#this was for my very catholic father he wanted the addition (this was not my idea don’t come at me)

[thepleathersfine]

Study of “Christ and the Good Thief” by Titian (with Gestas added) Very clearly not what I usually do but it was a gift

[sanakiras]

BOUND BY BLOOD [TEASER]

PAIRING — yoon jeonghan x fem!reader

WORD COUNT — 692 [full fic is 10k+]

SYNOPSIS — in an attempt to escape your past, you join your mother when she moves in with her soon-to-be husband at the other side of the country. the only downside is that your new stepbrother causes you to sink deeper into the rabbit hole you were so desperately trying to leave behind.

TAGS — mentions of death, dark content (stepcest + incestuous undertones), explicit sexual content, mc and jeonghan are two fucked up pervs coming together to maximize their joint slay, additional tags to be added

♪ — ethel cain - family tree,, charli xcx - apple,, ruelle - monsters,, boy harsher - pain,, lana del rey - in my feelings,, unloved - danger,, twin tribes - monolith,, banks - the fall

NOTE — title is not what u think it is i promise. yes i came up with this fic after going through ethel cain’s discography can you tell. do keep in mind that this is just fictional and nothing more than a fantasy, so please (!) skip if the tags make you uncomfortable <3

despite being an adult, your mother’s authority still has a hold on you sometimes.

which is why instead of being in bed all morning like you’d planned, you’re currently in a grand church, seated on a bench in the back of the spacious hall with jeonghan next to you.

your parents were adamant on sitting near the front, but when you were walking into the hall just ten minutes ago, it was jeonghan who took you by your arm so that you and him could sit in the back together, and you’re honestly thankful for it.

with a sigh, you don’t know if you’re talking to yourself, or him. “i have no idea what i’m doing here. i’m not even catholic. pretty sure my mom isn’t, either.”

“no? not a fan of monotonous singing in a cold hall on sunday mornings?”

a scoff escapes you, followed by a sarcastic quip. “such a way with words, brother dearest.”

jeonghan shrugs, as if he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing. “maybe you should pretend to be sick next time our parents want us to tag along. i’ll have no other option but to stay home and take care of you.”

is it so wrong of him to want you all to himself?

“creative.” you mutter with a grin, simultaneously hiding the effect his words have on your body.

he only gives you that mischievous smile, looking at you from the corner of his eye, and you can’t resist the soft chuckles escaping you.

not much later, he’s sitting closer to you, using it as an excuse to whisper in your ear. “me and my dad aren’t catholic either. i’m guessing it’s just about appearances.”

“of course,” you roll your eyes, “maybe they wanna get married here and this is their way of checking it out.”

jeonghan, very selfishly, doesn’t want to think about his father and your mother getting married. he just smiles at you as a way to conceal his true feelings, and all he can think about is that he should’ve met you first, that you should’ve been his.

so he averts his gaze, attempting to focus on whatever the pastor is saying, hoping it’ll take his mind off it.

the preaching is grim and anything but welcoming. words like hell and damnation are thrown around numerous times in a speech that feels almost like it’s spoken in a foreign language, and he hates it — he hates being here.

but perhaps not as much as you do.

“we must and will all pay for our sins, one way or another—” the pastor’s voice rings through your ears. his words keep replaying in your head, and it begins to make you feel dizzy, heavy existential suffering overtaking your chest, like a loud scream being pushed down but fighting to work its way up your throat.

you have to stop thinking about it.

you have to let it go.

jeonghan takes notice of your change in body language. where you were previously hardly moving a muscle, your breathing has become irregular, chest rising and falling more visibly, and you’re digging your nails into the skin of your thigh.

what he’d do to know what’s going on in that head of yours.

he puts his hand just above your knee in an attempt to comfort you, and when you look up at him with almost disturbed eyes, all you find in his gaze is — understanding.

jeonghan doesn’t know what it is you’re hiding from him, but he figures you must’ve done something wrong in your past, if this is your reaction to the speech currently being given.

but he’s done wrong too.

his palm is still resting comfortably on your bare skin, and your shaky hand reaches out for his instinctively; it feels so right. instead of letting you put your hand on top of his, he raises it to hold yours, intertwining your fingers.

when you look at him with corners of your mouth downturned and eyes glossy, your hand clenching his like you need it as much as you need to breathe, he chooses not to give a damn whether your parents choose to get married or not.

he’ll be there for you when you need it — he’ll make you his.

this is a snippet of a fic i’m still working on so no release date yet, but if you’d like to be tagged once it’s released, leave a comment! x

® SANAKIRAS — do not repost, remake or copy my work in any way whatsoever. translations are not allowed.

[girlystories]

Two sides on the same coin

— pairings: Joseph Descamps x ex-rebellious reader

summary: you get expelled from your all girls school after an incident you get yourself into. cutting all ties with your troublesome friends, your parents send you to voltaire lycée in hopes you change your ways. an annoying prick, though, gets in the way of that, making you constantly on the verge of breaking your promise to your parents.

additional warnings: underage smoking, usage of foul language, mention of boobs ig?

authors note: very creative chapter title, ik. also really sorry for this late update, but i honestly don't haven't any excuse. it's finally here so I hope you enjoy. also i added a character from another movie cuz i can.

words: 3.9k

Chapter 1: The bastard with the dumb glasses

[Name] [Last Name] certainly wasn't expecting her first day to occur like this.

She fell down on her knees next to the wounded boy, who held on his left eye. He was whimpering in pain, making it obvious the punch he took to the face was serious.

Placing a hand on his back, she tried to receive any attention from him. She called out his name but didn't get an answer. Blood was dripping from between his fingers and his groaning increased before she was pulled away from him.

...

Lumière Lycée was nothing but a memory now, all what happened there only for the driven girl to want go remember, whenever she even wanted to. If she wanted to. She couldn't lie to herself and say it was a good time. On the contrary, it was a living hell for her. It wasn't a catholic school, but it was somehow aiming towards it.

She'd gotten in trouble one, two, three, or more times. Times she couldn't even keep track of.

Not that it even mattered now. No one would know of her past, her previous troublesome and somewhat rebellious nature in a place for her old school and only herself. It was a year ago from now, certainly she'd have changed from then. Or, in better words, she wanted to mask it deep inside. She promised it to her parents.

Moving schools meant moving overall, but she was sure she'd get used to the new environment sooner or later. Voltaire Lycée, the only academy daring to take things further and expand into a mixed school containing both boys and girls. Such a big change, things were seemingly passing so fast. It was the only thing the newspapers and radio were discussing about all day long for the past three days.

She was now brushing her hair, styling it while in her bathrobe. She added a small touch of makeup on her lashes, in a effort not to seem as tired from sleeping late the earlier day. Her anxiety forbid her from it. To bring some sort of color to her lips, she applied some chapstick. She didn't want to impress anybody, but didn't want to stand out by appearing like some sort of messy girl. That'd make a horrible impression. She opted to blend in with everybody else, which wasn't as easy since she was expected as one of the other few new girls. She'd stand out either way. How many girls would even attend that school anyway?

Either way, she hoped for a change. From having more than fifty absences, five to nine out of twelve marks, constantly snapping at her other classmates and breaking into fights, to becoming a lady with a future ahead of her.

There was a knock on her bedroom door, "[Name]," a soft voice called from behind it, "are you ready yet? Your father could give you a ride to school."

"No, it's okay," she got up from her chair, giving a last look at herself from her mirror. "I'd lather walk on my first day."

Her mother nodded and left without a word, leaving her to finish in getting ready.

[Name] opened her wardrobe, inspecting her clothes and in the end decided upon a matching set of a top and short skirt that she tried out the day before. Before leaving her room she wore her pair of Mary-Jane's.

She headed to her kitchen, where her parents were already awake, eating their breakfast before work. She took a seat and took a sip of her prepared coffe. "Good morning," she said.

Her father swallowed his own coffe before speaking, "Good morning. How do you feel about your new school?"

"Rather anxious."

"No wonder," her mother said. "A mixed school? It's a much troublesome shift from what we're used too. Wouldn't you agree, dear?"

Her dad finished his coffe, placing his mug down. "Well, we do what we can do. If only you would behave, [Name]."

"[Father name], " her mother glanced at him with knotted brows. "Don't start again."

He ignored her warnings, "Now make sure to get your shit together or else things will be really complicated. I'm saying this from the bottom of my heart."

"I know," [Name] simply said.

Her mother still kept an eye on her husband and sighed, turning her attention at her daughter. "Now you have a nice day, okay? Be home right after school or if you want stop by the bakery."

[Name] finished her butter bread, taking her bag as she got up and went to the front door.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" she got interrupted. Internally groaning, she went back and kissed her parents on the cheek.

"Alright, bye," she finally said and left.

Since it was still early, she stopped at her neighborhood supermarket to buy herself a pack of Gauloises, thanking the owner and lighting one while on her way. Just then she realized she didn't know the way.

Minutes later she regretted not accepting her parents' offer to drive her to school. Cursing under her breath at her possibility of being late on her first day, she kept her fast pase as she took a turn on the street she thought the school was located.

To her utter luck, she was right. When she noticed the front gate inspector closing the door she jogged there yelling for him stop. He rose his head towards her, earning his attention.

He threw his cigarette, chuckling softly. "Lucky for you, it's your first day, miss, otherwise I'd have left you locked outside," he said and opened the gate for her.

"Sorry, it won't happen again..." she breathed out.

"Well, they haven't made their way inside. Mr. Belanger is giving a speech."

"Thanks," she said and walked hurrily where everyone stood.

On top of the building's stairs stood the school staff, the students surprisingly listening from bellow. She shoved herself between the crowd to catch a word he was saying.

"-Gentlemen, I expect you to...to be as polite, respectful, magnanimous and dignified as I know you can...when on your best behavior."

"Who is that?" she asked herself.

"The school's Dean," she wasn't really expecting an answer, yet a guy replied from beside her.

She nodded at him, staying silent for a moment before talking again. "Damn, I don't even know in what class I am."

"Don't worry. They'll call your name anyway."

Just then, a woman walked forward, holding a sheet or paper. "I'll now be calling the first-year's, then proceed the second year's due to the addition of female students."

"Just like that," he smirked and Mr. Bluebeard began reading the paper.

[Name] breathed out a sigh of relief. "Good. Because I was afraid of almost getting detention from being late."

He let out a laugh, "On your first day? There's no way a person could achieve that record. Not even me. I can assure you I've tried. I don't think you get detention from being late."

"No," she said. "I said almost. Wait, what do you mean y-"

The call of her name interrupted her question.

"That's your name, right? Seems like you're in class 1B."

"Oh, yeah," she said looking as some other students walked up the starts when their names were called. "See you."

She took a seat behind two girls, and as she did so smiled at them when they seemed to acknowledged her. Little by little everyone gathered in class, each taking their seats.

The woman that was calling out the students from before walked in. "I am Mrs. Giraud, your homeroom teacher."

Then, a girl with blonde hair entered the class, eyeing the empty seats anxiously. She had her hair styled with a headband that matched her dress which was beautifully complimenting her figure. It was no surprise everyone was looking at her with either admiration or a tint of desire.

She took a seat at a desk in the front, and [Name] felt somehow disappointed she didn't choose to sit next to her instead.

Mrs. Giraud noticed her gesture. "What's your name miss?"

She got up from her seat, holding her hands together politely. "Annick Sabiani."

"Where do you think you are, miss Sabiani?"

She didn't get enough time to respond at her question.

"Do you think it's okay to sit next to a boy?" she asked sternly. "Get your things."

She began doing so, but Mrs. Giraud interrupted her again. "No. You," she pointed towards the boy next to her. He looked at her for a moment and she continued, "Get up. Go sit in the back."

"But I can't see from there."

"Back row, now," she then looked at [Name], realizing she failed in noticing her presence before. "And what's your name, miss?"

She got up, awkwardly looking around the class and trying to ignore the stares. "[Name] [Last name]."

"You sit in the front."

She gathered her bag and did as she was told, still feeling the stares accompanied with whistling sounds and whispers. The boy tried to do the same, but someone put his foot in the way. That made him trip and almost fall, the group of boys laughing and making pig noises. "It's not your day, piggy."

The teacher did nothing about it, only complaining about being interrupted. "Quiet! As I was saying... Mrs. Giraud, with a "D" as in "discipline.""

[Name] wasn't listening what she was saying anymore, glancing at the person who was at fault of tripping the poor guy. He was grinning at his friend beside him, finding it wholehearted hilarious, like it was comedy gold. He fixed his glasses before he pretending he was paying attention to Mrs. Giraud. Instead he wrote a note and showed it next to him, the duo starting cackling quietly.

Next period was Latin, where she was met with Mr. Douillard. She ultimately ended up not having a really good idea about him, earning already a bad impression by him ignoring the girls when they raised their hand. She grew more and more annoyed when he pretended not to noticed her and she just stopped trying. Sabiani did not back down, though. Still, Mr. Douillard picked the only guy that had raised his hand.

"I think she raised her hand," the same guy with the glasses pointed out in a snarky tone. He pressed his lips together to hold himself from laughing.

Much to the teachers dismay of having to pick a girl student, he side-eyed Sabiani. "Indeed. So?"

She pushed her chair back, fixing her dress. "The Romans welcome Horatio with joy and congratulations and escort him to his house."

"The Romans "cheer" Horatio," he corrected, obviously not wanting to lower to the level of ever praising a girl, wanting to dismiss their existence entirely. "Can you conjugate the verb "ovare"?"

As Sabiani was answering, [Name] noticed the guy from before writing something on a paper, giving it to the person next to him and whispering something. The note was passed down until the teacher noticed.

"Give me that," he ordered, interrupting Sabiani.

The poor guy sighed and stood up walking up to the teacher and handing the note. From where [Name] sat she couldn't see anything but by the expression of Mr. Douillard she could tell it wasn't good.

The unlucky person sighed and stood up walking up to the teacher and handing the note. [Name] knew of him. He was Alain Laubrac, a guy who happened to be in the same gang she used to hang out last year. She stopped hanging out with them after her expulsion, when she was grounded all summer, cutting all ties with them thankfully. She hadn't spoke to him since like the rest. From where she sat she couldn't see anything but by the expression of Mr. Douillard she could tell it wasn't good.

"Think this is funny?"

"It wasn't me."

"Who is responsible for this masterpiece?"

No answer. The guy who drew it pretended he didn't know a thing, placing his pen under his bottom lip.

"Your name?"

"It wasn't me," Alain repeated.

"'It wasn't me'," Mr. Douillard sighed, "All culprits have the same name. They must be related. Okay, Mr. 'It wasn't me'...'"

"My name is Laubrac," he corrected.

"Are you the boy from the foster care?"

The whole class chuckled at that.

"Some nobody's son's trying to graduate? How amusing. Didn't anyone teach you discipline in the care system? I won't let a bastard disrupt my class. Get out."

"But he didn't do anything!" a girl with blond pigtails protested.

"Nobody taught you to raise your hand in your girls' school, Miss Magnan? Or maybe you think you have a free pass because your uncle is the Dean," the teacher mocked, hitting the paper on his palm. "Escort your new friend to your uncle's office. He'll give you detention too."

They both left the room with their heads low, the class filled with silence.

[Name] bit the inside of her mouth, raising a hand.

"Yes, miss?" the teacher complained.

"With all due respect, sir, but you're being really unfair," she said. Mr. Douillard was taked aback and she continued before he interrupted. "It was Picasso over there who did it," she eyed the glasses-guy from the back.

The smile he wore dissappeared, now glaring at her and preparing to argue something back.

"You've got a nerve talking to me like that, miss [Last Name]," the teacher said. "Don't think I haven't been informed of your performance in your past school. I'm not afraid to get you expelled here too."

The class suddenly filled with murmurs.

"Unless you want detention as well I advice you to sit back down."

She looked down and without having anything else to say she sat on her chair. Her grip on her pen tightened when she looked back and seeing the guy still stare at her, slowly forming a winning smirk.

Bastard, she thought.

Finally lunch came, and she exhaled a sigh of relief as she stood up from her seat, an instant need to stretch her body overtaking her. She only wanted to smoke as soon as possible, the necessity of nicotine calling out to her from not being present for a while. She closed her notebook and walked out the classroom as soon as there was space for her to walk through the students.

She walked down the big row of starts, avoiding in pushing the boy in front of her, but still having trouble keeping her patience.

Just as she was about to turn a corner she felt her face being hit with a flat surface, being jolted back.

"Woah, what's the rush?" she felt an arm on her shoulder and was met with a silly smile. It was the guy from earlier in the morning.

"Sorry," she said, feeling embarrassed. She allowed herself to groan, feeling free from expressing her feelings. Even in front of this guy she just met. "I just couldn't stay in that room anymore."

"I didn't know class 1B was that far off," he joked.

"You know anyone from there?"

"Certainly. I could name quite a few if you ask me."

"Ugh, then I'm sure you know. Speaking of, in what class did you end up?"

He placed a hand in his pocket. "2B," he smiled. "If my last name was different we could've been in the same class. Maybe then the school year wouldn't be so bad."

"Yeah, talk about luck," she played along his playful attitude. She didn't know where he was getting at, but he was at least tolerable. "Oh, hey, we haven't met properly before."

"You're right," he extended his palm, smiling at her. "Mick Travis."

She replied with her name, shaking his hand. "Mick Travis? Is that French or..."

"I'm originally from Britain, but I've moved here for a while. I don't know for how long but I'll do what I can in the meantime. Second year in this school and I can't wait to get out of here."

"Did something happen last year?"

"It's a long story," he said simply, changing the subject. "So, where are you headed?"

In the end they sat at a bench, under a tree to avoid the bright sun from blinding their eyes and having to constantly squint at each other. Travis sat sideways, his one leg crossed while the other was extended freely, his head resting on his palm, the other holding his cigarette.

[Name] lazily looked up at the tree as the wind moved it's leafs, making her almost fall asleep. "Are they gotta tell us something for not going to eat?"

"Hell no, I'm sure they know how ass the food is anyway. We're just saving our lives at the moment."

She hummed, putting out her finished cigarette.

"So," he adjusted his head, in a way to look at her. "What do you think of this school?"

"I don't know. But I hope this year passes quickly. Last year was the worst year of my life."

This peacked his interest. "How so?"

"Long story," she laughed when she realized he responded the same way before. "Maybe I'll tell you if I skip a class."

"Fine."

Break ended too quickly for [Name] to enjoy and she dragged her feet to class, with Travis having to sometimes push her while she groaned in annoyance.

She walked inside, making eyecontact with Sabiani and giving her a look of "I can't stand being here already." The poor girl only giving her a sympathetic smile in response.

She was about to sleep on her desk, when a commotion made her raise her head to see what was going on. Descamps and his friends – whatever their names were, she didn't even bother to know – were making a fuss over something, and she noticed quickly a bucket filled with water behind the door. Descamps grabbed it and attempted to place it on top of the door, ordering one of his friends to keep watch from outside in the process.

The class did nothing, and so did [Name]. It took her a while to realize that a prank was happening, so whoever were to walk in would get drenched in that dirty bucket water. She rose from her seat, throwing her chair back and scaring Sabiani from beside her. She did promise not to act out, in hopes of not getting unwanted attention from the teachers, but she had enough from that Latin teacher anyway. She wouldn't let anyone stop her now.

She walked up to him, pushing him and making him almost spill the water. He narrowed his eyes at her, before he flashed her a cocky smile. "What's that? Didn't you learn your lesson from getting expelled from your last school? Are you planning on doing the same thing here?"

She clenched her jaw at the nerve he had. He didn't even know of her, yet acted better than her. "I'll get expelled for this? You're the one putting a bucket on top of the damn door."

She felt a hand grabbing her wrist and she turned around. "Don't get involved, just continue sleeping on your desk like you were before," it was one of Descamps friends.

She snatched her hand away, "Don't touch me." Turning her attention back at the vile glasses-wearing guy, she attempted to take the bucket away from him, only for him to raise it over her head, mocking her in the process. She would've been intimidated by his height, but she was already used to scarier guys from last year. Descamps laughed at her unsuccessful attempts, then motioned something to his friend. He got the memo and held back [Name] by restraining her.

"Let me down!" she yelled, but they ignored her, finally Descamps putting the damn bucket where he planned from the beginning. She looked at the rest of the class, everyone doing nothing about the whole thing and staying silent in their seats. She made eyecontact with Laubrac, her eyes seeking for his help. He only looked away, hiding his shame.

The victim of the prank was Magnan, as the water completely covered her from head to toe. Her braids were starting to fall apart from her cute style. Her frozen body left in shock as she looked around the class, everyone watching her without reaction. [Name] felt shame when she realized the water made the fabric on her chest area visible, being stuck on her skin.

Descamps and his friends were the only ones breaking the silence in the room, chuckling to themselves and breaking out laughing, [Name] being no longer being held back.

Suddenly he swallowed hard and composed himself at the sight of Mrs. Couret. He looked at her nervously and placed both his hands in his pockets.

Mrs. Couret was in shock at first, but acted quickly, taking of her jacket and putting it around Magnan. She ordered [Name] and Sabiani to look over the class, but they knew that with both of them combined they couldn't control Descamps and his dumb crew. Moments later, they exited the classroom, headed to the nurses office.

If that wasn't enough, Descamps even drew on the chalkboard, being a picture of who she assumed was Magnan, her chest area being the most prominent. [Name] was about to go off again, but Sabiani grabbed her wrist instead, shaking her head at her to tell her to stop. After a bit of contemplating she backed down. Before she could even sigh in disappointment, a senior barged inside the classroom.

He pushed a guy from his way and swing at one of the guys that indulged in the "prank". Sabiani yelled at them to stop but it escalated even worse. Descamps went to defend him, and this lead to him being hit. In the eye area. Next thing she knew, he was kneeled to the ground. Everything had happened so fast, [Name] was frozen in place.

Without thinking she fell next to him, trying to get a look at his injury. It was pretty hard to do so, as he pressed onto his left eye, his back slouching more and more as he couldn't contain his pain anymore. His groans made him so he couldn't hear the girl from beside him, but the warm touch on his shaking body comforted him even for a bit.

[Name] felt herself suddenly being pushed back, and she calmed herself when she realized it was the Dean.

"Let me see," he said, crouching to Descamps' level.

"My eye...! I can't see..."

"Don't touch it okay? Can you stand up?" when he nodded, he helped him get up. He then ordered Pichon to get the nurse, but she was already there.

"He's got some glass in his eye," Mr. Belanger said softly at his wife, as she placed a hand on his back and led him outside, mentioning something about taking him to the hospital.

"Get back to your class!" he yelled at the students that were watching from outside the door. "Dupin, take your seat. Jean-Pierre, my office. You two, put the chairs back. You wipe that off. And you, clean that now!" he looked at the rest of the class, his piercing look sending shivers down [Name]'s spine. "Everyone else, take your seats!" he ordered and the tone of his voice made everyone do so without question. "Quietly!"

He sighed, "I'll leave you to it, Miss Couret," he said, giving a last look to the teacher that had just arrived before storming off.

The rest of the day seemed to pass way slower that before.

tagging: @kpoploverxx-12 @puchosdementa @tropicalheart13 @luvmacyyyy @aiuragf @idontlikemonday @helchronicles @bubblegum-bitchhhhhhhhh @visndcaitswhore @blueberryblood11 @remusmuse @pookayyyyy @blvckdress @lirominissss @issoais-blog @murxhavia @b3l1z8 @nikkoiiii @beau-min

©ssnowville ©snowville

[hauntedhokage]

salvation

Priest!Nanami Kento/F!Reader

word count: 2k

summary: you’ve been avoiding the church, the weight of your unabsolved sins sits heavy on your shoulders, and you know that he knows. he could always see right through you.

warnings: MDNI, priest kink, blasphemy up the ass, references to sexual content (sex in a church and unprotected sex), unintended use of a rosary & prayer, manipulation, Nanami refers to reader as “lamb” and “little one”, this is not their first meeting, established…something, reader is some kind of devout to Nanami and not necessarily to the religion itself at this point,

note: this is heavily inspired by my experience in church (read: very catholic), but I was also trying to lean more into my own vision of  “cult-religion” while not explicitly naming any particular religion that reader and Nanami are failing at practicing. Technically this is act iii but idk if I’ll write the acts i & ii that are in mind. 

AO3 | Nanami Masterlist | All Masterlists | Ko-fi |

You’d been avoiding the church. 

Always conveniently scheduled to work during the different scheduled mass times, and the one time you hadn’t been working you’d faked sick. Faking sick again wasn’t an option, as you were still working through the various meals that were brought your way to help you feel better and didn’t need any additional tupperware to wash and return to your neighbors. Your boss hadn’t scheduled you during Mass in a while, stating that he knew how much going meant to you and now that business was a bit slower he could afford to give you that time back. Everyone wanted you back in that church, sharing the house of worship and the teachings being preached because they all felt you needed it. 

What it provided, you didn’t know. It used to feel natural to be there, enlightening even. Confessional once lifted the weight of your transgressions and had you feeling lighter with the knowledge that your path had been redirected. The reassurance that the gates of heaven had not yet been shut to you, the feeling of light that came when you were told that you were still part of His flock, safe from the fiery darkness of hell - nothing topped that feeling. 

But it wasn’t that you were avoiding the church. 

You were hiding from Father Kento. 

He knew you better than anybody else did at this point, and you hadn’t known him long. It had been maybe six months since he’d come to replace the older priest who had passed away, and how quickly he’d drawn you in - like a moth to his flame and you were trying to avoid getting burnt. He was a priest, after all, even if everything you knew about him went against your understanding of what priests actually did. But maybe that was what you liked about him? Father Kento to you was a completely different man than he was to anybody else, you knew him better because you’d been blessed with the opportunity to see more of him. He’d taken “priestly liberties” to see to your salvation, took special care of you as his most precious lamb, and this was how you repaid him and his kindness? Avoiding he who had given so much to you?

“You look troubled, little lamb.”

And there he was. Always there when you seemed to be thinking about him the most, only in the last few weeks you’d turned away when you saw him at the market or on your way to or from work. Today, though, there is no avoiding him for he’s standing right in front of you. A gentle hand on your elbow (to steady you, would be his cover for a touch so intimate), eyes looking right through you it seemed. 

“Good evening, Father,” you greet, smile soft yet still uncertain as you meet that piercing gaze. “How are you?”

“I’ve been worried about you, but I’m well.” There it was, so quickly to the point yet still managing to be indirect given the public setting that was the middle of the sidewalk. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been alright. Busy, then-”

“Then you weren’t well, yes?”

“That’s where I need to confess.” Your admission earns a quirked brow, the ghost of a smile gracing his features under the streetlight as he gives your arm a squeeze. 

“Would you like to come with me to the church? Somewhere private where we can talk and hopefully provide some solace to that troubled mind.” 

Another act of familiarity, this time his thumb gently running up from the bridge of your nose and between your eyes to smooth out your furrowed brow. A gentle pat to the top of your head follows when you nod, and that has him smiling as he gives a nod of his own before turning to lead you back towards the church. During the walk you tell him about your day, how work was and sharing a fun fact you’d learned that day. In turn he tells you what he can about his, out of interest to respect the private lives of others in the parish. It’s natural, nobody would assume any less than holy intentions to see you being guided down the sidewalk by Father Kento. 

But as soon as you’re inside the walls of the church, the loud click ringing through your ears signaling that you were alone with him and would see no intrusion, you feel almost like a lamb being presented for sacrifice. 

He follows you to where you usually sat shen it was just the two of you in the large building, on the steps in front of the pews, beneath the stained glass but out of its reach when the light shone through at most hours of the day. He does what he always did, dimming the lights before lighting the candles that would provide more intimate lighting for the conversations yet to come.

Father Kento always made you feel special. 

“Where’ve you been, little one? I miss seeing you front and center at mass.”

That was where you were nervous. To tell him what was on your mind, as well as the things that you’d been doing in lieu of attending church and confession, wasn’t going to be easy. He’d be disappointed, and you think for a moment that maybe that’s what you were hiding from. Not Father Kento himself, but the disappointed look in his eyes when you confessed to him that you failed to resist temptation - failed to come to him for protection from that temptation. 

But you tell him anyway, sparing no detail as you know the only way to be absolved of your sins was to confess them. He does an excellent job of keeping his face neutral, hands idly turning his rosary as he listens, and that helps you to ensure that you maintain that honesty. You knew it would hurt him to hear that you’d let another man touch you, that you were hiding from his disappointment, that you were afraid of being a distraction from his work. By the time you’re done your own hands are in his, wrapped in his rosary which eased their shakiness and brought a great deal of comfort.

“I’m sorry that you felt that you couldn’t find sanctuary here,” he murmurs, carefully pressing his forehead to yours. “You should know that I would never judge, and am always here to help you cleanse your sins.”

“I know, I know,” you whisper, looking down at your joined hands. The crystal beads don’t feel as heavy on your skin as they had when he’d started to bring them around your skin, which helps considerably but doesn’t completely relieve you. “I’m sorry, Father, sorry that my faith in you became so weak.”

“God forgave you as soon as you entered his House.”

“But have you forgiven me, Father?” The question brings him pause, and you know why it would. In his eyes, God’s forgiveness should be most important to you, and if God can forgive why would you need to hear anything else? He liked to tease that you were constantly testing him, but this wasn’t a test. This was how you truly felt, and you feared his reaction but you still finish your thought to improve his understanding of your situation. “God’s love means nothing if I don’t have yours.”

“My love for you has not waned in your absence. You are forgiven for your transgressions, my lamb, and I would like to reassure you in that forgiveness.”

You’re kissing him before you can properly process the implication of his words, knowing that what you needed was the specific brand of salvation that only came from Father Kento’s touch. His hands pull from yours, leaving the rosary to hang from your hands as his come to hold your cheeks. Father Kento’s kiss was as he was; calculated and warm, knowing exactly what he needed to do or how he needed to move to maximize your experience in his arms. 

“Please do not drop my rosary, sweet lamb,” he mumbles, lips moving to your neck while his hands work to position you on his lap. “It’s key to your salvation this evening.”

Your attempt at assurance that you’d never drop his rosary - or anything of his, really - is cut off by a whine when sharp teeth dig into your shoulder. A signal to God, he’d said once, to let him know that you’d bled for your faith and did so willingly. You have to separate your hands so he can pull your shirt over your head, and he pulls the cross that now dangles against your forearm into his mouth as he looks up at you through his lashes. Perhaps it's a reminder to be careful, a reminder of where your faith should lie, but you take it as an invitation and press your mouth to his in an open kiss around the quickly warming metal.

“I have to properly present you to God, little lamb. Ensure that he can properly see you embrace your salvation.” And you know exactly what he means as you finally pull yourself from him, letting the spit slick rosary fall against your arm once more before you stand on shaky legs. You needed to bare yourself before God and the Father, present yourself at the altar to accept your salvation. Akin to taking the sacrament, but this brand of salvation was reserved specifically for you - for Father Kento’s favorite little lamb. 

There's a symbolism here that you can’t miss as he lifts you onto the altar - the focal point of the church beneath the intricate stained glass windows depicting images of peace and holiness.

The lamb presented for sacrifice as she’s laid atop the altar, but there’s no knife in his hand. Even if there was, you would only feel reverence for the man standing before you - the man you trusted with your life. You were his little lamb, his favorite within the flock to be used as an example but never to be harmed. If you were ever sacrificed; you’d be reincarnated to once again be his favorite, he’d said it himself that in every instance of your shared existence that he knew he would always find you. The shepherd tends to the flock, always, and a lost lamb would find her way home to the shepherd who loved her so dearly.  

“Are you ready to embrace salvation?”

“Please, Father.” Your hand searches for him, something that you can hold onto when you feel his tip slide through your folds. His hand catches yours, the tight grip pressing the rosary beads into the tender flesh of your palm to the point where you know you’ll see indentations from the intricate bead and metalwork decorating your skin. Another reminder of your repentance to join the soft bruises on your hips, markings on your shoulder, and the remnants of Father Kento’s holy essence that would be left inside you once he’d finished. 

You were far from pure, but so was he. Figuring out where he lost any hope of the salvation he preached would take months of carefully placed questions, but you knew when you’d lost your own. He was unassuming, a kind priest who followed the path lit by God’s light, but at the same time all consuming as he ravaged you from the inside out. Your road to hell had not been paved with good intentions, as he’d intended on dragging you down with him on his own road to damnation. 

But Hell didn’t seem so bad to you if it would be his, too.  

Despite it all, you’d follow him anywhere, if he asked you to go. It wasn’t any god that you prayed to when referring to a Father in your prayers, for Kento was the only Father you prayed to. Your heavenly father, and you know that you will not stray far from his side again. 

You knew better than to hurt yourself like that again. 

[oh-my-bindery]

I clearly had a little late night rant to myself so I decided to share it…

Drarry and how I see them and why they are SO IMPORTANT to me

Draco

Draco is sheltered, an only child, he is spoiled, he has been fed blood purist nonsense all his life by his family and those around him. Which is so relatable to me as I am an ex-catholic who not only had extremely clouded beliefs about race, but also sexuality and religion. I said awful things to people, I was being fed that by teachers, parents, newspapers, Catholic Church, school classmates and teachers. Everything around me was that way. I was a very closeted trans gay man who eventually lost it and wanted to burn all those beliefs down once I figured out what I his deep down about myself and became more aware of people, suffering and prejudice.

I used to use my words to protect myself and even being nasty to people, wanting to hurt them so they couldn’t hurt me. I was a very closeted gay and transgender person. I really relate to Draco.

Draco’s humanity/ vulnerability

The turning moment for me seeing Draco differently (or having a chance of change) as it was for Harry in the books, was seeing the humanity to Draco.

We never truly see Dracos humanity or how he is on his day to day basis (we do get some scenes that shape him as a person and present wider outlook on his character) as the book is written from Harry’s perspective and JKR really hates Draco.

Which is awful, she never gave him a true redemption despite hinting at it, building it up over the 6th, 7th book. Draco stops eating in his 6th year (it’s not directly stated but it is said that he looks “sick” which could be taken is such which addition to not sleeping and overwhelming stress and pressure clearly visible on him), he is forced to become a Death Eater and given the mark as a punishment to his father, he becomes panicked and miserable and acting out of paranoia and not doing a great job. He cries so much so, he becomes friends with Moaning Myrtle and even she says how sad and depressed he is, how lonely he is. Which leads me to conclude that either a) he distanced himself from his friends b) his friends are not his real friends but only friends with him bc of his high up status as a Malfoy or they have been family friends for years due to their parents being friends. c) both. At first maybe Draco felt like he could restore the good family name to his family. He was proud. But then he realized what all of it meant it meant that he would have to kill and he is truly not capable of it.

Draco’s wand working for Harry very well/ being a light side wand

Let’s take a look at what Harry Potter Wiki says about it first.

“Draco Malfoy's wand was 10" long, made of hawthorn wood, and had a unicorn hair core. “

“Hawthorn wands are said to be "most at home" with a wizard passing through a period of turmoil. During the last couple of years of owning this wand, Draco Malfoy was under enormous pressure to murder Albus Dumbledore, and immediately afterwards suffered through Voldemort occupying his family's home. Harry Potter claimed mastery of this wand at a time of great turmoil as well, undergoing a robbery of Gringotts Bank and the Battle of Hogwarts within a short time of gaining this wand.”

What can be told about Draco from it is that he not only was going through some turmoil when he was chosen by his wand at 11 but also continued to do so in Dracos darkest time in 6th year.

What we can gather from this regarding Drarry is that they are both going through the worst. They would understand each other.

Then we move on to:

“Wands with unicorn hair as its core are the hardest to turn to Dark Arts. Although this would seem ironic at first, as Draco's inclination to Dark Arts during his early to middle years (and his success at casting the very dark Imperius Curse) his last years at school led to a change of his lifestyle that made him realise he had gone further than he expected, and henceforth turn away from the Dark Arts.”

Draco was opposed to Dark Arts from a young age even though his father was most certainly very into them. Which is extremely interesting. What was Draco like before he came to Howarts? I can only assume his mum was a good and living influence on his life (she’s definitely flawed and believing in blood purity, but she will give up her own life and happiness if it means Draco is alive and happy).

And yeah Draco was always a terrible Death Eater because his heart was not truly in it. He wanted to save his family and himself from dying.

Draco’s wand in Harry’s hand (GET YOUR MIND OUT IF THE GUTTER)

“Harry looked down at the hawthorn wand that had once belonged to Draco Malfoy. He had been surprised, but pleased, to discover that it worked for him at least as well as Hermione's had done.” - Deathly Hallows

IM SORRY BUT DRACOS WAND CHANGING ALLIANCE TO HARRY IS THE GAYEST THING EVER.

Wands to tend to have difficult time switching masters. Yet Dracos wand doesn’t. It works great for Harry despite Garry not winning it fairly.

Draco’s wand is one that is the least likely to turn into dark arts. The wand chooses the wizard. On the topic of wands Dracos wand felt the most friendly to Harry and he defeated Voldemort with it. Dracos wand also is said to have a very hard time to switch owners/ sides yet there was no problem of it when Harry took it from Draco. Draco didn’t even fight back enough for it. Almost as if he wanted Harry to have it. Which would make sense that the wand worked so well for Harry as Draco wanted it to work for Harry. It only makes sense that way. It may have not been intended by JkR to write that but it’s what she wrote.

Not Identifying Harry in the Malfoy Manor

Draco lies to his family risking his own and his family’s lives to give Harry time to escape the Manor. He knows Harry is Harry but instead says he “can’t be sure” which is the only response he could go for in order for Harry and his friends not to be killed. If Draco said that Harry was not Harry, him, Hermione and Ron would have been killed because they are useless to the Death Eaters and Snatchers.

Draco is top student in some of his classes from what we know. He is smart, he must have known how to deal with this situation. He also was terrified when he saw Harry as Harry noticed.

“… Draco… approached.

“Well, Draco?” said Lucius Malfoy... “Is it? Is it Harry Potter?”

“I can’t—I can’t be sure,” said Draco….

“But look at him carefully, look! Come closer!… …Draco, come here, look properly! What do you think?”

“…Draco’s expression was full of reluctance, even fear.

“I don’t know,” he said, and he walked away…”

-Deathly Hallows

Harry noticed so many of Dracos emotions, more than anyone, they both read each other so well. Know each other by their breath, by their slight movement (main piece of proof is the emotive HBP). They know what the other is going to say or is thinking. Harry knew Draco was terrified and didn’t want to torture Rowle as his punishment. He could see it on Dracos face in his visions after the Manor escape. So far so Harry felt bad for Draco, it hurt him to look at it and he had to cut off that connection it hurt him so much.

“

“More, Rowle, or shall we end it and feed you to Nagini? Lord Voldemort is not sure that he will forgive this time. . . . You called me back for this, to tell me that Harry Potter has escaped again? Draco, give Rowle another taste of our displeasure. . . . Do it, or feel my wrath yourself!”

A log fell in the fire: Flames reared, their light darting across a terrified, pointed white face — with a sense of emerging from deep water, Harry drew heaving breaths and opened his eyes.

He was spread-eagled on the cold black marble floor, his nose inches from one of the silver serpent tails that supported the large bathtub. He sat up. Malfoy’s gaunt, petrified face seemed branded on the inside of his eyes. Harry felt sickened by what he had seen, by the use to which Draco was now being put by Voldemort.” - Deathly Hallows

Also going back to Draco, he had to live with Voldemort since his fifth year. Terrified, watching people die in his house, terrified that his parents or himself will be tortured or killed. And let’s not lie he probably was tortured himself by letting Harry get away. Draco is a skilled at occlumency so he could probably hide his feelings towards Harry from Voldemort or his father.

Harry saves Draco from the Room of Requirements and then again even tho Draco is talking to a Death Eather saying he is on their side. Harry cares about Draco not dying. He risks his own and his friends lives to save Draco. I’m pretty sure Harry would not to that to other people he hates and he didn’t- not Crabbe or Goyle. All he cared about was Draco. This boy is not just a noble Gryffinor and his Harry-self who is adamant about saving lives. He cares about Draco more than he does for other people that are not his friends or family.

I can definitely continue but if people want to add to it, please feel free as I WOULD LIVE IT!

[river-sam2]

Let’s organize my ships…

I like two ships including Magenta(Magenta/Destiny and Ochre/Magenta), but those are in different universe. and somehow, those have some timelines for their future.

Patrick seemed to different for each ships but his atitudes depends on his partner already knew him as a mob boss or not yet.

①Magenta/Destiny🟣🪽

🟣“What a selfish guy I am! I really love her but hope her to love me as a“good old Patrick Donaghue” without knowing my past.”

🪽“he is lovingly and I love him but that makes me sad, because he always hide something about his past and what he really thinking.”

“Mon Ange” et “Mon Chou”

For Pat, Destiny is a reliable and helpful person as a colleague but also she is really adorable and charming lady in the private. For Juliette, she think she should taking care of him (because he often get in trouble…as we can imagine)in work scenes . in private, he is reliable and tender “mon chou”and she depends on him.

Suspension bridge effect

They love each other but Pat was suspicious their emotions are just came from the suspension bridge effect through Spectrum‘s missions, because he worried about their background (family, career, sence of moral etc…)are too much different, in addition, he remember his own crime past and thought himself is not good lover for her, who is beautiful, innocent lady with the future.

“Bless me father, for we have sinned.”

Their relationship had been platonic for a long time until Juliette lost her temper.

Pat tried not to do more than kiss. he explained to Juliette about it as religious reason ( in my headcanon,they are catholic.) and also that he hoped not to her(younger, career-driven lady) take risks for her future. but The truth is that he just afraid to hurt her.

② Ochre/Magenta🟠🟣

each personal headcanon is here

🟣“With him, I feel I can move on without deceiving myself. I cannot save him from his painful memories about his false death but want to make him happy from now.”

🟠“When I’m with him, feeling like I’m still alive, not sleeping six feet under of graveyard in Michigan. I really love and need him but with little bit suspicion by my perspective as an officer. I hope living with him but also afraid to lose him in the war of nerves.”

War of nerves

They loves deeply each other but they think they can be formidable enemy if they be mysteronized or something emergency. And in such a situation, they know they must fight each other before other person do, even though they hope not to.

Something hanky-panky

They started their current relationship from something hanky-panky, when they drank too much at Richard‘s house. At first, Rick was confused because he thought he can loves only women but found his emotion for Pat.

lovingly but eerie

For Rick, Pat is a very lovingly person but he also knows Pat’s ruthlessness. He did a lot of crime with his charming, innocent smile.

Certainly, Rick knows Patrick is gentle, good person now and really loves him, but sometimes feeling something eerie from his lovingly smile.

Don‘t drink too much

After “Flight to Atlantica”, Pat is the only person who couldn’t laughed about what happened to Rick.(It was serious incident but colleagues including Adam and Rick, often laugh it off as a dark joke to stop suffering anymore.) Since then, Pat pay attention him not to drink too much. Actually, the incident was caused by mysteronized champagne, but Pat really worried about him to be bad drunker.

[lastavenged]

Timelines are so messy. I did a revise for Karen's ncu. It's different. Very much so, w/ inspiration a more direct from the comics and messing around with that timeline. Also cause I did jusr geniunely forgot how ncu handles it when I started rewriting karen cause my Karen was original 616 back in the day and started before s3 came out ( so I had already been blending the canon and pulling from 616 canon events so this is just me re-including now that the karen saga with s3 and punisher are a thing )

As in like New York is not Karen's first time leaving Vermont, and it's not 2004 when the "Karen flashback episode" it's actually much closer to when the action in DD starts, partly since it is fresher in her mind (and cause ill be real I'm always a comics first and have been rewatching for the first time in like 4/5 years so I was screwing up some details and there is kind of this part of karen's arcs in the comics, and her regerets and internal conflicts while in hollywood and leaving, and adding like i just have ideas)

Additionally, wanting to put a larger emphasis on Karen the black sheep to her father, the page disappointment, as well as family secrets, and just play around with her character, and pull some her motivations and traits from her comic counterpart.

So like Karen is catholic, now she's non-praciting, but was raised. She does leave Vermont for college, and goes as far away as possible. California, she does not last in college long, but stays away and that kind of when tension with her and father arise (but already tension had been there)

since in the comics, Paxton Page is an ex-gov agent who invented a bomb; and I decided I am keeping that, and that Fagans Corner Vermont and Page Place later renamed Penny's Place, is his retirement as well as kind of his try to get away from the shame and guilt of you know inventing a mass weapon for the government; which is something he does keep secret from his children and everything, which you can bet is one of those things that causes Karen to have tension with her father, cause he keeps this thing from her (which gives an additional to why karen has such a loaded reaction to secrets and lies from others)

But she kind of already in her addiction being a problem, in California, and when she drops out which expect phone call with Paxton, and disappointment. And then Karen's mom gets sick, and Kevin calls Karen and asks her to come home, and she does. Cause she loves her brother and mother, wanrs to be there, and things in California are not going well either.

So then come back, now something later than the ncu canon of the 2004 flashbacks year not quite known, or something and then you have karen back in Vermont, and seeking out fixes and that's how she gets involved with "drug dealer boyfriend" and not always being the most "present" while mother is dying, and then her brother actually trying to help her and finding out the california stuff and trying tk get her to do college again or something. And just you know, most if the flashback events kept, and then things with her brother and drug dealer, and being crossfaded and the crash, and death.. and all of that. Paxton wanting Karen gone because there's all these stacked between them, Karen's early childhood feeling of betrayal that her father just never told her the truth about what he use to do before decided a failing diner was his life now, and then her own lying about California, and then coming back and /being this daughter he doesn't know/ and then Kevin's death, and just basically the metaphorical idea that his daughter is dead to him, and it's better than she just leave and never come back, but at least she's been kept out jail and the trouble she's always causing

And that's Karen's bottom and she doesn't hit new york right away, but you can figure she kind of figures out getting clean, moderation with alcohol, and then end up in New York, only really a year before nelson and Murdock happens, and 3 months at union Allied which is 3 months before the show starts.

So you kind of have this karen, who much like her comic counterpart, had gone through a lot, and is on this kind of repair of herself and reinvention, wanting to help people and not let others end up like her. Which will add to the Wesley stuff and just, incorporates the kind of themes of these exerts from comics & novels to ncu karen more clearly in my portrayal

It may seem like a lot, but it gives a lot more on why Karen's as reckless, as need to be involved and getting the truth, helping people I'm new york and why she's so certain she knows bad guys and dark corners, that this has been a long life like this and why new york, was suppose to be her own reinvention and desire to change herself, and live life better than she had for the first thirty of her life. As well as, incorporate her origins, and let me have a reason for setting up season 3 or post season 3 Karen, inventing Paige Angel ( I have ideas )

I just think that they could have maybe done something with this, instead of "dark lois lane" and again I actually do love her and the Netflix series a lot

I just wanted to jam packed, pad out her history and move up some of the timeline and events.

And litersllt these 10 images are some of the largest moments to me as well as inspiration for my Karen as well as I think the ncu karen

"What I did to me." - such an important little thing to note there

[alolanrain]

I just need more Raihan x Ash please I need it anything will do a fanfic a bunch of headcanons anything please I will get on my hands and knees

Please pretty please

Lmao get up off the floor, it’s dirty. I’ll give you some Hc’s and then some Au ones that hop off of that particular one.

\ : Hc

- : addition, just wanted to give a pragraph break.

\- !au: piggybacking off into an au.

(Reminder that the Ash and Raihan I write are respectively usually around 20-22 and 24-24 following the rule if the anime had actually let Ash age through the regions)

\ Scottish accent Raihan is a thing now and it’s not changing. In the morning his voice is almost like fucking velvet and Ash didn’t know how much of a weak, weak mfer he is to a sooth voice until he woke up the morning following their first night falling into bed together. He’s never heard anything like this from Raihan before, despite having such a varied time zones in the last couple of years, and it’s unfair how weak he had gotten.

\ Raihan is a very tall man with still very short doorways half the time. He’s blessed with the halls of Hammerlocke stadium and he thanks the building and its spirits but the other stadiums are not so kind. Their mean and short height, despite Galar being known for having taller people, the stadiums weren’t meant for giants like him.

(Idk much about Catholics and I willfully ignored the Bible teaching my grandma tried to give me as a child so please bare with my description but this is also how I see them.)

\ Raihan is also… very religious in a sense. Nothing like Ash’s more fucked religiousness, nowhere near, but more ridged-almost se angrily criticized. His father was a devout follower of Arceus despite never going to church, the one of the many religions spread across this wide wide world, but his mother was a follower of Zacian and Zazamenta. More free and encourage to run and roam. Though they were stuck in Wyndon, Raihan’s and his Mothers hometown long forgotten for the sake of Rose’s work, and it’s rigid streets. He knew not to say anything

- he plays the part of a devout follow of Arceus during his younger years to please his father, he wasn’t so kind to Mother when she showed who she truly respected in his house and may have threatened Raihan with sugar coated words to make the “right choice”. It’s not until he takes over the gym at a ripe age of late 16 early 17 and gains the respect of his new older employees. They protect him from Rose when Raihan starts to visit the Saints Of Swords and Shields in Hammerlocke. The same church his mother and grandparents went to before.

\ Ash’s religiousness was very fluid but more in a furious turbulent type of way. He grew up in a very devout Arceus town but it replicates Unova a lot more than it should. There’s very little actual Kanto practices until you get out of the town.

- the reason for this was when Oak’s lab was busing with researchers a lot were Unova scientists and fellow Kanto ones. The Unovian people stuck around once Oak’s started to slow down to have his family, turning to farm work around the lab that used to be far into the woods. Bringing more of their family’s over and… really diving into the deep end of holy shit-though Oak has some kind of permanent blind to really notice.

- the moment Ash stepped out of Pallet Town it was like a whole new world-one Delia tried to desperately teach Ash but was shamed upon by fellow Town citizens. Ash doesn’t realize it later until Brock and Misty finally start to question Ash’s actual nationalities because a Kantonian would know these sort of simple things like communal bathing, transportation, and literally anything more technology based besides what was in Oaks lab. It takes a trip back home for them to realize that oh, it’s like that.

- it changes even more the more Ash travels and it developed into the mess of its own thing. It would be a lot better if it weren’t for the damage he has seen across the globe. The hits he’s taken mentally and physically are terribly strong and plenty, it warped a good bit of his rationality and self-worth but in a spiteful i know I’m going to hell for my atonement, but I’m taking Arceus with me regardless type of way.

\-Ta!AuAsh is even worse. It doesn’t help that he can communicate and had put himself on a thin line between god-hood and humanity that has truly recked his sanity.

- has absolutely used the phrase “Pray to your legendary/god, even favor me.” Or something of out of pocket but somehow horrifying note. Since it’s usually followed by a cruel massacre to get the mission done or against villains like Viren and Faba.

\ even though the majority of Ash’s wounds have healed, it’s still like the scars are there and actually on his skin, the pain and tightness is still very much there So massage oils become Ash’s thing. His little self-care act that he doesn’t feel one inch of remorse or guilt for. Had willing friends rub the oils into his shoulder or upper back when he’s particularly achy and tense.

\ Raihans thing is his hair. He’s very particular about his braids and since he’s mainly a weather specialist he has a specific routines for which weather effects actually appear the most during the battle.

\ Ash happily shares his oils with Raihan, who’s a very tall man and doorways are not friends, but Raihan doesn’t share his hair routine. Ash is more then welcome to stay around and watch, maybe try and lay on his back while he’s braiding, but Ash can not fuck with him during this. It’s important to Raihan to look his best and he’s not willing to trust anyone with that part of himself yet.

\ weighted blankets are nothing on Raihan but their everything for Ash and he’s in heaven during winter in Galar. Heavy boyfriend heater plus heavy blanket means sash can sleep in his normal clothes, a tshirt-mostly cropped- and boxers, despite outside of the blanket being cold that frozen icicles forming in wet hair.

\ Ash genuinely likes podcasts over anything for media. Like apps, movies, tv shows can all go bye bye but podcasts can stay. He’s hooked on a few baking ones and criminal story telling.

\ out of all things; fruit, cheese and meat are consumed the most in the house. Bake good excluding as their mostly very unhealthy but so good. It’s mostly Ash as it can be easy snacking when he’s out an about in the back either working on his garden or lightly training his Pokémon.

\ all of Ash’s hoodies are exclusively ‘Raihans’. In reality Raihan just buys pairs of the same hoodie so he can give one to Ash after wearing it for a while, while still having one for himself. He just hides them before Ash gets home.

- Ash is shit at reminding Raihan when he’s taking off and coming back home so who ever he’s with-if they have his phone number-would text him. So mostly Kukui, Burnet, Lance and Drake.

[gaymergal]

:3 happy pride 🌈 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️

I unintentionally came out to my older sister (again) by wearing a piece of clothing.

💚💜🤍 😂 she remains the best

(Story followed by small spiraling below the cut 😃👍🏾✨)

Forever ago when I was in high school, I was only out as gay at school with friends. And didn’t come out to family until later (Highschool for me was 2004-2008 Bush era. And though my family is and has been very liberal leaning, we were also raised catholic which definitely fueled my personal hesitation to come out at home. Spoilers alert when I told my mom it went hilariously well)

One day after school myself and a pair of friends were at the mall, and the three of us bought a three piece matching friendship necklace at Claire’s on clearance that said roughly Best (star charm), Friends(heart charm), Forever(rainbow charm)

(90% sure that was the breakdown important thing is my section of the necklace had a rainbow charm)

It was like the only rainbow thing I owned, and I would wear it sparingly cause wasn’t 100% out. I had left the necklace on at home and my sister immediately clocked it and pulled me aside and asked if I was gay.

It was a very brief side bar conversation, I was in the kitchen and she literally pulled me into another room and was like “u gay? Your wearing a rainbow necklace”

“Uh yeah”

“Ok cool”

I never did a big announcement to family. Starting with my sister (actually, one of my brothers might have been the first family to know followed then by my sister🤔)

I just told family in one on one conversations as it came up, and eventually even extended family just knew I was gay.

(When I told my mom, because of the way I nervously started the conversation, on the verge of tears saying “i have something important to tell you” she thought I was teen pregnant and when I said I was gay she was like that’s it? That’s fine!)

Anyway! In 2020 with the support of my wife I experimented with pronouns and found that in addition to she/her I really do vibe with he/him pronouns (🥰 I am both her wife and boyfriend and absolutely love being called either)

I really only use he/him privately online and at limited irl queer gatherings and haven’t explicitly told my family (There is a hesitation that family might not fully “get” use of he/him pronouns and for now I’d rather keep it away from them for the time being. At this point its less of a fear of rejection and more of a…I don’t know how that conversation is going to go, and that gives me anxiety to bring it up and start a conversation about it.)

We just had our local pride weekend and I was wearing a pair of black socks that had stripes of green purple white at the top of them 💚💜🤍 for genderqueer and did post a family picture of me my wife and our son at pride to FB (socks visible) not thinking anyone in my fam would clock it.

Got a text from my sister yesterday: “Random question. What are your pronouns?”

Which prompted a phone call (that went super well :3 🥰)

At first she thought they were non binary colors and googled to confirm, but saw that the colors didn’t match but “knew it meant something” and then asked my niece (gen z theater kiddo) what the those specific colors represented. (Lol like straight up queer pop quiz style “hey green white purple, what’s that flag? 🤣)

When the dreaded “what do you want me to use for you” came up (idk why so much anxious, it is very much use one or the other or a mix, i genuinely like and respond to both. the only strong feeling i have is please don’t directly ask me which to use, or why he/him in addition to she/her)

It was a very quick, “so i can still use she/her”

“Yep”

“You sure?”

“Yep”

“well if that changes, I’ll just keep an eye out for new colors”

“🥲💖” (which I found to be very sweet!)

On the one hand, part of me is like, ah history repeating itself, just tell family as it comes up.

But with Pride and (:3 my first!) Father’s day coming up I am tempted to make a FB post just to set the record straight on my pronouns but, (anxiety)

Its weird, like I don’t necessarily feel like I’m in the closet as much as I did with being gay in high school. I’m not afraid of someone finding out. I don’t think my pronouns are something that needs to be kept secret. If asked I am comfortable enough to respond to the question, but the thought of anoucing them publicly is just a big no-no. 🙃

😅 Anyway!

🥳 happy pride! ❤️🧡💛💚💜💙💖

💚🤍💜 treating myself to an early father’s day hair cut tomorrow ✌🏾 :3

[dragneto]

For the wrapped ask: 16, 17, 18, 28, 29, 30 (sorry I'm greedy) <3

all excellent questions, and thank you very much for being curious enough to ask <3

16: What’s your most common “additional tags” tag?

Ooh, interesting. in no particular order, I think Developing Relationship was used pretty often, along with Introspection, Set in a Previous Simulation (for that one fandom specifically, of course), and, uh… Masturbation. :D

17: Your favourite character to write this year?

Hanno Tauber, always. but my single foray into Midnight Mass fic made Father Paul a very close second <3

18: The character that gave you the most trouble writing this year?

Riley Flynn from my fic …in vitam aeternam, mostly because of the situation he was in, and because his experiences are so incredibly specific that I found them difficult to cover. that’s not to say it wasn’t fun, though, the dialogue cadence was easy and enjoyable! and I got to read a lot of Catholic stuff to prepare for it.

28: Favourite work you wrote this year?

This feels like a… difficult one to answer. :( I’m going to say… a tie between The Old Witch and the Good Man (The Quarry, Travis & Laura) and cave-in (Dark, Jonas/Noah). I love them for wildly different reasons—for the former, it’s because of the fun I had writing a time loop fic with unconventional formatting, and for the latter, it’s creating the emotional catharsis that I wanted these two to have at that time in their lives.

29: Favourite line/passage you wrote this year?

Hmm. you know, I keep coming back to this, from staring and a-shakin’ like a leaf (1899, Ramiro/Ángel):

Ángel choked a noise that might have been ‘quiero’ or ‘Ramiro’, and it didn’t matter which he said, or whether he had truly said anything intelligible in any language; he could speak and he could walk and he was not lying dead somewhere in a shadowed corner of Prometheus with pieces of his hand splattered across his own face, broken bits of flesh and bone glued to his skin by a hot spray of blood from a sidearm that shouldn’t have been on Prometheus in the first place, its wielder snarling righteous bloody fury and prepared to mete out divine justice at any cost, too focused on a dangling slab of meat to see the snarling wolf behind it; the same look Ramiro had seen on Tove’s face, judging him for passing his own judgement, for making an impossible call that was really not all that impossible to make when the only other option was to watch the rest of Ángel splinter and spray across the wall.

there was just something really fun about delivering a very important piece of backstory in one incredibly long run-on sentence. :)

30: Biggest surprise while writing this year?

I don’t know if I can say that anything truly caught me by surprise, but I did learn lots of neat HTML tricks that I was able to use to spice up some fics with unconventional formatting. so I’d say that was very fun. :’)

[cerebraldischarge]

“Coming back to where you started is not the same as never leaving.” - Terry Pratchett

My right ear is still a little wonky from the loop-de-loop I did around the Catholic bits of the Second World - the doubly traumatized bits, if you will. But I don’t wanna talk about trauma again, lest I risk sounding thoroughly bromidic. But how about blue milk?

I know, it’s a Star Wars gimmick. But in the center of Warsaw, behind a towering hotel that’s so expensive it made me turn my tail and run, there’s a little place that’s simply called “the place to drink beer and vodka”, according to what Google told me about the blue neon sign above the door. (Straight and to the point, I guess.) It gave refuge to me when I was forlorn, my phone was dying and I was thirstier than a 50-year-old virgin looking at OnlyFans pages. Here, blue milk consists of: milk (obviously), white rum, and curacao liqueur, and it’s absolutely ambrosial.

Oh, that bit about being desperate. Yeah… I wandered out of my comfort zone a little too much this weekend. I’ve been to foreign places before, but written Dutch is easily decipherable if you have some idea of English, German, and how they are related to one another, so at least I could read the signs there; and even in the beach town in Croatia I could rely on finding someone who spoke at least rudimentary English when I got confused. I even liked to strike up some conversation with the Bolt drivers I hailed for succor. One of them - a handsome bald lad - told me that his best friend hung himself due to financial difficulties and that’s why he’s studying finance at university now. Another - an older gentleman - urged me to start going to church again and confess my sins. He just assumed I was raised Catholic by default - which I sort of was, but it’s not as much of a given for me as it would be down there. It was a charming interaction, albeit a little awkward - as it always is when religion comes up. My tattooist was also an older gentleman there, in Zadar’s medieval old town center, and we chatted throughout the 20-minute procedure, mostly about his interesting and very ocean-connected life. I also talked a bit with the cashier at a sex shop. (For some reason, I always end up going to these to ask for directions. Not even kidding, it happened in Munich and Berlin.)

All of that, and I mean all of it, went out of the window in Poland. Two people - the guy who made me blue milk and the hostel receptionist - understood me. The rest of them inexplicably assumed that if they talk louder in Polish, I’ll get it eventually. In the Vietnamese restaurant, I could rely on the good old “point at your order” method; in the grocery store I did not say a word, just like at home - by the way, some of their dried meat products are freaking phenomenal. As far as getting around goes, I glued my eyes to the little blue dot that was representing me, and relied on automatic functions as much as possible. Truth be told, I couldn’t read a damn thing on the streets, nor could I make heads or tails out of what was said to me, and this was utterly disorienting. It’s not like I let it stop me, but holy mackerel, it did put some things into perspective. So this is what my father experienced when he overheard me on a Zoom call (with the additional weirdness of his own offspring slowly becoming a foreigner to him, no doubt). So this is what all monolingual people go through when they get out of their little cultural bubble - or nonverbal autistic people every day, for that matter. This is the scary part I’ve been hearing about!

This gets us back to where we started - or rather, why I started: why I opened Skyscanner, completely sober this time, and clicked some buttons in the first place. Because I was bored. Because I had enough of my room and my antisemitic ancient aliens conspiracy theorist landlord and my corrupt leaders and my own little environment, and wanted something new. Well, I got it. This morning, I couldn’t wait to get back to the bitch cave. I had enough of being confused, hearing unrecognizable words, feeling alone, and all that. I did get some seriously cool cemetery photos out of it, and I met some cats, and I got closer to a bunch of squirrels than I ever dared to surmise, and I shot some guns again (http://pmshooter.pl if any of you happens to show up the area; being Easterners, don’t expect the staff to be overly friendly, but they are definitely professional and you can actually get some limited full-auto time in, unlike in my corner of the woods) - I even got a fancy bracelet made of the bottoms of .357 Magnum rounds, so I wouldn’t say I didn’t enjoy it or it wasn’t worth it, but by the gods, I was bone-weary by the time it was over.

Oh, and the beach part? I wish I could have stayed longer (I tried to ask for 3 nights but they only had vacancy for 2), but perhaps I got precisely what I went for. Namely, a moment of what felt like absolute clarity - something my skeptical, prying, curious, contrarian mind rarely allows to happen. Swimming in the ocean at sunset, I felt something enigmatic and numinous. First of all, I was no longer uncomfortable in my body. The ever-present itches, aches, stickiness, clumsiness dissolved in the water, and I was just frolicking around like a child. (Perhaps this is why I loved swimming so much as an actual child: it freed me from being a sensitive-skinned, gravity-bound klutz.) Then the waves started throwing me around like a wine cork. A thought occurred to me: This is the real world, the stuff that exists independently of humanity - and by dying, I’m not leaving it behind, I’m becoming a part of it. With this came a neoteric lightness, a beatific state devoid of wonted anxieties. I was having the time of my life bobbing up and down, half willingly, half out of control - and I accidentally drank a sip of the salty water. Another thought occurred to me: Sodium nitrite is going to taste something like this, I’ve been told. So I shouldn’t be scared of it. Yeah, it’s not my original favorite, but… At that moment, I felt like I could completely trust it and shouldn’t be afraid of failure. What’s more, this happened on Thursday evening - that is, the 17th, which is my lucky number and the start of the last month countdown to the first anniversary of my father’s death (and likely my final day, unless something else happens - I dare not to make promises anymore, for as my dear father used to say: “Man plans, and god…dammit, there’s always something in the way”). I’m not one for magical thinking, but this coincidence pleases me greatly. If I was into the pervasive mysticism of our age, I’d take it as a sign - as the universe trying to reassure me that I’m on the right track. As it is, I take everything with a grain of salt. But this experience definitely put me more at ease with my circumstances, including the one that has been a thorn in my side for as long as I can recall: the conspiracy between my ineptitude regarding illicit activities and the bureaucratic paranoia of all the governments I’ve seen so far, which results in the vexatious fact that I still don’t possess a firearm and in all likelihood never will. Before you ask - yes, I did ask around for leftovers from the 1990s while I was in Croatia, but all I got was apologetic smiles and something along the lines of “I don’t know about that” every single time. Whether that answer was honest or not, I couldn’t discern. Perhaps someone with more time, better people skills, and more knowledge of the local language could conduct a more fruitful expedition.

My budget suffered greatly, but I grew as a person. The end becomes clearer and clearer, and I’m present for the grand finale.

[troybeecham]

Today the Church honors St. Dionysius the Areopagite, Bishop and Theologian, St. Rusticus, Priest, St. Eleutherius, Deacon, all Martyrs.

Orate pro nobis.

Saint Dionysius lived originally in the city of Athens. He was raised there and received a classical Greek education. He then went to Egypt, where he studied astronomy at the city of Heliopolis. It was in Heliopolis, along with his friend Apollophonos where he witnessed the solar eclipse that occurred at the moment of the death of the Lord Jesus Christ by Crucifixion. “Either the Creator of all the world now suffers, or this visible world is coming to an end,” Dionysius said. Upon his return to Athens from Egypt, he was chosen to be a member of the Areopagus Council (Athenian high court).

When the holy Apostle Paul preached at the place on the Hill of Ares (Acts 17:16-34), Dionysius accepted his salvific proclamation and became a Christian. For three years Saint Dionysius remained a companion of the holy Apostle Paul in preaching the Word of God. Later on, the Apostle Paul selected him as bishop of the city of Athens. And in the year AD 57, Saint Dionysius was present at the repose of the Mary, the mother of Jesus..

During the lifetime of the Mary, Saint Dionysius had journeyed from Athens to Jerusalem to meet her. In one of the few extant eyewitness accounts of Mary, he wrote to his teacher the Apostle Paul: “I witness by God, that besides the very God Himself, there is nothing else filled with such divine power and grace. No one can fully comprehend what I saw. I confess before God: when I was with John, who shone among the Apostles like the sun in the sky, when I was brought before the countenance of the Most Holy Virgin, I experienced an inexpressible sensation. Before me gleamed a sort of divine radiance which transfixed my spirit. I perceived the fragrance of indescribable aromas and was filled with such delight that my very body became faint, and my spirit could hardly endure these signs and marks of eternal majesty and heavenly power. The grace from her overwhelmed my heart and shook my very spirit. If I did not have in mind your instruction, I should have mistaken her for the very God. It is impossible to stand before greater blessedness than this which I beheld.”

After the death of the Apostle Paul, Saint Dionysius wanted to continue with his work, and therefore went off preaching in the West, accompanied by the Presbyter Rusticus and Deacon Eleutherius. They converted many to Christ at Rome, and then in Germany, and then in Spain.

The writings of Saint Dionysius the Areopagite hold great significance for the Orthodox Church. Four books of his have survived to the present day:

On the Celestial Hierarchy

On the Ecclesiastical Hierarchy

On the Names of God

On Mystical Theology

In additional, there are ten letters to various people.

The theology of the Orthodox Church is totally based upon experience of divine knowledge. In order to know God it is necessary to be in proximity to Him, to have come near to Him in some measure, so as to attain communion with God and growth in sanctification, or deification (theosis) in Orthodox language. This condition is accomplished through prayer. This is not because prayer in itself brings us close to the incomprehensible God, but rather that the purity of heart in true prayer, which is humble silence and stillness of the heart and mind, allows us to become aware of the already close presence of God.

The written works of Saint Dionysius the Areopagite are of extraordinary significance in the theology of the Orthodox Church, and also for late Medieval Western Catholic theology. For almost four centuries, until the beginning of the sixth century AD, the works of this holy Father of the Church were preserved in an obscure manuscript tradition, primarily by theologians of the Alexandrian Church. The concepts in these works were known and utilized by Clement of Alexandria, Origen, Dionysius the Great, pre-eminent figures of the catechetical school in Alexandria, and also by Saint Gregory the Theologian. Saint Dionysius of Alexandria wrote to Saint Gregory the Theologian a Commentary on the “Areopagitum.” The works of Saint Dionysius the Areopagite received general Church recognition during the sixth-seventh centuries.

Particularly relevant are the Commentaries written by Saint Maximus the Confessor. (trans. note: although many scholars suggest that the “Areopagitum” was actually written by an anonymous sixth century figure who employed the common ancient device of piously borrowing an illustrious name, this in no way diminishes the profound theological significance of the works.)

In the Russian Orthodox Church the teachings of Saint Dionysius the Areopagite about the spiritual principles and deification were at first known through the writings of Saint John of Damascus. The first Slavonic translation of the “Areopagitum” was done on Mt. Athos in about the year AD 1371 by a monk named Isaiah. Copies of it were widely distributed in Russia. Many of them have been preserved to the present day in historic manuscript collections, among which is a parchment manuscript “Works of Saint Dionysius the Areopagite” belonging to Saint Cyprian, Metropolitan of Kiev and All Rus in his own handwriting.

Later returning to Athens, during a persecution against Christians by the pagan authorities, all three confessors were arrested and thrown into prison. By night Saint Dionysius celebrated the Divine Liturgy with angels of the Lord. In the morning the martyrs were beheaded in AD 96. A pious woman named Catulla buried the relics of the saint, and tradition holds that many miracles were worked at his grave.

Almighty God, you gave to your servant St. Dionysius special gifts of grace to understand and teach the truth as it is in Christ Jesus: Grant that by this teaching we may know you, the one true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, forever and ever.

Almighty God, who gave to your servants Dionysius, Rusticus, and Eleutherius boldness to confess the Name of our Savior Jesus Christ before the rulers of this world, and courage to die for this faith: Grant that we may always be ready to give a reason for the hope that is in us, and to suffer gladly for the sake of our Lord Jesus Christ; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, forever and ever.

Amen.

[wyverns-blog]

It's not to insult you or anything, but I've read the same question so many times that sometimes I wondered if readers skipped some volumes where Kishimoto explains it.

Although the characters of Naruto have their own religion or connotations related to one (as is the case of Hidan or the forbidden technique that Minato executed; which recreates what would be an oni in Japanese culture. In addition to the "demon king" technique, " of the Rinnegan as an invocation), there are only two worlds in Naruto (in addition to the dimensions seen).

And I am talking more exactly about the impure world and the pure world.

The impure world is where the entire series travels; that is, the earthly plane of living beings. While the impure world is the "holy" land where all the souls of the deceased in the impure world go.

No matter what crimes have been committed, absolutely ALL souls go to the same place, which represents neither heaven nor hell. I remind you that Kishimoto, although he may take inspiration from cultural religions, is based on that of his country of birth: Japan. And their belief after death is very different.

I don't think it's cool at all to reduce mangaka cultures to "hell, heaven." I have not stopped seeing and reading comments exclaiming that Obito should be in hell (something that does not enter into the Catholic religion either, according to the end of Redemptions, you will be able to enter the house of God in the most beech), when in Naruto it does not exist in itself such a concept as the one we know and talk about.

I really like that the Naruto characters have their own religions, because it is very realistic for a person to wonder "Where am I going?" after his imminent death. It is something natural and it is a common human fear.

For this reason, the characters do not know of the existence of these two worlds, they only have ideas about what will happen. So it doesn't discredit Obito, since he really thought he would go straight to hell after dying to save those he killed, he even wanted to pay for what he did even though deep down he wished he could ask Kakashi for forgiveness from his heart.

Also, like all souls go to the same place: Nagato, Madara, the Akatsuki, even Hidan go to the same place. Since it is through the edo tensei they are summoned from the pure world to the impure one.

But, and I'm telling you as an obirin lover, you don't have to think of their reunion as a romantic scene, but as the meeting of two very friendly people who were separated as children and lost everything unjustly due to the selfish desire of others. The love that Obito felt towards Rin turned into a simple reminder of hatred for what they did to him, not only to the person who was his friend, but also to someone kind and kind-hearted who paid the consequences of the war.

For me, Obito no longer loved Rin romantically, someone with a libido destroyed by trauma cannot think about romantic feelings; Obito just wanted to see her happy in the tsukuyomi, along with Kakashi, whom he tried to exonerate.

Obito says that he is nobody, and that he doesn't feel anything, it is clearly false. But his romantic feelings came to an end, leaving him simply in love with the idea of a alive and happy Rin, being able to grow with Kakashi and his companions until he fulfilled his dream, as it was supposed to be.

"Rin was the only light in my life", Yes, because she was the only one who showed genuine affection and concern towards him; who motivated him to move to fulfill his dream. Obito was very helpless, and we could say that he clung to Rin as a lifeline because he did not want to be alone with the discrimination he received from his family.

To be more direct, Rin was Obito's Iruka. The latter did not have good sensei, nor father figures like Naruto who helped him with their wisdom to build his well-known ninja path.

Obito was more alone than Naruto.

So, if he had had a good friendship and even brotherhood with Kakashi from the beginning, I do not doubt that they would be inseparable, since the canonical Obito also wanted to see him happy in tsukuyomi.

In the end, I think I went overboard...

I can never forget the fact Kakashi was totally fine with keeping Obito alive at the cost of who knows how many people Obito would've resurrected

[flagellant]

fun additional detail abt my heretical bf that I can't bear not to share. he carries a rosary sometimes when he wants the comfort of Jesus bcus a plain cross on a chain feels too "Lutheran" to him and therefore has bad associations. he will however hide his rosary in public if he takes it out bcus he doesn't want to misrepresent Catholics to the general population. he's polite that way. btw I'm one step away from being catholic on both sides of my family (mother and father ex catholic but both of their parents and siblings are Very. good nice catholics just Very) so this just adds another layer of our respective religious backgrounds make this relationship superficially insane is a deeply fun way

please tell your boyfriend that tumblr's leading expert theologian thinks he's adorable and ask him what his opinion is on those knotted cord decade bracelets bc honestly i wish i still had one bc they made great fidgets

[allthebrazilianpolitics]

LGBT+ Indigenous Brazilians Break Silence

[Image description: transgender woman Majur, gay man Sioduhi, and gay man Tarisson Nawa.]

At the age of 12, a Boe Bororo boy began to realize he was a girl. In the Apido Paru village, where she was born and lives, this was never a problematic issue. But at first, Majur didn't quite understand what was going on inside him. Now, at 30, she knows that she is an indigenous transgender woman and is starting the gender transition, at the same time that she becomes the cacique, due to the absence of her father, 79, because of illness.

Since she started perceiving herself as trans, Majur has been leaving Gilmar Traytowu, her male name, in the past and building the desired identity as a woman. “I'm doing (the transition) in parts. First, taking female hormones, with follow-up by an endocrinologist from Rondonópolis. I started to realize that I was trans even when I was 12 years old and since then I have adapted and got to know myself more and more.”, says Majur, in an interview with Amazônia Real. Majur expected to undergo the transitional treatment by the Unified Health Service (SUS), but given the delay by the public service, she decided to pay for the procedures.

In the Apido Paru village, Tadarimana Indigenous Land, in Rondonópolis (in the state Mato Grosso), 212 kilometers from the capital Cuiabá, Majur has always been respected. But now, as cacique and leading a community of around 800 inhabitants, respect for her has only increased. However, Majur is aware that this is not the reality of other “monas” – the way she refers to the other indigenous people of sexual diversity. “I know several and I believe that they find it more difficult to expose themselves. We, in addition to being indigenous, are also LGBT+, suffer from double prejudice, although I never suffered from my parents. But from some relatives, yes, and in society abroad too, but I'm much stronger than prejudices.”, she explains. 

Along with the bodily transition, Majur also incorporated a visual transformation. She wears feminine pieces, some clothes, bags and adornments, such as earrings. “They are from the BioMajur collection, which I make myself, I love to make.”, she says.

Majur had the opportunity to leave the village to study, but she decided to stay and work with her people. Single, currently seeing a guy, she already considers herself a mother. That's because she raises two nieces as if they were her daughters. "They like me as a mother and now I'm a grandmother, because one of them has already given me two beautiful and wonderful grandchildren."

Majur's strength, as a woman, cacique, “mother”, and “grandmother”, is precisely in her authenticity. “I always say that our sexual position doesn't define our personality, we are what we are, not what homophobic society wants us to be.”, she says, adding that she always thanks Aroe Eimejera – “God, the Chief of Souls, the Chief of Spirits” of the Bororo for being well, as well as all her family members.

Breaking the silence

A topic still taboo, sexual diversity in the villages has gained strength with more indigenous people deciding to break the silence. Amazonian stylist Sioduhi, 25, from the Pira-Tapuya people, originally called Waíkahana, remembers how difficult it was to realize that he was a cis gay man.

He describes his discovery process as an indigenous LGBT+ as a moment of understanding his gender identity and sexual orientation. “This discovery brought me a lot of weight, precisely because I was born in an area undergoing a very strong colonization process, which is the Alto Rio Negro, in the state of Amazonas. There are large numbers of Catholics and Protestants there. It is a place where colonization ravages in such a way that we all suffer from the process of integrationism. From then on, we can already see how difficult it is to be LGBT+ in Alto Rio Negro”, he says.

Aware of the role he plays in society, he has sought to guide this debate in a more open way. “As an indigenous, LGBT+ stylist, who also has a certain influence, I have touched more on these issues, which are still super delicate, due to this construction of binary (male-female) and Christian guilt, which is still very large. We were told that we are going to hell. Not to mention the alienation of these religions.”, he recalls. 

Indigenous queer

An anthropology PhD from the Federal University of Santa Catarina, (UFSC) Barbara Arisi is a researcher on sexual diversity among indigenous peoples. “My doctoral research was with the Matis, who live in the Vale do Javari Indigenous Land, which is close to the border with Peru, where the Javari River separates the two countries.” she explains. She, who currently lives and teaches in the Netherlands, is the co-author of two books on the subject. The TI Vale do Javari is located in the state of Amazonas and is the second largest indigenous land in the country. More than six thousand indigenous people of recent contact and isolated groups live in it.

The first book, “Gay Indians in Brazil: untold stories of the colonization of indigenous sexualities”, was published in 2017 by the Swiss publisher Springer and is a research on the untold story of the colonization of indigenous sexualities, before the arrival of the Portuguese and Spanish.

"Chroniclers, priests, Jesuits, Dominicans, recorded the presence of other non-monogamous and non-heterosexual sexual practices only, of which indigenous peoples, as well as many other indigenous peoples around the world, had before European colonization several other sexual practices admitted in the community”, explains the anthropologist. "Heterosexism, violence against practices that we will later call homosexuals is part of a process of Catholic cultural imposition on indigenous practices related to ways of establishing families, sexuality, affection."

The second book by the anthropologist Barbara Arisi, “Queer Natives in Latin America: forbidden chapters of colonial history”, was published this year by the same publisher and features prohibited chapters of colonial history. The book begins with an overview of the scarce bibliography on the subject and ends with stories of contemporary transgender, queer indigenous personalities, who do not fit into the dichotomy of just two sexes or two genders.

“One of the characters is an indigenous of the Borari people, who also tells of his relationship with Candomblé religion, practiced in his community, where mixing already takes place. The book is all about everything we find from material in archeology, in the chroniclers' records to the more contemporary part, of how indigenous people today claim to be 'pueblos maricas' (”sissy peoples”), for example, a term they use in South America. Such as ‘Soy marica’, used by indigenous peoples in Bolivia.”, highlights Barbara Arisi.

The book also provides information on American and indigenous Canadian academics who claim number two in the diversity acronym: LGBTQIA2+. This is because they are indigenous and are not comfortable with binarism. They are called two-spirit, a native category. The similar term in Brazil would be the “indigenous queer”.

Gender fluidity

In the Nawa people of the state of Acre, according to the indigenous gay journalist José Tarisson Costa da Silva, there are reports that ancestors lived their sexuality in such a natural way that it was unnecessary to be gay. “Sexuality did not have this hierarchy or relationship of violence with people, with different practices. Currently, asserting oneself as an indigenous LGBT is fundamental for the struggle and recognition. It's the difference within the difference.”, he explains.

Tarisson Nawa, who currently lives in Manaus, recalls that the topic of gender within native peoples is now being raised by the movement of indigenous women. “Because gender struggles bring other ways of being and living within the territory.”, observes the journalist. “Along with this struggle of women, this struggle for territory, linked to gender issues, also come issues of sexuality.”

The journalist recognizes that in most territories colonization directly affected the sexuality of indigenous peoples, impacting indigenous bodies in their affections, in their sensibilities, and in the forms of relationships. Just as it changed and continues to affect the societal organization of peoples.

“I have reservations in saying that everything is a product of violence and colonization. I am not denying colonization. It is a fact that it had an impact. But we have to take into account that in Brazil there are 305 peoples. The diversity of peoples is immense, it is difficult to measure to what extent before colonization the fluidity of gender and sexuality existed in all these territories.”, he says.

For anthropologist Barbara Arisi, discrimination and prejudice against sexual diversity among indigenous people depends on the context. Many communities, like Majur's, have acceptance; but others don't.

“I lived with people who were trans, cross-dressed, with changed sex clothes, and there was no imposition on some people. But there are very violent communities. In Central America people are beaten, abused; to conform them to binarism, the form of punishment is often rape”, she warns. “I always think that indigenous communities accept people better, but that doesn't mean everyone, the difference is very big, there are many peoples, so it's not possible to talk generically.”

One of the known cases of aggression was that of Vanina Lobo Escarlante, a Bolivian indigenous trans woman. “Firstly, I was excluded by my family, because I knew what I wanted and I started to wear women's clothes, and that my family did not accept”, she says. Daughter of a cacique, she reported, in a 2019 video, the physical and psychological violence she suffered in her community, from which she had to leave.

Source, translated by the blogger.

[sweetcathedral]

Act of Contrition

Note: Very long overdue, but in addition to my Catholic series of the JJK men, I present to you Geto Suguru.

Pairing: fem!reader x Geto

⚠️: 18+, breeding/creampie, one night stand, pinning, humiliation

Something’s not right. The silence was too heavy in the confessional, it’s like you could hear your own heartbeat echo within the walls. A priest usually enters within a minute or two, but it felt more than that. You fish for your phone in your bag to check the time, surprised that it’s been 15 minutes since you came in.

“Hello?” you peer through the screen in front of you. Nothing, only pitch black.

You sigh, and having lost most of your patience, you give up and turn to leave, but when you pushed on the door to open, you noticed that it was locked from the outside—a characteristic not common for a confessional. Then the sound of a door clicking open and closed comes from the other side of the screen. “Are you here to confess your sins?” a friendly voice asked, hinting that he could be smiling.

“Um, yes,” you hesitantly replied, unsure of the ominous presence.

The dim lights flicker.

“Shall we begin?”

You take in a deep nervous breath and proceed to confess your sins. At the time of everything you’ve committed, it felt right, but now that you’re confessing out loud it sounded embarrassing. Shameful. Although a weight you’ve never known you’ve shouldered has now lifted, giving you a chance to breathe.

“Um, that’s all,” you awkwardly responded, concluding your confessions. There was a series of shuffling coming from the other side, until the lights turned off, submerging you in complete darkness.

“Don’t worry, just give it a moment,” the priest reassured you.

The lights came back on, but this time it brought back a metallic scent and the sound of something dripping.

“Father? Are you okay?” you lean into the screen. Trying to peer through the small holes until something slams up against it, startling you back to the seat.

“Sorry, I’m feeling a bit light headed,” he said in that same friendly voice. An eerie chill runs up your spine. “I believe we might need to continue this in the office, shall we?”

Office? Is he flirting with me? Not wanting to jump to conclusions, you settle your thoughts and worries down. “You can tell me what my penance is and I could recite the prayers in the pews instead of here, so you could leave early.”

“Penance?”

“Yes,” you replied in the same confused tone as the priest. “Penance, something to partially make up for my sins?”

“Ah, is that how this worked?” The voice that sounded from the screen, now came from behind you. The friendly tone now merged into a sneer manner, like a mask had fallen off.

You could feel his figure looming over you, scared to turn around, you shut your eyes to get a better grip of your senses. Slowly, you turn towards him while keeping your eyes on the ground and begin to trace up towards the priest’s face; gradually making up the figure of a tall man in a Buddhist robe. “You’re not a priest.”

“And you’re not a monkey,” his eyes scan you from head to toe. “I thought Christians were more modest, no?”

You cross your arms, feeling exposed in front of him. You were wearing a short dress with ruching at the waist and shoulders, low frontal and back, so it was a little bit revealing for a church, but it’s not uncommon for a city church. Ironically, there are even prostitutes that come in for worship. “I think, I’m gonna go look for another priest.” Trying to avoid making a scene unsuitable for a church.

“I don’t think so,” he completely blocks your way out, backing you against the screen. The confessional was small, only able to fit one person at a time, but now that he was towering over you, it felt like rush hour on the trains and subways. “I still have to give you your penance.”

Geto. The name he introduced himself as, has you pinned up against the screen—reciting the Hail Mary’s.

“Blessed art thou amongst—mmph!” you stifle a moan, unable to cover your mouth with either of your hands. Since he had them tied over your head with his prayer beads and a rosary, using it to hold your arms up while gripping the screen behind you for support.

“I didn’t say you could stop,” he grunts in your ear, the heat of his breath sends goosebumps down your neck. “It’s only your third Hail Mary, too. Didn’t I say to do ten of them, hm?”

Your head was empty, unable to concentrate. It had been flushed of any thought of shame, embarrassment and humiliation. The penance he gave you were ten Hail Mary’s and ten Our Father’s, while committing one of your sins, again. There was no excuse that you could come up with for getting into this situation, his fingers were trailing up your leg as he was gently breathing down your neck. Like an impulsive night at the bar, you pulled him into a thoughtless kiss, waiting for him to stop you, hoping for him to stop you, but it lingered. One thing led to another with him slipping his arms out of his sleeves, letting the robe hang off his waist, and revealing a rather slim and muscular build. Why?

“Geto, my wrists,” you huffed, trying to move your fingers to shake off the numbness.

He thrusted himself deeper into you while adjusting your position, throwing your bond arms over his head and grabbing hold of your thighs. The feeling of his girth unfurling your desires makes the sore pain around your wrists feel pleasurable. “Better?”

You nodded. The heat of both your bodies increasingly gets hotter and hotter, filling the confessional with lustful moans and sultry tones.

Geto couldn’t hold himself back any longer. He grips the screen tighter, enough to hear the varnished wood creak under the pressure and force of his fingers, as if it was about to break. Your bonded arms have slid from your elbows resting on his shoulders to your wrists, using the rosary to pull him closer to you by the neck.

Your toes curl from the feeling of him bringing you closer to the edge, tensing the muscles of your thighs.

“Geto,” you sighed. “Fill me.”

The heat of his chuckle tickles near your bare neck. His lips nipping at it, making you wonder when something so mundane to you ever felt this good, especially with someone you just met.

“More, please,” you begged, reciprocating those same kisses onto his neck.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, his breathing getting more and more rapid.

Geto’s cock nudges rougher inside of you one last time and stops. Your walls squeeze in around his cock, pulsating faster and faster as you feel the peak of ecstasy crest in. “Hah!” You cry out loud. Your legs tighten as your body uncontrollably shudders at the amount of pleasure.

Both of you cave into the crook of each other’s neck with Geto still holding you up against the screen, except his grip has loosened around your thigh, imprinting a faint hand mark around them.

“We should go another round some other time,” he huffed, catching his breath and pressing his forehead against yours. You can feel his cum filling you up inside, his cock still squirting the last bit out as it overflows out of you and dribbles along the wall and onto the floor.