#i apologize for everything i have ever posted

[alchemistc]

You never let me in, Buck sends, two of three sheets fully winded, and when he kicks his leg over the coffee table he nearly knocks over three empties.

They do this thing, right? Buck gets upset and before the tears can fall, because he's cried too many fucking times already, he makes himself angry. Picks at something that has come up every time he's done a post-mortem on the last six months.

And then he sends that shit to Tommy. Because - because who the fuck else is he supposed to talk to about it? The guy who'd sucked him off in the hallway of a nightclub two weeks ago? The woman who'd spent an hour quietly helping Buck understand that yeah, he was very much bi, and yeah, some people did not like that shit? Maddie, or Chim, or Hen or Eddie, who still might interact with him on the job? Bobby? Fuck, not Bobby.

Bobby who'd blinked at Buck and offered platitudes and apologized to Buck like it was somehow his fault Tommy was good people but he was the kind of good people who just walked out on something that could have been something.

I should have pushed more. I know I should have. I just thought since I was trying to share everything, you were too.

My mistake.

Three months and Buck isn't over it. He's far enough into the mourning process that he thinks this one is always gonna sting, and not for the reasons Tommy thinks.

That's not fair. I'm sorry.

The texts get delivered. Tommy reads them. Buck's had read receipts on since the first time Tommy went quiet on a call and Buck freaked out a little - but back then they were still working towards something. Back then, sometimes Tommy would pull out his phone and open the thread just to give Buck sign of life.

He was always doing that. Heading shit off at the pass.

Buck had just never realized he'd be able to do it to hurt him, just as well as take care of him.

Every four weeks like clockwork Buck gets a response. He has no fucking idea why it's four weeks, what the third Thursday of the month has to do with Tommy feeling gracious enough to give Buck some clarity. He'd never known enough about Tommy, is the thing he's coming around to. He'd done everything he could to bring Tommy in, make him a part, and Tommy had let him. Tommy had distracted him with quippy words and a clever tongue and with being so fucking willing to be integrated into Buck's life that Buck just - hadn't noticed.

No one will say it, but he Bucked It Up in the worst kind of way.

He's waited until Third Thursday to send these texts. He actually hasn't sent anything at all, until this moment, and he wonders if Tommy noticed. If he cared. Tommy picks and chooses from Buck's random thoughts, parses out details like he's reading from a manual and Buck is off topic two thirds of the time. Buck doesn't actually know why he's been answering, all this time. He wonders if, in the last four weeks of silence, he thought he was finally done with Buck.

He wonders if it had hurt.

Buck sets his phone down to stand, skating across to the kitchen in his socks for the pizza rolls in the oven.

His diet is shit. His body feels like crap. He's one more drunken nights sleep on the couch away from emptying the rack in his fridge down the drain and giving sobriety a try. The last person he'd slept with had hinted that they'd prefer not to use condoms and Buck had almost let them.

Buck has worth. He knows he does. It's just sometimes when he remembers that every person he's ever loved has either walked out on him or let him walk away when he needed them, he struggles to find that worth.

His life has meaning, and all that jazz.

Buck sort of wonders if Tommy hasn't finally blocked his number, as he tosses a too-hot pizza roll in his mouth and huffs on the lava cheese burning his tongue. After the last message Buck had sent, three weeks ago, he wouldn't exactly be surprised.

(This is basically just an unhinged grief journal with an unreliable second narrator. Do you know what it's like to realize you're still in love with someone who never let you know them?)

There's been no response to that. Fair. Buck hadn't even actually said the words. No, he'd jumped right into the sharing a life part, cart before the horse as always when emotions were high.

The pizza rolls get tipped onto a plate and are immediately swimming in the heavy pour of ranch he'd prepared after he set the oven to preheat.

It cools them off a lot quicker than popping a hole in each seam and waiting.

It's been eight years since Buck has really even thought about that little trick.

When he opens his phone there's no response. No receipt. Just stark words waiting to be acknowledged.

I gave you my family, Tommy. You didn't even introduce me to your team at Harbor.

It's startling to realize after the fact. He doubts Tommy had meant it that way, but he'd basically spent six months being love bombed only to have the rug ripped right out from under his feet.

And yet. Months later and he still wants to know. Know why. Know how he could have done it, with tears in his eyes, with full awareness that it was already gonna hurt. Know Tommy - anything he'd part with, really, that wasn't something every random acquaintance also knew.

Cool, he'd been jealous of what Buck and the 118 had. (Buck had tried to give him that. Or at least he thought he had.)

Great, he didn't talk to his dad and Gerrard was a shitty captain. (Buck had spent an hour once explaining the first time he and his dad had spoken about Daniel without screaming at each other. Tommy had listened to the rants about Gerrard and offered physical comfort and a 'sounds like him' and Buck had just been so relieved to have an ally amongst the 'life is just like this sometimes' crowd that he'd never examined that.)

He was a Kinsey six who'd been engaged to the first woman Buck had ever really loved and they'd never dug deeper than that.

And Buck had apparently interpreted some of the shit he'd said that night wrong, but he still doesn't think it's fucking fair that Tommy can't trust him to know his own fucking mind well enough to know he hates sleeping around and he'd found the sort of connection he was looking for. He'd found it. Even with the lack of reciprocation. Even with the quiet behind Tommy's eyes that he'd never let Buck in on. Even with the -

His phone buzzes on the coffee table.

Can we talk?

Buck kinda hates those words in that order now. They'd been the start of something twice, but they'd always been leading to an end, if Tommy had his way.

Once every four weeks, apparently, Buck sends back and takes a vicious bite.

His phone chimes with an incoming call.

Buck stares at the name he hasn't had the stomach to remove the little heart from. Lets it ring through to voicemail and then shoves three more pizza rolls into his mouth and doesn't care if they burn off his taste buds.

His phone rings again.

"What?"

"I'm outside your building. Didn't want to make any assumptions that I'd be welcome without asking first."

Buck can feel his ribs cracking under the lurch of angry laughter. "What the hell?"

"Well the parking around here is miserable again, so I figure that's a sign."

"Are you driving right now?"

"Hands off. I'm on Bluetooth. So. Should I circle the building a fifth time or call it now and go home?"

Buck gets stuck on fifth time.

There's no way he hadn't been driving since at least before Buck sent that first text.

Buck sighs. There's absolutely no reason to be hopeful about that. For all he knows, Tommy has just decided dousing any residual flames is just another thing he has to do in person.

"My Jeep's in the shop. I'll buzz you into the garage."

Tommy's silent for a long, long moment. The quip comes anyway. "I keep telling you that thing is a money pit."

"I'm not really feeling the flirty banter, right now, Tommy, so maybe just let me know when you're at the gate."

He does. He hangs up the phone twenty seconds later with a plain "See you soon."

Buck doesn't have time to change. Fix his hair. Hide the sheet pan with half a dozen pizza rolls still laying on it, because he'd cooked way too many again.

(He could absolutely do one of these things but if Tommy's gonna throw this at him, he's getting every little slovenly habit Bucks's picked up since he walked out that door.)

The knock comes while Buck's shoving the last two rolls on his plate into his mouth.

He's still chewing with his mouth open to blow out the steam when he swings the door open, and Buck feels the first inklings of pleasure ripple through him at the sight of Tommy.

He looks like shit.

"You look like shit."

Tommy's brow ticks up. He stares pointedly at the glob of not-cheese that's going to absolutely ruin this sweatshirt.

"That tends to happen when you spend an hour in an armchair two sizes too small picking at trauma you've been hiding from your therapist for six years."

Buck opens the door wider. Holy crap. Tommy might legitimately be more fucked up than Buck.

Tommy's smile is strained. "Can I come in?"

Buck holds his gaze. His eyes are a little red. He's got a red spot along the side of his neck, like he's been rubbing at it. Buck only recognizes it as a comforting motion because he's replayed him doing it half a million times right before he ended things.

"Depends. Is this the last time you respond to my mean, rude, asshole texts for an hour after therapy rubs you raw?" Third Thursday Therapy, is apparently what does it. Buck is - god. He just wants -

"God, I hope not," Tommy says, and Buck takes a step to the side to let Tommy in.

[chaoskirin]

You know what's funny is I've warned against some of the shit this site shills as OK. It was so enraging like 6 or 7 years ago when I posted something like "yeah never leaving someone alone after they fuck up is probably bad actually" and got called... IDK the word at the time, but something like an apologist.

And again, I'm gonna point this out: Seeing everything in black and white with no greys in the middle IS THE PROBLEM. Not just "A" problem, but THE problem among leftists.

I'm gonna go ahead and use Arin Hanson as an example again, because there's drama about him on Twitter again, but people still want to "remind" his fans about the stupid shit he did in his life ten or more years ago. You don't have to do that, I fucking promise. You don't. You don't have to like him or be his biggest stan if you don't want to, but CHRIST. Shut the fuck up. You HAVE to give people room to change and grow, or what is this all for?

"But what if ______ said something racist?"

Are they actively doing it now? Are they doing racist things? Are they causing harm? No? Then SHUT UP. You don't have to tell everyone who posts about _______ that they said something stupid 10 years ago.

I also follow someone on Twitter who fucked up in a huge way and JUST posted some racist shit. It was unintentional and came from a place of severe misinformation, and he apologized as soon as he realized he fucked up and even RT'd the people who corrected him, but there are STILL PEOPLE commenting on his posts with "are you going to address this" and... just fucking SHUT UP. There is a really clear line between holding someone accountable and harassment. You HAVE to learn to tell the difference.

And I can't believe I have to say this because someone will misconstrue this, but holding people accountable is good. It is. I get it. You want to point things out and demand better. That is good for society. But if you see people have already pointed it out by the dozens, or sometimes hundreds, you can just... not support that person.

There's this thing on the internet where if you don't explicitly state that you DON'T support something, then you MUST support it. And those people also need to shut the fuck up. Sometimes it's the dogpiling that pushes people away from reflection, especially when there are also a ton of comments that say things like "don't listen to them. If you ever need to talk, I'm here."

Who do you think that person is going to for help? The person calling them horrible, or the person offering them comfort?

I fully expect to get asshole asks like "oh so you support racism" and here's a pre-emptive "fuck you" for deliberately misinterpreting what I'm saying. Unfollow and block me rather than sending me dipshit asks.

I'm done with all of you.

I'm especially done with the pissants who saw me say "Kamala Harris is probably better for the country than Donald Trump" and sent me asks saying I was a fucking genocide apologist. You see what your bullshit got you? Fuck you. Now we have someone who'll not only support the Palestinian genocide, but will likely do other terrible shit, as well. And even though Palestinians begged you to vote for Kamala Harris, you just had to virtue signal to the world that you were just so gosh darn progressive.

I am saying this all from the bottom of my heart. Stop pushing people away. Stop seeking perfection in every person on the internet. You will NEVER find it, and not only will you spend your life angry, but you'll spend your life fucking things up for everyone else.

posts about the alt-right pipeline being compassionate towards young men while radical leftists shun and shame them are not fucking saying "the men are becoming violent because feminists are too mean!" and if that is your takeaway you need to get off tumblr until you've better honed your critical thinking skills.

those posts are talking about how effective the language and approach you take in your activism can be. this is literally cult deprogramming 101. if someone is being taken in by a violent or dangerous group, that violent or dangerous group is usually offering them compassion and solace while working hard to convince them everyone else in the world is their enemy. you are under no obligation to coddle or act compassionate toward these men and their violent ideologies, but if you have the means to try, it is something that you can do to make a tangible difference.

radicalized people are often only one loving friend or family member or external voice away from being de-radicalized. of course that is not always the case, but it very often is. a lot of y'all rightfully understand that you do not carry the burden of being that voice, but a lot of y'all also have a lot of internalized ideas about morals and punitive justice and have simply written off these people as deserving of only the worst and not worth saving.

ten years ago, my grandmother was a fox news watching republican who voted red in every election and very well could have fallen down the qanon rabbit hole if not for me and her daughter challenging her compassionately, walking her through hypotheticals that validated her feelings & proving why they were false, & being patient with her despite our extreme division in political ideology. it was frustrating fucking work! but i decided i wanted to do it, because i could see the horizon and i could see me making a difference!

"misogynists have been saying feminists are too mean for years, get new material" that is not the fucking POINT. the point is that you, feminist, can be the compassionate voice that guides your brother, your father, your cousin, your grandfather away from fucking becoming or staying a nazi. you can show them compassion and companionship. you can be the woman they think of when their alt-right bros try to convince them that women are the enemy. and you can choose to crystallize that image of yourself so wholly in their mind's eye as worth protecting that they may very well choose to reject those harmful ideas.

it's not saying you HAVE to do it! it's saying you CAN do it! don't you 'firebomb a walmart' people all love taking change into your own hands? where the fuck is that energy right now, huh?

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Hi sex witch,

Apologies if this isn't exactly your area, but I'm a trans woman who's had a full-depth vaginoplasty, and I haven't been horny or enjoyed sex basically at all ever since. It's been more than a year and a half since I had it, I've been following all the rules for recovering from it and everything, but my sex drive is all but nonexistent. Whenever my girlfriend and I *do* have sex, I don't actually feel much sensation in/on my neovagina (still feels numb), but I *do* still get overstimulated to the point that my hands and face have a pins-and-needles sensation that doesn't go down for a while afterwards.

The surgeons said it would be normal to lose feeling immediately after, but >18 months feels too long for that to still be true. I also have gotten that pins-and-needles sensation during sex before the surgery, but never so frequently/intensely. I assume some of this is just "relearning the same activities with different equipment," but there's definitely something else going on and I just can't tell what. I'm tired of "just trying it" and then failing and having shitty sex that just makes me feel bad for myself and my girlfriend. She's *extremely* wonderful and patient about this and I'm very fortunate to have her, but it's frustrating enough for *me* in a vacuum that I just... can't bring myself to try new shit. I *want* to be able to have sex that doesn't feel awkward and bad and terrible, like I used to, but the lack of inherent motivation plus how weird and bad every effort thus far has felt is a major demotivator.

Any ideas? The very few other full-depth trans women I've spoken to have told me that they felt better after starting progesterone, but I'm on that already, so I have no idea what to do.

hi anon,

I'm super sorry to hear you're dealing with that, that sounds super frustrating and demoralizing :(

I'm afraid that surgery (of any kind) isn't really my area, and the results of a major surgery like this are likely to be so varied anyway that I wouldn't feel right trying to hazard a guess. I'm posting this in the hope that some of my followers might have had similar experiences, and have something helpful to share to fill in where I'm failing.

[1moreff-creator]

What are some dynamics (in terms of like, foils/parallels) that you enjoy in DRDT?

you’re staring at a forest and asking me for every tree i like. do you want me to write another 28k word post /lh

I jest, of course, but not about the number of interesting foils in this series. It does a fantastic job tying everyone into several key themes in ways that make their dynamics endlessly enriching for my silly little character parallel-loving brain. So, uh, get ready for a long-ish post?

CW: One mention of self-harm, self-loathing

Teruko-David: I mean, you gotta start at the center, yeah? David’s the closest thing to a “main antag” we have, and it’s no wonder; the guy’s built like a standard DR protag, obviously he’s gonna have a cool dynamic with the actual protagonist. 

These two could breathe a bit weird and somehow parallel each other doing it, that’s how much this foil permeates both their characters. From their fatalistic outlooks on the world (“my luck will always be terrible, I’ll always be betrayed” vs “people can’t change, the world sucks”), the ways they hide their feelings (Teruko was more distrustful than she first presented herself as, but cares about people more than she shows during most of CH2; while David has an entire different persona up to 2-11 and then pretends to be worse than he actually is), the self-loathing (Teruko refuses to think she could be a good person, David has the whole “inhuman” thing going on), down to the oddball sibling figure (Terubro “I know nothing about you” Tawaki vs Diana “I’m not even sure you exist” Chiem).

There’s their feelings about Xander and Min, too, which are all over the place. Obviously we all saw in 2-12 how much the British twink fucked both of them up severely, with Teruko rejecting any positive or yearning feelings she may have had about Xander (you can’t hide the cactus scene from us girl) while David vehemently defended him from any criticism. On the other side, Min is less of a narrative poltergeist (for now; XF-Ture exists), but she still comes up with them, with David calling her pathetic eleven episodes after Min hugs Teruko and Teruko’s internal monologue gives away how much she cares about the Student. 

And these parallels play into their weird-ass dynamic very well, because their beefing is founded on their similarities and their differences, out of projecting their self-loathing to someone similar at the same time they hate each other because of their disagreements on things like Xander. Crazy stuff.

Xander-Min: Mentioning these two second because they’re also Eternal Parallels. There’s almost not a single thing about these two that isn’t somehow reflected on the other. If you projected them onto each other’s direction, you would get no perpendicular component. Get it, ‘cuz they’re completely parallel- That is, by far, the nerdiest joke I’ve ever made, I apologize.

But come on. Their attitudes towards fate (the Rebel fighting it and Min resigning herself to the XF-Ture thing), the whole “holding on to the past vs wanting to move on from the past” thing, the similarities between how they actually feel about the education system (they have issues with it) contrasted with the things they actually do in respects to that (Min is still the Ultimate Student, but Xander dislikes that), their already mentioned contrasting connections to Teruko and David… Just, absolutely everything about them is a meaningful contrast. And it comes into play a lot, with their eternal beef being born largely out of these parallels. They’re awesome.

Teruko-Ace: Pretty topical for post-CH2. Ace’s entire arc is sort of a reflection of Teruko’s, yet taken to the extreme because of one particular point of contrast; Ace feared death, Teruko doesn’t think she can die. But he still basically serves as a demonstration of all the flaws in Teruko’s all mindset; the feeling of unchangeable fate, the complete lack of trust, all the good stuff. It basically allows an exploration of Teruko’s mindset from an outside perspective, which makes it easier to see the flaws in it.

Ace-Nico: Also topical, these recap foils go kinda insane. Their motives for murder, their contrasting talents (love for animals on Nico's side and fear of horses on Ace's), the way they relate to the rest of the cast, Ace's persecution complex vs Nico actively disliking how much Hu defends them, etc., it’s all very fun to see play out. 

Ace-Levi: The one who doesn’t care but protects others and tries his best to be a good person so he can be accepted in society without having issues, vs the guy that acts like an asshole because he’s scared of caring too much and he thinks the only way he can get out alive is by being the only one to survive. This leads to a fundamental misunderstanding between them that causes some of the most doomed yaoi of all time, which is the whole “Levi getting frustrated at not understanding Ace.” 

Arei-David: You’ve presumably watched 2-13, so I don’t think I need to explain all the awesome stuff that’s come from their shared themes of “good people” and self-betterment and all that. Not to mention, David’s little breakdown over Arei trusting the letter of the only friend she had being presumably born from the way he saw Xander as the only friend he had. Shit goes crazy.

Arei-Eden: Recap foils… Good people… The choice to be kind… Etc… Woah :O

Teruko-Charles: Ah, Teru’s recap foil. This one’s basically opposite of Ace’s, where Charles used to be sort of like Teruko acted in CH2, but later became a bit friendlier, if still somewhat prickly. Basically, if Ace highlights Teruko’s character traits from CH2, Charles post CH1 serves as more or less the “end goal” in a way. It goes beyond that, too, with the whole memory issues (prosopagnosia vs childhood amnesia) and, again, mysterious siblings (Terubro and Elliot what are your deals), so it’s always neat to rotate these two in the brain.

Veronika-Levi: We really don’t know too much about Vero, which always makes it a bit harder when analyzing these dynamics, but they already got some interesting points of contrast. Neither of them are particularly concerned about the deaths of the others, at least post-CH2 (Levi doesn’t grieve and Vero actively laughs at Ace’s death), but it comes from almost opposite ends of perspective. Levi doesn’t understand others because he doesn’t feel much empathy (if any at all), while Vero seems to treat the others not as people, but almost as characters to be analyzed (that’s the impression I get, at least), which makes her come off as very good at reading people but also occasionally causes her to see them as sources of entertainment first and foremost. Not to mention there’s also the fact they’re both very different people than they were in the past (Levi was some form of delinquent and now is a good person, Vero used to be outdoorsy and then no longer was). Wow that’s… more than I thought there was- How am I finding more interesting foils just by writing more???

Hu-Levi: I kinda talked about this in my CH2 PT2 analysis so read that ig.

J-Rose: A pair of recap foils who haven’t had too much yet, but a lot of their themes, in particular about fate and privilege and stuff, are pretty noticeable with them, so this is always a fun dynamic to consider.

Levi-Arturo: More recap foils, this one’s fun because of the dead family member :) Also things like their talents being related to aesthetics and both doing the things they do for a better life.

Veronika-Hu: This one’s kinda more hypothetical, since Vero in particular hasn’t had as much direct focus as other characters yet, but that’s part of what makes them fun. Past history of self-harm (even if brought on by very different feelings) is just the first of many parallels they could have, and it’s fun to see the contrast between Hu defending Nico to the ends of the Earth and Vero talking about how much she likes Arturo because of how awful he is. They’re really silly.

David-Whit: All the recap foils are fun, but I've always struggled to see this one in particular. Partly because I feel like I know less about Whit than I know about Mai :v Still, certain things like Whit ignoring anything that upsets him which connects to David constantly lying about his real feelings for his fans, which is probably what leads to David's outburst at Whit in the second trial.

Teruko-MonoTV: Because fate. Really this is here plainly because it’s just a funny as hell dynamic to even consider lol.

Teruko-Mai: Have they interacted? Has Mai had enough screen time to truly determine that this parallel truly exists? Do we even know a single theme that Mai’s character touches on for certain? No and it doesn’t matter! Because these two are clearly connected somehow and the whole “someone dearly loved - someone dearly unloved” thing makes me ill. Mai is getting mentioned in this post and you're not stopping it.

Mai-Whit: Fuck it! “We tend to idolize the dead” dynamic!!! It's very speculative, but this one’s just fun to ponder even if we have even less idea of what could be going on between the two than with Mai-Teruko.

Anyways ready for a few themes that run through a lot of characters?

David-Levi-Nico-Rose: The “feeling disconnected from the rest of humanity’s experiences” gang!!!

Min-Rose-Hu-Veronika-Arturo: The “wants to move on from the past” gang!!!

Min-Arei-Teruko-Ace: The “trying to fix mistakes” gang!!!

Teruko-David-Eden-Arei-Levi-Xander: The “what makes a good person?” gang!!!

Teruko-David-Xander-Min-J-Whit-Ace-Rose-MonoTV-Probably everyone else: Fate!!!!

And there’s more than I’m probably forgetting because I can’t possibly check every conceivable connection between these guys. At least I hope I covered most of the major ones. Thanks for the ask, these dynamics are always fun to think about!

[loveanddeepspice]

𝕋𝕖𝕞𝕡𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔾𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕖

✞ synopsis:  you've come back to the small town you grew up in for a visit. though your relationship with the catholic church and faith in general have been strained since you were younger, you find yourself drawn back to the church... or more specifically... the new priest... you aren't ready to share your secret sin with him... but you may not be able to help yourself.

✞ pairing: sylus x curvy fem!reader

✞ rating:  18+ (minors do not engage)

✞ cw:  religion (catholicism), priest, lapsed faith, adultery, priest kink, suicidal mention, dead parent, sex, masturbation, drugs (marijuana), mentions of other drug use, drinking (more will be added when/if they arise)

✞ disclaimer: this fiction explores a romantic relationship between a lapsed Catholic and an unconventional priest. it is not designed to be inflammatory or critical. catholic authors were asked to participate in the process. we hope you enjoy it, but we know that these topics can be sensitive, so please skip this fiction if it will in any way offend you.

✞ chapter:  6 / ?

✞ co-authors:  redbriony, confuseddoughnut (they do not have tumblr)

✞ ao3 link:  here

✞ chapter synopsis: "the only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it." - oscar wilde

✞ index: chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4 | chapter 5| chapter 6

Please comment on this post if you want to be added to the tag list for updates!

Despite what happened, you would have done anything to face Father Sylus again. 

He was the type of person who radiated energy from within, dedication unlike anyone you had ever met - which could be a good or a bad thing. The thoughts became an obsession, all that seemed to fill your brain. The recollection of his touch made you sweat. It was the last thing you thought about before drifting off to sleep, the first thing you thought about when you woke, and the next few days stretched.  One thing was sure: you longed to see him again, if only for the courage to apologize.  But did you even have to apologize? He was the one who had kissed you first, right?  It was so unbelievably confusing. You’d talk yourself through circles; for once, no amount of sleeping seemed to help.  You weren’t even given the option to sleep it all off anyway or mellow properly in your self-pity. Upon learning of your ‘arrest’ from Talia, your father forced you out of the house that Sunday to go to church with him.  “What’s going on with you, Y/N?” Dad raised his eyebrows and frowned as he gripped the steering wheel, and you could tell he was trying hard not to get angry or frustrated. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, hon. You came back, and you’re acting weird.  Can you just tell me what’s wrong?”  Shaking your head, you shrugged, trying your hardest to maintain eye contact on the door handle, ignoring your dad’s question and wishing he’d just leave you alone.  “You went from being happy to totally distraught since you moved out. What am I supposed to think here, huh?”  ‘Maybe everything went to total fucking shit,’ was what you wanted to say, and tried not to roll your eyes. Dad tried so hard to not act like the authoritarian or pushy father, especially after your mother had died. He was never like that. And it was because of that you figured it was time to be at least a little truthful.  “I quit my job. I don’t know what I’m going to do from here, but -” you said, “I just…needed some time to think things through.”  Your dad parked the car and turned to offer you a subtle smile. You were convincing enough, obviously. “Okay, fine. Work in the store until you figure it out. It’ll be like old times.” One hand gripped the steering wheel as he looked at you, almost seeming to peer into your brain as his eyes flicked ever so slightly. “So, uh, is this about your mom? I didn’t know you were still upset about that. I should’ve tried to talk to you more.”  You bit down your reply, feeling a bitter taste in the back of your throat, and willing it away.  “No, it isn’t. Just forget about it.”  A long sigh filled the small space as your father pressed his lips together. “Christ, I can’t be mad at you right now. I’ve always let you do what you want.”  This was strange, a particular ache settling inside and spreading to your limbs like an infection. Maybe it wouldn’t stop now that it had started. And the first instinct was to get away and run. Run and run and just get away.  “Hon, Y/N,” Your Dad’s voice was pleading, and you nearly missed it. “We can go talk to -”  “No!” You blurted, immediately regretting it, mortified at just the thought. How did you speak so fast? “No, it’s fine. Let’s just go inside. We’re gonna be late.”

You didn’t feel any better inside the church, but you weren’t expecting much to begin with. All you could do was suck it up and seat yourself beside your dad. It wasn’t crowded, but there were a few unfamiliar faces, so maybe not everyone would notice your fucked up mood. 

Everything felt surreal. You were sitting there in church with the sun streaming through the stained glass windows, and your gaze landed on the one depicting the Virgin Mary.

The word ethereal came to mind. 

Everything seemed like it would evaporate into thin air. Like if you moved too quickly, you’d wake up from one of those dreams that just turned out to be inside of another dream. 

And when a hush fell over the congregation, you had no choice but to look forward. No matter how your brain fizzes or your fingers tingle. You were forced to look at that handsome face in front of the church and feel the emotion well inside you. Something that felt different than embarrassment or frustration. 

Even from this distance, Father Sylus exudes that particular aura, daring to fill the whole church with its strength. You are once again reminded of how inescapable his presence is—not through belief or goodness, but something, someone who felt unearthly, even celestial, as absurd as it felt. 

Ethereal. Once again, with that pretty word. How could you even begin to explain it? It was so easy to feel some sort of bitterness, perhaps even selfishness. Who could blame you? Everything always seemed too simple when you looked at it from a distance. 

“Good morning,” He began, his voice taking on that strangely powerful, lilting cadence. He paused, hands clasping, and his posture was different. Shoulders broad, spine straight, chin lifted slightly. “I want to take a moment before we begin to discuss why we’re here.” 

You were drawn to his words, which had formed an invisible link to you. Maybe if you closed your eyes like you did at night, you could picture that night in the car. It felt foolish because you were certain your own thoughts were desperate. How stupid did it make you seem, trying to replay the sensation? A stupid crush. That is all you wanted it to amount to, even if looking into his fiery gaze had made you feel like you were melting.

“We’re here, in the house of the Lord. Why is this?” 

If a month’s insistence on chasing after a flame could be compared to anything -

 “Free will.” His tone picked up. “Through our actions, we make conscious decisions. As far as humankind is concerned, free will also makes us human.” 

Your breathing stilled. Something terrible seized your gut, a cramping feeling causing you to grit your teeth. 

“This is a sanctified place,” he continued, voice rich and filled with energy. “Within these walls, you should experience peace. Not conflict or anger. All are free here because it is with our actions that we build ourselves.”

How the hell did he manage this? The words continued spilling from his mouth, something pulling you further. And after a pause, his gaze filtered over the room again - and landed on you. 

Time was beginning to stand still, and you swore your face began to heat up. But, thankfully, the look didn’t linger on you, moving on as he cleared his throat. 

Well, fuck. 

There was only a tiny shift in expression, and perhaps you were the only one to notice how his pause seemed more lengthy than those before it. 

"We - uh.” Father Sylus made a show of glancing down at the notes before him and shuffling a few pages. “Sorry.” He cleared his throat again, a little louder this time. “What I mean to say is, with free will, we struggle against our urges and temptations. Sin beckons - uh,” another loud cough. He looked nervous. Vulnerable. In more ways than one. 

Father Sylus hastily pushed aside the pages, shoulders lifting in a deep breath before looking again at the people gathered. He straightened a little, and his powerful tone returned as he folded his hands neatly. “So, how do we resist? It can be hard to…admit one’s faults.” He let out a little huff of air, glancing down again. Then, he stepped away from the podium, stepping along the carpeted dais, hands clasped behind his back and thumbs tapping against each other. 

The congregation started shifting. A glance here and there, unable to guess what he would say next. Probably wondering why their priest was acting so…off. If you weren’t glued to your seat in, well, any number of the emotions you were feeling now - you would have high-tailed it out of there already. But instead, you were frozen in place, feeling like an outsider, feeling the shift in the air more than the others around you. 

“Take those feelings and multiply them by ten.” He stated, looking towards the back of the church at nothing in particular. It was as if he was somewhere only his mind knew. 

“Opportunity is often just an invitation to sin, yes. Free will is a man’s greatest power but also his biggest weakness. With that power comes responsibility. Satan doesn’t come dressed in a red cape and pointy horns in the middle of the night.” 

Oh God.

 There was a tense pause and stillness, and you wonder how you managed to sit here and listen. Those crimson eyes trailed around the room, but for another second, a brief and terrifying second, they burned into you.

“Satan comes as everything you’ve ever wished for.” He laughed, bitter and slightly hoarse. Then his eyes snapped forward again, unabashed. 

He coughed, cleared his throat again, and gestured with a finger above his head. “We all - well, we all think we can overcome any challenge. Big or small. Big and small.” Father Sylus let out a shaky exhale. “Um, the point is...The point is that the devil is ready to collect when you can’t. So, the point is that - uh,” His tone shifted to something smaller that made your insides tremble agonizingly. A breathless, tight sort of anxiousness that stole through your lungs and caused your heart rate to increase. It was impossible to deny that despite the words coming out of his mouth, you actually wanted to hear him continue. “Um, sometimes I think the hardest thing is that we are human, and we are weak.” 

Before he could even continue, his voice cracked. “I’m sorry.” He swallowed, grimacing, an anguish that you recognized. “Excuse me.” He looked like he might break, the wavering tension almost stifling the room, his expression almost tormented. 

“I’m sorry. Excuse me.” And with that, he disappeared into the back, leaving everyone shocked. 

Everyone except for you. 

“And that’s why I’m never going to church again.” You rolled your eyes as you leaned against one of the shelves in your dad’s store, looking over at Rafayel, who was leaning against the counter, making it his personal mission to get every last drop out of an iced coffee. “You should have seen the look on his face. What a fuck up.” 

Rafayel wrinkled his nose, looked around the otherwise empty store, and then glanced at his phone. “Yikes. Poor guy.” He sighed and tapped his foot on the floor. “Talia came home and said he had a migraine - but it’s even more hilarious that a near-public breakdown was because of you.” 

“My God, you are awful.” You frowned and stepped forward to lightly punch his arm, reaching out and catching his elbow with a grimace as he pretended to almost fall over. “That’s a horrible thing to say! You were the one who was practically encouraging me!” 

“I would never,” Rafayel huffed, clicking his tongue and shaking his head. “Anyway, it’s been almost a week now. You’re gonna have to suck it up and face him sooner or later.” With a firm nod, he shook off your hold and dusted his hand on the faded denim of his jeans, turning his attention back to his phone and shaking the ice in the cup he held. 

“How would I do that?” You asked. 

As if oblivious, Rafayel arched a brow and smiled tightly, peering at you over the edge of his phone. His tone was less-than-reassuring, sounding almost pitying. “No fucking idea.” 

You opened your mouth to argue but thought better of it as the shop door opened, just in time for the chilly afternoon to bring in your dad and Xavier. You took a deep breath at the sound of the bell and forced yourself to calm down.

As if on cue, Rafayel pushed himself away from the counter and looked in your direction. “Well, Y/N.” He said, tossing a wink in your direction that made you want to reach out and knock the silly grin off his face. “Good luck.” With that, he turned and walked out of the store with a shake of his head. 

Your dad mumbled something under his breath before tossing a wave a little too late and heading into the back of the small building. 

Unease had settled in your stomach at your friend's departure. You felt as if you had more to say, ask, or get a general idea of as you stared at the shop's door. You ran a hand over your tired face and sighed. 

“Hi,” Xavier gave you a careful, controlled smile as you turned toward his voice. “Need help with anything?” 

You tried your best not to fidget or bite your lip. “No, but it’s nice of you to offer.” You shrugged and glanced away briefly. “Why? Got nothing else to do?” 

“Uh, I work here?” He blinked as he stepped forward. You could take in his softening facial features now that he was closer. His smile didn’t quite fade as he looked around the quiet shop. “Anyway - I um. I tried to call you last night? About dinner?” 

Tilting your head in confusion, you froze. Then, you processed the sentence. 

Dinner. Shit. 

“Oh! My phone went missing. I’m sure it’ll turn up soon or something. Wasn’t the nicest phone anyways,” you brushed some hair behind your ear. “I still can’t figure out how it disappeared!” You forced a laugh at your lie and shifted uncomfortably.

You’d completely forgotten about agreeing to go out with him. How fucking stupid were you? So caught up in the idea of -

“Well, uh, I didn’t plan much. So it’s okay, we can just do something another night. Right?” Xavier suggested, and you couldn’t tell if he had let it go so quickly or was suspicious about your behavior. 

Either way, you smiled, rationalizing with yourself for what felt like the millionth time that spending time with him would be a good thing. Any way to keep your mind distracted. Clearly, he still wanted to go out with you, and you certainly wouldn’t say no. After all, who could blame you for latching on anyone who showed the slightest interest? 

This would be a step in the right direction, right? Things would get better. They had to. No matter how weird it felt for you to think so. 

“That’s fine. Sorry, my head’s all over the place.” 

The worst part of it all was the sudden weight in your stomach, the ache in your chest that was becoming all too tiring. Something pushed you in the complete opposite direction of the young man in front of you, towards what you really wanted, and had no explanation for why you did. 

“Y/N?” Xavier spoke again and stepped closer, watching your expression with careful scrutiny, his hand reaching out to touch yours, giving you a new feeling of unease. “Hey, um, - you alright?” 

Your heart wrenched a little at the worry, and you wondered exactly how pathetic you appeared. “I think so. Can you take over? I gotta step out for a while.”

It grew colder as you walked along the sidewalk, sticking your hands inside your jacket pockets. Clouds gathered in the distance, inching their way towards the suburb. The air smelled fresher, as if it might snow lightly sometime at night. A breeze swept over the street, stirring pieces of your hair from its confines, and you briefly thought you should have remembered your scarf. 

Then, you came to a stop in front of the church. 

You looked down at your outfit, the jeans and the oversized blue sweater you had found in your mom's closet, when you couldn’t be bothered to do your own laundry. Perhaps she would give you strength, or at least enough willpower from wherever she was to give you the courage to turn right the fuck around and go back home.  She was always straightforward in that way, even without the drinking. If only you had taken after her in that aspect. 

For a moment, you almost turned to leave, giving yourself the opportunity to simply walk away and go home. However, after a few seconds of mental debate, you stepped along the worn walkway and up the steps, slipping your hand out of your pocket to place it on the worn wooden door. 

Somewhere in your mind was a glimmer of hope, the possibility of resolve.

Now that you had gathered whatever courage you had left, you took one last, bracing breath before pushing the door open. A jolt of energy speared up your arms, a buzzing sensation against your fingertips. Once you were inside, everything felt eerily silent. Almost too silent. But as the familiar warmth enveloped you, your body relaxed slightly as you shrugged off your jacket. 

The last light from the day was casting through the windows, and the interior was a muted, golden glow and soft orange. It felt warm in more ways than one. Despite the hushed nature of the building, energy thrummed within you. The atmosphere was inviting, but for some reason, you couldn’t quite muster the ability to step forward any further, feet stuck to the floor beneath you. It was ironic, yet in a way, expected; you felt like crying or throwing something, but maybe punching Father Sylus would give you the most satisfaction. 

The chapel seemed alien to you as you made your way further inside. 

Loneliness was all-consuming, a fear ever present and threatening in the back of your mind. You wondered why it hurt so much. And, you considered whether you have ever experienced a real connection in your life. You zeroed in on the cross beyond the rows of pews as if you could use it for answers. It glinted a little in the evening light that filtered through the stained glass. Your eyes felt dry as they fixed upon the illuminated wood, searching, listening, walking towards the front of the church like a mouse. 

“You think this is funny, don’t you?” You asked your question out loud. The silence of the building taunted you in return, and something constricted within your chest. The rush of it all was consuming, filling your every thought with hope and expectation. A breath sucked in, and you shook your head, blinking. Everything felt off, and you had no idea what your body was supposed to do with itself. “This is so fucked. You know, this is all…just so messed up,” you choked out the whisper and, with a small gasp, swallowed. The emotions swelled. Heavy and pounding and suddenly overwhelming. 

Who gave a shit? Nothing would change. 

But, maybe - 

Would God be willing? Could He lift the spell put on you that would continue to grow? 

“Mom is dead, and she’s not coming back.” The words spilled and dropped like shattered glass. “And, uh, it’s just like, that’s fucked up. Isn’t it? Please, it’s - well, I wish I knew, God damn it. Motherfucker!” You swore louder than you should have, not recognizing your own voice. A feeling that had no name gripped your heart. This was it. You were giving up. “Totally fucked up. And you go and make me do stupid shit? What kind of test is that?” 

Only silence answered. You wondered how you should feel. As angry as you were, it felt strange to voice it. Finally, saying the words brought unusual comfort, and it was too easy to admit everything now. “Yeah, yeah. You should really apologize, God. Lord. Jesus. Whatever.” 

“I’m sorry.” The voice that spoke back did not belong to you. Echoing off the walls and the stained glass, it sent a jolt up your spine, causing you to spin in its direction. Leaning against a doorframe was Father Sylus, looking down at the floor, that shameful expression resurfacing on his face. You witnessed the repentant facade as he lifted his head and looked at you. 

It felt like a flood rushed through you, coursing, washing away the anger, seeping into every cell, and filling you with something new. Warm and soft, somehow breaking you apart as it passed. Something indecipherable but true. 

Something almost wonderful and exhilarating. 

He looked like something you could draw. That raw, exposed sort of aura. 

That same warmth enveloped your heart, the comfort expanding across your chest. There was something profound and affectionate within his gaze and the sense that you had underestimated what was truly meant by the phrase ‘care and concern.’

It could have been a few seconds. Or minutes passed as you stood rooted to the spot. The beating of your heart seemed to echo in your ears. Blood pulsed through your veins, the silence around you growing louder. 

“For what?” You were almost afraid to speak up. 

“For whatever you’re feeling,” Father Sylus stated plainly. Then he straightened, and his look shifted, and for a split second, he stepped forward, only to pause with his fingers twitching at his sides. Maybe there was confusion flickering in his gaze. Or longing. But he still didn’t move from where he stood, as if unable to break the tension he had with himself. After a time, he studied your face and added, “For everything and for nothing.” 

After a moment of thought, you shook your head. “That’s vague.” 

“It’s all I’ve got.” Father Sylus ran a hand behind his neck, almost nervously, eyes shifting and gaze searching. Another pause lingered between you, and you blinked a few times. He opened and closed his mouth, finally settling on placing both his hands on his hips, inclining his head to look at the stained glass windows. “That…and guilt.” 

His admission seemed weighted, and his voice was heavy. You watched him take a step forward, then hesitate. 

In that second, there was a great leap in understanding. You understood that he would not look directly at you because it would break this sacred reverence between you and whatever else was going on within his mind. 

Maybe it’d always been a game, and perhaps you knew deep down that this would be his next move. The inevitable, silent communication. Slowly, you folded your shaky arms over your chest. The look that flashed in his eyes made you shudder. With a new boldness, you swallowed and whispered: “Why are you telling me this?” 

Exhaling hard, you weren’t sure whether to scream, laugh, or cry as you awaited your answer.

He swallowed, his dark gaze teeming like a fire in the low light, the red burning. His lip curled. “Because I feel like you can understand it. Why I feel this way.” 

A sick urge, sharp and needy, had you crossing the space between you, the air shaking and trembling as he finally took another stride forward. Your eyes traced over his face. Deep and pained and beautiful. His chest heaved. A strange, bittersweet satisfaction filled you. 

“I - I can’t stop thinking about -” you broke off, words quivering as you spoke. “Us. The other night - it keeps going through my head, what I said, and -” your voice was breaking again, the achy, miserable desperation settling in. 

You could tell he was holding his breath, hands now clenched into fists, gaze searching and uncertain. “I didn’t mean to deceive you.” The words hung heavy as he stepped closer, finally closing the distance between you, tilting your chin, and forcing you to look at him. The grip held you firmly, though his eyes remained gentle and pleading. “I want nothing more than to pray - beg for your forgiveness. Try and restore whatever trust I’ve betrayed - but in all truth, God, I -” 

Another thick swallow, and he paused, the corner of his mouth twisting. He squeezed your chin lightly as if in search of some answer. Then his hand fell to his side, his head turning to look at the cross behind the altar. Something burned beneath your ribs. 

“What is it?” You whispered, trembling with the effort of not spilling all your unresolved thoughts. “Tell me - tell me something, anything, or - or -” You stopped yourself, feeling a little pathetic at not being able to formulate the proper words. 

“My path was never exactly clear, but,” Father Sylus swallowed thickly, sounding more scared than ever. “Someone I loved when I was younger - she -” A long sigh escaped his lips. “We were each other's firsts and…We loved each other very much.” He exhaled again. His face creased into sadness, reminiscent and haunting. A sharp pain, almost. One that lingered from emotions held within. The truth was there, plain as day, naked, heartbroken, and fragile. “She died when she was eighteen.” 

Pain squeezed at you mercilessly, tight and almost bone-crunching. You stepped closer, your brain slowly putting it all together, realization hitting. Then your bottom lip trembles as you reach out, taking hold of his hand and squeezing it. “I’m sorry,” you manage to say after a moment, “that must have been -” Another pause, trying to settle your lungs into a steadier breathing pattern. 

He squeezed your hand, looking at you, catching your gaze and holding it, unwavering. “I went to her funeral in a church far bigger than this one with twice the congregation. And later that day, when they put her down into the ground, I listened to the Monsignor pray over her soul.” He looked away again, this time up at the beams in the ceiling. “And I really listened to what he was saying for the first time. And I don’t know why, I just suddenly felt…” He trailed off, and you moved your hand further up his arm, willing him to continue by pressing your fingertips gently into his forearm. 

He smiled at the ceiling, faint and apologetic. “I felt at peace. Everything clicked into place. As stupid as that sounds. It was like something I couldn’t understand but needed. And, well,” he shrugged. 

“At last, it finally made sense to me,” he muttered. “The power God holds over us was always right there.” Then he turned to face you, his fingers reaching and resting on your cheek, tracing the soft skin of your jaw. “And now, I stand before you - finding these feelings again, the first true connection I’ve felt in years. I don’t mean to doubt anything…but I don’t know how to...” 

He let his voice drift off before tucking your hair behind your ear, movements tender. You wondered what he could see in your expression. 

“How did she die?” You asked quietly as if the question would destroy something in the air, but you needed to ask it anyway. 

The corners of his mouth trembled as he stroked his thumb along your jawline, offering you a small, grim smile. “She was mad at something, drank herself sick. Decided a joy ride on a motorcycle might be a good idea,” he turned his gaze to the ceiling again, and it finally hit you that he kept doing that as a trick to keep himself from crying. “She lost control and swerved, hit a wall head-on. Died on impact. Stupid girl with the dumbest ideas. She used to talk about seeing if the world curved or if the stars continued forever. She was funny and smart - but not as smart as she should have been. Her blood alcohol level came back three times the legal limit.” 

“That’s horrible,” you breathed. The puzzle pieces were assembled together. A crash. Drunk. How similar it was to your mother. Only your mother hadn’t met death head-on. It was still one of those things that made you wonder; which would have been worse? The chance was so similar yet unique. Still, as Father Sylus spoke about it, you swore you felt the faint sorrow he must still carry within himself.

“Sylus, I’m -” 

“Don’t be sorry.” He said, finally regaining a certain poise about his face, somehow managing to look warm even at this moment, smiling very softly. 

At his words, you realized you were breathing harder than before, and it didn’t go unnoticed as he scanned your face. You didn’t know what was wrong with you; you felt an emotion you could no longer explain. He had experienced loss, same as you, just not in the same way. 

Father Sylus let out a dry snort. “It’s not a happy memory, but something good comes from pain. Distrust to trust. Fear to courage. Hatred to love. To an extent, those things make you understand and appreciate everything.” 

You nodded, unable to stop yourself from wrapping your arms around his middle, convincing yourself you would forget how to breathe if you didn’t. You embraced him because it felt like the right thing to do, the smoothness of his shirt beneath your fingertips. His hand ran up along your side until it rested on your neck's base, soft, gentle, and warm. He exhaled a little before resting his chin on the top of your head. 

As he held you, you realized that this was what you had wanted. This was what you had really been aching for. Everything shifted again, changing, rushing with a tangle of nerves and dizziness. Nothing else would settle more easily than being cradled right there, where you could breathe him in. 

“Hey, do you -” He leaned back, both hands cupping your face, tilting it to meet his own. It took him a moment to formulate his question. “I shouldn’t ask, but - do you still want me?” 

Of course you did. More than anything. 

But even then, you should have stepped away. Should have walked out without another word, back to whatever fucking regular life you thought you had. But with whatever strength you had left, you pushed everything aside and quietly said, “Yes.” 

He had pressed you against the wooden door of the office, pinning you in place after dragging you in there and shutting the door. Not that you really had any intention of going anywhere. Not with his lips moving against yours, the desperation sending sparks along your skin.  His tongue darted out, parting your lips and moving into your mouth. Hungry and forceful and tasting every inch.

“You know,” he said as he pulled back, taking a second to breathe, “It’s so hard to be good when you’re so…” He trailed off, leaving you to only imagine what he would say. 

No, you had no words or any logical thoughts, really. Perhaps this was the closest thing to heaven you’d ever feel, surely. And Father Sylus ran his hands down your sides, slow and possessive, grabbing fistfuls of your sweater and bunching it up. Heat began spreading throughout your body as his fingertips crept underneath and stoked along the sensitive skin. 

“Will you let me in?” He mumbled, his lips now on the underside of your jaw as his palms spanned across your stomach as if trying to map out every inch of exposed skin. The blood pounded in your veins, pulsing in rhythm with your heartbeat.

“If this is what it feels like to be tempted,” you mused, gasping as he sucked on the skin above your collarbone, gripping the front of his shirt. “I have already failed. Miserably.” 

Letting out a hot breath that sounded an awful lot like laughter, he pulled away, a smile stretching across his lips, amused. “I suppose you really have,” he chuckled. His hands gripped your hips and spun you around so you were against his desk. Then he ducked down to press more kisses along your throat. The shivers returned as he lifted your sweater over your head, tossing it aside with another wicked grin. And for the first time, you noticed the hint of a dimple in the corner of his mouth. 

After a moment, Father Sylus fumbled with the buttons of his shirt until that, too, was discarded, skin suddenly bare. The sight made you stop, observing for a moment. For the first time, your fingers reached out and touched the skin of his chest, moving over the muscles and across his stomach. You marveled at the way he flinched slightly, inhaling sharply at your touch. 

Everything felt…hot, heavy, and inappropriate in the best way. 

And before you knew it, his hands were running up along the bare skin of your stomach, a barely-there brush that made your breath hitch. Then his hands were behind your back, unhooking your bra as his lips found yours again, rough and fervent. As it was removed, there was not a second of delay before his hands cupped both of your breasts, squeezing and drawing his thumbs over your nipples. 

“You’re so beautiful,” his hands shifted, fingers resting along the waistband of your jeans. 

It was like every little action was becoming overwhelming, sending pulsing waves through every nerve, vein, and muscle. When he popped the button, slid the zipper, and slowly eased the jeans down, the pulsing only got stronger—dizzying with its intensity. It was challenging to focus on anything else that would make more sense. Your mind was clouded. 

“Wait,” you breathed, sitting on the desk, pulling the clip from your hair and tossing it to the floor, the waves tumbling out. His hands never left you, still roaming over every little centimeter of you they could get access to, “I -” 

It didn’t need to be said, whatever it was. Because a grin broke out across his lips. A bright, glorious grin as Father Sylus pressed another harsh kiss to your lips like he could swallow the words down.

Stepping closer, he maneuvered you onto your back, your legs dangling over the edge of the desk. The smooth, cool wood pressed against the length of your spine and shoulders as you heard something that sounded like a book fall somewhere behind you. He gripped the soft flesh of your thighs, blunt nails digging in. Breath hitching, your heart thumped at the roughness and passion of his movements. Something animalistic and unrestrained lay just beneath the surface, waiting, ready. 

“Let me,” he urged quietly, fingers winding over the lace underwear, dragging them down the length of your legs. Fingers stroked up again, curling and caressing your inner thighs, one hand finally reaching the place where you were already desperate, soaking wet, and aching to be touched. Without hesitation, a digit dipped, sliding along your slick folds and slipping in easily. The motion made you bite down on your tongue as his other hand ran along the underside of your knee, urging your leg up and apart. 

You felt the pad of his thumb gliding over the little bundle of nerves, back and forth in a way that made you groan. 

“You are,” his voice was low, almost a growl, and his teasing continued. “So gorgeous, laying there. I can’t stop looking at you.” One finger became two. Slick and hot as they moved into you, each stroke moving deeper. All too suddenly, his lips were crashing down against yours, kissing you hard and desperately as if set on devouring you whole. 

The only thing keeping you stable was grabbing his shoulder and his upper arm. The sudden rise of pressure rushed around you. His thumb slipped, pressing down a bit more on your clit, drawing another gasp from you, a sound that filled the room. Then he pulled his hand away, an invisible weight settling when the digits were gone, leaving you empty and still aching for more. 

“I’m on birth control,” you managed, eyes blinking rapidly as you processed that this, in fact, was actually about to happen. The fullness beneath your belly was spooling tighter, coiling. 

It was only a few seconds; that’s all it took for him to undo his belt buckle, his length freed. Straining, leaking, begging to be inside you. The size of it makes you swallow a certain anxious lump in your throat. 

“Please.” The word spilled out before you could stop it. The coil inside you grew more and more tense and throbbing. You needed it now; the consequences didn’t matter, nor did the guilt or shame. “Please.”

His breathing hitched as if a long controlled flame within had been ignited. One of his hands rested on your hip, the other hooking under your opposite knee, parting you further and steadying himself. The tip of his cock pressed at your center. You didn’t have any time to prepare because, at that very moment, he was pushing further, sliding into you inch by inch. 

The heat and fullness and pleasure coursed, trembling through you. 

“Sweetheart,” he breathed, face buried in the crook of your neck, but you could hear the grin in his tone, the soft desperation in his voice. “You, you -” but his breath choked off as he pushed all the way inside, the moan that ripped through him cracked and hoarse. 

It took you a moment to feel him fully, gasping for air and dazed beyond what was really necessary. Holding tight, you wrapped an arm around his neck, exhaling hard. The room became a haze around the two of you, the entire moment almost suspended, paused, put on hold. 

When he moved his hips again, you whimpered as he hit somewhere deep, and your pleasure spiked. 

“Fuck,” he whispered against your skin, raising himself just enough to look at you, eyes glinting with a certain fervor. A little dark, a little feral, something wildly possessive and hungry and yearning all at once. “Oh, fuck,” he hissed, gritting his teeth and closing his eyes. Another jolt shot through you. Another strong thrust, this one harder than the last, followed by another. And another. It took a minute for him to set a rhythm, but when he did - you were sure the air was being pushed from your lungs each time. 

You couldn’t do anything but hang on. His mouth met yours in a sloppy, forceful kiss. Gasping and shuddering, you tried not to shout at the next jolt. The constant grind fills you every time. Deeper and sharper. The steady, thrumming pleasure. Intense and focused, as if Father Sylus were on a mission. Searching for something. Finding each sweet spot with whatever desperate greed drove him. Like now that he’d had the taste of something forbidden, he wanted the best of it - anything you could offer. 

He shifted slightly, and before you knew it, he hooked your leg over his shoulder, the deep angle making you arch from the desk. 

One hand tangled in his hair, the other on his shoulder, gripping hard and pulling him closer, trying to keep him buried deep inside of you. The friction built, the pace driving forward and drawing the pressure up, leaving you malleable and aching for release. But somehow, wanting it to last as long as possible. 

When the pleasure spooled tighter and tighter, every breath came short, coming fast and shorter. Until finally with one long, breathy whimper of an exhale, release washed over you, crashing like a wave. His name slipped out of your mouth, some deep, instinctual part of your brain keeping you present enough to utter it, still pulsing around him, shaking. 

And that brought him there, a little broken sound falling from his lips. Hips snapping, driving just the slightest bit further until he groaned into the side of your neck, spilling inside you. After a moment, the stillness settled between the two of you, heavy and thick. There was no actual sound other than ragged breathing. 

You stared at the ceiling, trembling and a bit boneless, wholly dumbfounded and satisfied. Then, with every ounce of energy left, you sat up, placing a hand on his chest.

“You okay?” 

A rush flooded through you at his question, and you struggled to make sense - to be logical and reasonable. 

“Yeah,” you said quickly, “I just. I…” What was the right wording? You trailed off, eyes focused somewhere beyond him. Struggling, you kept your eyes away. How could you possibly articulate the warmth that had settled over you, the lift in your confusion that had been gnawing at you until this moment? How could you explain feelings that make no real sense? 

“I feel at peace.” A near whisper because your words made it tangible, whatever it was. And really, you did feel lighter. It was as if something weighing on your shoulders had lifted in a way that wasn’t just because of the act that had been performed. 

“Really?” A sharp inhale of his breath. 

You nodded, reaching out to hold his face and running your thumbs along his cheekbones. Father Sylus slowly returned the nod, a tentative but wonderful, hopeful smile quirking up his lips—something bright and genuine, untouched by bitterness or remorse.

Serenity had sunken in with a comforting familiarity. Settling inside, like the feeling of returning home. Like the truth had opened its door. Acceptance and serenity. Understanding. Clarity, even. The knowledge you weren’t as broken or faulty as you thought. 

A moment passed, no words spoken. Then, still breathless and maybe a bit disbelieving, Father Sylus reached out and traced a cross on your brow with his thumb. 

“Did you just -” You blinked, a bit indignant as you huffed. “Did you just…bless me?”

He looked a bit sheepish, hands resting on your shoulders, thumbs rubbing gentle circles along your collarbone. “Guess I did.” With a slight chuckle, he leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss on your forehead. 

Tag list: @celestialforce, @readerxyourbabe, @babyx91

[2346khith]

Hi dear donors ! ❤️

I would like to extend my thank and gratitude for the support you have been offering over the last eleven months. ❤️☺️

My family and I have been suffering and going through the hardest days we have ever experienced in our life . Things are very hard to get and and sometimes unattainable.😭😓

Our sufferings and hardship started on the first day of the war when all our possessions were completely destroyed and burned. We have become displaced and homeless , finding ourselves in a small tent in streets with no means of life. We lack every single necessary thing of life; food, water, hygiene essentials, and other necessities have become scarce and rare.

Our life has been tough and harsh all the last time. No cooking gas , nor cooking tools exist . We struggle to prepare a small meal of food.

No bakeries are available. Everything seems hard and unbelievable.😭

This is a part of burying the dead. We also face some problems in the process of buying our dead people as no place is there for the family. Tombs aren't for the number of people living on a small spot of land.

All what we need is to survive the war and be safe. We are trying to secure the daily basic living necessities and this can come true with your contribution and support. Please don't spare this moment of supporting the people in need in Gaza in this tough and dire time. You can help us by either donating however small it is or sharing my posts. Your support makes a big difference for families in need.https://gofund.me/7e428359

For those who see this please, visit their blog and reblog their blog’s posts so they  get more attention and if you have the money to spare please donate.

Also I apologize, but I do not have the ability to donate to you. Trust me if I had the ability I would but I don't and I can't. I have no bank account or credit card to transfer money to and no job to gain any money. Every time I ask my parents to help they shut me down so this is the only way to help you. Please forgive me.

[i-miss-faberry]

Lacy? More like Lucy... Quinn Fabray. i am sorry.

this song is very faberry coded im actually foaming at the mouth

[dukeofthomas]

why does every reconciliation fic go like this

[pinkeoni]

The Big AIDS Metaphor Post

In her essay "Why Are Americans Afraid of Dragons?" from her book The Language of the Night: Essays of Fantasy and Science Fiction, science-fiction and fantasy writer Ursula K. Le Guin writes—

"The use of imaginative fiction is to deepen your understanding of your world, of your fellow men, and your own feelings, and your destiny."

It would be easy for me to claim that Stranger Things is a show that utilizes its science-fiction elements as an AIDS metaphor, but that only goes so far without being able to prove that the show is in fact employing said metaphor. "The show takes place in the 80's -> AIDS was a big part of the 80's -> therefore the show is about AIDS" isn't an airtight argument in itself. I can quote famous sci-fi writers all day but that still wouldn't prove that the Duffers themselves are actually following similar trains of thought.

So here's my big long post about why the show is utilizing it's science-fiction elements as an AIDS metaphor.

Lengthy discussion of rape, violent homophobia and drug use below the cut.

A Brief History of HIV/AIDS in America

For those not in the know about HIV/AIDS, and in order to all get on the same page, here is a short recap. For my information, I will be this timeline from hiv.gov as well as this timeline created by History Channel, as well as some of the supplemental hyperlinks provided. Any other sources I use will be linked throughout.

HIV, or human immunodeficiency virus is a virus that attacks the body's immune system, making it highly susceptible to infection and cancers. The virus can progress to a more severe version of the infection, acquired immunodeficiency syndrome or AIDS. The virus spreads through bodily fluids such as semen and blood. The most common ways for HIV/AIDS to spread was through unprotected sex and sharing needles while using drugs.

The initial cases of HIV were present in America in the 70's but become much more rampant starting in the early 1980s. Because cases of AIDS were most commonly seen in gay and bisexual men, there was a large misconception that AIDS was a "gay plague" or a "gay disease" as it was nicknamed. By 1984, 3,500 Americans had died from AIDS related illnesses.

The reason that AIDS epidemic got as deadly as it did is often attributed to the Reagan Administration's failure to act, something that President Reagan denied. Reagan would not publicly acknowledge AIDS until 1985, despite U.S. health officials being aware of AIDS since 1981.

Understanding just how entrenched this metaphor is in the story will include going through each season and examining in detail how each one plays into this metaphor.

Season One: Establishing Metaphor & Government Cover Up in Early Years of Epidemic

The AIDS metaphor is most closely connected with Will's storyline, although it's not exclusive to Will nor is his storyline exclusive to AIDS. Furthermore, the supernatural elements of this show are multifaceted. AIDS is but just one of the metaphors expressed in the show, but for the sake of this post it's what I will be focusing on.

The setup begins following Will's disappearance in episode 1, when Joyce introduces Will's queer coding to us.

By 1983 the terms "gay disease" and "gay cancer" had been in the public vocabulary for a couple years now. So when Joyce brings up his queerness in regards to to his disappearance in a show that takes place in the early 1980s, there is a subconscious correlation that can be made in the watchers mind. His sexuality is significant to the why he went missing, otherwise why bring it up?

We then hear through Troy exactly what the town believes happened to Will.

I think that Troy essentially being a mouthpiece for his father is significant to show that Troy's beliefs are not exclusive to him and they do not exist in a vacuum. Troy's homophobia is a product of his environment, which includes his home and by extension, Hawkins.

The specification that Will was killed by "some other queer" adds another layer under the surface of Troy's statement, one that implies that Will was raped before he was kill, otherwise, again, why bring up sexuality in the first place? This was the attitude toward gay men— they rape and kill little boys.

In early 1984, there was a study conducted by the American Journal of Medicine to trace the sexual partners of a cluster of patients with Kaposi Sarcoma, one of the common cancers that killed AIDS patients. The study identified a flight attendant as "Patient O" who was among the first to exhibit symptoms of HIV/AIDS and had a rather active sex life with a multitude of sexual partners. The study was soon misconstrued by the public to claim that there was a Patient Zero who was "a promiscuous or even malicious gay man who single-handedly and knowingly touched off the AIDS pandemic in the United States."

Another crucial factor of the metaphor is the cover-up and blame shifting from the government lab, the exact thing that allowed the problem to escalate and become as deadly as it did to begin with. In the early years of the epidemic, Reagan slashed the budget of public health agencies like the CDC, and it would be years until he ever made a speech about it let alone even mentioned AIDS publicly.

We see how adamant the lab is to cover up any supernatural involvement with Will's disappearance in an attempt to cover their own asses. Framing his death as an accident was their call, all while being acutely aware of what the actual problem was. This confrontation from Joyce to Brenner puts it pretty aptly.

Tangent About Barb

This AIDS metaphor is something that I thought of when I first watched the show back in 2016 (humble brag) but what tipped me off the most wasn't Will or the lab but it was the fact that Barb was the other victim shown.

Barb's queer coding was clear to everyone and their mother. Hell, there's even a joke about it in the Bad Lip Reading of the first season. Barb, Nancy's short haired female friend who takes issue with Nancy's new relationship and has a hard time fitting in with with all of the heterosexual antics of Steve's house party. She's singled out, and while the rest of the gang get to casually enjoy the pleasures of sex, while Barb, another member of the queer community, sadly loses her life. The show cuts between Nancy having sex with Steve with Barb being killed to emphasize this stark contrast.

Season Two: Personal Effects of HIV/AIDS & Social Stigmatization

Season one was surrounding Will while not really showing us much of his pov, but season two dives right in to his perspective.

So, remember when I talked earlier about how Troy, and by extension the town, believed that Will was raped? Well, he wasn't exactly wrong.

This moment wasn't lost on me when I originally watched the show, although I think I ignored the implications because I didn't want to believe what I was seeing. But it's pretty well spelled out— A long, tentacle-like organ used for the sake of reproduction (Will "births" D'Art as a result of this), is inserted inside of Will's mouth without consent.

It's been a year, and Will is still dealing with the trauma of what happened, along with all of these new changes to his life. Will frequently attends doctors appointments at the lab, where the lab themselves aren't completely confident what is happening with him either.

When cases of HIV/AIDS were first appearing in the U.S., health officials were unclear as to what exactly this virus was and how it worked, only that clusters of otherwise healthy gay men were suddenly developing rare and aggressive infections and cancers.

Owens refers to the spread of the Upside Down very clinically— describing it as some cancer. One of the first articles published about HIV/AIDS in America before more information was known was a New York Times article titled "Rare Cancer Seen in 41 Homosexuals." The cancer the headline refers to being Karposi Sarcoma, the rare skin cancer developing due to their weakened immune system.

HIV/AIDS in itself isn’t the disease that patients die from, but instead the weakened immune system allows for diseases to take over the body without much defense. After his visit to the Upside Down, Will faces a series of “True Sight” visions as Mike puts it, which allows for a destructive foreign entity to invade Will's body and slowly take it over.

HIV.gov lists the following as some of the symptoms of AIDS:

"Rapid weight loss"

"Profuse night sweats"

and "Memory loss"

To the government agents in the lab, we see just how disposable Will is to them. In their words, if it kills him, it kills him. (thank you to @emblazons for being the one to point this out to me)

Owens may have held more concern for Will, but he still continues the government cover-up started by Brenner in season one. We also see the fallout of Barb's death, with Nancy and Jonathan fighting to uncover and reveal the truth. Owens is the one who tries to put a stop to their exposé of events to Barb's mom.

Not only is Will facing trauma and his body being ravaged by this new illness, but he's also facing social stigmatization, something common among gay men with positive HIV statuses at this time. There seemed to be some sympathy from the townsfolk when Will was missing and presumed dead, yet he faces animosity almost seemingly because he came back.

The "Zombie Boy" Nickname

I once made a whole separate post about this, but Will's "Zombie Boy" nickname from season two fits in with this AIDS metaphor.

On a surface level, the nickname is in reference to the fact that Will seemed to come back to life despite having a funeral and being buried. In a literal sense, however, his peers are quite literally referring to him a walking corpse that spreads disease. Individuals suffering from AIDS often have very short life expectancies, and zombies are the re-animated dead that aim to infect and kill as many people as possible. It is a very coded nickname.

In the post that I linked, I speculate the possibility that some people in town may even believe that Will has HIV. Remember earlier when I mentioned Troy's comment "he was probably killed by some other queer" which implies a belief that Will was raped. The town don't know about any of the supernatural goings-on, but they do know that Will went missing, was found in a cabin a week later, was hospitalized shortly after and attended frequent doctor visits through the following year. I don't see a reason that malicious rumors would cease, especially considering that they already continue to be cruel and ostracizing with the Zombie Boy nickname.

Look also at this moment of Will getting weird looks as he is being pulled from school to attend his doctors appointment. Why so much stigma around simply going to the doctor?

The 1984 Reelection of Ronald Reagan

In 1984, Ronald Reagan won reelection in one of the biggest election wins in history. And— subsequently continuing his and the governments silence towards the AIDS epidemic.

Season two takes place in the week leading up to the reelection. There are small set pieces that draw attention to this, such as this election sign in front of the library.

If the date November 6th sounds familiar, it should.

Dr. Owens mentions the anniversary of Will's disappearance. The one year anniversary of Will's disappearance is the same day that Ronald Reagan was reelected. Will's trauma is being purposefully associated with that day.

I've also made a separate post before just about the Reagan/Bush '84 signs that litter the lawns of Hawkins houses. They appear most notably in the Halloween episode, building to when Will has his true sight episode that night. There is one clearly in frame just before Will is separated from the group, called a "Zombie Boy" and a "freak" (two very coded nicknames) before he falls into his vision.

We also get a clear view of the Reagan/Bush sign outside of the Wheeler house before Will describes his experience to Mike.

A Tangent About the Wheelers

And now the question on everyone's mind: Are the Wheeler's homophobic?

Ted and Karen Wheeler are not violent, homophobic bullies. That would be a massive reach. But it would also be a reach to say that they are vocal allies. And maybe that's just what the average middle class family

In the very least, the Wheelers are passively contributing to a system that enables homophobia. To be honest, they are probably just going along with what everyone else is doing. Like I said earlier, Reagan was an incredibly popular candidate for the 1984 reelection. The Wheelers have the privilege of being able to comfortably conform without having to worry about much of the consequences. (I'll talk more about the Wheelers later)

In the episode where Will is possessed by the Mind Flayer, Joyce calls the school and we get an extended shot with Reagan's portrait in the background. The shot begins with the portrait slightly obscured, then the camera dolly's in towards the receptionist with the portrait still in frame. Shortly after this Will is possessed in the field. Here is one of the camera begins the shot and where the camera ends the shot.

I also wanna note that when Joyce calls in this scene, the receptionist makes a side comment about her and rolls her eyes. There's a clear animosity towards not only Will, but the whole Byers family, including the adults of the town. Including Reagan's portrait in this shot is meant to create a subtle correlation between him and the stigma that the Byers' face.

Season Three: The Façade of Patriotism Over a Dying Nation

It's 1985, Ronald Reagan has been reelected, and this season introduces Hawkins Mayor Larry Kline.

Is Larry Kline meant to be Ronald Reagan?

I would say that Mayor Kline is probably exemplary of American politicians in a broader sense (in fact the Duffers may have been making allusions to Trump with his connection to the Russians) although the fact that he's in office the same time as Reagan is still significant.

In the beginning of the season, Mayor Kline is being met with protesters outside his house, not unlike many of the AIDS awareness protests from the 80's.

The townsfolk are angered with Kline for building the mall and running some of the small businesses into the ground. During Reagan's run, he implemented a system of economics called "Reaganomics," which aimed to cut taxes and support economic growth. Although critics of Reaganomics will point out that his policies had actually increased the wealth gap, making the rich richer and the poor, poor. I want to keep this post about the AIDS metaphor, although I wanted to point this out as it is a connection between Kline and Reagan. And as I said earlier in this post, the metaphors are multifaceted and not just about AIDS.

But continuing, later in the season Kline puts on a big 4th of July festival to celebrate the independence of his country with neon lights and flashy fireworks. Meanwhile, the people of his town are dying right under his political reign.

During season 3, the AIDS metaphor actually moves away from Will, with the focus of his story shifting slowly to romance. This was setup at the Snowball at the end of season 2, and season 3 hints at some of Will's feelings for Mike which will be carried into season 4.

But the metaphor is carried on by Will's name twin, Billy.

Billy and Will sharing the same first name, that being William, feels significant as Will basically passes the baton to him and Billy now becomes the focus for this metaphor. We learn from Max that Billy is very sexually active, and in the beginning of the season he has eyes for Karen Wheeler. It is while he is on his way to this illicit sexual affair when he is "infected" by the Mind Flayer. (this was pointed out to me in the comment of one of my posts, but have since lost it. If you are reading this— thank you.)

Billy then passes the "infection" along to a girl he was flirtatious with, before the "virus" begins spreading over town.

There is also language and rape imagery associated with being flayed. There is the repeated lines "hold still" and "it'll all be over soon." When Heather's parents are flayed, they are tied up something is forcefully inserted orally, not unlike what we saw with the tentacle inside of Will in season one and his possession in season two. (I first saw this pointed out by @kaypeace21

The flayed begin to eat chemicals, and Nancy makes the comment that Tom, one of the flayed, appears to have been on drugs. Another common way that HIV is spread is through the sharing of drug needles.

HIV/AIDS in the Press

Nancy's arc with the newspaper this season reminds me a lot of how AIDS was first being reported in the press. Nancy begins her search for a story with stolen fertilizer and diseased rats, not realizing that there was a much bigger and much more dangerous story at hand. One of the first reports HIV in the media was from a CDC Morbidity and Mortality Weekly Report from 1981, which cited five cases of pneumonia in previously healthy gay men in Los Angeles. While still a deadly number, it was relatively small compared to the massive number of AIDS cases and deaths that would soon follow.

When Nancy brings her story to work, Bruce, one of her higher-ups, sips from this rather patriotic coffee mug before telling Nancy to drop the story.

At the end of the 1985 summer in Hawkins, the flayed have died in a "mall fire" and Larry Kline is arrested for colluding with the Russians, and their patriotic façade is shattered.

In September 1985, shortly after actor and close friend of Ronald Reagan, Rock Hudson dies, of an AIDS related illness, Reagan makes his first public acknowledgement of AIDS.

Season Four: Further Stigmatization & LGBT Witch Hunting

In season four the town is finally privy to the fact that there is something wrong going on, although they are unsure of exactly what. When things begin to escalate, instead of blaming the actual guilty party, they go on an all-out witch hunt.

Once again, Will's pretty removed from the AIDS storyline in this season with his arc focusing on his romantic feelings for Mike. With Billy dead and Will out of town, the baton passes once again for the metaphor to be carried by Eddie Munson.

In the first episode of season 4, Eddie is reading a magazine with an article about the Satanic Panic, a real case of wide-spread hysteria in the 1980's regarding the fear of rising Satanism, supposedly promoted by D&D. The article links the game to violent behavior, Satanic worship, sodomy and murder.

Tangent on Sodomy and Sodomy Laws

Merriam-Webster defines sodomy as "anal or oral copulation with another person." The definition is often expanded to include copulation with animals, although the term sodomy, according to Merriam-Webster, means "especially: anal or oral copulation with a member of the same sex."

While definitions may vary depending on states, some states have specific laws outlawing sodomy, even between consenting adults. In 1986, the Supreme Court upheld Georgia's anti-sodomy laws in Bowers v. Hardwick, after a homosexual man and his partner were arrested after being caught while having sex in his own home. Sodomy laws would eventually be challenged again in 2002 with the Lawrence v. Texas case.

While sodomy can technically can refer to both homosexual and heterosexuals, it is especially and historically has been used in regards to homosexual sex. When Eddie reads the word sodomy here, gay sex is being lumped in and made equivalent to violent behavior, Satanic worship, and murder. Quite literally in season four, Hellfire Club is seen as the evil Satanic sodomizers who bring death to their town.

While trying to find a substitute for the D&D game, one of kids Mike asks mentions 60 Minutes in his rebuttal of Mike's request. This episode takes place on March 21st, 1986. On March 16th, 1986, 60 Minutes played a segment called "Life and Death in San Fransisco," a segment about the AIDS virus on CBS. (EDIT: I originally attributed this to the wrong person, but thank you to @aemiron-main for being the one to point this out. Apologies for my memory mixing up my ST analysts in my head 😔) The archived footage can be viewed on YouTube.

When Chrissy is killed by Vecna inside of Eddie's trailer, leading the town to suspect that Eddie was the killer, she was going there to do drugs. Again, a common way for AIDS to be spread was through the sharing of drug needles. After the town and cops suspect Eddie, the town goes on an all-out witch hunt for him and other members of Hellfire, invoking Christianity as their reasoning. In Eddie's words— "Hunt the freak, right?"

Does this mean that Eddie is queer?

The black handkerchief in his back pocket and Joseph Quinn's flirtatious ad-libs with Steve are not completely lost on me. And the AIDS coding here does seem to be pointing in that direction, but here's what I think.

Eddie's actual sexual orientation, and by extension that of Hellfire, is beside the point and doesn't actually matter in the eyes of the town. Every member of Hellfire could be straight and every member of Hellfire could be gay, but what matters is that Hellfire Club is a group of outsiders that participate in recreational activity that is deemed dangerous, and that in itself is queer, regardless of who they may actually be attracted to.

Another Tangent on The Wheelers

During Jason's religious spiel in town hall which invoked the witch hunt against Eddie and Hellfire, we get this shot of Ted and Karen Wheeler upon remembering that Mike is a part of Hellfire. And boy do they look terrified.

This moment, right here, is what I believe to be the Wheeler rug pull. They may not have been signing up to witch hunt their son when they put that Reagan sign in their front lawn, but this is what it leads to. They're being confronted with the most extreme end of their forced conformity and they fear what they see. I think part of what causes this change in character is because they know Mike, had Mike not been a Hellfire member, who is to say if they would have changed their tune or join in the witch hunt. At the end of the season, when the news reports that the giant gate in town is a "doorway to Hell," both Ted and Karen scoff at the report, calling it "hysteria." The conformists are beginning to un-conform.

Concluding Thoughts & Season Five

Providing a story about HIV/AIDS through a science-fiction metaphor is both practical and ethical. The metaphor allows the show to tell the story to a wide audience without the reliance on outside knowledge. You don't have to be an expert in HIV/AIDS history to understand the story that it's trying to tell. It's ethical as well in that it doesn't force it's incredibly young actors to have to act out being raped and developing HIV/AIDS.

With Eddie Munson dead and Zombie Boy back in town, I think that the AIDS metaphor will shift it's focus back to Will. I think we may see a colliding of the AIDS plot with his romance plot. How do you pursue romance with a HIV+ status? Can you?

The way I see, season 5 has the choice to go in one of two directions:

But first, a short tangent about my uncle

In recent years, I came to learn that my uncle was HIV+, something that wasn't known to me when I was younger. Him and his partner are both in their sixties, and they currently bought a plot of land in which they plan on building their dream house together.

But anyways, the two choices are this:

Will dies by the end of the season. He becomes one of the many gay men with HIV/AIDS who lived a short life, unable to grow into adulthood and pursue his love life. His story is a tragedy.

Will lives. He becomes one of the many gay men with HIV/AIDS who survived and is able to live a long and happy life full of love. His story is an uplifting one full of hope.

Tagging: @emblazons @italiantv @gaysmindpalace @ven0moir @punkwillbyers @mikesbasementbeets @quinterobb @drangues @basiltonpitch @howtobecomeadragon

[xxprincess1x]

Darling, It'll Be Alright | Gentlebeard Fanvid

Show: Our Flag Means Death

Music: Darling, It'll Be Alright by Allman Brown

[outlying-hyppocrate]

well. did you fucking miss me.

[ingravinoveritas]

You've probably got a thousand things to say about the latest "The Kiss" info, but I have been thinking about it all morning, especially about the way there seems to be no need to acknowledge it between the two of them. They just went for it, and then they didn't feel the need to talk about it. Idk about everyone else but to me that just feels like to them, this was just a kiss among perhaps many. They knew the song and dance around it already, so there was no need to mark it as different other than it being in characters rather than out of.

But those are just my thoughts. So excited to hear about yours if you have any :3

Hi there! Oh, yes…yes, I do have so many thoughts about Michael talking about the kiss, and The Assembly in general.

Something I'm not sure I've mentioned on here (at least not in a long time) is that five years ago (in June of 2019), I wrote a thread on Twitter about fanfic and why it was so important to me as an autistic woman, as well as the role it played when I began to discover my sexuality. I received a lovely comment from Neil, and on top of that, Michael reposted it from me, which was entirely unexpected but delightful.

So when I first heard about The Assembly, I was anxious, apprehensive, and uncomfortable--mainly because of how the autistic/ND interviewers would potentially be depicted on screen. By the end of the show, however, I was in tears--and for once, in a good way. Michael did not let me down for one single second (which I did not think he would), and I loved how he and everyone else just held space for each other during the group singalong to "Here Comes the Sun."

(The only thing I haven't liked is seeing some of the response on social media that suggests Michael did an extraordinary thing just by talking to autistic/disabled people like we are human beings. It shouldn't be special when he or anyone else does that, but it's depicted that way because it is unfortunately still so rare...)

In terms of Michael talking about the kiss with David, it was of course so lovely to see his expressions and listen to him talk about what it was like. For me it was the fact that he actually didn't say that much that was so revealing. It was perfectly in line with what was reported about what Michael said a month ago, about it being "everything you dream of." With the Assembly, we could now see and hear him talking about it and that same carefulness with which he gave the previous answer--a carefulness borne not out of wanting to hide something, but wanting to keep something about the kiss private. Just for him and David.

I also feel like some folks might have misunderstood what he meant when he said, "We never talk about it," though. I think the unspoken part after that is, "We never talk about it, not because we don't want to, but because we don't need to"...

And I agree with you that it was exactly that--one kiss out of many, something so tried and true that neither David nor Michael had to give it much thought. It also makes me think of previous discussions about comments from David about how, between the sunglasses and the contact lenses for Crowley, he couldn't see shit, yet he only needed one take to find Michael's lips. It's like needing a GPS when you drive someplace new, but then it quickly becomes familiar, and after a while you don't need anyone to tell you how to get there. Because you already know the way home.

Talking about the kiss like this almost gives a feeling of domesticity, of something deeply intimate, beyond the physical. I'm thinking of it as well in tandem with David's comments from prior to the BAFTAs, about it being "another day at work" and saying that Michael had "brushed his teeth." There are so many examples from movies or TV shows where a couple wakes up in bed together in the morning and when one person goes in for a kiss, the other stops them and says "Not until you've brushed your teeth" (or something to that effect). And it just makes me picture them getting up to film that day and sharing a good morning kiss, after which David gently reminds Michael to brush his teeth before he gets to the set. (And he does, because Michael never forgets anything David tells him.)

The last thing that I wanted to mention that stood out to me was Michael talking about how moved everyone was--both the people who watched the kiss be filmed on set, and the fans who watched it in the show. You could actually hear the way his voice caught in his throat, hear him become emotional just from remembering that. And it made me think back to when GO 2 came out last summer, in the midst of the Writers Strike (and then SAG-AFTRA) and how Michael was probably reading all of the fan reactions online and feeling very much the same way, even though he couldn't say anything about it.

So it becomes even more poignant and compelling that now, when he finally can say anything he wants at all about the kiss, he gives us so little. Or maybe just enough, with a small, knowing smile on his face. Because he's found a boy he likes, and he has his photo.

Those are my thoughts on Michael talking about the kiss on The Assembly. I know it's been a week now, but hopefully everyone has had time to process it too, so I'd love to hear what you all think. Thank you for writing in! x

[n0v4hertz]

a popular dance partner.

@theemmtropy i had to immediately sketch out gale after i read your post. hes just so. i want to [REDACTED] him.

[al-luviec]

still haven't moved on from zane in this episode (aka I hit tag limit again and am unhappy about it)

[camzverse]

apologizing in advance for the person i will become when the next pjo show season comes out

[skeletalheartattack]

just give him some time to come to terms with it. he'll be alright.

[Referencing this post]