????? WHATS THE POINT IN MAKING A CHILD SUFFER SO MUCH???

What did I ever do that was so wrong I deserved all this punishment???

Well FUCK YOU and fuck your stupid book and FUCK THESE STUPID FUCKING SAINTS. WASNT THERE SUPPOSED TO BE A WHOLEASS ANGEL WATCHING OVER ME?? PROTECTING ME??? WHERE THE FUCK IS THAT BITCH NOW?? WHERE WAS THAT BITCH WHEN... when I was being bullied? When I literally wanted to kill myself?

Where was that guardian angel when I kept making THE SAME MISTAKE over and over again and I KNEW it was wrong but I kept doing it anyways because it was the only way I could feel like soemone cared about me????

I bet that angel motherufcker KNEW they didnt care. DID THE ANGEL EVER ONCE HELP ME??? NOOOO. all those times I was bruised and broken... all those times...

Man, I was just a kid. I was SO fucking young. And I would come like a lamb to the slaughter and kneel. I would pray... ask for guidance. I would pray the rosary too, I would read the bible and try my very best to understand it, I would go to church and volunteer at church and do my best to be a Good Boy and never sin. I did EVERYTHING right. I literally fasted at some point, like a religious fast. I was devoted...

Honestly though? I think it was the same mistake I make over and over again, except not with a real person.

And you have me NOTHING. GO GIRL, GIVE US NOTHING!!!!!!! I literally used to self-punish for the sins I couldnt bring myself to confess. At my communion, there was one sin I didn't tell because I knew it was unforgivable. I still hate myself for that. But man, I used to try and do all sorts of things to somehow cleanse myself of it. I figured THAT whole ordeal was why I was constantly being tortured.

But I was stupid and I am stupid and that makes NO SENSE because if the thing I'm being punished for happened when I was a child, WHY DID THE PUNISHMENT BEGIN AT MY BIRTH????

They used to tell me that god handcrafted every part of me specifically for some sort of grand reason.

Why.

Really? This bitch really "handcrafted" me just so I could cry and cut myself nearly every night??? Fuck that. Like why would you make me this way. It hurts more than you can IMAGINE. The only reason I'm not dead yet is because of ME, MY strength, not any of the bullshit YOU gave me. I hate when people say "oh, god made u so hardworking" or "oh, god made you so passionate/hopeful/full of love/fiery/whatever" LIKE STFU BITCH THAT WAS NOT SKYDADDY THAT WAS ME!!!

you wanna know what he made me?

dysphoric, ugly af, yeah.... but the worst part?

He made me feel.

That doesn't sound bad, right? Well it's the worst thing on the list. It is my downfall, my Achilles heel or whatever. This emotions shit??? It RUINED my life. My whole life I was cursed with a fucking monster inside me. I kept trying to tell everyone that it wasnt me!!! I kept telling them that it felt like I was being possessed. But adults are SHIT. I hate adults. I want to kill them all. They failed me and their god failed me. None of them every listened to me. All they knew how to do was punish, punish, punish.

It's like giving an allergic kid some peanuts and then getting angry at them for going into anaphylactic shock or whatever. Nobody ever thought "hey, why don't we stop giving the kid peanuts?"

ALL THE ADULTS AROUND ME ACT LIKE CHILDREN AND THEY ALWAYS HAVE ACTED LIKE CHILDREN FUCK ADULTS

Anwyays that's how I ended up with all these unresolved issues,.... emotion is a tough one, like I literally dont have the ability to control my emotions at all, I can try and like, repress them but I cant make myself actually feel less.

My emotion hurts more than anyone else's and nobody ever understood that. I would tell them that it hurts, it PHYSICALLY HURTS, and they would say I just wanted attention. I would tell them I literally couldnt control what my body said and did, I would tell them I felt like A PUPPET ON STRINGS and no one believed me. Fuck them.

Healthy coping mechanisms? I literally self ship with Snape to cope. I literally self ship with characters my brain made up and put in my dreams to cope. I used to hurt myself so much trying to feel loved and cared about irl. Fiction is so much better. I sound like a loser but its TRUE. The sort of thing I need, the sort of love I need is like... a parent. You can't go looking for a parent in a romantic partner, it fucks everything up and you end up... well, let's just say it proabbly wasnt the most legal thing, but I wasnt thinking strisght at all I mean dude I was So fucked in my head when I did all that...whatever...anyways so thank u for fiction!!! I love fiction. Want to kill someone? Draw it. Then you'll feel much better!!! And you dont go to jail!!!

Well the pics here... idk, it was really calming to do this. It's new, painting over religious shit. I was gonna do the whole bible but I already burnt that shit so.... and I was going to cut but I'm trying really hard to stay clean... like really hard. It's so weird and like, addicting, once I hit styro I don't want to stop, but also it kinda transfers the emotional pain to physical pain, making it way easier to deal with. I just can't keep doing that because I KNOW it's bad and look I thoguht I was clean for a whole year but then I fucked up and WOW, GUESS WHAT MADE ME RELAPSE??? MATH CLASS!!!!

Whatever anyways here are my wonderful works of art I made while crying and cursing god (like I'm so pissed at all this catholic bs I believed in him again just to swear at him lol)

.... but imagine for a moment, a better world. One in whcih these saints whose images I've defaced are actually good people... a world in which they SEE ME AND THEY HEAR ME... and I go unpunished.... and I am embraced by someone who UNDERSTANDS.

I think I would cry.

Too bad that world doesnt exist and I just made it up to try and feel a bit better. Whatever, whatever. I painted the things, they're gonna dry. I work hard, I'm gonna do good on my quiz, I hope. I just have to be making it through, that's all it is, work work work without a break but I can proabbly do it. I'm really slipping I admit like the mental health is slipping it's getting worse like I havent had a "fuck I am afab" moment in such a long time so yeah...

Anwyays I feel so much better now that I did my little art project yknow???

[mortuarybees]

oh I just sent you an ask and then realized that you answered my question in a previous ask, so ignore me. (Though I do have another question about them getting married or at least choosing to be committed to each other forever). Thank you for this AU though!

THIS GOT LONG I’M SORRY. The chef suggests that this be paired with Mitski’s cover of Let’s Get Married, which actually invented the institution of marriage.

It looks like this:

It’s a balmy Sunday in April, 2014, and Aziraphale’s hands are clasped before him, forehead pressed to his knuckles. He’s nervous; he shouldn’t be, he knows, but he is. The pew is hard and uncomfortable, unforgiving–Crowley would laugh at that, and even as he smiles, the thought makes his stomach clench.

The service ended a while ago, but he likes to remain, reading through the echoing chatter until everyone has gone and he can have a word alone with Her. Praying in a room full of others feels obscene and vulnerable, like leaving the front door open for the neighbors to peak in.

Please, please, please, he thinks. He doesn’t know how long he’s been here, praying, knows that if today is the day, he needs to go home before Crowley gets irritable and worried, but he wants to feel certain, the way Crowley had been.

(It looks like this:

Aziraphale likes gold. Loves gold; he grew up in an ancient and wealthy family, with so much money they’re casual about it, crystals dripping from chandeliers and fine tableware so old it belongs in a museum, and he won’t admit it–not now, especially–but he misses the elegance, the luxuries, misses a wardrobe full of Harris tweed and Burberry and Liberty’s. He likes gold, he would want gold, and Crowley is helpless to do anything but give him what he wants.)

It’s been a long time, Aziraphale thinks. He’s getting older–I’m getting older–he only gets one life. He’s the restless kind, what if he says no?

He asked first, he reminds himself, and then counters it by pointing out that last time, it didn’t mean much, to him. No, that isn’t fair, it meant something, but it wasn’t binding.

He doesn’t need to bind himself to you, he tells himself. He’s committed in every way he can. He’s never been the restless sort when it comes to us.

I’m overthinking this, he thinks, bemused, and as if God agrees with him, he hears the door behind him open, and Crowley’s relieved voice boom, echoing in the empty church and certainly disturbing the bad-humored priest, “Christ, there you are. I thought maybe the Rapture came and the rest of London was too godless to notice.”

Thank you, he prays. Amen. He turns around and smiles. “Crowley, dear. Would you like to sit?”

“Best not,” Crowley says, stopping at the end of the pew Aziraphale occupies. “Surprised I haven’t burst into flames yet, don’t want to push my luck getting comfortable.” He looks around and points at a painting of Saint Sebastian, posed in a rather un-agonized manner. “That why you come here all the time? An excuse to gawk at younger men?”

“Crowley,” he scolds, getting to his feet. He ducks his head to hide his smile and puts his hands in his pockets, toying with the small velvet box inside. “Please, dear, keep from blaspheming inside the church. Besides, you’re far better looking.”

“Damn right,” Crowley huffs, and he takes his arm possessively when he exits the pew, pulling tight against his side. He looks beautiful in the mid-morning light, hazy and soft, hair loose around his face, the stained glass painting colors on his pale face when he squints up at it as they leave. The face of John is mirrored perfectly in the lenses of his dark glasses for just a moment, and Aziraphale wishes he’d ever really tried his hand at art, just to immortalize in rich oil paint the rainbow of light on his face, the Beloved Disciple in his eyes, the swipes of glitter across his cheekbones, the black lace top under his leather jacket, pierced a million times over with all manner of pins over the years; he thinks if he wasn’t at peace before, this picture does it.

“You’re beautiful, darling,” he murmurs when it’s ended, when Crowley tilts his chin down, curls his lip against whatever blasphemy he was certainly thinking and it’s just him again. Just them, and God as far away as She always feels.

“I was kidding, angel,” he says, thumb stroking a reassuring line down his coat sleeve. “Ogle some guy all–” he gestures, quite theatrically– “shot up with arrows if you like. He’s dead, I’m not. I win.”

(It looks like this:

It’s 2000, and Crowley and Aziraphale arrived in London six months prior, alone and uncertain, refugees on a foreign shore. They both grew up in rural villages–wildly different experiences; Aziraphale’s family had an estate and he attended some posh boarding school on the moors, Crowley slept on a bus bench on more than one occasion–and the city is new and frightening and exciting. It seemed like the place for two young queer men to go, newly anointed adults forging a life together.

Aziraphale likes it, Crowley knows he does, he likes the museums, he likes the beautiful old buildings and the British Library, he likes taking walks in the park, and he likes having a home of their own, a home with Crowley. He tells him everyday, a comment here or there with a soft smile. But he’s wounded and mourning; he misses his family, and his new way of life is a bit of a shock. He won’t admit that it hurts, just sniffs and insists he knew it was coming, but Crowley knows him better that that. He loves London, but he can’t help but see the life he’s lost in every crevice of the life he’s found.

Crowley doesn’t believe in divine providence, but if he did, this would be the surest evidence of it: on his way home to their shithole of a flat with his first paycheck in his pocket, he passes the window of an antiques store, and sees it in the window. It catches the afternoon light perfectly and shines gold against the black velvet display; it’s a clunky old-fashioned sort of ring, with angel wings forming the band. Crowley has been thinking hard about this for years now, and it’s absolutely perfect.)

The sunlight outside comes weakly through the clouds, pale but just bright enough to avoid dreariness. Crowley relaxes once they step from the church steps and onto the sidewalk; his first boyfriend broke up with him with a vague and plausibly-deniable note in a cheap bible left on Crowley’s front porch when he returned home from a summer church camp, and Aziraphale thinks he’s always been afraid in the back of his mind that Aziraphale is going to come home from church someday and do the same thing, though he’s never said as much.

“I brought the rolled oats for the ducks,” Crowley says. “Figured we ought to stop in, since we missed last week. Otherwise they might mutiny.”

“Of course, dear,” Aziraphale says, and that had been his plan, but it’s all becoming so terribly real and sudden, isn’t it? He could wait just a little longer–

No, he can’t. They’ve waited long enough.

(It looks like this:

Crowley, ever-charming, talks the proprietor of the antiques shop into setting the ring aside for him. She’s suspicious of him, with his sibilant S and the pins on his leather jacket, but he’s wearing his work uniform, a perfectly respectable red polo shirt and black slacks, and he gives her a down payment and a long and terribly touching story about his college sweetheart that’s mostly true, apart from the gender of the lover in question.

The truth is, there are some things which can be easily done without, and some things that can’t. Aziraphale prefers fancy vintages from significant years and miraculous rains in the French countryside, but a £5 bottle from Sainsbury’s won’t ruin New Years. They can buy store brand cereal, the eggs discounted because one of them has been cracked, they can throw Aziraphale’s fancy embroidered throw over the pullout and hang richly dyed moth-eaten curtains from the theater department’s dumpster and pretend it’s the Hotel d’Alsace. But there are some things that must be done right, some things that cannot be done without, and he’s convinced that this is one of them. He could as easily propose with a plastic ring from the coin machine at their favorite bar, but Aziraphale is going to love this ring; even if he says no, pats Crowley on the cheek and says, “How romantic of you dear boy, but that’s not really what’s done, is it?” he’s still going to love it.

He’s secretive and vague about the extra hours and side gigs he takes on to make the payments. Aziraphale notices, he knows he does, he knows him too well not to, and he’s curious and a little alarmed, but he felt bad enough lying about where part of his first paycheck went without having to do it again every month when he stops in to make a payment on the ring.

It takes six months, but she finally hands it over, along with a comment about how she’s thought about it and she thinks it’s really rather noble, what he’s doing, and he best keep to it, best not break this poor girl’s heart, she’s read about people like him, giving it a go with nice girls for a couple years and then skipping out, sticking them with kids and a broken life. He rolls his eyes and says he’ll pass the message along to his boyfriend after he proposes, and saunters out, a skip in his step. It’s perfect; he’ll still wear it every day and admire it on his hand the way Crowley admires it now in the sun, and even if he says no–well, that would be a fine consolation prize.)

There is a bench they’ve been coming to for fifteen years now, so habitually the ducks flock to them when they arrive, flicking oats into the water. Crowley is catching him up on the fight he missed while he was out (the walls are thin and the neighbors provide endless entertainment with their incessant and bafflingly banal bickering; it’s a proper extended universe, their family disputes, and the mother-in-law is visiting, so it’s been an exciting weekend), and Aziraphale is trying to listen, he really is, even though he insists eavesdropping and gossiping aren’t especially neighborly–“oh, come off it, angel, you know they’ve got their ears pressed to the wall when we fight, not to mention when we–” “Crowley!”–but he cant focus on anything but the weight in his pocket.

He’s been putting money away for a year now, ever since legislation to legalize it was introduced last July. He’d known it would take some time to pass, but if they were willing to propose it, it would be soon.

“Alright, what’ve you got squirreled away, huh?” Crowley demands, the dozenth time in a few short minutes his hand has gone to his pocket to ensure it’s still there. “I’m hungry. Was so worried you’d gone off and joined some cultish offshoot I couldn’t eat. Well, a more cultish offshoot. Is the Catholic church an offshoot? Suppose it must be, not like Jesus named a pope–”

“It’s not food, dear,” Aziraphale says, sighing. “And he did, he gave Saint Peter the keys to Heaven and he was bishop of Rome. Blasphemous old serpent.”

“I’m sure they all say that,” Crowley says, waving a hand. He eyes him curiously, flicking a rolled oat so it hits a duck in the head. “What is it then?”

Aziraphale’s heart thuds chaotically in his chest. “Crowley, dearest,” he says, turning to face him. He takes his hand in his, desperate for the anchor, the reassurance. “I love you.”

“Love you too, angel,” Crowley says, looking alarmed. “Are you alright?”

“You love me,” Aziraphale repeats, both wishing desperately he could see Crowley’s eyes, search them, and desperately glad that he can’t. Crowley’s bare eyes are so terribly expressive, the sight of them so intimate, he couldn’t bear it.

“‘Course I do,” he says, with conviction. “More than anything. What’s this about?”

“Crowley, my love,” he says hoarsely, and he kneels on one knee, still clinging to his hand.

(It looks like this:

It’s October in 2000, and it’s been raining like the coming of the second flood for days. Crowley stands at the window, biting his lip and scowling at it, sick of it and about to start refreshing himself on the principles of chaos magic in a bid to end it.

“Crowley, dear, you’re making me nervous,” Aziraphale grumbles from the sofa. He loves a nice rainy day, loves curling up against Crowley with a cup of tea and a book or one of those awful television shows with the flouncy costumes and overwrought acting, but even he is growing tired of being stuck inside all day and getting soaked to the bone on his way to work. “Come sit down, would you?”

“I’m busy,” Crowley mutters.

“You don’t look busy,” Aziraphale says. “It looks like you think you can scowl the rain into submission.”

“Works on the plants,” Crowley tells him, and he knows Aziraphale is rolling his eyes without having to look. He’s half a mind to do away with his idea all together, just do it right here in their cramped little studio, when quite suddenly, the rain lets up to a light mist. He stares at it, jaw slack, for several long moments. When it doesn’t start pick up again, he shouts, “Let’s go for a walk.”

“A walk?” Aziraphale frowns. “In this?”

“It’s just misting and we haven’t gone out properly in days,” Crowley says eagerly. “C'mon, get dressed, I want to go to the park.” He won’t have time to get dressed properly, doesn’t want to risk the return of the storm–which is a crying shame, he had such an outfit planned–but he yanks the pants he knows make his ass look the best out of their dresser and a deep purple blouse with lace around the cuffs Aziraphale once said made him look very royal, stripping out of his pajamas and hopping into them as quickly as he can.

“The park?” Aziraphale puts his book aside. “Well, I suppose I would rather fancy a stroll, stretch my legs–”

“Excellent!” Crowley throws him a horrible pair of houndstooth slacks and the first button down he sees. “Get dressed.”

“Crowley–”

“Dressed!”

“These don’t even match!”

“I don’t care! Get dressed!” He darts to their vanity, staring wild-eyed at his reflection. Eyeliner is smudged raccoon-like around his eyes, but his sunglasses will cover that. He picks up a brush and yanks it violently through his hair. His eyes dart to Aziraphale, taking his sweet time picking out a new button down. “Dressed! Dressed, c'mon!”

“I’m getting there,” he mutters, waving lazily at him. “What do you think, green or white, dear?”

“You look best in blue,” Crowley tells him. He pulls his hair back, then lets it fall again, then pulls the front back and secures it a few pins and a comb he knows Aziraphale likes. He spins around to see Aziraphale quite leisurely buttoning up his shirt. “If you don’t hurry, I’m leaving without you.”

Aziraphale rolls his eyes, but his fingers quicken, and he sits down to tie his oxfords. Crowley hurries to join him, shoving his feet in his boots and lacing them up as quickly as he can. The moment they’re both done, he yanks him up, hauling him to the door, shrugging his leather jacket on and tossing Aziraphale his blazer. “Wait, I’ve got to get my bag–”

“You don’t need your bag,” Crowley insists, and reaches into his pocket to make sure the ring is there.

Aziraphale frets the whole way to the park about how it’s bound to start pouring again any moment, and Crowley rushed him so much he forgot to bring an umbrella, they’re going to get drenched, they forgot bread for the ducks–unaware as they were that one ought not feed a duck bread, for its own sake–and St. James’ Park is positively sodden and it’ll take ages for his wool socks to dry out. Crowley doesn’t care; he links their arms and slogs bravely on to their usual spot, grateful that the heavy rain has cleared it out. The only other people around are a mother and child, some ways off, enjoying the brief respite.

“Angel, I’ve got something to ask you,” he says urgently, and he wrenches his sunglasses off–wait, he forgot, the eyeliner–he slides them back on, then takes them off again; he knows how Aziraphale likes to see his eyes.

“Yes?” Aziraphale looks confused and alarmed, he doesn’t like surprises or irregular reactions. He jumps to the worst every time, starts overthinking every twitch of Crowley’s face, and Crowley loves him, the anxious prat.

“I love you,” he says. “Do you love me?”

“I love you more than words can say, darling, what’s going on?” His eyes search Crowley’s face, his brow furrowed.

“Do you–” he swallows hard. They’ve never talked about this, not really. “You don’t think this is–y'know, a sin, right?” It feels so awkward in his mouth, his tone not weighty enough. The truth is, he’s never really seen what all the fuss was about, why so many other queer people struggled so much to reconcile their lives with the Church. The Church rejected him, so he rejected the Church, and he hasn’t looked back. But it means something to Aziraphale. He doesn’t know if he struggles with it still, but it means something to him. It means a lot to him.

“Oh, Crowley, dear,” he says, his eyes clearing. He touches his cheek, so gently Crowley could scream. “Of course not. This could never be a sin, I’ve been reading–”

Crowley can’t help but bark out a laugh. “Of course you have,” he says, beaming at him. “Of course you have. What have you been reading, angel?”

“Well, Montefiore’s ‘Jesus, the Revelation of God’ points out that Christ’s early life–”

“Flaming homosexual, Jesus was, then?” Crowley asks, unable to smother his unhinged grin, and Aziraphale isn’t sure what he’s so giddy about, but it seems like he can’t help but smile back, a little uncertainly.

“There was John, of course, the Beloved Disciple, and there’s a rather interesting idea about the Wedding at Cana, which is of course in some ideas thought of as a symbolic marriage of Christ to the church, and some–there’s this beautiful German print, of Jesus and John at the wedding, I’ll have to show you–some have suggested that it’s also a more literal marriage between Jesus and John–”

“Christ, angel, you’ll marry me, won’t you?” Crowley breathes, and he kneels.

Aziraphale blinks at him, brow furrowed, his mind clearly trying to catch up to this sudden switch in the topic of conversation. It’s always hard to interrupt one of his rambling little speeches, he gets so invested in them, but Crowley will just have to make it up to him later, let him lecture above him well into the night about apocryphal writings and stained glass and this print or that; right now, he just need to be engaged to this ridiculous man. “Er, what?”

“Marry me,” he says. He had a whole proposal planned, but he’s forgotten it, and it was stupid, anyway. “Marry me, I–” he fumbles in his pocket, pulls the ring out of the little felt bag the proprietor put it in and holds it up like an offering. “I have a ring. Will you marry me, Aziraphale?”

“Are you–” Aziraphale’s eyes are getting wide, his breath coming fast. “Crowley, you’re not joking about this, are you?”

“Why the fuck would I joke about this?” Crowley snaps. “Look, see, I got a ring and everything. Do you like it?”

“Crowley–” Aziraphale gasps, a wet and rough sound. “I–I suppose it would be legal, technically, but I–Crowley, you know how I feel about, about–what do you mean–”

“It’s not legal, I know, but neither is buggery, technically, just can’t be prosecuted, but that’s never stopped us,” he says. He knows, he knows how Aziraphale feels about playing to his assigned gender, even when it’s convenient. “Look, it’s not like Jesus and John had a marriage license, is it?”

And Aziraphale starts crying.)

“Angel,” Crowley says, staring down at him. “The hell are you doing?”

“Ah,” Aziraphale releases his hand to pull the small velvet box out of his pocket, opens it carefully, precisely, and holds it out to him. “Crowley, my dearest, will you marry me?”

“We’re already married, angel,” Crowley whispers, and as if unconsciously, his thumb strokes the tattoo on his left ring finger.

“Well, certainly,” he says. “But it’s legal now, and I know that what the state has to say doesn’t matter much, but you know–well, you remember how it can be, without something legal. Something on paper,. And you don’t have a ring.”

“I have better than a ring,” Crowley says, but his eyes are glittering, fixed on the little black ring in the box, a band of silver around it.

Aziraphale swallows hard. “Crowley, I would really quite like to marry you, officially, dear, if you’ll have me.”

“If I’ll–I swear to somebody, angel, you’re the stupidest genius I’ve ever met,” he swears. “Of course I’ll marry you, you idiot, I–what the fuck does the ring say, Aziraphale?”

He smiles, can’t help but be pleased that he’s noticed. On the inside, in his own hand writing, is You Make Me Live, Dearest, in deference to the song Crowley has, on many occasions, blasted so loud their neighbors have pounded on the wall, practically shouting the lyrics at Aziraphale, hauling him, laughing, into terrible dancing that usually ends up knocking something over. Aziraphale takes a deep breath, and sings very quietly, and off-key, voice wavering (he hasn’t sang since his second puberty; he had a lovely voice, before, he was in a choir, but he hasn’t quite gotten the hang of it since), “Oh, you make me live, whenever this world is cruel to me–”

Crowley grabs him by his lapels and hauls him up into a hungry kiss, passersby be damned.

(It looks like this:

Aziraphale is crying, his face in his hands, and Crowley is frozen on his knees, all his giddy joy slowly leaving him, a hollow humiliation replacing it.

“Angel,” he says, hating how his voice cracks. “Angel, I’m sorry, you don’t have to say yes–you can keep the ring, I want you to have the ring–I won’t–I won’t leave, if you say no–unless you want me to, obviously–” Shit, shit, shit, he didn’t fuck up that bad, did he–

Aziraphale drops his hands, startled, and stares at him. “Why on earth would I want that?” he asks, and he goes to his knees on the wet concrete, pulling the ridiculous handkerchief that matches his ridiculous bow tie from his breast pocket, dabs at his eyes, wipes his nose, and puts it in his pocket with a deep breath. “I never–I never thought this would be possible, the way I wanted it,” he says at last. “I never even–considered it, really, I wished, perhaps, but I never–” he stops, and he stares at Crowley with such warmth and love it settles him, a little. He’s not going to turn him out, and that’s really all that matters.

“I just thought, I know you wouldn’t want to do it…officially, so it might not be legal, but maybe–you and me, we could say some vows,” he says. “If you wanted. If you don’t, that’s fine,” and his voice, the goddamn traitor, cracks again on the word.

“Oh, dear, I haven’t said yes, have I?” Aziraphale says, and he smiles, a watery thing, puts his hand on Crowley’s wrist. “Yes, darling, I’d love nothing more than to marry you, I really wouldn’t.”

“Oh,” he says, and a smile begins to form. “Oh. That’s–great, then.”

“You ridiculous thing,” Aziraphale says, beaming, and he throws his arms around him, pressing a soft kiss to his neck. He can feel his lashes flutter against the soft skin there, the slide of warm tears, his breath ghosting across the fine hairs, and he shivers.

“Hey,” he says, nudging him. “Hey. Did you see the ring?”

Aziraphale laughs, leaning back onto his haunches, and wipes at his eyes. “The ring?”

“Yeah, the ring,” Crowley says, waving it about. He thinks it looks even more impressive in the washed-out grey light, shining like a second sun.

“Crowley,” he whispers, seeming to really truly notice it for the first time. “Where–where did you get this?” His hands hover around it, reverent, as if he’s afraid to touch it.

“An antiques shop,” he says proudly. “Give me your hand.”

“How did you afford it?” he asks wonderingly, and he lets Crowley take his hand in his, slide it onto his finger, smiles at his little sigh of relief when it fits.

“Saved up,” he says. “That’s, er. What I’ve been doing, going out.”

“I was curious,” Aziraphale says, and his eyes well up again. “Oh, darling, all this time, you’ve been working?”

“Wanted you to have the best,” he says. “Look, see, they’re angel wings.” He runs a finger around the band, beaming at it. “You like it?”

“Crowley, my dear, I love it more than I can say,” he says fervently, and he puts a hand on his cheek again, leans in to give him a chaste, brief kiss. “Let’s go home,” he suggests. “I’ll thank you properly.”

Crowley leaps to his feet, bringing Aziraphale with him, and they don’t quite run to the bus stop, but it’s a very close thing, giggling like drunk teenagers sneaking out late, laughter peeling through the park when Crowley’s poorly laced boots send them tumbling, arms linked, into the grass.)

It looks like this:

It’s 2000, and it’s 2014, and they run home from the bus stop in a sudden downpour of rain, having forgotten umbrellas, absent-minded and distracted by more important things. A leather jacket is shed onto the floor, a tweed coat thrown in the vague direction of a coat rack; Crowley throws Aziraphale’s suspenders off his shoulders with pleased gusto, a tie, belt, shirts, hit the floor with abandon, sunglasses are placed very delicately somewhere safe. Crowley pulls at Aziraphale’s binder insistently, in 2000, yanks his white undershirt over his head in 2014; oxfords and combat boots are tossed and hit the walls and floor; they stumble over their pants as they try to take them off without stopping, without taking their hands off each other for even a moment, and the old bed creaks when they tumble onto it. The headboard cracks against the wall, knocks the crucifix loose, and the thud is followed by shaking laughter overtaken by gasps, and cries, and fervent declarations, hands clasped, mouths sliding inelegantly together. I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you; and they’re both thinking with desperate and delighted devotion, my husband, my husband, my husband.

[remys-lucky-franc]

Christmas Eve in Paris - A Queen of Thieves Fic: Remy x MC (Daisy)

Rating: Utter fluff. I mean it. Like the fluffiest of fluff.

Word Count: ~1500

Writer Notes: My 2nd fic for the Lovestruck fandom - please be kind 💜 and if you read (thank you!) and do enjoy it, I’d love to hear what you thought!

Tag List: I don’t have one yet, but if you’d like to be on it when I do, please let me know! @wrath-gutierrez

Image credit - Washington Post

“Wake up, wake up, ma Cherie!”

Bright light pours through the drapes on the tall sash windows of the Paris penthouse, almost turning Remy into a silhouette as he learns up on one elbow. The glow filling the bedroom is strangely still as his soft laughter drags Daisy from her sleep.

“Come on, sleepy...”

She smiles drowsily, mumbling ‘Merry Christmas Eve’ as Remy leans across, smoothing her hair and dotting soft kisses along her neck towards her ear, whispering,

“Il fait neige... You don’t want to miss Paris in the snow, do you?”

Suddenly her dark eyes open wide,

“It’s snowing?!”

Remy shakes his head jovially in disbelief,

“You haven’t heard the traffic this morning?? They’re stuck and blasting horns and yelling at each other... Just like New York!”

Daisy looks dazed, clearly not having registered there was any ongoing commotion... She moves to sit up, leaning on her forearms,

“When did it start?”

Remy shrugs,

“Two o’clock, maybe three? Enough time to make it look like a Christmas card outside.”

Daisy runs her fingers through Remy’s shiny hair, pressing a kiss to his lips as she slips from under the duvet, crossing the room to look out down the street storeys down. Sure enough, there is a traffic jam below: cars have lost traction on the powdery surface, causing owners to abandon them in the worst of places. She smiles as looks out across the city, big flakes still tumbling from the sky, sparkling as they land on the window boxes outside. She feels the warmth of Remy’s body as he steps behind her, wrapping his arms tightly around her, breathing in the scent of her hair. Relaxing into his touch, Daisy sighs,

“I have never seen anything more beautiful.”

Remy tucks her long, dark hair behind her ear as her murmurs,

“I have.”

Daisy crinkles her nose as she twists in his arms, turning to face him, teasing him,

“Always so smooth...”

Remy smirks as he pulls her into a kiss, revelling in the touch of her hand on his cheek. Moments later as he pulls back, his green eyes fixed on hers, he asks,

“Of course, you want to see Paris in the snow?”

Daisy nods excitedly, clasping Remy’s hand in hers,

“Yes!! I don’t know what I want to see first though?! Everything will look so different in the snow?!”

Remy laughs,

“Absolutement... We have the day. Don’t worry, ma reveuse.”

—-

As soon as they step outside, Daisy squeals and twirls around in the snow like the princess from Frozen while Remy watches on, delighted. Their first stop is the patisserie on the corner near the penthouse. Breakfast secured, hand in hand, they stroll to the metro. Remy skips them through the gates without paying, much to Daisy’s amusement, the tube taking only moments to arrive. Stepping aboard, they jostle with tourists, last-minute shoppers and business-folk making their way across the city. When they reach their stop, Remy holds Daisy’s hand tightly, heading towards the exit. Recognising the stop, she grins,

“Anvers? Are we going to Monmartre?”

Remy shakes his head,

“Sacre Coeur...”

Daisy’s eyes light up as she follows him uphill in the snow, barely able to tear her eyes away from the beautiful church poised at the top. She’s seen it before of course, but it looks so different today; the gargoyles and statues of saints peaking out from underneath a blanket of snow, the glow of the kaleidoscope stained-glass windows radiating against the stark white masonry and the blank sky. As they stop to admire it, Daisy chatters about how stunning it looks, until Remy holds one finger up to his lips, silencing her,

“Listen?”

A smile tugs at the corner of Daisy’s mouth as she hears Christmas carols echo from the basilica,

“Remy! My abuela used to take me to Christmas service!“

Remy smiles gently back at Daisy, a sweet blush colouring his pale cheeks, his voice almost bashful,

“You would light a candle for your abuelo together, I remembered.”

Daisy’s jaw falls open as she stares at Remy,

“I... You remembered...”

Feeling like her heart might burst she wraps her arms around him, her head resting against his chest. How she loves when his suave demeanour is pared back, showing his kindness and vulnerability. She loves those those little moments where he exposes himself like that; those little moments that others rarely witness.

Brushing some lingering snowflakes out of Daisy’s dark hair, Remy murmurs,

“Do you want to go inside?”

Daisy nods before they slip silently into the end pews at the very back, careful not to disturb the worshippers. The atmosphere inside is peaceful and almost overwhelming; the way the choir music carries upwards into the high domed ceilings, the clarity of the sound, the scent of burning candles and flowers around the aisles... Gold leaf and intricate mosaics adorn the walls and ceilings, the opulence of the decor quite breathtaking. After listening and absorbing it all for a short while, Remy slips a donation into the box as Daisy lights her candle, silently squeezing her small hand in his as she finishes.

Heading back outside Remy frowns watching Daisy shiver, despite her coat and scarf,

“You’re cold, ma Cherie. I know what will warm you up...”

Daisy quirks an eyebrow at her lover,

“Tempting, but we might freeze to death...”

Remy tugs her hand, leading her back towards the Metro station,

“No no no! This way!”

Daisy giggles as she almost has to run to keep pace with Remy,

“Where are we going?!”

Remy looks at her and winks,

“You’ll see!”

Remy once again skips the gate in the metro, winking at Daisy, and a few stops later they arrive at Concorde. Daisy squints up at the sky, flakes smaller now, but still falling and the air bitterly cold, commenting,

“There’s nothing here that’s going to warm anyone up?”

Remy wraps one arm around her waist as he directs her, theatrically sighing,

“Oh well... Your Remy has it wrong...”

A few hundred yards and Daisy begins to grin as she spots it, the Parisian Christmas markets: little wooden stalls dotted from the Place de la Concorde the whole way to the crossroads at the Champs Elysees, every one covered in twinkling Christmas lights. Inhaling deeply she closes her eyes and leans in closer to Remy,

“There really isn’t anywhere in the world more beautiful than Paris.”

Remy simply shrugs like he knew this all along and there is no great surprise,

“There are a lot of tourists, but the food is wonderful and I thought you’d like to have some hot chocolate...?”

Daisy nods her head enthusiastically, confirming his intuition...

For the next couple of hours, the couple stroll around, sampling mulled wine, cheese, confectionary, Daisy oohing at every stall they come to, snapping a couple of selfies of them by the Ferris wheel. Remy’s eyes dance as he watches how much Daisy enjoys the market and the festive spirit. The irony is not lost on him: the girl who stole his heart, together with him in the city of love. The snow has stopped for the most part, only an occasional few flakes still landing, but daylight is practically gone now. The city is seeping into an inky darkness, the streets remain covered in snow, an eerie stillness due to the lack of traffic on the roads.

Remy pulls Daisy to him, his voice sincere,

“I know you love the Tower. And I thought maybe we would go there, but it’s closed to visitors because of the ice. It’s very dangerous...”

Daisy’s eyes widen as she listens,

“Are we going anyway??”

Remy shakes his head, a mischievous glint in his eyes,

“No, I have something better!”

He leads Daisy the whole way up the Avenue of the Champs Elysee under a canopy of the most spectacular and stylish Christmas lights she has ever seen, right to the top. Daisy eyes him strangely when they stop in the imposing shadow of the Arc de Triomphe.

Remy ushers Daisy down a flight of stairs and through a tunnel as she questions where they are going. Remy grins,

“Ma Cherie, we’re climbing the Arc de Triomphe... And when we reach the top, you will see why!”

Many flights of stairs and burning muscles later, Daisy understands exactly why they are at the top of the Arc de Triomphe: when you climb the Eiffel Tower, you can’t see the Eiffel Tower. She and Remy stand wrapped in one another’s embrace as the clock reaches the hour and for the next five minutes, the Tower lights up like the Fourth of July; a million twinkling lights set off simultaneously, making the iron structure look magical and mystical, glittering against the night sky.

Remy choses the moment the twinkling stops to produce a paper bag from inside his coat,

“For you, mon coeur.”

Daisy stares, slightly bewildered, as she unfurls the wrapping material,

“What is it...??”

Her entire face lights up as she reveals a wooden heart tree decoration, with their names and the year etched into it...

Remy’s smile is carefree and blissfully happy as he explains,

“While you waited for hot chocolate, I doubled back... I thought we should have something to remember our first Christmas by... Je t’aime, Daisy...”

Daisy clasps the heart to her own as she beams at Remy; she can’t imagine a more perfect reminder of the first Christmas she would spend with the man of her dreams - in Paris and in love. She kisses him tenderly as she whispers back to him,

“Je t’aime, Remy.”

[geeky-introvert]

Numb . Ivar X OC X Hvitserk

Summary: There was no one else left in her life, alone to defend herself she settles in York, but only for a short time before the Heathen’s came. This is how Talitha’s life changed when two brothers take an interest in her, and she can’t help but feel wanted by them….One-Sot

Word count: 4908

In this story the OC has a rare condition called Congenital Insensitivity to Pain, and for those who don’t understand that it just means she can’t feel pain, heat or cold. I’ve tried to do as much research about it so I hope I’ve done alright.

Warning: Violence, swearing, smut and threesome.

Tag List: @lisinfleur @mdlady @didiintheblog @alicedopey @lupy22 @rekdreams247 @mblaqgi @oddsnendsfanfics @aphnxrising​ @happydaysandersen​ @therealcalicali​ @naaladareia​ @inforapound​ @captstefanbrandt​ @waiting4inspiration @tabalugax @p8tn0lish

If anyone else wants to be added to the tag list let me know please.

Since the day she was born pain was unknown to her. It was a struggle growing up. Talitha was different from others, but not by appearance, it was something much different. There was never an answer for why she was the way she was. For as long as she could remember she has been told she was the devils worshipper, but she didn’t want to be, however that was what many people thought of her to be when rumours started to spread.

Growing up wasn’t easy. She never knew her father and was an only child. Her mother did whatever she could to protect her only child from the harsh world. However, the flu got her mother not even two years ago and took her away. Left to defend for herself she chose to settle in the town of York. There she pleaded with the people of the church and priest that she wanted to cleanse her sins and give herself to god, if it meant for her own survival. In the end she was allowed to say but only as a servant for the church, or a slave since she wasn’t being paid anything.

All she got in return was old bread and a spot to sleep in the barn. She thought those were her only options in life. Talitha simply didn’t know what else to do.

Over the next year she grew used to the life and kept to her own, ignoring everything around her as she focused on surviving. Today was important. It was November first, All Saints Day, and the bishop of the church was expecting her to clean the church from ceiling to floor which was why she woke up hours before the sun rose.

It was hard work but she managed to get it done to the bishop’s satisfaction. As a reward she was given mouldy bread and was told to stay when everyone gathered. The bishop thought it might be good for her to ask god for forgiveness and cleanse of her sins, and hope for whatever curse this was would finally go away.

She didn’t hold her breath but she had to try, there was nothing else for her anyway.

As the people gathered into the church everyone remained silent as the bishop spoke aloud. Talitha stood aside in the corner, head bowed and eyes closed, silently praying to god.

Sometimes she wondered why she bothered but her mother always told her to never doubt herself or her place in life. Her mother was her world and she was taken from her, leaving her with nothing but only memories.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a woman’s screams echoing throughout the church. She turned around only to see more people screaming as a large group of people slashed their way through the crowd. She stood frozen, unsure what to do or how to react. Just judging by their clothes she could tell they were Heathen’s. Talitha felt her heart pound against her chest as the seconds went by as everyone was slaughtered.

She couldn’t move and stood there frozen until she was shoved back by a bulky Heathen who pushed his way through without noticing her. With her shaky hands she managed to pull herself out of their stomping feet and up against the wall. Blood soaked up her dress and covered her hands from the blood bath happening in front of her. It was madness.

Looking down at her leg she realised that there was an arrow sticking out from below her knee embedded into her skin, blood was already dripping down from the wound. She could only gasp at the sight of it, but she couldn’t feel it. That’s what people worried about her unable to feel any sort of pain. There was also many scars covering her hands and arms from accidents from a young age, and now she has another to add, if that is if she survived the Heathen’s attack.

She looked up, watching with heavy breaths as the blood bath continued. There was a nun that was pulled by her leg down the steps as the Heathen pulling her laughed out loud in a humours matter. The nun was going to be raped, and she could only watch everything happen before her until it was over, and her death was given, if she wasn’t raped before she was killed that was.

It felt like hours and it probably was before the Heathen’s stopped the slaughter and started looting from everyone. Talitha could only hear the cries of a baby and the whimpering from some of the women who survived, huddled together and praying. She couldn’t even think anymore as she was ignored by everyone. There was no importance for a useless girl like her.

Something made her look up and noticed that someone was staring right at her. She felt his burning blue gaze on her, lingering over her body, and within seconds he was crawling his way towards her. It was like watching a snake slither, or a demon crawling up from hell, either way it made her heart skip a beat as he got closer to her.

The young man grinned at her with his face covered in blood. She watched as he killed the bishop, or poured melted gold into his mouth which ended up killing him then. He crawled up beside her and sat down huffing softly as he moved his fingers over his braided hair and glancing down at her leg where the arrow was.

“You don’t seem to be in any pain, Christian, and yet you have an arrow in your leg.” She was shocked that he knew her language so well and continued to listen to him as he went on. “Tell me beautiful, how much does it hurt?” His voice was mocking, he was teasing her as he purposely poked the arrow, but she didn’t give any reaction, just simply swallowed the lump in her throat.

“It doesn’t hurt…” She did wish she could feel it, just to know what pain felt like. His amused chuckle wasn’t settling.

“Really now?” He gave the arrow another poke, harder and watched for her reaction. When she didn’t give him he narrowed his eyes at her. “Huh? How is it you don’t feel that?”

“I…I don’t know. It was how I was born.” Her voice was so quiet, shy, and felt scared being in the position she was in. “A-are you going to kill me?”

The man continued to stare, studying her through her eyes as his fingers continued to poke at the arrow. More blood was drawing out but she didn’t react, thinking he was waiting for a reaction from her. She just stayed still and let him, there wasn’t much else she could do anyway.

Suddenly, he pulled the arrow out causing her to gasp. It happened so fast. She stared at the arrow head where her blood dipped from and looked at him, waiting for what was to happen next. Much to her horror he licked the blood from the arrow and moaned lowly like it was satisfying to him.

She looked on in disgust at him as he threw it aside and shifted closer to her, licking the blood from his lips with his curios eyes staring down at her.

“I am Ivar, Ivar the Boneless. What is your name?” His sudden change did catch her off guard, and his name was recognised from rumours she’s heard. Ivar brushed away some of her loose hair behind her ear and his rough fingers brushed over her cheek, making her swallow thickly from his tender act.

“Talitha.” His smile grew and he bit his lips.

“Well, Talitha. Today is your lucky day. I’ll be keeping you, you’re now my pet. Don’t you feel grateful?” He said as he tore some away some fabric and wrapped it around her leg like he suddenly cared.

“Pet?” It slipped out before she thought about it.

“Yes, you now belong to me.” He tied the fabric and leaned closer to her, his nose almost touching hers. “Now, can you behave for me? I’ve spared your life, you should be thanking me.”

Talitha looked down at her leg and nodded her head, quickly accepting his words. “I promise to behave. Thank you, Ivar.”

“That’s a good girl.” He seemed rather pleased with her response and even petted her head like a dog. Her life was changing once again, and she didn’t know what to expect out of this one.

Ivar waved over another Heathen and spoke in their tongue to each other. Next she was then lifted in the Heathen’s arms and carried away from the blood bath in the church. She didn’t fight it, move or say anything. All she did was just accept it and allowed herself to be taken away.

The town of York was taken by the Heathen’s, people slaughtered while others taken as slaves. This was the new life in York.

Talitha never expected what had happened after she was taken away. She had her wound tended and was given a bath by other slaves, then a dress, so beautiful and clean, then had her hair done up nicely making her feel like she was important. She wasn’t used to that and she didn’t know how to react, so she just sat there and let them do their thing.

Hours later she was taken to the large hall where things were already being set up quickly as the Heathen’s made themselves right at home. She was taken in by the same guard that carried her and when they entered she was greeted by Ivar and a few other men around the table that was piled up with food. The sight of it made her stomach gurgle and she placed her hands over her stomach in hopes it wouldn’t do it again.

When Ivar saw her he grinned widely at her.” Ahh, there she is! Come, sit with us my pet.” He pulled out a chair and she sat down next to him. Looking up she saw an older man with dirty blonde hair looking at her and Ivar with confusion. She then looked over to the other one, and recognised him as the man who dragged the nun away to rape. His stare and lazy smirk at her made her nervous and she quickly looked away down at her scarred hands where she twirled them together.

“Are you hungry, pet?” Ivar asked pushed a plate full of food in front of her. She looked at him and at the food, thinking there was a catch, but he just waited for her to eat. Her hunger took over and she started to carefully eat at the chicken pieces.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had such taste chicken. As she ate she heard the three men talking in their own language and she knew it was about her as they pointed and stared in her direction. Talitha finished the piece she was holding and went to pick up another only to have her hand grabbed by Ivar.

He noticed the scars.

As he examined them she swallowed the food in her mouth and looked at the men once more. She assumed they were brothers, they did look alike and she admitted to herself that they were all pretty handsome, even Ivar.

“These burns, how did you get them?” He asked as his rough fingers ran over her palms.

“I was young; I don’t even remember them really. My mother told that I liked the glow from the hot coals and would want to touch them. Sometimes she didn’t notice until it was too late.” I swallowed thickly and shifted in my chair. No one’s really asked about my scars before.

“Hmm, interesting,” he spoke to himself as he unexpectedly kissed her palms. The jester was kind and she felt a strange about it. These men killed and raped her people and now she was eating with them. It didn’t sound right.

“Why the girl, Ivar?” She glanced up to realise that Ivar wasn’t the only one who knew her language.

“Because, Ubbe, she’s special. She doesn’t feel any pain and I find that fascinating.” It did confuse her that he found her interesting like that. She saw the confusion from this Ubbe and felt herself look away from him, feeling suddenly shy.

The other man continued to stare at her like she was a piece of meat and Ivar slowly realised this. “See something you like, Hvitserk?”

“She’s pretty, can’t help myself.” She started to wonder if they were speaking her language on purpose so she understood everything. “Do you plan on sharing her?”

Talitha felt her heart drop from his words and glanced at Ivar from the corner of her eyes, holding her breathe for his answer. His hand was then on her thigh, rubbing her as he only briefly thought about it before smirking.

“Maybe, brother, just maybe.” He did that on purpose to imitate her, she knew that.

Just what had become of her in this new life and what did the Heathen’s plan for her?

Talitha found herself sitting in a very large and luxurious bed. It had been weeks since the Heathen’s took over and she had been Ivar’s new pet, though he didn’t treat her like a dog, that she was thankful for but he sure did like calling her ‘pet’ every chance he got.

The town had quickly been rebuilt and stocked again from the attack, and it was today that Ivar had sent her to his room for a bit and he’d come later. She was confused how she was feeling towards them.

She should hate them, and yet she felt herself starting to like there company. There was no doubt she was going to hell for her sins. But besides her mother, no one’s ever really liked what she was besides Ivar. He seemed to be highly fascinated by it and had her at his side for almost every day for hours before allowing her to do her own thing.

No one was ever aloud to touch her, he made that clear. His brother, Hvitserk would always look at her, eyes lingering over her body and smiling. One day she felt herself smile back at him without realising it and he seemed too really like that. It just happened, there was no excuse. Admitting to herself, he was very handsome, most of them were.

It was these thoughts that she was told all her life that were forbidden but she could help herself. She thought maybe that she wasn’t meant to be a Christian. It was a silly thought, but she did ponder about it.

Ubbe was kind but he never looked at her like that. He was caring, that’s the way she put it. He made sure Ivar was taking care of her and that no one bothered her as well. She didn’t think he was interested in her in that way, unlike Ivar and Hvitserk. Then Ivar told her that he was happily married and was a true man, not the kind to sleep around.

Now, she sat on the bed after eating dinner. She noticed some weight had been gained around her from the food she was eating. Never had she felt so full, it felt nice to have decent meals for once. As she was lost in her thoughts the door to the room opened and she looked over to see Ivar and Hvitserk come in.

Ivar crawled his way towards her and pushed himself onto the bed. Hvitserk came in front of them and sat up on a table, watching her. She looked at both brothers feeling unsure why they were there together in the room with her, feeling herself shift on the bed nervously.

“Talitha, let me ask you something.” Ivar started as he scooted closer and rubbing his hand over her thigh making her breath shutter. “Are you a virgin?”

She bit her lips, thinking about it for a moment. “I…Y-yes.” It was embarrassing to admit it.

Ivar looked at Hvitserk and both nodded to each other. “We both want to fuck you. You’re beautiful and Hvitserk has asked me more than once to share you. Do you want to have sex with us?”

She was feeling something she never felt before. There was a strange feeling in her, like her stomach was twisting into knots but in a nice way. It tingled where it was most forbidden at the thought of what they wanted to do with her. They were asking her though, they would have her whenever they wanted and yet they were asking if she wanted to have sex with them, two men.

Her eyes looked at Ivar and back at Hvitserk, feeling scared and uncertain if this was what she really wanted. “I…You’re both very handsome, a-and have been good to me.” She admitted while biting her lips and not missing their proud grins when she called them handsome. “I-I’m just not sure what to do.”

“That’s alright, neither does Ivar.” Hvitserk said so bluntly and Ivar shot him a glare. “What? It’s alright brother. I’ll show you both how it’s done. No shame here.”

Ivar rolled his eyes and looked back at her. “So, what do you say, pet? Do you want to be ravaged by Heathen’s?”

It should scare her, after everything they did she should be terrified and yet she didn’t. Maybe a little scared, but she felt more thrilled, excited at the thought of two very handsome men taking her in bed. She looked at both men, thinking about it before she felt herself nod shyly at them.

There was no going back.

“Good.” Ivar smiled lightly before he turned her face towards him and kissed her. She quickly leaned into the kiss, placing her hands over his shoulders as she savoured the tender touch from him. His tongue pushed passed her lips and she was met with his musky smell when she inhaled through her nose and tasted him with her own. Her soft moan made him smirk against her and moved away from her lips while chuckling softly.

Hvitserk stepped forward and sat down on the bed on her other side. She turned around to face him only to feel his hands cupping her face and leaning forward to kiss her. It was a little different from Ivar, but both were nice. The feel of his moving lips over her own made her let out another moan against him while Ivar behind her rubbed her waist. Shivers broke through her at the feel of both men touching and kissing her, it sent pulses she never felt before, it was addicting.

When Hvitserk moved away from the kiss he stood up again and removed his tunic leaving him bare chested for her. She gasped at his toned chest and even felt her mouth water a little much to her shock. Behind her Ivar did the same and she face him to see his smooth chest herself.

Automatically she reached forward and touched his smooth chest under her fingers. He bit his lips as he watched her, satisfied by how things were going so far.

“Talitha,” Hvitserk spoke her name gently. “Now it’s your turn.” He helped her stand and started to unlace the dress she worse. Her eyes didn’t leave his, worried that she would chicken out from what was happened in the room. She suddenly felt the dress pool around her ankles and her arms rose up quickly to cover her breasts from his gaze. “Looks like your pet is shy, Ivar. We’ll change that.” He moved her arms away from her exposed breasts and let his eyes linger over her perky breasts. “You’re so beautiful and innocent.”

“Quit hogging the view, Hvitserk. I want to see her.” Ivar complained before she turned to face him, letting him look at her naked body.

Ivar stared at her and over the scars she had received over the years. None were given by battled, but only because she was curios and very clumsy. She saw that they didn’t seem bothered by it and focused on her nakedness. It felt weird being so exposed, and yet it was still thrilling, in a way.

“How do we decided who has her first?” Hvitserk asked coming up behind as he kissed her shoulder softly. That was the question. Who was she going to lose her virginity to?

Ivar looked like he was thinking about it for a moment before nodded. “You may have her first.” Hvitserk seemed surprised by his answer. “What? You’ve experienced and I’m not. I want to watch first and learn before I have my turn anyway.”

Hvitserk smirked and leaned over her shoulder, kissing her neck as he rubbed his groin against her plump rear. Talitha breathed heavily as she felt his harden cock rubbing up against her as his hands rubbed over her waist. His lips brushed over the shell of her ear making her whimper a little from the contact and lean back against him.

“Lay down, beautiful.” He whispered. “I’m going to show you how we Heathen’s kiss our women in the north.”

She didn’t say anything but did wonder what he meant. Obeying she laid back against the bed and furs and looked down as Hvitserk knelt in front of her while pushing her legs apart. Ivar watched on curiously from his position as his brother positioned his face between his legs where her twitch core was. Talitha whimpered from the exposed position she was in and suddenly felt scared that she was making a mistake.

Ivar noticed this and laid down next to her where he started to kiss her, assuring that she was alright. Hvitserk kissed right above her core against her curls before swiping his tongue over her folds and against her clit. She let out a started cry that was silenced by Ivar’s mouth. He kissed her while Hvitserk lifted her legs over his shoulder and dipped his tongue over her moist core.

Hvitserk hummed lowly against her, sending shivers and thrills through her quivering body. His tongue dipped into her entrance where he swirled his tongue around drawing out juices from her. She had never experienced something like this before and didn’t want it to stop. Her legs wrapped around his head, holding him close as he lapped against her sex. Ivar started to kiss against her neck allowing her to moan and whimper out while Hvitserk ate her out.

“You make the most amazing sounds, pet.” Ivar softly said against her ear as he looked down at his brother. Hvitserk continued to tongue fuck her core, holding her hips down, ravaging her as more juices spilled from her.

Ivar grabbed her hand and moved it towards his trousers where his cock was, slowly hardening and twitching as she touched him. She gasped from the contact and breathed heavily feel a little overwhelmed by everything that was happening.

Talitha’s hand rubbed over Ivar’s trousers where his cock grew and moaned as Hvitserk suckled her core. When he moved away she squirmed a little making the two chuckle at her.

“You’re very needy, pet.” Ivar let out an amused smirk as Hvitserk stood up and removed his trousers before crawling up over her.

“Lay on your side, so my brother has a good view.” She turned around to face Ivar as Hvitserk settled himself behind her, lifting her leg up over his hip as his throbbing cock pressed against her moist folds.

Talitha tried to keep her breathing even and her eyes on Ivar as he stared right back at her. She felt pressure, no pain which was expected, and felt his cock push up into her past her virtue and fill her. She felt full from his cock and let out a shaky breath against Ivar’s face. Behind her Hvitserk moaned as he started to thrust, his cock moving back and forth in her, sending pulses of pleasure through her core making her moan herself against the Heathen’s in bed with her.

“How does she feel?” Ivar asked as he watched closely.

“So tight, so fucking tight, she feels amazing.” Hvitserk panted against her ear as his thrusts started to pick up. The sound of his groin hitting her rear filled the room along with their heavy breathing and moans. She held onto Ivar’s arm as Hvitserk fucked her hard, pleasured moans falling from her mouth never feeling something so amazing before.

“How does it feel, pet?” Ivar asked quietly grinning down at her rocking figure.

“So good…It feels so good!” She admitted without shame not caring about it other than the cock fucking her senseless.

“Oh fuck!” Hvitserk cried out as he shot his seed within her depths and continued thrusting until she reached her end. Talitha whimpered before letting out a startled cry and clenched around his cock, milking him as he pulled out from her with a heavy sigh. Ivar watched as he juices mixed with his brothers seed leaked out from her gaping core. His cock was painfully hard and he wanted to fuck his pet.

“Hope you’re not too tired, pet. It’s my turn now.” Ivar said as Hvitserk rolled away from her and allowing Ivar to lay Talitha on her back with him crawling on top of her.

Ivar kissed her, moaning as he pushed his hand between them to pull his trousers down, only enough to free his throbbing cock. Maybe one day he’ll show her his legs.

Talitha panted as she spread her legs for him and felt his cock enter her fully in one thrust. She moaned from the sensation of being filled by another and threw her head back against the furs with her legs wrapped around his waist. She wanted to be fucked again, to feel her crashing orgasm once more like she did with Hvitserk.

“Oh fuck. This feels amazing. My beautiful pet, you feel so good.” Ivar praised her as he started to move his hips against her, thrusting his cock back and forth into her.

Hvitserk leaned on his side as he watched them, licking his lips with lustful eyes. He hoped that Ivar will share her a lot with him, for he understood why Ivar liked the special girl so much. No words were said on how to have sex towards Ivar, he picked it up pretty quickly, and so he just watched and enjoyed himself.

Ivar moaned and huffed into her neck as he fucked her hard, earning loud moans of pleasure from her as she felt another orgasm build up in her.

“It feels so good! So fucking good!” Her unexpected words made both men chuckle at her and Ivar slapped her arse making her yelp from the sharp contact, that also strangling gave her another thrill.

“Naughty pet should watch her words.” Ivar chuckled as he thrust his cock into her more harshly feeling his cock twitch wrapped around her warm core.

Talitha cried out as she felt her orgasm crash down on her once more with Ivar still thrusting with harsh predatory growls before giving a final thrust and let out a loud cry as his seed coated her depths.

Ivar pulled out and landed on his back with a heavy huff with his eyes staring at the ceiling. He was pleased with himself that he was able to pleasure a woman, and this young woman was his beautiful pet and his forever, and would probably share her with Hvitserk as well, but no one else.

After the steamy heavy sex all three stayed in the large bed together with Talitha asleep against Ivar’s chest and her leg tangled around Hvitserk’s with his chest pressed up against her back. Hvitserk and Ivar were also in deep sleep, pleased how the night turned out for them.

Talitha never wanted to leave. She felt right at home with them and never wanted to lose that. Not when it all felt so right and amazing. Softly she nuzzled against Ivar’s chest, humming softly as she dreams on how good the future will be with them, even if it meant being as their pet. She kind of liked it anyway.

[phonaesthemes]

a list of asks

@padawanyugi tagged me in this, but Tumblr decided to eat any notification that I got tagged, so I’m glad I saw it on my dash because I like filling these things out. Thanks for tagging me! I may have typed A Lot.

Favorites: What types of books do you enjoy? Tell about what you’ve read recently (Or maybe about a book you hated recently!)I like spec-fic and sci-fi, although less “hard” science fiction, and I also enjoy fantasy. I read a lot of YA even though I’m in my 30s just because it seems easy to find a story I want to read and I’m not usually in the mood for dense prose.

I’ve been rereading the Wheel of Time series since it’s getting an Amazon TV show; it was my first non-LOTR fantasy series and I love it to death, warts and all, although I love joking about the weak points with other people who’ve read it. I think the last other thing I read was A Gentleman’s Guide to Vice and Virtue, which was a queer YA historical fiction, and it was a lot of fun. I wish I’d had access to all these queer stories when I was an actual teenager, but better late than never.

What types of music do you like to listen to? Share five songs from your music library. I really do like a bit of everything, although I gravitate towards certain genres more often depending on the season or time of day, so I’m going to cheat and pick 5 per season. Summer for me is lots of peppy pop (pride playlists!), punk and rock and punk-adjacent stuff, just upbeat stuff in general. -Weekender, by The Royal They -Break My Heart, by Dua Lipa -Toutes les femmes savent danser, by Loud -Ruby Soho, by Rancid -Womanarchist, by Bad Cop, Bad Cop

In the fall, my inner goth kid craves darkwave, goth rock, dramatic folk, roots rock, and also anything that reminds me of Halloween. -Iuka, by the Secret Sisters -Bela Lugosi’s Dead, by Bauhaus -How’s It Gonna End, by Tom Waits -Under the Milky Way, by The Church -I Put a Spell on You, by Screamin’ Jay Hawkins I could go on about the Christmas music I like at length (Boney M’s Christmas album slaps, ngl) but I’ll just skip that and say that I listen to more classical and piano pieces in the winter. I’m terrible at remembering names, so artists only: -Ludovico Einaudi -Chopin -Debussy -Saint-Saëns -Dvořák And in spring I’m usually just depressed af and listen to whatever. -FML, by K.Flay -Weird Part of the Night, by Louis Cole -Juodaan Viinaa, by Korpiklaani -P.O.H.U.I., by Carla’s Dreams -Marryuna, by Baker Boy

Do you have a show or movie that you can just put on anytime and it’s your comfort? Definitely Star Trek. I’ve rewatched the various iterations (except TOS) so many times. Also Mean Girls and Bring It On, idk why.

Do you have a favorite dessert? Tiramisu or creme brulée! Or macarons. I don’t eat dessert really unless I’m at a restaurant.

Do you have a favorite cold drink? Sparkling water, hands down.

Do you have a favorite game? The hours I have put into the SIms in my lifetime is probably shameful, although I haven’t played in a while. Don’t Starve is another contender for hours played, but I am also really fond everything by Amanita Design

Do you have a favorite part of your self care/beauty/health routine? I haven’t been doing it much lately since I’ve been dealing with some uncertain health issues with my joints (actually have a rheumatologist appointment later today), but savasana after a long yoga workout is borderline ecstasy.

Do you have a favorite type of take-out food? Indian for sure.

What’s your favorite type of exercise/physical activity? I have a love-hate relationship with running. I don’t actually love it but I love how I feel after. I really enjoy yoga. I love playing in the water at the beach, bodyboarding and swimming.

Pick between: (you choose the context)

Cook or bake? (I love cooking A Lot)

Space or ocean? (Hard to pick, but I grew up by the ocean and it’s 100% my happy place)

Chocolate or vanilla?

City or suburb or rural? (I grew up in an isolated rural village and I miss the quiet and the slower pace of life, but I do not miss the lack of amenities and opportunities, or the smalltown gossip. I also don’t drive bc of epilepsy, so I’m fucked as far as transport in rural settings.)

Past or future?

Shower in the morning or evening?

Mac/Apple or PC/Android? (Linux in general!)

Sing or dance?  (I don’t have an amazing voice but I can carry a tune without it being painful, and I love singing along with songs.)

Get up early or sleep in? (I actually love sleeping in but with two kids, early morning is my only time to myself, so I wake up before 6 most days AGGH.)

Shoes, socks, or bare feet? (Hate socks. I’m barefoot at home all year round.)

Marker, crayon, or pencil? Pen!

Tea, coffee, or hot chocolate? (Coffee in the morning, tea later on.)

Random questions:

Have you ever had any pets? (Had dogs and a cat as a kid, and as an adult I’ve had betta fish and cats, and I have a cat currently.)

What is your academic background/job field? I did my undergrad in linguistics, and I am currently a stay-at-home dad lol. I do freelance editing and transcription on the side. I don’t think I’ll ever work in my field bc I really don’t have the energy to go to grad school.

What’s something random that you’re into (even if you aren’t good at it)? I signed up for a Cape Breton step dancing class in university and I loved it.

Are you good at putting away your clean laundry right away? It depends on the day, but generally yes. Mine and everyone else’s. When I lived alone? Absolutely not.

What’s one of your pet peeves? Someone trying to have a conversation with me when they have the radio or TV on. I can’t follow what you’re saying if someone else is speaking! I hate having that stuff on as background noise in general.

What’s something you’re pretty good at? I’m a great cook.

What’s the most recent nice thing you bought for yourself? A new conditioner ig? lol

Can you sew? I can mend a small tear or sew on a button, but it’s been years since I did more than that.

What’s a chore you hate (or a chore you enjoy)? I hate vacuuming so much. So much. Maybe if I had a better vaccuum cleaner I wouldn’t mind it, but I just feel like I’m fighting with the stupid thing, getting caught up on its own cords, caught on furniture, can’t quiiiite reach a spot... HATE IT. I like shoveling snow sometimes, though.

Tell us a fun fact about yourself. I am 20 years older than my youngest sibling, and five minutes younger than my “oldest” sibling.

Never have I ever... Gone fishing, even though I’m from a fishing community.

What extracurriculars did/do you do in school? In high school, I played trumpet in band until the band got dissolved from lack of funding. I played soccer one year, was in a play another year. We had an art club for like a semester that I was in. In university the first time round, I did step dancing and intramural hide and seek  Second time around, I was in the linguistics club to help with assignments. (We were very much encouraged to work in pairs or groups for a lot of different classes. The only thing was that you did need to list your group members on the assignment so the prof knew who you worked with. My first morphology class in particular, we had a whole homework club where a huge portion of the class got together to work through assignments and help each other understand, and the prof would quite often show up. </tangent>

Deeper questions:

How’s your quarantine/last few months been? The cabin fever was really bad before the weather warmed up. I struggle with seasonal depression every spring, and it’s gotten much worse since we moved to Edmonton because of how long the winters are. (Snow from September to May/June? Fucccck.) It’s frankly horrifying to look at what’s going on in the US, but even though we have far fewer cases here, I’m really anxious that we’ll see another wave soon. Otherwise, I think I’ve adjusted. Home-schooling, hand-sanitizing, social distancing, masks...All feels kind of normal now, which should maybe concern me.

What do you think of human nature/society/etc.? I am like the least philosophical person you will meet so I don’t think I really have many thoughts.

What’s something you are insecure about? Writing my L2 if a native speaker is gonna read it.

What do you think is the meaning of life/reason that humans exist in the universe? I don’t think there is one, and that doesn’t bother me.

Do you think you’re better (whatever that means to you) than you used to be? Definitely. My adolescence and early adulthood was rough. I was dealing with a lot of trauma, untreated bipolar disorder, and I self-harmed for a very long time. I could not imagine making it to 30, let alone being stable and happy. I actively avoided thinking about the future because it made me spiral. But I was lucky enough to get help, consistent help from a doctor I clicked with, and it made a world of difference. I think younger me would be disappointed at how mundane my life is, but I’m thrilled to be boring because boring means no life-upending mood episodes. I have a happy partnership and two delightful kids and I couldn’t ask for more.

What are your thoughts on religion? I’m not religious and my own experience being raised in the Catholic church was frankly traumatic, but I know that it’s a source of comfort and community for many others and I think that’s awesome for them.

Do you think that there are aliens out there? I think so, although I think that we may not even know what other kinds of life to look for and may not recognize it even if we find it.

What’s something that’s been on your mind recently? We’re moving cross-country in less than a month (driving, no less, nearly 5000 km) and I still have so much to do to get ready aosjdoajdoasijdoaijsd

[glorioussimon]

underappreciated things about rise 1x06: bring me stanton

sorry about spamming these things but i want to watch rise

i love this episode

coach driving gwen to school and buying her a smoothie

and gwen rejecting it

i don’t understand a fucking word of what coach is saying when they’re at football practice this is like another language

why does robbie’s football understudy look vaguely like archie from riverdale

clark is wearing a striped shirt that looks kind of like the one that sean wore in dwsa!! otto solidarity

when lou asks for a drumroll sasha could not possibly look more unenthusiastic

MAASHOUS LOVES HIS SET SO MUCH

“please don’t touch, maashous is very protective of his handiwork” 

irrelevant but harmony is so cute and i would die for her

the siremy glances!! you already know what the fuck is up

michael Knows

when maashous makes the smokestacks blow out real smoke and the troupe gets so excited

anabelle kind of pats him on the back and it’s really cute

maashous’s bow when everyone’s applauding. he looks so happy i love him

whenever i see the “let’s make drama” poster thing i think it says “let’s make obama”. this happens every time and i am sick of it

lilette crying when she’s explaining why she can’t come to rehearsal makes me so sad i hate this

tracey is wearing a super cool dress with suns and stars on it

jeremy’s little run when he’s trying to catch up to simon

simon doesn’t look directly at jeremy for a long time

jeremy looks almost scared when simon calls him back after he starts to leave

simon doesn’t say that he isn’t into jeremy, or that he doesn’t want to be with him. he says that he can’t.

jeremy’s hand on simon’s shoulder

simon kissing him back. this is underappreciated everyone talks about this i just feel that i have to mention it

when he kisses jeremy you can see how much simon not just wants, but needs this. for these few seconds he’s finally letting his guard down, letting himself feel something. which is what makes it so heartbreaking when he forces himself to run away.

god i love simon saunders so much i want to love and support him so badly

the fact that their rehearsals start at nine. i’m imagining rehearsing from 9 - midnight(?) and i feel like dying these kids are so devoted to this show

lou wanting to lock the kids in the basement for the date night

lou whispering “i’m excited”

do yall remember when the rise instagram used the picture of tracey looking behind her when she hears sasha and boyfriend arguing and put it next to the picture of simon looking at condoms so it looked like she had caught him

i really wish that they had introduced sasha at least a little bit prior to this episode because i watched rise with my mom and like, i was obsessed with the show so i knew everyone’s names but she, a casual watcher, had no idea who the fuck this girl was

tracey not forcing sasha to talk about what’s happening

tracey hugging her

i would kill a man for tracey wolfe

gwen asking gordy to skip school with her

and gordy wanting to but refusing because he’s trying to be better

saint gordy

gordy looking back at gwen

“hey anabelle you’re looking especially radiant today” i take it all back i hate simon saunders

anabelle is wearing what my dad would call a “power flannel”

who is jeremy even talking to in this scene i didn’t realize that he had friends outside of the troupe

when simon kisses anabelle on the cheek it’s so awkward

neither of them know what to say i hate this

the square smokestack

maashous is fifteen i’m older than him what the fuck

i have to protect him i’m his mom now

the picture of gwen in coach’s office

dramatic music plays in the background as robbie struts into coach’s office

i’m sorry robbie i love you but i could not give less of a shit about your troy bolton storyline

“you know the nurse’s office gives these out for free, right?” “yeah, they don’t have the same selection though”

everything that simon says in this scene is...certainly something

“now i just need a scented candle and some breath mints” this is. literally the gayest thing that simon has ever said

lilette instantly realizing that simon is trying to prove that he’s straight by doing this

ted sutherland and auli’i cravalho are two of the most beautiful people i’ve ever seen in my life

when sasha asked if there’s any place in pennsylvania that doesn’t follow the parental consent rule my first thought was “alexa play whispering”

i wish that we had seen more of their version of the guilty ones

clark’s mom makes me jump every time

clark looks like he’s ready for death

no one know how to react to this

the saga of michael and the midterm

jolene blaming robbie and football for the late rehearsals

and lilette defending him

michael trying to organize a walkout

simon starts yelling but you can’t hear him what is he so pissed about

jeremy looking at simon as he’s leaving

was vanessa suing anton ever going to go anywhere or did she just drop it? it’s never mentioned again so idk??

“for the first time in my life, i’m part of something i actually believe in.” im love lilette suarez

“i don’t wanna talk about spring awakening” gail @ lou, but also all of my friends @ me

i love what lou is saying about art here

“that’s the point of art, right? to reflect the world, to take something raw and painful, maybe even hopeless, and make it beautiful?”

gail and lou’s first date!!

it’s very clear that maashous and lou didn’t tell anyone that they were about to destroy the set

the best reaction is michael’s but honorable mention goes to harmony and lilette

no one remembers the bookstore

“ah. amazon.”

of course lou’s favorite author is f. scott fitzgerald

title drop: “this set, it was always gonna be a reflection of the world we live in. so let’s embrace that. bring me stanton.” - lou

i love the montage of the troupe finding stuff for the set

the fact that there’s no indication if they asked before taking this stuff. this could very well all be stolen

the understudies all looking for stuff together

clark and jeremy practicing the bitch of living choreography on the chairs they find

the picture of baby gwen and coach

they didn’t bother to erase the texts that gwen sent in earlier takes so she’s just sent the same text tons of time

clark being worried about mr. mazzu knowing that they’re breaking into the steel mill

“gordy’s way cooler than his dad” “which isn’t saying much”

maashous stopping to look and everyone else leaving him behind

“that’s a felony!” “shut up, simon” someone is a mood here but i can’t tell who

no one knows how to react when gwen breaks the boards off

michael just wanting to leave

jolene bringing booze

michael’s little “desperate, much?” in the background

lilette and robbie making out in the storage room

maashous is clearly drunk and it’s fucking hilarious

gwen grabbing gordy’s hand is so smooth

gordy taking a sip of beer and clearly realizing that he shouldn’t be

robbie going to lou with his problems

robbie talking about how much he loves football

the cops interrupting simon and anabelle

the troupe just. running

coach is buddies with the cops

robbie refusing to quit football or the show

again, did simon ask before he took the window from the church

i love the music in this scene!!

lou is so happy with the jukebox

francis and violet run up onto the stage to see the railroad stuff and it’s cute

happy maashous!! a gift to this world

sasha and tracey talking

it’s very clear that no one was informed about the huge-ass sign. they’re all stunned

i always tear up when the set is revealed

everyone clapping for maashous

tracey being with sasha when she tells her dad that she’s pregnant

gordy telling his mom that he needs help

robbie sadly watching from the bench

and all of this happening while lilette sings mama who bore me

vanessa crying when she sees lilette on stage

and now i’m crying too

[kindabraveandlittlestupid]

Try not to get caught up with the labels: Feminist, Equalist, or Humanist. The tag matters less than the larger goal society should set out to achieve. Equality for all and sometimes Equity to make small tips to the scale where needed. I am not afraid of embracing the concept of being a Male Feminist because my world is saturated by politics and I understand the players. I know the villains who wish to pit Feminist against Equalist or Humanist are doing so not because they believe any of the labels but because they benefit from the distraction between like-minded individuals who seek the same goals. Most men are not in the social position to be “The Patriarchy” but those men of wealth and power through industry, politics, or religion are the Patriarchy. An so long as they can make Men believe Women are a threat to them, that Black Lives Matter is a danger to White Americans or that Immigrants are taking the wealth of the country, these powerful men do very well so long as we keep fighting with the person next to us instead of realizing the real villains are often above us.

This is one reason why I like the idea of the Rise of Matriarchs in American Society. We can rattle these men’s cages and make them aware their power is suspect to change by a greater majority of society. This is not to say women cannot be corrupted by wealth and power as well but societies that have a more representative/diverse governments tend to be LESS corrupt and that is a step towards progress everyone benefits (except the extremely wealthy men who clutch power). 

This post (despite the starter above) is not a political breakdown post though I plan to write on these subjects more in the future. Instead, it's more of clarification of my views and where I stand on various topics related to feminism. I realize there are topics that I might not touch base on and if you want me to add one you can shoot me a note. I also might hold opinions that do not take an absolutist view towards a topic and in today's politics that can be dangerous on the left and right because anyone who isn't falling in line 100% can be labeled a traitor to the cause or party.

Access to Birth Control and Planned Parenthood

I am always bewildered how nonsensical conservatives are in regards to these topics. The very best means of avoiding abortions is education, family planning, and birth control which prevent young women from having to make a difficult choice. Despite this, they believe in abstinence and try to remove birth control basically pushing more young women into the realm of motherhood because of a few minutes of passion that will ultimately decide the next 18+ years of their lives!

I believe Planned Parenthood should be available and welcome in each community to ensure that young women and men are protected, educated, and equipped with the proper means of avoiding unwanted pregnancies. I also believe condoms, IUDs, Birth Control Pills and Plan B’s should be available on the cheap and discreet to further protection. Lastly, Birth Control should be covered by insurance, even business insurance regardless of the employers personal/religious views. In other words, I am pretty damn liberal on this.

Abortion Rights (Link)

There are fewer choices a woman might face more difficult then deciding if she should or should not get an Abortion. I wrote in detail about this topic before so I will give you the short version. I believe NO ONE likes the idea of a abortion but those of us who understand the issue also know that forcing any woman regardless of age, race or social position to give birth also not ok. We in society should make this choice informative and safe. We do that by having comprehensive sexual education and birth control to be the ‘front line’ of avoiding this difficult choice. If she decides to take the next step or explore her options it shouldn't be done by bullshit church clinics attempting to use shame, guilt or false information to change her views but institutions that provide her all the options and information she could need to make the choice that's best for her. Everything should be her choice without influence from the community, the church, her parents or even the male involved. Aftercare programs should also be there to help her no matter what choice she chooses.

I think we should aim for the 20 weeks (Recent science article suggests this is possible when the babies consciousness kicks in. Open to changing if the article ends up being false) and under as the optimal time to make the choice. However, I am open to learning more on this topic and discussing if the “when” should be pushed further back. Lastly, if it comes down the choice between saving the mother or unborn fetus, I believe the mother's life is more important unless she deems otherwise. There are few political topics where I think men should shut up and let women decide... this is one of them.

Paid Family Leave

This isn't just a woman's issue but also a men's issue as well. I would actually argue this is a progressive issue as both the father and mother both deserve to take part in raising a child in those early stages. We need to consider this as a long-standing social program to allow career-oriented adults (both male and female) to continue their careers but also to support their family. We also need to ensure employers don't attempt to punish these women (and men) by skipping over them for promotions or refusing raises because they decided to have a child. 

There is no argument from me that women deserve a longer leave of absence being the one who gave birth and breastfeeds the baby. I think both parents could benefit from this sort of social net and it's important we build it in such a way that it also covers two mothers or two fathers and even adoption.

Girls Education

With a better education for girls in the United States (and for the matter the world) has proven to improve economies, lower crime and even slow overpopulation because academic opportunity provides new options instead of simply being a wife/mother (nothing wrong with those if you choose that as part of your lifestyle). This is still a major issue as there are still countries that place girls education as secondary to boys education. Even if they are far away it is still our responsibility to ensure girls rights to an education is provided for them. Its pretty clear I believe in this topic wholeheartedly, however if you know me then you know there is more often then not a but around the corner. 

The only caveat I can think to note is Female only education programs. An example of this is Girls Who Code that teaches programming to young girls. I love this program and I think its great they are trying to narrow the tech industry gap by pushing for more female coders. However, as someone who worked in a non-profit industry for a few years and created co-ed athletic leagues, there is value in having boys work with girls. These young women won't be working with only females forever, eventually, they will have to work with male coders and gender segregation robs them of that early experience. On a second point (and the real thing the operators of this program are missing out on) it is the fact if they have males in their class/program they can catch/alter/adjust the problematic behavior of male students to make them the new gold standard of how a male coder should act with their female coworkers. I suppose this is all just perception but I always believed its better to have both genders work together so they might view each other as equals rather embrace a gender segregation to achieve some corporate goal of having a bigger female workforce without address the issue of toxic male work environments.

MeToo Movement

I admit I am of mixed feelings about the MeToo Movement. I hesitate to support ANY movement that relies heavily on the court of public opinion. I worry about the history we all have and how sharp this social edge is at cutting down men (and women) who stand accused of any transgression. At the same time, I understand this is the reaction when sexual assault (verbal or physical) is simply swept under the rug for decades. 

It scares me a little making me wonder if I ever pushed something too far. I think of jobs were I work with men and we goof off telling stories but having female coworkers nearby. They participated in the tales but I feel a dreadful concern that one or more of them simply played along trying not to make a fuss. Perhaps I made someone feel uncomfortable online at some point in the past. 

Lord knows I was a victim myself to a young stalker who drove past my work taking pics and texting the line “LOL. I know where you work”. I was only able to make her stop harassment when she texted things like she was gonna lie to the police and send me to jail and I replied back with the screenshots of the whole conversation making her think how they (the police) might react when I share the text logs (clearly she didn't think her grand plan thru). I also endured a few indecent encounters with drunk women (usually on Saint Patricks Day) when I wear my kilt to the bar and they lift the edge to get a peek. I politely laughed it off and brush their hand away trying to ignore the fact they were we attempting to see if I was wearing the kilt authentically. 

When you’re the victim of something like this you know it in your core that people were mistreating you. I know I never groped a woman, physically assaulted anyone or flashed myself but have I made improper jokes and I hope I never made anyone feel uncomfortable.

In the end, the MeTooMovement is a good thing. It needs to evolve into the next stage taking on a political form where it becomes not just a hashtag and social media post but evolve into real-world policy and social change that adjusts how men treat women in society (and the occasional female on male transgression). We can all do a little better and MeToo has the momentum to perhaps create a lasting social change by creating consent and decency program that could be taught both in schools and also in adult careers. 

Women in Politics (Link)

I touched base with this topic before and I am pretty comfortable in my position. We don’t need more women in politics, we need more Smart Women in politics (and for that matter, we could do with some smarter men as well). Women make roughly between 20 to 30% of the leadership positions in government. Champions like Lee, Clinton, Warren, and Collins make up some of the smartest women in politics and bring a character with them that makes not only Washington better but the whole country better.

The reason why I make the distinction between “More Smart Women in Politics” and just “More Women in Politics” because of women like DeVos, Palin, Bachmann, and Sanders exist. Really just stupid stupid people who don’t know nor care about the long-term effect of their policies and their divisive rhetoric. We could do better than the likes of them and I hope this 2018 election brings a wave of strong/smart women who will balance out this government to something more representing of the country... 50/50. 

NOTE: Preferably a BLUE wave of strong women.

Conclusion

I handpicked these topics because they relate to women's issues. By no means are these topics the only thing women care about but they connect deeply with feminism. As I said above if there is something you care for me to add to the list and hear my personal views/beliefs then shoot me a note. If we do not agree 100% on a topic I ask you to reflect on what I write before writing a hot worded post. If you have an opposing or slightly different view on a subject and think I could benefit from hearing a feminine take on a topic, by all means, share your post (and links to information). I am always evolving in my opinions and alternative views with thoughtful insight commonly shift my views. As always thanks for reading.

Regards Michael California

[survivingthejungle]

I Surrender

did i get the title from that one song by hillsong? absolutely. i love my terrible, narcissistic, sociopathic solipsist with a god complex. i also love my mullet wearing evil baby boy. its a problem. here u go enjoy

___

”Aw, shit. I think I’m in love.” Summer was over, school was back in session, and the students of Derry High School were less than ecstatic, to understate it. Same faces, as always; when you live in the same, small New England town your whole life, everyone knows everyone (whether they want to or not). Or, at least, that was the policy until you showed up. It was as if a sudden jolt of energy suddenly surged through the building; everyone seemed to automatically sense that there was a new girl in their midst. The Bowers Gang, situated at their usual place below the steps, watched the students shuffle into school with glaring eyes. When Henry himself set his eyes on you, all sorts of thoughts rushed through his head. “I say we go give our new classmate a proper introduction. Don’t you, boys?” he smirked.

”Oh, this’ll be fun,” Patrick agreed. He never ceased to amaze himself. What fun he’d have figuring out your place in his little world! Like all others, you’d soon learn to bend to his will. Everyone did, why should you be any different? “And where are you headed to this fine morning, little dove?” he asked as they approached you, daring to place his arm around you shoulder.

Oh, no, you thought. Not this early. “Okay, no.” You threw his arm off your shoulders; the others scoffed or “ooooh’d.” “Go bother some other poor soul. I don’t put up with this.” You pushed through the wall of people blocking you; a lanky, bleach blond, a heavier boy with a snapback oh his head, and another tall blond with a mullet.

”Watch how you talk to my friend there, babe,” mullet guy said. He walked up to you, getting in your face, until you were backed into a tree trunk with nowhere to go. The other lanky tall boy, the one with dark hair, got up in your space from the side. Starting to panic, throat closing up, you grabbed your Miraculous Medal handing off of your necklace and drew your closed fists to your chest.

”Well now, what’s this?” the creepy boy to your side asked. Grabbing your hands and trying to pry them open, he smirked even wider when you yanked away from him, desperately searching for a way out. “Oh, come on now, you don’t trust me? I don’t bite… sometimes,” he winked. He was right up in your face now, though the blond was still in front of you. He got closer and closer, forcing his leg between yours so you could barely move.

”You’re pretty. I’m gonna have fun with you,” he whispered, face almost touching yours. You closed your eyes shut and turned your head away from the both of them. “Whatcha think, Pat? I say we keep her,” he smirked.

”Please get away from me.” Your voice was barely audible and you sounded like you were about to cry. the boys got a kick out of that. “I’m not confortable with this. Please just leave me alone.”

”Now why would we wanna do that, dove? You’re just too much fun,” spoke the one now identified as “Pat”. He reached his hand into the bag still resting on your shoulder, and pulled out your beloved Bible; the edges were worn and there were multicolored tabs sticking out all over the place. The only things still perfectly intact were the golden engraving that read “HOLY BIBLE” and the message of spiritual salvation written inside. “Oh no,” he laughed, “Look what we got here boys! God’s little prude!”

Mullet boy grinned and chuckled. “Damn! She’s a Jesus freak? Oh, this just got so much better.”

Pat (which, you assumed, was short for Patrick) got up close to you again. “I can’t wait to show you a good time later, babe. I’ll have you on your knees worshiping me, and your ‘God’ can watch.”

This was the tipping point. You could handle the mockery and the bullying for your faith. You knew that there was a place for you in the Kingdom of God when all was said and done, and what people said to try to hurt you would never be able to take the love of God away from you. But you would not sit idly by and let some bullies disrespect you God, your creator, your father, your infinite love, your savior, and theirs (whether they believed in him or not).

“Don’t ever speak about my Savior like that EVER again. I don’t care if you mock me, I don’t care if you bully me, I don’t care if you antagonize me every day until I leave this town. You do not EVER disrespect my faith. I’ll pray for you through the intercession of ALL the saints and angels, because ‘my God’ is a faithful and forgiving God. But I am not going to let you blaspheme His name to my face. Now leave me alone and give me back my Bible!” you finished, snatching it out of Patrick’s hand before any of them had the chance to come back with a rebuttal.

”Dude…” Vic started, as they watched her quickly pacing toward the front door, “That was kinda hot.”

The day went by for you relatively quickly. You thankfully had no classes with those awful boys who had been harassing you that morning. Other than that and having to introduce yourself/be introduced in every class and then having to be seated in the middle of a bunch of people you’d never met, your day was not bad. Some sophomore in your English class even had the kindness to talk to you and make you feel less out of place. (His name was Bill, he said, and the school had let him skip a level of English because he tested out of it.) When you heard on the afternoon announcements that they were beginning auditions for the fall play (The Crucible, one you’d already done before, and one you enjoyed), you made a mental note to check out the department.

Heading out for the day through the big double doors, your eyes flitted to all of your surroundings, the thought of having to face that terrible group of boys again scaring you like nothing else. You glanced over to the far end of the quad at the same time Bill waved to you, smiling. “Have a good night, (Y/N)!” he yelled, before turning back to his friends.

One boy with dark hair and thick glasses let his jaw drop when you actually waved back and said, “Thanks Bill, you too!”

You were startled by a voice jumping out of nowhere. “Oh, really now, bird? St- st- stuttering Bill? You’d rather spend your precious time with him?” It was Patrick again. You internally cringed, but kept a straight-faced façade. “You know,” he said, circling about you like a vulture, “My offer still stands.” He gave you a wink before backing you into the wall below the steps, hands on either side of your head. He rested one arm above your head and his hand shot down to grab yours. If some random bystander had happened to walk by the two of you, they might’ve even mistaken you for sweethearts.

But the both of you knew this wasn’t so.

His hand clasped around yours, he drew it up to his chest. Leaning down, he whispered in your ear, “I can teach you how to pray.” Faces almost touching, reminiscent of the encounter from that morning, you received a devilish grin. If you weren’t so absolutely mortified, you might’ve even considered his smile to be a lovely one.

”I know how to pray just fine, thank you. Maybe someone ought to teach you.” With that, you kicked him in his right shin. Dropping your hand and bending over to nurse his wounded leg (and ego, no doubt), you ran off across the street and turned the corner to the nearest church. You hurried inside, blessing God that people were currently receiving Reconciliation.

You sat in a pew towards the back, waiting for the rest of the ley people to confess their sins before you did. You prayed and prayed, asking the Trinity to forgive you for your violent outburst. You prayed for the boys who harassed you. You prayed for Bill. And you prayed just a little extra bit more for Patrick. And then you were the only one left to confess to the priest.

”Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been… about 2 weeks since my last confession,” you said as you sat down behind the screen, not quite ready yet to be seen by this priest. “I’ve been especially bitter today. And I held onto a grudge I know I shouldn’t’ve. And I kicked a boy just before I came here. I’ve had a tough day. I know that’s not an excuse, but it is true.”

”Thank you for your confession. We all have tough days. And it’s especially easy for us to sin on those days. But I believe it takes good self discipline and a strong faith in God for you to be so prompt in confessing these sins. Usually, it takes people a couple of weeks, or months, or they never to it at all. So props to you!” he chuckled, and you did too.

”I have a feeling, Father, you might be hearing from me often. Not that I want to sin, but… there’s a boy at school. A mean boy. He and his friends mock me and they harass me for my faith. The boy I kicked? He was being… obscene, and blasphemous and… oh gosh, I must sound so self-righteous. I know that’s not a reason to hurt someone but I… I panicked. So I kicked him and I ran straight here because I just felt so awful about it. The worst part is, I know it will just be worse tomorrow.”

”This boy sounds like he could use some prayers.”

”I pray for him. I prayed for him just now, as I was waiting. And his friends. They think I’m weird, but… if nothing else, it makes me feel better. And I know that God is listening to what I say, even if they don’t.”

”Right you are about that. Look, you are obviously very regretful of what you’ve done. And you sure sound like you’ll try not to do it again. And God loves to see that in people. Go say an Our Father, a Hail Mary, and a Glory Be. I absolve you of your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

You returned to your pew in the back corner, quietly finished your penance, gathered up your belongings, and left. Walking out the door to the front steps, you checked your watch. It was about 5 P.M. now. You trekked back to the school parking lot to grab your car and head home; your mother was worried sick by now, you knew.

You were hit by an intrusive thought when your car finally came into view. What if you see those terrible boys again? You prayed that you wouldn’t. You were already so drained and didn’t want to go through the trouble of being harassed by those boys again.

And you were suddenly hit with a passage from a book you once read. “Everything that happens once can never happen again. But what happens twice will surely happen a third time.” And unfortunately, the book was right.

”Oh look! God’s little prude came back to hang with us!” Gross. That blonde mullet boy. Oh well, you thought, the lesser of two evils. He and his posse must’ve been smoking in his car just before you arrived; he smelled thickly of smoke and had a cigarette hanging between his fingers.

He grinned smugly, walking closer and closer to you, the other bleach blond and the larger boy following him a few steps behind. “You gave Patty-boy quite the kick earlier. Had to go home to ice it. It’ll probably be bruised by tomorrow. You’re not as perfect as you pretend to be, huh?”

He was right in front of you now, but you weren’t entirely cornered. You weren’t backed up against your car and there were a few inches between you and him. “I never said I was perfect. I know I’m not perfect. I’m human. I hope your friend feels better. Tell him I said sorry.” You turned and unlocked your car, desperate to get away from this boy who apparently was such a heavy smoker a cloud seemed to be following him around; you could barely breathe.

He grabbed your arm roughly. “Now why would I do that when you can come on and tell him yourself?” He nodded his head over to a blue Trans Am. “Why don’t you come on with us? We’ll have a good time.”

”I don’t think so. I have better things to do than willingly get into a car with a bunch of boys who I barely know, who’ve been harassing me all day. Thanks for the offer, though.”

You opened your door, got in, and closed it, setting your bag and your book in the passenger seat. Pulling out of your spot, you got a quick glance at the three of them walking back to their own car. Hooligans, you thought.

The next day, to your surprise as well as theirs, you sought them out first. You marched right up to Patrick and said, without a hint of hesitation, “Sorry for kicking you in the leg. I hope you’re okay.

He gave you a strange look before grinning down at you. “Nah. I thought it was pretty kinky, actually. Maybe next time we fool around we see what other kinda stuff you’re into,” he suggested, like a creep. Any pleasantness in your expression vanished.

”Okay. Goodbye.” You turned on your heel and went to walk away before, once again, a hand grabbed your arm and pulled you back.

Backing you into the side of the steps, he brushed some stray hairs out of your face before grabbing your chin and forcing you into a rough kiss.

Your first kiss. And you didn’t like it at all.

Making an exasperated noise, you pushed against his chest, urging him to back off. “DUDE! What the heck? That was so not okay! That’s literally sexual assault? Don’t you know how messed up that is?” you outburst. Needless to say, you were not going to deal with this in a calm, civil manner. You were enraged.

Patrick, however, was having a field day. By far, you must’ve been the best creation his brain had ever come up with. If he were any other person, he might’ve even said “She can’t be real,” but he knew that was already the case. At any rate, toying with you was the highlight of his day, without a doubt. “Aw, come on babe, don’t act like you didn’t like it. Don’t you love the rush you get when you know you just committed a sin?”

The smarmy bastard, you thought, quickly apologizing to Jesus for your outburst as well as bad language. “Let’s get one thing straight- I didn’t sin just now. That was you. All you. And I’m leaving now.”

“Better hope your boyfriend Billy don’t hear about this! I’d hate for him to get his little heart broke!” You looked back at him and merely rolled your eyes. “Or your other boyfriend Henry! You know, he hates competition!” But by this time you were up the stairs and ito the building. Today was going to be a long day.

And this was going to be a long year.

______________________

Hola chicas!! I’m not really sure what this is but I mean if y’all want more then I can make more.

And maybe if i do that then it will start to make more sense.

In case you can’t tell, my worst habit is trying to make my fics short, when in all honesty they’re gonna end up being like entire novelas.

Anyways feedback is greatly appreciated!!!

PLEASE reblog if u enjoy dis trash I love validation

AND PLEASE request anything u want i need to write more and i love u all

[hannahlady]

all of the sweet ask prompts, bih. 💖

You big sweetheart, your gonna pull a long post outta me, huh? I’ll skip the ones I already answered

smooth- do you like classical music

Yeah! Well, like any music there’s some I like and some I don’t care for. I really like Chopin though.

baby- do you want to be a parent

Yeah! One of these days. I think it would be cool to influence the lives of little humans for the better.

courage- are you a strong athlete

I used to be! High school I ran track and field and was the 2nd fastest hurdler. I was very proud of my calves. Now-a-days I don’t get out very much at all

lovely- what’s the adjective you use when people ask “how are you”

Goooo~oood how are you?

cutie- what’s your favorite orange thing

Orange creamsicles 💘

skin- do you want any tattoos

I like the aesthetic of tattoos but I wouldn’t get any for myself for religious reasons

pictures- is art important to you in any way

LMAO

stars- use one word to describe space

Ominous

religion- do you practice religion - what religion if so

I’m a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, more commonly known as “Mormons”

one- are you a competitive person

Ummmm…. Yes. But I like to think that I’m a pleasant loser

makeup- what is your most heavily used makeup product

Probably my foundation. I really don’t put on makeup very often cause it’s such a hassle

sheets- how many blankets do you sleep with

Right now? Two comforters

chalk- what subject are you best at in school

Lmao art and electives.

blush- are you easily embarrassed

Yeah dude! But i take it in stride. I farted really loud in front of my whole class on the first week of school and made my teacher cry from laughter

water- when was the last time you cried

Girl… Like…. I dunno… A few days ago? I can’t remember. I almost cried today but it was fine

karma- do you believe in luck

I don’t think anyone is inherently lucky or unlucky, if that’s what this is asking?? There’s no luck to gambling, also

lips- what is your favorite thing to taste

Oooohhhhh uhhhhh, sugar dipped strawberries 🍓

cupcake- cookies, pie, ice cream or cake

Is cheesecake a cake or a pie?

night- how many hours of sleep do you get

Okay time is an illusion and I don’t have school or work right now so I’m getting like 10 hours of sleep on the reg, but when I’m at school, I’m getting like 5-7 hours of sleep, or no sleep cause I’m a disaster

[0team-universe0]

First Day

Another Fricking year, Toria’s red joggers padded against the asphalt as she walked to the gate of headstone-Lane Academy. After nine years of walking this path she knew the drill. Approach the desk attendant, usually a bitter lady friendly only to the golden children, a group Toria prided herself on having no membership to. Give her name and get your class schedule, lunch number and room key. This school was number one in the country in meta-human and government espionage training. If you had any desire to work as a hero you had better be a student here. 

You would think that a school full to the brim of geniuses and physically perfect specimens would be different from every other school in America. But it really wasn’t. It didn’t matter if they were the future astronauts and superheroes or the future mechanics and chairs. The whole world revolves around cliques. It reminded Toria of the United Nations, Some cliques were relatively nice and others acted like dictators. They had allying relationships, the jocks liked the popular girl, the book worms tolerated the av club. It was all terribly confusing and ridiculous to accept a 15 year old to be able to navigate. 

The Popular girls were the worst in Toria’s opinion. If she had a group, which she didn’t they would be public enemy number one. It irked Toria how they got away with everything. They weren’t great people but they were honored like the next saints of the Roman Catholic Church. It shouldn't bother her like this, but it hurts when you get chewed out for something and a pretty girl gets nothing but a warning for the exact same shit. Why did the girls who looked like plastic get treated better than her?

Toria was staring, she admitted it. She was staring at them all the silver haired witch(Yes a girl with magical abilities, although the other definition fit too.)The red headed naga. But her attention was caught by a new girl. She was a petite girl, with long platinum blond hair and neatly trimmed bangs. She wore a pastel pink dress that wouldn’t have looked uncommon in a nineteen fifties period piece. She was flirting with three guys at once, in front of each other, what baffled Toria was why all of them put up with it. Something about her seemed juxtaposed like a leaf of poison Ivy in a bouquet of roses. Not weird just out of place. It made Toria stop a minute, she couldn’t explain why this girl bothered her so. She looked like a bimbo, yes, but somehow there was a carnivorous edge to her. A predator, wearing eyeliner. 

Toria was broken from her trance by Tigeris, her long time friend. 

“Hey, whatcha’ starin’ at?” Tigeris asked excitedly tapping her friend on her shoulder.

“Just that girl.” Toria answered

“Her...Don’t tell me you’re looking for a date, not only is she absolutely not your type I’m pretty sure she doesn't swing that way.” Tigris comedically over exaggerated glare found Toria.

“No stripes, I have a bad feeling about her.”

“That’s what you said about the guy at the slushy place.”

“I mean it, I think I know her.”

“You’re imagining it, you’ve fought so many villains every threatening girl with a weird haircut looks the same to you.” Tigeris moved to hang on Toria’s shoulders in an attempt to distract her. Toria reciprocated by placing her hand over Tigeris’s. 

“Yeah Yeah…” Tigreris was a random person. Some days her only interest was in convincing Toria to binge terrible movies with her and others all she wanted to do was put the boys into headlocks during gym class. You never knew what she would do next. Today her plans seemed to include trying to get Toria to skip her mission and do something with her. The shoulder touching was a pretty clear indicator of that. And Toria’s decision not to push her off was how Toria said she was considering it. 

Toria managed to gently guide Tigris off her and started again on her journey to the front desk. In a way this was easy because she had done this so many times but in another way it was very hard. She didn’t like the way she had alienated herself, all she did was pull pranks and tell everyone who couldn’t handle that (99.9% of the school) to f-off. But the thought of forcing herself into the role of a pretty and perfect barbie doll made her sick.

“Zap, Toria. Human-special forces. Mission Status Active.” Same eight words as every year. The school housed a variety of meta-humans as well as weapon engineers and super spies, hundreds of people all training for the chance to be a hero.

Toria already had a pass from her supervisor, Brian the wondrous Phoenix. She had been his sidekick since she was five years old. Climbing out from under his shadow was more difficult than facing down any villain, more dangerous than stopping a bullet or out running a speeding locomotive. The pass he signed let her out of class forced her teachers to give her an exemption from tests, homework, and class projects. It really wasn’t fair to the kids that had made it in on their own merit and not because they were the sidekick to a big name. But she needed to take every chance she got to subdue evil, whether it was fair or not if she could help others she would. 

Yeah her teachers would use this as an excuse to hate her but they would learn to hate her no matter what. She ran in the same circles as all the perfect students but she wasn’t into it. She would much rather put a tack on a chair than an apple on a desk. 

Toria descended the front steps as she started her first Mission of the new year.

[viewfromthedrumstool]

View From The Drum Stool #49

Saint Etienne European Tour, Part I

Albeit not fully recovered from the American tour, the drum stool beckons me back for another run with Saint Etienne. This time it’s Europe: we’ll start with some Scandi dates, head home for a week, and then do a second run south from Helsinki.

All too early on a frosty autumnal Monday morning we meet in east Oxfordshire, five persons and enough keyboards, guitars and musical equipment to open a shop. Our ride to the airport is with friendly South-African taxi driver ‘DimiPapaUk’ who, when he isn’t driving customers in his cab uses it to host ‘taxi raves’ which he broadcasts live on the Internet. (Catchphrases include “Love, peace and muthafuckin’ chicken-grease” and “Ahhhhhhhhhhhh SHIT!”). His YouTube channel is really worth a look…

There’s an extensive (and intrusive) renovation being undertaken at Luton airport which makes the process of passing through the facility painful and uncomfortable. Like a gallstone. We locate the rest of our party on a concourse littered with sleeping families and workmen heaving: it’s a scene from a news report put to a soundtrack of pneumatic drills and circular saws.

Beyond security the nomads and crowds loiter, the type of people that you don’t seem to find anywhere else and I wonder whether they’re actually travelling anywhere or whether Luton airport is simply the place these people come to quietly exist, freed from citizenship, like Tom Hanks in The Terminal.

Most of the flight (2 hrs) I spend sleeping or reading (Cider With Rosie) and eventually we touchdown in Copenhagen to be met by our man-on-the-ground Leuven.

He looks more like he belongs at sea than in the music industry, decked in thick woollen jumper with a magnificent scar on his cheek and at least two teeth missing. I sit up front with him in the rental van for his guided tour of the city as we make the short journey to the venue. He’s an enthusiastic host and a knowledgeable tour guide, if only he didn’t insist on poking me constantly with his calloused sea fingers every time he speaks.

“Hey man look at all the copper roofs!” A jab to the chest.

“37% of our citizens cycle to work!” He digs at my rib.

“Check out this church - it’s non-denominational!” He bruises my wind pipe.

I make a mental note to sit in the back next time.

One of the interesting and unusual things about Copenhagen is that they have the worlds second-oldest still-active amusement park slap bang in the middle of town. Tivoli opened in 1843 and because of the limitations in space most of the rides go up and down more than they go round and round. But there are still four rollercoasters, including a wooden one that’s so old an attendant has to ride in the front carriage and operate the brakes with a lever!

The venue, Pumpehuset, is also right in the centre of town and as we roll up outside a woman waits by the stage entrance, autograph book in hand ... I recognise her! It’s the same autograph-hunter as greeted the arrival of Man Without Country in town some years back! She must have quite a collection by now.

It’s been a long day but when show time comes around we’re all excited to play together again. Given the hysterical crowds we became accustomed to Stateside it was no surprise that the Danish audience demonstrated their enthusiasm somewhat more tastefully, though they were many in number and long may that remain.

We’re staying right across the road at the Hotel Ascot, a mere stumble away after the inevitable post-show back-on-tour merriment. It’s a civilised lodging, despite some confusion over stray knickers we’ve been finding under beds and on the stairs ... maybe there’s some Scandi-noir murder mystery situation in our midst and we should be paying more attention to these saucy clues...

Breakfast is vast and a welcome change from the tasteless beige of the American hotels (I almost always skipped). Fully fuelled - and with a boiled egg in the pocket for mid-morn - we board the van and venture first east, crossing the Øresund Bridge into Sweden and then turn north.

Above us sore enormous flocks of birds in giant V formation, sometimes hundreds in number, their aerodynamic choreography a site to savour and we crane our necks to get a sight of them out of the van window.

Suddenly everything starts to look distinctly... Swedish.

Our fellow road users are positively glowing, their skin a deep orange of questionable origin. And given the number of Burger King restaurants that litter the E6 road north to Gothenburg they’re also surprisingly slim.

In a service station we find a chocolate called a Plopp and another called a Kex. They’ve a way with words the Swedes, I’ll give them that.

Almost all of the vehicles on the road are Swedish-made Volvos too, their lights beaming out come day or night in accordance with Swedish law. The road is bordered much of the way by great slabs of rock covered in subtle shades of moss and I’m sure some rich autumnal hues linger beneath if only for a decent glimmer of sunlight. It’s beginning to dawn on me how unrelentingly dark it is up here. It’s only October but already the sun doesn’t get high into the sky and the type of light that breaks through the clouds is an impotent powerless one.

The backstage at ‘Stora Teatern’ in Gothenburg is welcoming - albeit forgivably IKEA - with the kind of rider I spent most of the US tour dreaming of. EU riders are famously good - there are fresh vegetables, plentiful fruit, cheese and cured meats, boiled eggs, weird and wonderful chocolates, snacks and interesting breads, freshly brewed coffee, and of course the obligatory houmous. (Early in my career a promoter told me if there’s ever no houmous on the rider something is very very wrong, advice I’ve carried with me since). After soundcheck we also find two iced buckets full of wine, Cava and organic beers and cider, which are tasty and preferable over a mass-produced (or even micro-brewed) American effort any day.

The venue itself is among the most grand and impressive I’ve had the pleasure of playing. Originally opened in 1859, the theatre has a large floor, dress circle, upper circle, grand circle and boxes. But the entire audience are seated and once settled into the first song it’s surreal to look up and see them sat there, so serene, several hundred pairs of eyes peering up expectantly and a peal of polite applause after each song. It reminds me of the opening scenes from Wes Anderson’s The Life Aquatic.

Gerard is suitably attired for such a grandiose venue in a dashing suit with ruffled Beethoven shirt. It’s particularly fitting for the glorious baroque intro to Whyteleafe and in the dim light of the stage his black sleeves become invisible and the sight of his cuffed hands dancing across the keyboard reminds me of Thing from the Addams Family.

Albeit clearly enthusiastic, the seated crowd are slow to stir and it’s wonderful moment when a solitary girl on the front row gives in to primal urge and stands to dance through the final few songs. Thankfully by the encore I’m the only one still seated and they’re rewarded with a spirited rendition of You’re In A Bad Way.

The hotel is a boutique Italian affair and they offer check-in with cheese in the form of a huge Parmesan block which patrons are encouraged to pick at while they wait. It’s fair to say they’re enthusiastic to have Saint Etienne come to stay, and they produce an LP from behind the reception desk for the band to sign. Not only do they also furnish all of our rooms with handmade chocolates, but generously decide not to charge our party of 12+ people for dinner - no meagre act considering Scandi prices…!

The following morning and we take to the road once more for the 5+ hour journey from Gothenburg across to Stockholm. The rain today is persistent and I have to keep wiping the window to remove the misty condensation that keeps forming.

Having barely been here before I had high hopes for a haul of memorable photos - perhaps Sarah by a fjord, a panoramic Scandi city scape or Bob and Pete in an epic Nordic vista. In reality there’s been so little in the way of mere colour since we arrived, and the journey is again notably devoid of any hue: even at 1pm there’s barely enough light in the van to read a book. I’m starting to crave a bright colour: perhaps a firey orange or a rich red.

(In desperation I try changing my specs to a different pair but it makes no difference.)

Todays gas station discovery is a CD called RASTERBILLERSHITS Vol.2. But as intrigued as I am to know what a Rastterbillershits sounds like, everything is expensive in Sweden of course and I wasn’t prepared to stake the £22 to find out.

Instead I plug into my iPad where there are albums of Eagles songs and a playlist of country music from our recent tour of the USA ... it’s difficult to comprehend that mere weeks ago we were in sunny California - the cultures couldn’t be further apart (other than the abundance of Burger Kings). I settle on Black Celebration by Depeche Mode instead.

After what feels more like 50 hours we finally disembark at ‘Sodra Teatern’, and enter a labyrinthine venue of meandering corridors, claustrophobic catacombs and anti-chambers too numerous to keep track of. Unable to find anything that constitutes a music venue I find myself instead stumbling into a kitchen deep in the heart of the operation. A sous chef busy shaving cucumbers is pleased to have a companion - he shouts some things in Swedish, poses for a photo and directs me down some stairs, through a passageway and I eventually emerge into the backstage.

The rider tonight includes some interesting additions including a repulsive-looking repulsive-tasting appropriately-named Swedish sweet called Salt Skum. Ever the experimental eater, Pete tries combining it with other rider-items (banana, carrot stick, cheese) in a bid to make to find a companion flavour that might make it more edible but to no avail.

After soundcheck we’re led up to a restaurant on the top floor where we’re served four courses of nouvelle vegetarian fare. It’s utterly delicious and a somewhat more successful attempt at flavour fusion that combines, at various times, coconut foams, raw mushrooms, nuts and spices, and a slice of hot pineapple, all served on clay plates.

I hadn’t seen anything of the crowd before we walked on stage and though I’d heard the show had sold well it was a pleasant surprise to walk on and find a room packed to the rafters, bursting with excitement, people up the stairs and on the balcony, necks craning just to get a glimpse of the action.

It’s another fine show and a great way to end the first short leg. The band are in fine form these days and we’ve come a long way (in every sense) since the tentative first promotional dates of the Home Counties campaign.

It’s been a whirlwind of a trip, enjoyable as always and I look forward to returning to Sweden and Denmark in the future. But the grey’d aesthetic was disappointing albeit atmospheric and I don’t hold out much hope for those few times that I did pull the trigger on my Pentax.

It’s still raining when we return to the airport the following morning. But when the plane takes off we rocket up through the clouds into a pastoral blue sky and a burst of pure golden sunlight comes streaming through the starboard porthole, bathing the cabin, flooding my retinas and laying to rest any woes, cravings and longings.

Alas, part two of the EU Tour will follow … here’s hoping for some more sunshine!

Until then,

M