#overheard in catholic school

[keep-both-eyes-on-trump]

I want to talk about another post I saw the other day.

It was from a Catholic user and they were describing a time in which they overheard a group of men, democrats presumably, talking about how Christians, and especially Catholics, are evil. They described sinking in their chair and hoping their friend would not call attention to or out them as Republican and Catholic. Described how they've managed, so far, to keep other people outside of close friends from finding out that they're Catholic. Described the hurt and anxiety and fear they felt. It was very poignant, and I'm sure it was a very unsettling experience.

Which is why I didn't reply or reblog and am, instead, writing this.

Because, although I am neither Republican or Catholic, I can recognize myself in that post.

I recognize myself from family Thanksgivings when the topic of politics come up and suddenly nearly thirty people around me are loudly discussing their support for Trump, distaste for Biden, and hatred of Democrats who are all lying, demonic, scum of the earth while I try to hide in a corner and down my wine and hope no one addresses me, the lone college graduate who came back too "liberalized."

I recognize myself from when I was listening to my cousin at my sister's birthday party detail how disgusting and repulsive she found her gay high school principle while my mother, aunts, and other cousins all just nodded thoughtfully and tossed out some form of agreement. The crime this gay principle committed? Having a family photo of him and his husband and their child on his desk. My family doesn't know I'm queer. I, too, remember roaring in my ears and my chest tightening as I sank in my seat and swallowed mouthfuls of water in an attempt to wash away my anxiety.

I've known I'm queer for years and I've kept that from my family.

Because every comment, every remark, every agreement that queer people are disgusting, repulsive, wrong, and sinful echos in my head anytime I think about telling someone.

These experiences? They're not unique. There is a long history of people who have had such experiences all their lives and there is likely to be many more to come.

So, if you've had a moment like this, a moment where you've felt hurt or shamed or frightened because of the words another person used to describe a group that you belong to, I want you to take a moment and be mindful of the words you use to describe others.

The Watcher

[girlactionfigure]

THURSDAY HERO: Irene Gut

Irene Gut was a young Polish nurse who saved the lives of thirteen Jews during the Holocaust at great personal expense. One of five daughters in a prosperous and devout Catholic family, Irene was born in 1922 in Kozienice, Poland. Her father was an architect and factory owner, and Irene’s childhood was a happy one. Her closest friends were the children of her father’s Jewish business partner.

Irene was a beautiful, bright and kind-hearted girl, and in 1939 she enrolled in nursing school in central Poland. Soon after, the Germans and Soviets invaded Poland. The details are vague, but Irene was captured by Russian soldiers and mistreated before she was able to escape and return to her hometown. The troubles were just beginning, however, and her father was arrested by the Germans, most likely for his Catholic faith. Irene and her sister went to Radom, Poland to live with an aunt, and they were conscripted by the Germans to work in an ammunition factory.

The Nazi invasion caused terrible difficulty and disruption for Irene and her family, but she didn’t realize the full horror of the situation until 1942, when something happened that completely changed her life. Irene witnessed a Nazi soldier murder a Jewish baby on the street. Deeply shaken, she resolved to do what she could to help Jews.

Irene’s opportunity came after the pretty Polish girl caught the eye of Major Eduard Rugemer, a German officer who took her with him to Tarnopol, Poland (modern-day Ukraine) and put her to work as a waitress in the officer’s club. Tarnopol’s population was 40% Jewish, and when Irene arrived the local Jews were wearing yellow stars and being forced into a squalid ghetto. Irene befriended a group of twelve Jews, and began passing them information about raids and arrests she overheard in her job as a waitress. She smuggled food and travel permits to her Jewish friends in the ghetto.

One day, Irene overheard plans to liquidate the ghetto and send all the Jews to death camps. Irene was determined to help her Jewish friends, but didn’t know what she could do. A miracle occurred soon after, when Major Rugemer moved to a large villa and made Irene his housekeeper. Astonishingly, Irene brought the twelve Jews – one of whom was pregnant – to the villa in the dead of night, and found a secure hiding place for them in the basement. Irene knew she was putting her own life at grave risk but she was willing to die to save her friends. She provided them with food, medical supplies, and everything else they needed to stay alive.

For months, the Nazi officer had no idea that Jews were hiding in his own basement. Then he found out, which would mean certain death for the hidden Jews and their rescuer. Irene begged and pleaded with Major Rugemer not to turn the Jews in, and he agreed, on one awful condition. He would allow the twelve Jews to remain in his basement if Irene provided him with sexual services. Her refusal to accede to this repulsive request would have been understandable, but this heroic young woman was wiling to undergo the worst kind of degradation to save her friends. For months, Irene was Major Rugemer’s mistress, while the Jews in the basement had no idea what she was doing to keep them safe.

In 1944, the Russians advanced on Poland and the German army started to retreat. Irene and the hidden Jews took the opportunity to flee from the Nazi’s villa and hid in the forest. The Gestapo was still powerful, however, and Irene was arrested, but managed to escape right before the Red Army liberated the area. That May, Ida Haller, the pregnant Jewish woman whose life had been saved by Irene, gave birth to a baby boy. When she saw the healthy infant, Irene felt that her own terrible sacrifices had been worth it.

After the war, Irene spent time in a displaced persons camp, where she met William Opdyke, a United Nations Relief Agency worker. They got married in 1949 and immigrated to the United States, where they had a daughter. Irene didn’t speak about her heroism until 1975, when she heard a neo-Nazi claim the Holocaust never happened. Inspired to set the record straight, Irene wrote a memoir, “In My Hands: Memories of a Holocaust Rescuer.” In 1982, Israeli Holocaust Memorial Yad Vashem honored Irene as Righteous Among the Nations.

On June 9, 1995, Irene received a papal blessing from Pope John Paul II, and an invitation to have an audience with the Pope. As a lifelong Catholic, Irene said, “This is the greatest gift I can receive for whatever I did in my life.” 

Irene traveled to Israel in 1997 to reunite with Hermann Morks, one of the twelve Jews she saved, for an American TV show. While in Israel, Irene met with Israeli Prime Minister Shimon Peres and other dignitaries. Perhaps the most emotional part of her visit was meeting Roman Haller, the baby she helped save. He had grown up to become director of the Claims Conference, an organization that represents world Jewry negotiating restitution for victims of the Nazis.

Startlingly, the Haller family never knew of Irene’s painful personal sacrifices on their behalf, and they had been deeply thankful to Major Rugemer for sheltering them, believing he did so out of the goodness of his heart. The Hallers actually took the German officer into their home as a house guest, and Roman Haller considered the now-former Nazi his “Zeide” (grandfather)! Rugemer was also honored (posthumously) as Righteous Among the Nations, and his 90 year old son accepted the award. 

Irene passed away in California in 2003. A few years later “Irena’s Vow,” a play based on her book, opened on Broadway and in 2023 it was made into a movie . British songwriter Katy Carr released a song inspired by Irene called “Mala Little Flower” in 2012.

For her remarkable courage in saving thirteen lives (including baby Roman), we honor Irene Gut as this week’s Thursday Hero.

[violettaskies]

To Share A Kiss The Devil Has Known

(ch. 1)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x you // Eddie Munson x f!reader // perv!Eddie Munson x innocent!reader

Genre: romance, mild smut, Catholic trauma, religious trauma, friends to lovers, slow burn

Notes: this will have a three installments // this chapter is just the intro honestly lol so sorry if it’s boring build up // Eddie is kinda pervy lol // he’s kinda dark but also not // i tried to write him to be as much of a consent king as possible

Warnings: MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY, NSFW // talks of religion, reader goes to confession and her priest is a little mean with his words (at the beginning), slight manipulation, pillow humping, humping, first times, dacryphilia, corruption kink, praise kink // masturbation //please let me know if there should be more added, thank you!

ao3 // chapter two // chapter three // masterlist // series masterlist

-:-:-:-:-

Every other Sunday was for confession. While other members of the family went on Wednesdays or Saturdays, you always chose Sundays since it would start the week off on a clean slate.

Not that there was much to confess about. Oftentimes, you would walk from your house to the church a few hours after mass ended, maybe feeling a bit guilty about your thoughts, rarely was it ever your actions. One day, you came in to tell the priest about how angry you got at your parents when they grounded you for accidentally falling asleep in church. You didn’t lash out at them, of course; but, you did curse them in your head — not honouring thy father and mother very well.

Then there was an instance three years ago at the homecoming dance. One girl had on the most beautiful baby blue dress you had ever seen, while you were stuck with a hand-me-down gown of the same colour. You prayed aloud that night in front of your bed, that you would one day have the opportunity to wear a dress as nice as hers. But the prayer backfired when your mother overheard, then told you to march to the church the following morning to confess how you broke the tenth commandment of coveting thy neighbour’s goods.

As a whole, you thought there were never any major moments in your life where you sinned gravely. That was until you went to your friend’s house for Bible study on Saturday night. She hosted it weekly, and invited all the kids from school. Needless to say, only a handful of people appeared. Not that it wasn’t fun, the six of you would always spend a few hours going over passages, and then eat a nice dinner afterwards. Truly, you looked forward to it since there weren’t other things you were invited to in town.

So when this past Saturday rolled around where the first epistle to the Corinthians was read, specifically the sixth chapter and eighteenth verse — your group started to analyze it as normal. But, little did you know that this was the day your heart would drop the hardest it ever has.

‘The sexually immoral person sins against their own body,’ the people in the room repeated the verse over and over, like a chant taunting you and your actions.

It was the first time you walked into the confessional on a Sunday afternoon with shaky legs and an intensely beating heart. You told the priest what you told your friend, trying to rid yourself of the sins you unknowingly committed. But he stopped you, his voice only getting louder as he gave you guidance on your next steps. ‘Stop doing that,’ he said, ‘God may not be so quick to forgive you if you give into the Devil’s temptations so often.’ Then after he assigned you a penance of five Hail Marys and going through the rosary twice, you were gone.

All you could think as you took your first steps outside, were words that should never cross your mind. Not now, not ever.

If sinning is so bad, then why does it feel so good?

-:-:-:-:-

As the day ended, and a new week of school began — your guilt never went away. Teasing you from the back of your subconscious as you walked home, ate dinner, and failed at doing some homework that was due a few days later.

It had been three days since the last time you unknowingly sinned, two days since you found out what it was, and one day since the priest’s voice scared you to the point of no return. Everything affected you gravely, that even once you walked into school Monday morning, the noises from the other students became a muffled and chaotic mess in your ears. So much so, that as you were shakily getting things out of your locker, you didn’t even notice movement from the one next to yours.

“You look stressed, sweetheart.” The voice startled you, only amplifying your inner-guilt, since you spent the past few moments focusing on shutting the voices up in your head, rather than greeting your favourite locker neighbour.

But what made you feel guiltiest of all, was that he is the one who inspired these sins of yours.

The throbbing ache between your legs felt good, and the way your pillow helped relieve that ache felt even better. If you were able to feel this level of delight every night, then why not think of someone who made you feel the same way? — the question plagued your mind nightly, during the moments you were oblivious to committing a sin.

Little did you know that it was truly sexual in meaning.

There was only one person who made you feel equally as amazing with their words and actions. Your locker neighbour to the right, Eddie Munson.

Several moments replayed in your head. Like the time he kept calling you ‘pretty girl’ because you decided to wear a skirt on the first day of Spring. Then, you remember how his calloused fingers felt when they were so close to your face after he brushed your hair from your neck; making sure to linger on your sensitive skin before mentioning how beautiful the silver crucifix looked on you. There were so many times after that too. From his deep voice whispering in your ear to ask if you needed a ride home while you both were in study hall; to his arms wrapping a sweater around your shoulders during lunch when the school’s heater broke. The Hawkins townspeople claimed him as a spawn of the Devil, but you named him as the only true friend you had. The only person to make the butterflies in your stomach tingle every time he spoke to you.

“I-I’m not, it’s just I can see now why Mondays aren’t people’s favourite,” you responded, still staring into the vastness of your locker. Thinking about how your start to the week wasn't so great as it usually is.

Eddie had opened the metal door completely, removing the barrier between the two of you. “But, Mondays are always your favourite because you get to see me after a painstakingly long forty-eight hours,” he pouted while trying to get you to giggle at his dramatics.

It worked.

“Well, I normally see you around the fourth period. This is the earliest you’ve been at school for a while.”

“Mondays are the worst because my homeroom teacher loves putting tests at the buttcrack of dawn,” Eddie groaned, while holding up the notes you loaned him at the beginning of the year since you already took the biology course before.

“Well, good luck, I’m gonna go—” no matter how much you loved talking to him, and how warm he made you feel, Eddie was part of your current predicament. So seeing him now made your heart ache in the worst way.

As you went to grab the locker door to close it, Eddie lightly grabbed your wrist. “I saw you leaving the church yesterday. You looked so,” he paused, moving his head downwards to meet you at eye-level, before continuing. “Sad, you looked so sad. I even called out your name a few times so I could give you a ride home, but you kept walking, so I assumed you didn’t hear me.”

So it was the Devil’s spawn shouting your name as you made your way home; not the Devil himself making you feel guilty for your actions. It was just your friend who wanted to look out for you.

Eddie continued: “or maybe you’re ignoring me,” he pouted with feign-sadness.

“Oh, uh-uhm it was just a really tiring day and I guess the voices in my head were too loud,” it was only partially a lie.

“If something’s bothering you—”

“Nothing’s bothering me, honestly,” this one was a lie, and it came out a bit too easily. But all you could focus on now was the feeling of Eddie’s thumb stroking small circles on the soft skin of your wrist.

He looked you up and down suspiciously before saying, “you know you can tell me anything, right?”

“I do.”

“So whatever is going through your mind, let me know. Who am I to judge anyways?” He winked before letting go of your wrist.

You nodded, seriously contemplating if you wanted to have a confessional with your little Devil. Just as you stared at him with eyes full of conflict, the bell rang. Instead of responding, you softly said your farewell. “Anyways, see you later during fourth period, if you decide to come again.”

It was the only class Eddie had a perfect attendance score in, but he would never let you know that you’re the reason why.

-:-:-:-:-

By the time English class rolled along, you didn’t realize just how much your body was moving itself robotically. Going through the movements you’ve been so used to doing for the years you’ve been in high school. Nothing out of the ordinary happened, thankfully. First period was a calculus lesson, history happened afterwards with a lecture on the French Revolution, then a substitute showed up for geography during third period so that was a boring class. All throughout those hours, you kept quiet; because the wrath of the Angel on your shoulder, condemning you for your sins, was becoming far too much. To even think about answering questions the teachers asked was mentally exhausting.

It all came to a peak once you sat on your chair for fourth period English — the only class you had with Eddie this semester, and of course, the only class everyone sat at long desks that held two people. As you looked out the window to the dark blue skies of Autumn, your conscience kept telling you to be careful. You were about to sit next to the boy who amplified your senses as you sinned. Goodness knows how he’ll react to the news if you told him.

What would he think if he found out you think about his hands helping guide your hips nightly, or his voice telling you ‘you’re so beautiful’ when you finally find the climax of your relief, or his lips kissing your —

“You’re still so tense,” the voice brought you out of your haze for the second time today. But this time, Eddie’s warm hand was on the top of your left thigh; the set of thighs you unknowingly went from bouncing one second to squeezing together the next.

“Just tired, maybe I’ll nap when I get home,” you sighed. Truly, it has been three days since the bane of your guilt was committed. You could barely sleep now that you’ve stopped doing your nightly routine.

“Take a nap in my van, I have cute pillows in there,” he scrunched his nose as he teased you, then released your thigh to stretch his arms in the air.

Thinking of how your class went to the zoo for a field trip once, and Eddie found the scariest-looking bats cute, you replied sweetly: “your definition of cute is not really the same as mine.”

“But, I think you’re cute, don’t you?” Eddie loved to make you blush with his not-so-suave comments. Said it was practice for whenever he goes to the bars and flirts with girls there. But he never was able to make them flustered in the way you always were.

You saw the teacher walk into class in your peripheral vision, and prayed that would mean you didn’t need to talk to your locker and desk neighbour for the next three quarters of an hour. “I’m not,” you shyly say while looking away from The Dealer completely.

“You’re such a good girl too,” his voice was deeper than normal.

He was wrong. So wrong. The guilt in your heart only deepens as his words echo in your ear, along with the voices of your priest telling you need to repent for your sins. If this day couldn’t have gotten any worse, of course the muse of your sinful thoughts believes you’re a good girl when you aren’t.

“I-I’m—” your words are saved by the bell and your teacher’s voice which booms through the classroom. You thought you were safe, thought that until lunch you could get away with not looking at the boy who makes you unknowingly rub your legs together. But no, the day that was going downhill, just hit rock bottom.

“This class is a bit different, it will be a work period since I’m assigning you a small project due Wednesday. That’s not a lot of time, so today will be a work period then tomorrow we will have a lesson. I hope that you all can get the project finished after school over the next couple days.”

Doing a small project wouldn't be so bad, would it? The curiousity sat in your brain momentarily before your thoughts went haywire. The teacher paired you off, specifically with the people you were sitting next to, where each duo would need to analyze and present a different chapter of The Picture of Dorian Gray. So after a beat of silence once the teacher’s explanation was over, the class erupted in murmured voices and squeaky chairs. But you couldn’t get yourself to move to face your project partner.

“Don’t kill me but, we may need to finish this tonight because tomorrow—”

“You have your g-gig, I remember,” spreading out your time with Eddie would have helped your intensifying sinful thoughts subside. At least until you got over your bad habit. But now, you both had to do this for your grades — mainly his — so there was no time to lose. Maybe this could be a positive distraction.

“How about we work on it today right after school so we can get it over with?” he suggests.

“Alright, I guess skipping band practice one time wouldn’t be so bad,” you start shaking your left leg again. If you were a sinner, why not fall down the path of delinquency — your tendency to accept defeat a little too quickly, and then spiral, was catching up to you now.

Eddie notices, and touches your thigh again to calm you down like he has so many times before, even a few minutes ago. Although now, you move your leg away from his grip. “No, no, no, you go be a good girl and head to band practice, then I’ll pick you up afterwards and we'll run to the library,” he says trying not to sound disappointed that you backed away from his touch.

“I’ll finish probably a little after half-past three today since there’s only one song to practice,” you state while opening the book to the assigned chapter. “What will you do while you wait?”

“Oh, you know, maybe do some buying and selling,” The Dealer says nonchalantly.

“Shopping?” you ask innocently.

“Of sorts,” he mimes the act of smoking a joint in your direction, and you look at him curiously before understanding what he meant. You remember your father telling you it’s not a good idea to be friends with your locker neighbour because he’s a sinner who does the Devil’s drugs.

Guess he rubbed off on you, while you rubbed off on something else.

The pang of guilt hit you again. Like a stab to the heart from God himself. Tonight, you’ll do penance until you sleep, before the Devil on your shoulder tells you to commit your sinfully bad habit again. “R-right,” you say quietly. “Let’s get started then, you have to stay focused, Eddie, do you promise?”

“Pinky promise, my dear,” he grabs your fingers that are so much smaller than his, and hooks his pinky onto yours. “Only if you promise to focus too. You’ve been zoning out all day long. When you walk from class to class it looks like you’re constantly about to puke.”

“I do not,” you say in a defiant whisper.

“So do,” he teases. “Listen, if I promise to stay focused the entire time while we try and finish this project, you’re gonna tell me why you’re acting this way. It’s worrying me.”

You pause, looking at Eddie’s weirdly mischievous eyes as he starts to rub the bottom of your back. “There’s nothing really bothering me, though.”

“You’re lying, aren’t you, pretty girl?” his fingers started circling in a pattern that brought pleasurable shivers up your spine. After years of giving you featherlight touches — because that’s what friends do, he said one day — he knew exactly where to grasp your body to make you relax.

“Let me think about it,” you slightly give in. However, you can’t get yourself to admit, again, how badly you want to confess your sins to the one who inspired them.

He notices how you started to squeeze your thighs together again during this class. “That’s all I ask,” Eddie chuckles before moving his hands to your waist to move your body closer to himself. “Now, don’t kill me again, but I didn’t read the chapter. Or the book, so,” he elongated the last word while looking at you with feign-innocence with his doe eyes and pursed lips.

One thing you unknowingly did admit, was just how easily you were able to fall for his manipulative ways.

-:-:-:-:-

As Eddie waited in his van for you to come out of band practice, all he could think about was how strange you’ve been acting throughout the day. You were always one to talk to him in shy tones as he would talk your ear off in any given conversation. Today was different though, and he wasn’t able to place a finger on it. What hurt him most was when you reacted to his touch by moving your leg away — a move you haven’t done in the years you had gotten used to his touch. Then, you didn’t join him for lunch like you did every Monday and Friday, since the other days you would be asked to join the band or church group tables.

Something was off, and Eddie feels like it has something to with the downcast image of you walking through Hawkins on Sunday afternoon. Today, he was going to figure it out.

Ever since the man found out his locker was next to yours on the first day of Freshman year, The Dealer became obsessed with you. Not that you noticed him often — Eddie was notorious for skipping class so much that even though you went to your locker between every class, you would only see him once a day during that year of high school. However, he definitely noticed you: your shyness, the way you kept your head down as you roamed the hallways to the next period, and how you had a tendency of jumping a little every time you closed your locker and saw him standing there at his.

The small silver crucifix that was dangling on your neck was the icing on the cake for Eddie. Realizing then, that you were an innocent Angel who went to Bible study and mass every week. While he could only ask God why He put him in such a shitty place with even shittier parents.

Your innocence astounded him — like when people would joke around about how you didn’t know what sex was, all you would do is blush; or how one time a Senior basketball player walked up to your locker and invited you on a date. He was infamous for keeping a list of all the girls he took the virginities of, and you were his next target. The only thing you did though, was thank him and tell him that Bible study was scheduled to be a long one this week so you would rather go to that.

Something possessive leaped out of Eddie that day as he overheard the conversation from behind the metal door. He had to have you, had to know what it was like to roam your mind. He would do anything to make sure you were his.

So he did. Slowly, as the days passed, he would start talking to you more, trying to get you out of your little shell. You were so quiet that sometimes he would need to get close to your figure as you spoke — not that he minded of course. Eddie genuinely did love your innocence and how you didn’t even realize that he was being a flirtatious pervert when he complimented you. That every time he mentioned you were wearing something nice that day, he would go home and picture fucking you in only that piece of clothing or jewelry. His favourite, being the image of you wearing only that tiny silver crucifix you both loved so much.

Then there were the touches you had grown accustomed to. Eddie would invite you to sit with him during lunch — where he would lightly touch your fingers as he went to steal a fry off your tray. Afterwards, he would take his perverted compliments further, by straightening out the fabric of your skirt or shirt collar for you even if it just came from the dry cleaners. The Dealer would do anything to have an excuse to caress your skin for one moment.

You had asked him one day when you had visited his home to watch a movie: “you touch me a lot, why?”

“Do you not like it? Sorry, I just really enjoy—” if he wasn’t already worried about the fact that you were in his trailer for the first time, his heart dropped at the thought that you might hate him for his touch.

“No,” you would never want to make Eddie feel guilty for his actions. Youth group lessons taught you better than that, since it was only right to be accepting of everyone. “What I mean is, I don’t see many other friends do that with each other and I feel bad for them.”

It was his turn to be curious now. “What do you mean?”

“Your touches are nice, Eddie, so soft and sweet. I wish that all people would feel as nice as this with their friends too.” Look at you being charitable with your experiences — when these touches were only meant for you.

“That’s what friends do, they find ways to make their friends feel good.”

“Do you want me to do it for you too?” you reach out to touch his shoulder awkwardly, but you weren’t one to enjoy touching other people yourself.

“Not if you don’t want to. You make me feel good by being there for me when I need it. While I do the same for you, when you need someone to support you,” it’s true; even through all his indecent intentions, Eddie truly found an innocent and friendly warmth within himself for you, besides his love of wanting to be more than friends.

You look at him with sweet eyes to innocently ask the next question. “Then may you please rub my back like you do sometimes? It makes my heartbeat calm down and this movie is scary.”

“Of course, Angel,” it was right then, Eddie realized how much he loved it when you were needy.

“I wish I could have you do this whenever my cousins want to watch horror movies with me. Honestly, my parents don’t even know I’m here. But I just like your tou–”

“Tsk tsk, so naughty. Where do they think you are?”

“Am not,” you exclaimed and Eddie could tell your heart was beating a lot faster than before so he started to rub sweet circles on your back. “Plus, they think I’m watching a movie at a friend’s house, just don’t know who. It’s not a lie. I’m still a good girl.”

“Yes, you are,” he proclaimed deeply, realizing his rebel tendencies have inspired you. While you nearly moaned as your heartbeat stabilized, his touch and his voice made you feel so much better.

When Eddie was home alone that night, he couldn’t stop replaying the small whimpers of yours he memorized. If it was the hormones, or your innocent eagerness to be alone with him and let him touch you — he would never know which one he loved more.

Eddie was a sinner, he knew that, and was able to empower himself with the label. No matter how many times people around Hawkins would rebuke him as the Devil, or how often he would get stares from kids at school as he started to talk to you more: none of it phased him. What he loved most about you was how easily your innocence became obliviousness when it came to his sins – that you would hear about them and refuse to believe he was such a bad person because he was always so nice to you. Eddie couldn’t seem to understand why.

What he did understand though, was that his biggest sin was that every damn day of his life he was on the path of no return when it came to wanting to corrupt your virtue. To make all of his fantasies become a reality as he wanted to slowly make you addicted to him.

Did you figure it out? Is that why you were so awkward with him throughout the day? Why did you beg for his familiar touch in his memories, but pull away today?

Eddie’s mind moved at a million miles a minute, unsure of what was going on. But one thing was for sure: he was going to find out exactly what was hurting you, and he was going to do everything in his power to relieve that pain.

A small tap on the driver door window brought him out of his overstimulated thoughts. “Are you ready to go?” Your voice was muffled by the barrier, but Eddie was able to hear you before nodding.

He chuckled at your tendency to knock everywhere before you entered. Even with the van, you never approached it first unless he was already in it, or opened the door for you — that was mainly because The Dealer wanted to have some semblance of being a gentleman to you, even if he took that opportunity to touch your back to guide you into your seat.

“So the library?” Eddie asked as he watched you put your bag on the floor and straighten your skirt in the seat, not looking him in the eye as you respond.

“Y-yeah, it probably won’t be crowded since it’s a Monday.”

You were wrong, so wrong. It looks like all of the English teachers assigned similar group projects to their classes, since the library was filled to the brim with students from all grades cooped up at tables. You started to get nervous, the library was going to be your saving grace as you worked on this project.

“Should we go to my place?” He asked while tugging on the strap of your backpack lightly to get your attention.

“No,” you exclaimed a little too loudly, shocking Eddie a bit. “We can j-just go to mine instead.”

If you two finished the tasks at his trailer, then you felt as if it was walking into the Devil’s lair — a place where Eddie sinned like your parents said he did. The memories of the times your friend made you feel warm were enough to commit your treacherous acts; goodness knows how you’ll be when you’re in a room where everything is him.

While bringing the Devil reincarnate into your home wasn’t the best idea, your house had your Bible and other religious paraphernalia to protect you from giving into temptation. But, that’s also the place where you committed your unknowing sin, night after night — you thought.

These conflicting thoughts were about to be the death of you, as long as the annoying throbbing between your legs and Eddie’s teasingly sinister voice didn’t get you first.

-:-:-:-:-

[solreefs]

a few years ago at (catholic) school I overheard someone say “jesus!” out of frustration, probably about homework. to which the teacher in the room at the time said “don’t bring him into this” which is simultaneously the most and least catholic response to that I can imagine. I think about that at least once a week.

[hedgiwithapen]

post-s3, syl and the shade :)

Post season three! massive season three spoilers. Pat sat across from Sylvester, remembering the last time he'd been at Ritchies, trying to sit next to--well. Not him. But the booths really weren't meant to accommodate two grown men side by side. 

"The shakes here are really good," he said, glancing at the menu. "You always liked--"

"Vanilla malts. I remember what I liked, Pat." Sylvester snapped, but softened. "I still like them. Being... indisposed... didn't change that. "

"Glad to hear it," Pat said. "Anything else look good?" After days of hospital food, Pat guessed that just about anything would. 

"Give me a minute."

Pat picked at the edge of the table, still smiling. He looked across the diner to where Yolanda was cleaning the counter, and gave the good old smile and nod to Zeke, who was sitting at the far table with the High school math teacher and ... He was pretty certain it was Father Thomas, from the Catholic church down the road. Zeke waved back. Richard sat two booths back, further from the windows, sipping a cup of tea. 

It was almost like being, well, back in the JSA's lunch room. a bunch of other people he knew and cared about, eating lunch, enjoying their day, and him sitting across from Sylvester, waiting for him to decide. 

"You need another minute?" Maria asked, flipping open her ticket book. 

"I'll have the double bacon cheeseburger, no tomato, no lettuce, no onions, extra cheese, and a Vanilla malt." Sylvester said, without waiting for Pat to nod. 

"Hi, Maria," Pat smiled. "I'll have, uh. The sweet--" he paused for a moment, a flash of memory choosing now to needle him, "Sweet potato fries, and the chicken special?"

"You got it, Pat. Anything to drink?"

"The vanilla malt," Syl reminded her. She waggled her pen. 

"I gotcha."

"Just water's fine, Maria. Thanks." Pat smiled at her again, and she left.

"So." Sylvester said. " You said things were different but I-- didn't expect all this."

"Yeah, it's pretty spectacular," Pat beamed. "I don't know how I got so lucky."

"One way to put it," Sylvester said. "But that's you, Str-- Pat. Always going where you shouldn't--and don't get me wrong, it works out. If you hadn't disobeyed me, the ISA would have got the Staff--"

"Courtney calls it Cosmo," Pat interjected. Sylvester kept going.

"and then they'd have won.  You sure made some choices, but it all worked out in the end."

"It did," Pat said, shifting a little uncomfortably. " and we've been building something really special here."

"Oh, I've seen that. Dragon King's daughter, huh?"

"She helped us save you," Pat said. " She's not like her father." he paused. "Anymore," he amended."

"It seems like there's a lot of that going around." Sylvester said. "You always did want to see the best in people, Pat. You're lucky that didn't get you killed."

"Right," Pat said weakly. 

Maria set down his fries and Syl's malt. Starman pulled the paper off the straw, taking a long slurp.  Pat picked at the fries. 

"So who else is still around? You said Icicle's gone for good this time..."

"Yeah," Pat said. He wasn't aware of the details, and didn't want to be, but he'd known the steadiness in Artemis's voice to be truth. "Obviously you saw Charles after the surgery. Justin should be back in town soon. Courtney even found Wing..."

"I meant our enemies," Sylvester said. Pat saw the Shade's head tilt just a bit as he looked around to see who all had overheard Sylvester. Luckily, the diner was mostly empty, and Father Thomas seemed to have the others at his table's attention. 

"Well. Fiddler and Brainwave are dead. Dragon King is... handled. You know about Ultra Humanite. Gamber's dead too..."

"What about Sportsmaster? wasn't he with that Tigress chick?"

"Crusher and Paula are dead," Pat said, dropping his fry. 

"Crusher? Paula?" Sylvester frowned. "You called them by their real names?"

Pat swallowed. "Yeah," he said, suddenly hoarse. 

"Oh, my god," Syl said, watching Pat's face. " You--that's the same look on your face when Maggie dumped you. You sure know how to pick 'em, bud."

Pat jolted, and the room flickered just briefly as the Shade appeared directly behind Sylvester. 

"That," he said, in his most patient, and most terrifying, voice. "Was entirely uncalled for. You have been nothing but rude to our friend. That I can forgive. But you slight his judgement. You slight Barbara. Little wonder no one could tell the difference between you and Ultrahumanite."

Pat saw the way the light died completely in his friend's eyes. Sylvester twisted, the malt glass sliding perilously close to the edge of the table. 

"Take it back," he snarled at Richard.

"Shan't," Richard said. "It is out of deference to Barbara and Patrick that I do not take you on a field trip you would assuredly not enjoy. Apologize." 

"I am nothing like that monster!" Syl said, lashing out. The malt tipped, soaking into the pile of napkins. "Pat--"

"That wasn't fair," Pat said quietly to Shade. "He won an Oscar. He fooled all of us--"

"He was unkind to you. Just like this lout."

Pat looked at Sylvester, looking at him with more pain in his eyes since he'd woken in the hospital and asked if it had hurt when the ISA had killed him. He'd begged forgiveness for not protecting him. And he'd made his dozens of tiny little jabs. 

It was hard to reconcile the two people--the Sylvester he made excuses for, the Sylvester he loved like a brother. 

"It's ok," he said again.

"It is not--" Richard started.

"It's not," Sylvester said, just as broken.  Pat winced. "No," he agreed. "But... it will be. It can be."

[poormisguideddemiboy]

Jack post island hcs!!

TW//Some mentions of sh

Literally does not speak the whole time theyre on the boat back to England

Keeps Piggy's glasses until he finds Piggy's aunt and gives them to her (but he says he died because of an accident not murder)

Because of some religeous trauma (his school is a catholic one and forces strict christian ideologies down the boys throats) he spends ALL his time in the chapel trying to pray for forgiveness. becomes obsessed with trying to get rid of his guilt

At first he was too ashamed to approach Ralph, but overheard him crying one day (because of Piggy's death) and went to comfort him <3

Tries to suppress his violent urges but sometimes end up harming himself (he tries to hide this though)

Gives up being a prefect and leaves the choir since it isn't the same without Simon

Avoids everyone who was on the island out of shame, especially Ralph and Samneric

Often has panic attacks but is afraid of going to the doctor (bc it's the 1950s and yk how they treated mentally sick ppl :/)

After about six months off the island, he properly breaks down in front of Ralph and apologises when Ralph finds him harming himself. Ralph forgives him <3

(Pls feel free to request any hcs!!)

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Hi Alyssa!

I have a random question for you today…

What’s the strangest thing you have ever done for money?

Hi Kat!! Happy Monday!

Oh BOY that sure is a loaded question! hahahaha I have done quite a few strange things for money, honestly. Some of them might not be... how should I put this... sharable. But I have a couple that I certainly can tell you about.

1- Bartender at a Catholic High School fundraiser event. I think it was a fashion show? So I had already been a bartender for about three years when I started student teaching (there was a brief moment in time when I was going to be a HS English teacher) at my old high school (Yes, I attended catholic school for 12 years. Fun fact, that school has since shut down and was most recently used to film the new Mean Girls movie which I have not seen but the trailers trip me out because there's Tina Fey standing in my old history classroom lol) and was also coaching the girls' track team, so I was around the school often. Someone in the main office overheard me talking to one of the other teachers - who just so happened to be a friend that I bartended with in the summer - about being a bartender, so they asked me to "bartend" (it was just wine and beer) this event (that was held in the cafeteria). I guess it's not that strange, but it was a weird like... worlds colliding thing for me. Still, it was an easy $100.

2- I wrote social media posts for a cab company in London. For a while I was freelancing on Fiverr and was hired to write... so many strange articles, posts, press releases etc. (One time a really small scale rapper contacted me to write some reviews for his music and told me he was gonna take me to the top and I literally have not stopped laughing about that because no, sir, you are not taking me to the top you are paying me $5 to say your music is good which it wasn't horrible but it definitely wasn't going anywhere near the top. Another time I had to write 1500 words about different types of mattresses.) But my one repeat client was this cab company in London that had me rewrite all the copy for their website. And I have never been to London.

3- I sold donor recognition plaques. This one was strange in so many ways. I worked for a tiny company that specialized in making those like big wall installations and like trees that you see in hospitals and temples/churches and universities and other institutions where boosters/donors have their names on like plaques or leaves. It was strange working there for a lot of reasons. The company had been around for 100 years at the time I was working there, and if you looked around the office and workshop, you could tell. There was an entire room of paper records (non digitized, despite the fact that digitization exists and despite the fact that this company had already suffered a fire like 40 years ago and lost all their records) the workshop was like part functional creative space, part fucking museum because some of the tools were like The Original Tool. But the strangest part about working there was the fact that the three owners all seemed to be locked in a constant battle with each other which made it impossible to get anything done. But yeah. If you've ever been in a temple or hospital in NY, NJ or the surrounding area, chances are the tiny dysfunctional company I worked for made their plaques.

[flatbstanley]

Wednesday, 9:48 pm

Ayla: You okay, Pops?

Poppy: I still don't get why you're losing your job. Isn't there some kind of law about not firing people because of their religion?

Ayla: Sweetie, we don't know what's going to happen. Brielle's only nine — she might've been confused about what she overheard.

Poppy: But you think it's true. I can tell.

Ayla: Baby, you're right that there are laws about this sort of thing. But religious schools are different—they’re allowed to say that their teachers have to belong to their religion. I don't agree with that, but I've known that it was true since before I started teaching at St. Petronella's. Mr. Moreno told me he doesn’t agree either, but there’s only so much he can do when his own boss decides otherwise.

Poppy: Then why’d you work there in the first place? I’d never work at any company that would fire me for not believing in some god who I don't think exists.

Ayla: Because I love so many things about that school. The other teachers are good at what they do, and they've been really helpful to me. The kids are sweet and funny and curious. And when Mr. Moreno talks about religion, it’s mostly about our responsibility to take care of other people. Those are all things I value, even though I’m not a Catholic.

Poppy: …

Ayla: I promise it will be okay, sweetie. I know I’ll land on my feet somehow.

[amidst-wonderland]

[sleekit]

pairing: mentioned!nora + michael warnings: mentions of smoking, abortion, strong language, violence (this is mainly just dialogue that i cracked-out in an hour) summary: john lays into michael about getting the glasgow girl knocked-up because he's got nothing better to do.

july, eighth

nineteen-twenty-two

“heard what you’d done with that girl of yours” john says to cousin. “she’s staying at mine for now. pol’s running after ‘er ‘cause nora’s not got anyone around here to do it.”

     michael continues to stay quiet knowing john was only looking for arise out of him, even rejecting the smoke he’d offered under the table.

     “the family don’t even know either. it’s why she took esme up to scotland with her, as bait.” john slips out a light laugh, “kid ain’t half as daft as she sounds. thought she’d eat you alive when the missus pulled her in the pub – not now though, she’s got a bit of a fever pol’s making her sweat it out.”

     he looks back to michael who’s still giving him the same pissed off expression as he did when he’d walked through his cell door.

     “what d’you want john?” michael hisses under his breath. “done winding up your brothers?”

     “thought i’d come in here, pick your brain bit because why the fuck am i hearing you’re marrying this girl? she’s a pretty wee thing and a ‘real fucking firecracker’ says esme but–“

     “–she doesn’t want to get rid of it, mum was persistent on that – she’s a nice, catholic girl, doesn’t believe in anything but the book and i was raised to do the right thing, weren’t i?” michael explained. “not that it’s any of your fucking business.”

     john chewed his pick for a bit before his lips began to form a smirk. “not that it’s any of my business but it’s not what she told pol.”

     michael furrowed his brows, perplexed. it’s not that he didn’t believe his mum, he’d just known nora long enough to know that it didn’t sound entirely true, then again nora was no stranger to hypocrisy when it suited her.

     “overheard ada talking about arthur’s woman in wales. pol tried scaring the shit out of ‘er ‘needles this’, ‘infections that’ women stuff but she still wasn’t having it. the kid wants to go back to london.”

     “that’s what she told me, after the lorne – didn’t want to be around all this.” michael sighed, “looked right through me, never seen anything like it. first time she’d ever rung her neck in with me.”

'maybe now you've grown a fucking backbone it'll happen more often' john jokes to himself. though he doubts it knowing nora's a city girl, there's no taming them.

     “nora can’t go home with it – dad’ll ‘leather’ her, whatever that bloody means. the bloke’s an old-school gangster from before the war.” john perked, “esme said he sliced up a man for looking at his wife funny, that’s why they left glasgow.”

     “it’s not.” michael corrected, “it was a neighbour. he broke-in and attacked her mum because she’s gypsy, like you.”

     “point is, not a bloke you want to cross when you’ve just knocked-up his youngest then fucked off to the clink.”

     “hardly choices i made.”

     michael pursed his lips, remembering something john had mentioned, “a fever, was it? everything alright?”

     john shrugs, “docs, nurses, midwives – they’ve been in and out my house, think it’s polio.”

     “fuck.”

     “touch-wood and all that shit, but…”

     “don’t.” michael snapped at his cousin’s implication.

     john rolled his eyes, ‘for a kid not looking forward to marrying this girl, he sure is protective.’

     “would the family come down?”

     “down for what?”

     “the wedding.”

     "scared?" john smirks, "who knows. girl’s got a knack for keeping things bottled. doubt she was ever going to tell you.”

     “she didn’t, mum did.”

     “speaking of pol...“

     “hardly.”

     “she thinks it’ll be a boy, if you’re in the market for names–“

     “fuck off john.”  

[azucar-skull]

I love it when you figure out a person's life story by just looking at them.

Today I saw a girl in a catholic school outfit fidgeting and staring off to space while her mom was talking to a friend.

In a moment I just knew. The way she was dressed, the way her hair was done (cuz she definitely didn't style it herself), the way her mom looked, the conversation I overheard, the way the girl fidgeted/stimmed with her hands with mad zoning out.

That girl is neurodivergent and has/will have religious trauma.

To that girl, listen, your villain arc is gonna be amazing.

[thetimelordbatgirl]

Sorry you had to go through that in Catholic School. I remained closeted in Years 9-12 for that very reason.

Catholic schools suck like that, I swear, since next to the 'your too young to understand' thing from a teacher I got, I also overheard a teacher being homophobic about a former student, aka the teacher acting like him being with someone he loves that just happens to be a guy, is a bad thing.

[motownfiction]

reviled

Sam stands with his back against the lockers in Ms. Dupont’s classroom. It is the fall of his eighth-grade year, a Friday afternoon, the last class of the day, and he is beyond ready to get out of school. He and his family already have plans: to leave school and head straight for their favorite diner, then for a drive to watch all the leaves change. It was his mother’s idea, but Sam seconded the motion. He’s been dreaming of it all day. He’s dreaming of it even now, in the midst of Ms. Dupont’s spelling bee.

Apparently, the in-school spelling bee is a requirement for all junior-high English classes in the archdiocese this year. They’re having a big spelling bee this year, across all the local Catholic schools, and they have to figure out who can participate. The winner from every class period at every neighboring school will go to the big spelling bee at the end of the month.

Sam stands with his back against the lockers.

He is the second-to-last speller now.

He almost can’t believe he got this far. Not because he’s not a good speller (He is one.), but because he can’t believe he kept himself in the game for this long. He didn’t plan to. He planned to screw up on his first word so that he could spend the rest of the class period sitting at his desk, writing out all the lyrics to “I Am the Walrus,” which he recently memorized to impress no one but himself (and his mom, if she was listening). But it was just a travesty – a word that one of his colleagues, a whole almost fourteen-year-old human with a college preparatory education, spelled incorrectly. Most kids wiped out pretty quickly, even the kids who got pretty good grades across the board. Sam wanted to screw up a word on purpose, but he just couldn’t. There was a part of him (and he still doesn’t know how big that part really was) that wanted to prove he wasn’t like that. There was a part of him that wanted to prove his intelligence.

But what was that about?

Sam’s never felt the need to prove his smarts to anybody (except for his mom, but she already knows about that). He’s spent much more of his time pretending like he doesn’t care – that being smart is a burden more than it is a blessing. And a lot of the time, that’s how he really feels. He’s not buying his own bullshit because there’s no bullshit to buy. School is a trap, and being smart is unavoidable. But you can work hard to make sure your school and your smarts never meet. That’s what Sam has been doing since the first grade, when he overheard Ms. Cunningham tell his parents that he could jump up to third or fourth grade in his reading if he really wanted to. He’s been hiding himself from the place where he has to spend most of his hours everyday.

Today feels different. And in part, it feels different because Sam doesn’t want to be standing here. He doesn’t want to be standing here, and yet, he can’t make himself stop. Just once, he thinks, it would be nice for him to prove himself. Just once, he thinks, it would be nice for everyone in his class to know how smart he is, not just guess it by the kinds of jokes he makes or his friendship with Lucy Callaghan. Just once, it would be nice if they looked at him like someone who’s going to amount to something. And today, thirteen other kids in his class are looking at him that way.

And it has to stop.

It has to end.

Sam never wanted to be this guy. He never wanted to be the guy who stands up and crows like Peter Pan getting his shadow back from the nursery drawer. It’s exhausting to be that guy. It’s exhausting, and it’s condescending. Sam doesn’t want to condescend to anybody. He just wants to live in a world where people can keep up with what he’s saying. How are they ever going to keep up if he talks down to them? If they find out he’s really smart – that it’s more than just a sneaking suspicion based on some vague memories from kindergarten and first grade – they won’t listen to him anymore. They’ll treat him like a know-it-all, like the way they treat Lucy.

He knows what he has to do.

Ms. Dupont comes around and gives him his word.

“Sam,” she says. “Your word is reviled.”

Of course Sam knows how to spell it. It’s an easy word. He’s pretty sure Ms. Dupont chose it because she wants Sam to go to the spelling bee. If he goes, he’s very likely to bring home a medal or a trophy. If he goes, and Lucy Callaghan goes with him, they’re both likely to bring back medals and trophies, which Ms. Dupont can proudly display on the top shelf in her classroom. He thinks about what life would be like if he was the kind of guy who wears a medal around his neck … the kind of guy who holds a trophy high above his head and runs around the room, waiting for everybody else to get jealous.

That’s not what he wants.

He knows what he has to do.

He takes a deep breath and looks Ms. Dupont right in the eye. When this happens, he wants her to feel it … the disappointment in knowing she was right about him, that everyone was right about him (even his mom, who usually has a few words to bring to parent-teacher conferences each November).

“Reviled,” Sam says. “R-E-V-I-L-L-E-D. Reviled.”

Ms. Dupont blinks a few times. She asks Sam if he’s sure about that because she can act like she didn’t hear it the first time. The other kids in the class are wailing because they didn’t get a second chance.

“What does it matter if Sam’s the smartest person in this class?” one of the girls whines. “I should have gotten a second chance, too!”

Sam sighs. It’s not that he’s caving to the whims of his peers. It’s that he really doesn’t want to put on itchy pants and sit in a Knights of Columbus hall for hours on a Wednesday night when he could be home watching Mork & Mindy.

“Yes,” he says. “I’m sure.”

Ms. Dupont gives him a look like she knows that’s not what he’s so sure about. Doesn’t matter.

Sam knows he’s never been more certain of anything in over thirteen years of living.

It’s great.

(part of @nosebleedclub february challenge -- day xxi! i know i’m behind again, but it’s been a challenge)

[pillsburydoughboysupreme]

i overheard a conversation in my high school once, which went something along the lines of:

"I went to Catholic school for like eight years and now I'm gay"

"How did that happen"

"Well, they were bad at their jobs"

Truly love the number of people I've met that have been like "Well I went to a Catholic school as a kid, which is to say I'm not Catholic" like damn Catholic schools really out here doing the exact opposite of missionary work.

[hexarcana]

hc + ❓ for a headcanon of the receiver's choice (dealers choice for character/verse)

They were playing holiday music at work when I started this so I’m gonna do a holiday specific HC for Aggie, though it includes Bobby and Olive too.

Aggie was raised Catholic, and a pretty staunch one at that. David was pretty religious in his youth and although he’s kind of forgotten WHY he goes to church he still went most Sundays and he often brought Aggie with. She never liked it except at Christmas because that’s like, the only time where Catholic services aren’t so??? Gloomy? Trouble is, outside of that, there was never any evidence of the holidays in her house. David couldn’t really be bothered to participate in the commercial version of Christmas. He would drag Aggie to midnight mass, and that was kind of it. And she was SO jealous of all the other kids who got to have trees INSIDE the house, or got visited by some flying fat man, as far fetched as it sounded.

The only holiday exposure (besides church) wasn’t even Christmas. It was Hanukkah, something she didn’t even know existed until she witnessed it at the Pines house. I like to think that Caryn felt bad for Aggie a lot of the time and went out of her way to include the sad little girl in things and when she overheard from her boys how miserable the Holidays seemed at the Yearling House she made a point to invite her around the Pines house for at least one night of Hanukkah a year. It was never all that deep, just a slightly fancier dinner at her friends place. On the last Hanukkah she spent with them, Caryn showed her the bare bones basic of making Latkes, saying that Aggie “might as well learn to make them” which Aggie didn’t pick up on really but I really do think she had a “feeling” about the Yearling girl and Stanley.

Obviously she didn’t get to ever go back for another holiday but Aggie committed the entire thing to memory, writing down as much as she could remember.

She didn’t get an actual opportunity to try making them until she was out of school, after she’d tried to go back to Jersey and found it… Well her friends weren’t there, so she moved on to NY, where she got to do everything on her own terms. That included having a Christmas tree for the first time (Even if it was just for her) NOT going to midnight mass or any other church service (after four years of Catholic school she was overjoyed to ignore the church), and fumbling through making latkes based on instructions she’d received years ago.

She’s made them every year since. Bobby and Olive both really like them but have no idea why she makes them.

[imariejoyce]

Does it make you a bad person if you don't have any religion?

This topic is always somewhat sensitive, but I just want to share what are my thoughts about this.

In my early years, I was raised by my parents, who are deeply spiritual Catholic Filipinos. I grew accustomed to the idea of spending Sundays attending church, listening to the priest’s gospel and homily, and reflecting on them. We lived in a small provincial town where this kind of routine was quite typical.

During Holy Week when I was little, I looked forward to the annual procession in our town. It was a nice experience to see the wooden sculpture of the images of saints and the Holy Family showing the stories of the bible and with other devotees while holding their candles as they participated in the procession. I found it beautiful to witness people praying solemnly and expressing their faith through their devotions. I still remember when we were kids; our parents would lift us up or let us sit on their shoulders so we could better see the crowd and watch the procession, which represents various Biblical events related to Holy Week.

I also attended a Catholic school during high school, which I would describe as quite conservative. Each month, every class had a designated day for attending a morning mass. In October, there was a special rosary month where some students participated in a living rosary, forming a large circle in the school's covered court while everyone prayed the rosary together. Reflecting on those times still brings a sense of nostalgia.

When I went to college, I moved to Manila to attend university. Transitioning from a provincial town to the bustling city of Manila was quite a shift. While studying, I met many people, and occasionally, they would invite me to join their religious services. Out of curiosity, I often took the opportunity to participate, especially when I had some free time. I even had a board mate who was actively involved in a campus ministry. In short, I ended up attending various religious services whenever friends invited me during my free time.

As time passes, you encounter different types of people, beliefs, and ways of expressing faith. When I moved to Europe, my perspective on this became more practical. Through my experiences, I realized that not all religious individuals who are actively involved in church are necessarily the kindest or most compassionate. I recall attending a service here where, despite my efforts to avoid gossip (what we call "marites" in the Philippines), I overheard people discussing others' lives after the service. Some were sharing opinions based only on one side of the story. I understand that this kind of behavior isn't limited to churches; it can happen anywhere. There are also stories of infidelity and individuals who leave their families behind, starting new lives abroad without supporting their children. That sounds really frustrating. It’s tough when people don’t live up to the values they claim to uphold, especially in a community where trust and integrity are important. It’s disheartening to see people undermine their own good intentions with actions that contradict their words. Experiencing these situations can be challenging, especially if you feel caught between confronting the behavior and maintaining your own peace.

As I’ve grown older, I’ve realized that religion often serves as a label that separates people based on their beliefs. Attending church regularly doesn’t necessarily make someone the kindest or purest person. What truly matters is doing good and being kind to others. The essential thing is to act with empathy and respect, considering how your actions affect those around you and treating others the way you would like to be treated.

Honestly, I've become less involved with church services due to various experiences I've had. I believe that as long as I'm not harming others, I'm still on the right path. Some may believe I’m saying this because it’s convenient for me, but it’s not about convenience. It’s about the freedom to pursue what brings you happiness and enjoy what life has to offer, as long as it doesn’t harm others. To answer the question in the title, "Does it make you a bad person if you don't have any religion?" I don’t think so. I know many people who don’t practice any religion but are actively involved in helping others. In fact, they can often be more reliable than those you might expect to be there for you during tough times. I understand that assessing kindness isn't confined to a single approach, same as labeling someone as kind shouldn't be solely based on their level of spirituality.

[lnsfawwi]

Ace!Steve thought:

Steve was raised Catholic. he knew later in life that masterbation and sex outside of marriage was normal, even people from his church did it

The church made sexual desire out to be some devil, Steve spent half his childhood fearing it, but that devil never came for him. Steve was 16 and he overheard boys at school talking about sex and Bucky too. the first time Bucky did it with a girl, he told Steve all about it under the duvet, all hushed and excited. it was the best feeling he's ever had. Bucky told him.

so Steve tried. masterbation. he couldn't even get off the first couple of times, so he thought it was just another thing wrong with him.

he never wanted a girl. or a guy, for that matter.

he did date. and very occasionally he'd actually enjoy it. he liked communicating with ppl, hanging out and having fun. he kissed a girl once, on their second date. it was good, but not great as other boys described, and he was sure he didn't want to have sex with her.

he stopped dating her cus he didn't want to face all the “why don't you want it” inquiry from her or Bucky. Bucky was great, he was wonderful, perfect, but nosy sometimes.

he'd rather spending time w Bucky anyway.

he did get off though, w no one particular in mind.

ok that was a lie. he was trying to think about some girl, some girl from Bucky's colorful tales. but it ended up being Bucky, Bucky's hands sliding up and down a curvy body, fingers flicking the pink buds, mouth sucking on the delicate, soft skin. his cock, hard and thick, sliding in and out of the area between the legs (Steve didn't know what that looked like so the image was just Bucky).

he felt good physically, awful mentally. he tried to convince himself that that was just bc he lacked any point of reference except for Bucky's words and Bucky himself.

he still didn't want sex.

he still liked Bucky the most. and Bucky stopped messing around with girls after Steve's ma died, too busy keeping them fed. Steve liked that too.

they shared a bed sometimes, for warmth or comfort, and Steve would remember that time he touched himself w Bucky in mind. he liked touching Bucky, Bucky felt nice. but he didn't particularly want to touch him in a sexual way, no more than he wanted to touch himself, which was almost never. almost.

he thought the serum would fix him, his dick, to be exact. it didn't. but it was ok, they were at war anyway.

and then it was ok too, cus ppl did expect Captain America to be a prude.

one day, Sam and he were on their way to Turkey to chase a lead, and Sam asked, “so were you guys ever...?”

“ever what?”

“lovers.”

“no. Why would you think...”

“hey, sorry man. It's just, maybe I was reading into things. no offense.”

“I'm not offended, I'm just...” Steve paused for a while, “I do love him.”

“I get it.”

“no. I mean...I, I used to think about, future. After the war. And, I couldn't...I don't know. I couldn't imagine myself with another person. And I couldn't stomach the thought of him with one either. I thought, and I still think the years before the war, when we lived together that's all I want. Just us, broke as fuck but we'd always have each other. And we could always visit his folks cus they were just 20 minutes away.” Steve sighed, “I know how it sounds. I knew homosexuality before you were born, Sam. I'm not...I don't want him that way. Sexually, I mean. I just...”

“you just want to spend the rest of your life with him.”

“yeah.”

“Steve, I ask this sincerely, do you want to have sex, with anyone, man or woman?”

“not really, no.”

“ok. right. So I guess whatever crash course on modern sexuality SHIELD gave you left out this one.” Sam typed something on his phone and showed it to him, “It's a real new concept compared to homosexuality. Literally a 21 century invention, so it makes sense that you didn't know, and that's why it confuses you.”

Steve read it. Asexual. There was a related term, aromantic. The two were not in anyway mutually exclusive, or bound together.

Suddenly everything made sense. The selfish possessiveness he had for Bucky, the incompatibility of the desire to be intimate but not sexually, and the soul crushing love he's never had for anyone but Bucky, it all made sense.

“oh.” he gasped. “I'm in love with him.”