#when i was a kid the ONLY good thing about church was that afterwards you could go down to the auditorium in the school and

[bakedbakermom]

do you know how many years it's been since i had my favorite donut NO ONE makes a chocolate old fashioned anymore

[innerfare]

His Favorite Place 

Summary: his favorite place to fuck you

Characters: Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, and Kid

Genre: pure smut

CW: NSFW // penetrative sex, oral sex, outdoor sex, exhibitionism, quickies

——— 

Zoro: The crow’s nest is by far Zoro’s favorite place to fuck you. He actually prefers it to your bed. When he finishes his workout, he likes to sit back and have you ride him before he takes his afternoon nap, working the tension out of his muscles. It’s gross and sticky, and you both end up in the shower together afterwards. Whether the shower leads to a round two depends on how sore he is from his workout because he’ll basically only have shower sex if he’s holding you up against the wall. 

Sanji: Everyone would assume his favorite place to fuck you is the kitchen. I mean, you and food are his two favorite things. But his absolute favorite is actually shower sex. The best time you two had sex, in his opinion, was the time you were alone in a steamy bathhouse. With no windows, the two of you lost track of time and were in there for hours before Robin came to fetch you, giggling when she found you tangled together. 

Ace: Ace lives to fuck you outside. He’ll push you up against a tree, pin you underneath him on a beach, go down on you in a cave, he doesn’t give a fuck. Having sex outdoors makes him feel wild and free. His absolute favorite is to have you on your hands and knees under the hot sun, fucking you from behind like some sort of animal. You’ve both ended up with all manner of scrapes and bruises from these outdoor trysts, and he always kisses your little injuries after, promising to go easier on you next time. 

Sabo: Sabo really loves a good quickie. He loves how you try to scold him when he drags you around the corner, he loves the thrill of people walking by a supply closet while the two of you are fucking, he loves the fact that he can get you off in under five minutes. And his favorite place for a quickie is any place he’s not supposed to have one, bonus points if there’s a counter of some kind to bend you over. The type to get frisky in a church. 

Law: Law really is partial to fucking you in bed. He has a sealskin blanket from back home in the North Blue, and he loves having you sprawled naked across it while the Polar Tang is deep under water. But on the rare occasions he doesn’t just lock you in his cabin and have his way with you, he wants you somewhere quiet and private. He’ll bend you over his desk with his hand clamped over your mouth and fuck you hard and fast, and then he’ll pretend like nothing happened, sending you on your way with his cum dripping out of you. 

Kid: By far, his favorite place to fuck you is the deck of the Victoria Punk. Whether the crew are out drinking or they’re asleep below deck, the knowledge that they could catch you in such a compromising position has him fucking you against the mast, eating you out on the stairs to the upper deck, pushing your head between his legs while he leans against a canon, etc. He’s also bent you over the front railing before and eaten you out while you clutched the wheel. It’s not just about the thrill of getting caught, though. Fucking you on his ship makes him feel like the most powerful captain sailing the seas. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[visionsofcarnality]

can we get headcanons for gilf!Joel maybe? his slicked back hair in tlou ep3 stirred something in me 🥵🥵🥵

i like the way you think…

Silver Fox ! Joel Miller Headcanons NSFW!!

Traditional old man in every sense of the word, he doesn’t make cheesy comments when you grab a door handle but he does give you a scolding little glare that totally doesn’t light a fire in your panties.

Self conscious about his somewhat saggy skin around his chest, middle, and extremities even after you’ve assured him until you’re blue in the face. You do help him though. Watching how attracted you are to his body even aged as it is definitely strokes his ego.

Has an online refillable prescription for Viagra that gets delivered to his apartment, and when he takes it he becomes an absolute fiend.

Usually without the Viagra he still is able to throughly satisfy you with ages of foreplay and a nice thorough fucking, leaving you both satisfied after one climactic round.

But when he takes Viagra-

You better clear your schedule and invest in a massage gun for your legs afterwards because you are going to be SORE.

I’m talking several positions, screaming until your throat hurts, your pussy feeling raw and used, daylong marathon sex.

Joel doesn’t seem to soften even a fraction until your body is wailing in protest and you can’t feel your thighs anymore.

You don’t think he could possibly have any more left in him until he’s once again emptying his heavy, full balls into your cunt; adding to the previous loads from the past six rounds he’s already shot into your body.

When he’s not fucking you stupid with the assistance of his little blue pills, he’s treating you like the princess you’d expect he would.

Don’t even think about carrying your own groceries, what are you, crazy?

Speaking of groceries…

If you aren’t living together yet best believe he’s on your doorstep every Sunday at 11AM with a truck full of groceries, dropping them off after church let’s out and he’s free to go to the store.

He makes you sit and continue sipping your coffee/tea while he puts them away, simultaneously checking the sell-by dates of everything in your fridge and pantry like a man obsessed.

Like a true old fashioned southern boy, he won’t tell you he’s in love with you. But he will point out the amount of things expired in your house.

“Come on, now. You’re gonna get sick, this is ridiculous-“ As if he hasn’t brought you your favorite brand of cereal and all your preferred snacks. Even all those “Shitty, organic, cardboard crap” things you love.

Never had a good plate of grits? He’s making them meticulously for you the morning after a hookup. “Eat, you need it. That stuff’ll keep you goin’ all day.”

Is all too supportive of your flimsy little sundresses. The gauzy fabric floating around your legs like a visualization of your perfume, nearly beckoning him closer. Even when you’re looking like a good little church girl in your soft, flowy dresses… all he can think about is how easy it would be to bend you over and have his way with you.

Which he does the second he brings you home from his cousin’s cookout in the suburbs.

Did I mention that he got a vasectomy after his divorce? Still, seeing you with his now adult daughter makes him daydream about getting you pregnant.

Which he finds insane… He doesn’t want any more kids, he physically can’t have any more kids… But the only thing he can think about right now is burying his cum in your pussy and keeping you pampered in his house with your belly full of his babies.

That vasectomy won’t stop him from trying his damndest, though. Especially after Sarah (who he had young) has her first baby and he watches you hold the six month old infant for the first time.

This man is a GENTLEMAN in the most old fashioned sense of the word.

Like, I cannot stress that enough.

If you’re an independent person, prepare to be thoroughly pampered.

His old fashioned chivalrous ways may be frustrating sometimes but it really does come from a place of just wanting to show his love.

Like when he insists on driving you everywhere whenever you go places together, or when he always finds a way to move you to the side of his body furthest away from the sidewalk when you walk, or when he automatically picks up your purse when you meet so that he can carry it for you.

But you forget all about those minor annoyances when he bends you over your kitchen table and pounds you into next week, muttering nonsense about how you’re too young for him or how you’re such a dirty girl for wanting him and his old man cock.

You moan his name when he grips both your hips in a tight but loving hold, all too willing to forgive him for his incessant door opening when you’re all dumbed down on his cock, the cock which is now way too hard and blood filled because he definitely popped one of your favorite blue pills a while ago.

But much like the gentleman he is, after he fucks you into a blissed-out stupor, he carries you to the bed and wipes your spent pussy clean, cuddling you into the mattress and running his hands through your hair while you both come down from your highs.

When he does get insecure about the age difference between you, all you can do is kiss his leathery, stubbled cheek and wrap your arms around him… Convincing him with your actions instead of words that his age is only a factor in your attraction to him… And that you love him for what makes him him.

this post got way too long but NONNIE I HOPE I DID YOU JUSTICE!!

[love-is-patient]

I have religious trauma.

I was raised in a household where my dad wanted to be God, and so characterized Him in a way that left me constantly paranoid.

God was a judge, God was a debt collector, God was a hammer waiting to strike.

My mother was likewise delusional to a point. She used religion as a manner of control, manipulating my egotistical dad and our chaotic little world so she could feel better about herself.

I was abused in the church. I’ve been so many churches since childhood I can’t count them.

I was told I was possessed because I was a child with adhd and couldn’t sit still in a pew. I was told that if I didn’t see visions or speak in tongues, I wasn’t saved. I was told that I must be thinking about God at all times or I wasn’t good enough. That I was lukewarm, unlovable, unworthy.

I was too afraid to take communion. I cried and turned away from the altar multiple times because I was a too dirty to touch the offering.

I was told so many awful things that I grew up with a persistent religious paranoia on top of my already anxiety inducing life.

So… why am I still a Christian, after all of that?

Stockholm syndrome, right?

It would be easy to write it off as that, but I did turn away from religion. In the back of my mind. I stayed cautious in case God was still watching.

It wasn’t until I got rid of the destructive influences in my life that things changed.

My perception of God changed when I left the awful people using His name in vain- or for personal gain.

When I grew up, learned to be discerning about the character of people.

Many people live under the assumption that I did- that God is a tyrant who is waiting for you to mess up so he can smash you and send you to hell. Paradoxically, that almost makes Satan sound preferable.

But that’s not who God is, and he doesn’t want people to go to hell.

Even if you haven’t had good parents, you’ve seen what they’re like. They get excited to share experiences with their children. The first taste of lemon, the first puddles to splash in. First words, first laughs, first steps.

God wanted that for us.

Satan got jealous after his rebellion in heaven. He saw God had something good and wanted it for himself again - even if it was just to spite God.

He offered humanity a choice and we took it.

We can debate why it happened until we’re blue in the face, but what matters most are God’s decisions afterwards.

Everything that has happened since the fall has been God trying to bring his wayward children back without force.

Just like when you see that friend of yours making the same bad decisions day after day, and you know their quality of life would improve if they just stopped. It’s heartbreaking, frustrating. You can give them all the advice in the world but they’ll just keep on doing the thing and complain to you about every headache afterwards.

Now you know a little what God feels like.

Only God is a little more patient than we tend to be.

God doesn’t ask much from us, not as much as people, which is weird to think about.

God doesn’t measure your worth by how good you are at your job, how badly you do in school. He doesn’t equate your value to how rich or poor you are, he doesn’t judge you the same way people do.

The first thing he asks of you is to love him and love each other.

He loves us so much that he opened heaven again if we ask for it.

He came down as flesh and blood in Jesus and took all the punishments we should’ve had. In Jesus death and resurrection, we have a way home.

All he wants for us to do is acknowledge that.

He doesn’t hate you if you can’t pay tithe. He doesn’t talk behind your back if you make a mistake. He doesn’t demean, debase, abuse.

Why am I still a Christian?

Because God was there for me when people weren’t.

God didn’t abuse me as a kid, people did, and used God as a shield.

God didn’t lie to me, call me names, break my things - my parents did.

God didn’t order me to do unbelievable things in order to reach him - my pastors and teachers did.

God didn’t tell me I’m unworthy - people did.

Even if you don’t believe in God, if you’re angry at him, feeling hurt and betrayed.

Maybe take a closer look and see if it’s really the people around you making you miserable, instead of an untouchable, invisible hammer.

[poledancingdinos]

BFF Sy

Pairing: Young!Syverson & OFC (Gen fic)

Word Count: 1670 words

Taglist: @amberangel112 @utterlyhopeful-fics @marantha​ @kebabgirl67 @littleone65 @omgkatinka @luclittlepond @elizabetharegina @enchantedbytomandhenry @narnianaos @geralts-yenn @peaches1958 @avengersfan25 @sillyrabbit81 @lena-banena @mrsevans90 @confessionbrain-writings @eclecticfashionbookszipper @rosecentury @shellyshellshell

A/N: I haven't been able to write anything for a while so instead of making actual progress on a WIP, I spent way too many hours formatting this for AO3 to justify having only written dialogue. So if you want to get the full experience, I recommend checking it out here. Made a creator skin and everything.

Masterlist

You 12:47 A.M. : Desi’s new friends are EXACTLY like Chris’ friends used to be, it’s almost disturbing

Sy 12:53 A.M. : Ain’t that a good thing? I thought ya missed the metalheads after the breakup.

You 12:54 A.M. : I did. It’s just so out of character for Desi, you know? Her new BF is so different from others before

Sy 12:55 A.M. : But yeah, when me and L left your place I joked that it felt like Desi was sitting between you and your boyfriend rather than her sitting next to her own BF. So weird to see her with an emo kid instead of a suit.

You 12:56 A.M. : I’m headed home

You 12:57 A.M. : It’s about an hour

Sy 12:57 A.M. : RIP

Sy 12:58 A.M. : Didja take your sleep aids so you can just go to bed when you get home?

You 12:58 A.M. : Not yet

You 12:58 A.M. : Don’t want to risk having a dizzy spell on my solo walk home

Sy 12:59 A.M. : Fair.

You 12:59 A.M. : I’m pretty far from home so I’m being a little more safety minded

Sy 1:00 A.M. : Good. We just finished up a bit of cardio so now I’m wide awake and L is passed out 🤣

You 1:00 A.M. : Funny, it’s usually the other way around

Sy 1:01 A.M. : It’s the clean up afterwards that always wakes me up.

Sy 1:02 A.M. : I can doom scroll a bit and keep ya company if ya want.

You 1:03 A.M. : I wouldn’t mind a witness to my survival

You 1:04 A.M. : Right now I’m sitting in the first subway car behind the driver but as I walk I may call you

Sy 1:05 A.M. : Sure thing.

You 1:06 A.M. : Anyway, the guys were nice but loud as fuck

You 1:06 A.M. : Very into screaming along with the music

Sy 1:07 A.M. : Oh boy. How was Desi handling it?

You 1:07 A.M. : Well actually

You 1:08 A.M. : Even when her BF’s band showed up and things got extra loud

Sy 1:09 A.M. : You know, I was a little bummed I missed the night out with you guys when ya texted me earlier.

Sy 1:09 A.M. : Doesn’t sound like something I would have enjoyed after all lol

You 1:10 A.M. : Not at all. You like good music but not at that volume

You 1:12 A.M. : I wasn’t supposed to go but Leon said I was welcome as he left and Desi confessed that she had never met most of the people that were there and that she would appreciate a familiar face so I went with her after supper

Sy 1:13 A.M. : That’s nice

You 1:14 A.M. : But it was loud enough that my throat is a little raw now. I was honestly concerned that someone would call the cops

Sy 1:16 A.M. : Maybe with enough alcohol I would have been able to have fun lol

You 1:16 A.M. : I was the only sober person. The others had either had copious amounts of alcohol or copious amounts of weed

Sy 1:17 A.M. : It’s better you be sober for the return trip anyway.

You 1:18 A.M. : Leon and his back up vocalist were singing Bohemian Rhapsody at one point and Leon was chugging beer to rehydrate between the different parts 🤣

Sy 1:19 A.M. : Isn’t that how the professionals do it? 😅

You 1:20 A.M. : Only the ones in need of weekly meetings in church basements

Sy 1:21 A.M. : To be fair, the fact that he was able to both remember and sing the lyrics while drunk and high is impressive.

You 1:22 A.M. : Gotta give credit where credit is due, I guess 🤷‍♀️

You 1:23 A.M. : Getting off at the next stop

Sy 1:24 A.M. : Alright.

Sy 1:24 A.M. : Then you catch a bus?

You 1:25 A.M. : No, it’s a 15 minute walk

You 1:26 A.M. : Out of the station and walking

Sy 1:27 A.M. : Call whenever.

I wait until I’m across the street from the station to lift my phone to my ear. It only rings once before the call connects and I hear Sy’s deep voice.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

I hop down from the sidewalk onto the street to pass a man walking ahead of me. Why do people insist on moving at a crawl dead center in the middle of the sidewalk I will never understand.

“Didja have fun tonight?”

“Surprisingly, yes but not as much as you, I bet.”

Sy chuckles on the other end of the line. “Matter of perspective.”

“How was your family dinner?”

“Painful. Except for the dog. It was nice to have her around again.”

Sy’s apartment doesn’t allow pets other than for short visits so he wasn’t able to get his own dog after leaving his mother’s. Frankly, the dog is probably the main reason he didn’t move out sooner. He held out way longer than I would have. He’s also a good southern boy and doesn’t ever talk back, unlike me. I’ve got a mouth on me and I ain’t afraid to use it to tell people where they can shove it.

“What about you? Anything interestin’ happen after I left?”

“Not really, we mostly got caught up on our girl talk. Leon left around five to get to his mother’s day dinner. Desi and I left my place around eight. We ate at the little burger place on the corner then got to Leon’s a little before ten.”

I walk past the restaurant in question as I speak.

“Did it start rainin’ out?”

“More like lightly drizzling.”

“Are you still only wearin’ your shorts and crop top?”

I know he’s mostly asking out of worry that I’m going to get cold but I have no doubt there’s also a little part of him that’s worried my outfit from earlier would attract unwanted attention.

“I changed into jeans before leaving since I knew the walk home would be chilly and I put my giant hoodie on for the trip home.”

It’s a triple XL zip front I got from my old job. I found a bunch of old seasonal shirts when cleaning out the store room and my boss had let me take my pick of the leftovers before donating the rest. There had been one hoodie at the very bottom that had likely remained unclaimed because of the size. You could fit three of me in it at the same time but it’s comfortable and right now, it’s a small protection against potential unwanted attention.

“I’ve only seen, like, three people on the street and the road is well lit but, you know…”

“Better safe than sorry. I don’t mind darlin’.”

I can tell he’s getting tired since it’s about three hours past his normal bedtime. I’ve never been particularly worried about walking home alone at night. Hell, I’ve wandered around strange cities in the middle of the night to sober up in the hopes of avoiding a nasty hangover. Just the other day the girls I work with were saying how they don’t like taking the subway at night because they had too many bad experiences with being catcalled or with other passengers making them uncomfortable.

Me? Well, I’ve never been catcalled and men don’t normally look twice at me. I guess my above average height and my resting bitch face have made me overly confident. Or I’m just proof that women don’t come out of the womb feeling the need to clutch their keys in their fist at night unless men have done something to make them feel unsafe.

“At least I remembered to charge my phone before leaving.”

“Thank fuck for that.”

I wasn’t expecting Sy to actually be awake when I texted so the phone battery was more to make sure I knew when the last subway was and to call a cab in case I missed it.

“So are you camping out on the couch while we talk?”

L is surprisingly cool with our friendship but I’m pretty sure being woken up by your boyfriend talking on the phone with another woman in the middle of the night is a no-go for even the most laidback of girlfriends.

“Yeah. I got up for some water so I figured I’d just stay out here and avoid wakin’ L.”

“How dirty did you get her that the clean up pulled you out of the post nut drowsiness? You start dabbling in watersports or something?”

“Fuck off, there were no water sports involved.” Sy releases an audible yawn. “I didn’t think I’d miss condoms but they sure as hell made cleanup faster. By the time we both finish up in the bathroom I’m always wide awake.”

I hum in understanding. L is Sy’s first long-term girlfriend and they just recently dropped the latex after L got on birth control. “Do you have to get up to do that?”

“What, ya want us to just roll over and go to sleep? I already sweat my balls off at night, I don’t need to add wet spots into the mix.”

“You could keep baby wipes by the bed for late night cardio sessions. Avoid having to get up and go to the bathroom. Or bring a wet rag in with you beforehand.”

“That’s… not a bad idea actually.”

I pull my bag off my shoulder as I wait for the light to change. Might as well dig my keys out since I’m almost home. “Yeah, I’m full of good sex advice.” 

“I knew I kept ya around for a reason.”

I smile to myself. We both know that we wouldn’t have made it to ten years of friendship if all I had to offer was sex advice.

“I’m about to turn onto my street. I feel like the walk was shorter than usual.”

“Well, you’re breathin’ kinda heavy. You must’ve been walkin’ faster.”

He’s not wrong. I must be really out of shape if I can’t walk and talk without getting winded. Holding my phone between my cheek and my shoulder, I put my key in the lock and pull the door open.

I don’t remember what time it is until the door slams shut behind me. Oops.

“I’m safely behind a locked door. You are relieved from your babysitting duties.”

I linger in the entrance for a few seconds since the call would probably cut off if I stepped into the elevator.

“I’m up for babysittin’ whenever ya need it. Glad you’re home safe. G’night.”

“Good night.”

[violettaskies]

To Share A Kiss The Devil Has Known

(ch. 1)

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

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

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

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

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

-:-:-:-:-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-:-:-:-:-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It worked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If something’s bothering you—”

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

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

“I do.”

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

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

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

-:-:-:-:-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shopping?” you ask innocently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-:-:-:-:-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-:-:-:-:-

[ask-sister-solaris]

sjsndbd you can keep sending me asks i literally do not mind them i love your ideas sm. you're actually helping with muse it's insane.

But since you insist, i had an idea in mind, and then i forgot, and then i saw your reblog and remembered again so !!

could i possibly get another egon x reader (i literally love egon i am not sorry about this) where the reader is a little bit religiously traumatized and they have a call there, but they physically cannot step into the church bc 1) their family went to this church, and 2) everything is coming back after almost forgetting about everything so egon has to comfort them.

Sorry if that's a little dark but that's me being angsty 💀

*rubs hands together* I also have religious trauma so les goooo

“I promise you’re okay Dove”

Egon Spengler x Reader

Warnings: angst, religious trauma, implied 🍇

Panic set in even before you’d gotten into the Ecto 1. The call you’d received was from a church, the Catholic Church to be precise. The one your parents attended when you were young. Egon knew you didn’t like churches somewhat but he thought it was just because you were a scientist and you didn’t believe the stupid bible stories.

You took your meds and got into the Ecto 1 all kitted up and ready. As Ray pulled up to the church your stomach did flips and suddenly you were back to your 7 year old self.

You were only young, seven years old nearly 8. Your parents were taking you to Easter service at the church near your apartment. You were dressed up in a pretty blue dress with a little bow at the back and your hair curled. You never understood why exactly this was so important but you enjoyed the free chocolate.

Of course you’d never worn a dress of this style to church. It came to your knees and was very poofy and femme. The dresses you usually wore were ankle length, and a peachy colour. You didn’t argue though because good girls never argued. As you approached the church the pastor was welcoming everyone, and though you nor your parents saw, he was eyeing you up.

You sat beside your parents and swung your little legs as the ceremony began. You were old enough to volunteer with the little show they put on and let kids get involved with. Of course you begged your parents and it didn’t take much for them to allow you to. The service itself went smoothly, afterward while children were allowed to play outside on the clear patch of grass and adults were sat around picnic tables talking, the pastor called you over into the church. He told you that you looked very pretty in your dress and that he knew God intended you to find a man soon.

This confused you because you were only 7 and boys were so blehhhhh. But you just nodded and smiled and turned to leave. The pastor asked you if you could show him your stockings because they looked so pretty and you foolishly agreed. You thought nothing of it and never mentioned it to your parents. And that’s how it continued every Easter service up until you were 15 and finishing up school.

He tried to get you to strip, going as far as to drag you into the confessional booth and rip your dress. Without going into to much depth he had his way with you and only after you were able to escape and run out screaming and crying. Your dress was in shreds, you were a mess makeup running down your cheeks, and all your parents said was, “you shouldn’t have been tempting him with how short your dress was”

You hadn’t moved from your seat in the Ecto one for a good five minutes, tears were streaming down your cheeks your breathing heavy. Egon told the others to go ahead and he would catch up. They agreed and he waited for you to calm down and come back to the real world. They had things in the car for if Egon ever had a panic attack. He grabbed a sugary drink and something sour for you and that helped you come back to the present.

He held your hand gently and you looked at him. His heart broke seeing how upset you looked. “It’s okay now my dove, I promise you it’s okay Dove”

When the ghost was contained and you were safely in Egons baggy clothes in his bed swaddled up with your favorite drink and snacks Egon put his favorite music on and worked on some paperwork at the desk inside the bedroom. Not even Venkman had cracked a joke about the church, and that was rare.

[shadowshrike]

I just realized I'm missing a fun detail in my post about Halsin's treatment of Astarion's Ascension - his reaction to asking a story of the player in the Epilogue if the player is Ascended Astarion.

For those who don't know, the stories you can give Halsin in the Epilogue change depending on what character you play and the circumstances of your character at endgame. There are almost 30 different possible lines.

It always starts the same way:

Halsin: Please, spare no details. I shall not lie - I have an ulterior motive in wishing to hear all. It is the children, you see. My charges. Halsin: Their appetite for bedtime tales is greater than I could ever have anticipated: 'Another story, Daddy Halsin, another!' is the chorus that greets me each nightfall. Halsin:  They have all but exhausted my repertoire in but a few short months - no mean feat, given the lifetime I have lived. I desperately need new material, please. My reputation is at stake. Player: All right, let me see what I have... Halsin: I am all ears. Though I never cared for that phrase. A rather unsettling image...

When playing Ascended Origin Astarion, this is the exchange afterward:

Astarion: My tales are a little heavy on murder and sex. But if the children want to hear them... Halsin: Hmm. Perhaps I can substitute the bloodlust and... eh, general lust for cuddles and animals in the retelling. The children may be confused, but no matter - they will soon be asleep. Halsin: Even with a few little white lies, rest assured that they shall be engrossed. Thank you.

The audio of Halsin's initial reaction for your listening pleasure:

Halsin's awkward fumbling for a way to somehow make use of Astarion's tales about murder and sex in bedtime stories for the children is the funniest thing to me. He could just say "You know what? I appreciate the stories, but maybe your flavor of adventure would be better for the kids once they're older." That's what he does with his own raunchy stories, after all.

Player:  I expect you'll have a few tales that will need to wait until they are older. Halsin: More than a few, I should think. At least I shall be equipped to explain the birds and the bees when the time comes, but I hope that time is quite a while off yet.

He even does it to Dark Justiciar Shadowheart:

Shadowheart: Tell Halsin of how you consolidated your power over Lady Shar's church, purging the disloyal with bloody vigor. Halsin: My. Perhaps a tale for the older children, once I trim off a few of the... less savoury details. But thank you, all the same.

But no, Halsin is going to somehow force Lord Astarion's stories to be safe for the little kiddos. It's hilarious to imagine him feeling the need to make big, bad Astarion and his life of debauchery feel included in Halsin's own more bucolic existence. He may accept Astarion's wild stories into his repertoire, but Halsin is internally making note that Lord Astarion is absolutely not a good fit to ever become "Uncle Astarion". Some friends (or lovers) are only for adults to meet.

And, because I know some will be curious about how this compares to his other ends, Halsin's need to censor Astarion's stories is actually true for every version of Astarion. I just find his Ascended version is just the most blatant about it, though he's amusingly almost equally uncomfortable with a Spawn Astarion who has killed Cazador:

(Spawn, Cazador dead) Astarion: I've been revelling in my freedom, rediscovering the joys of the night. Halsin: Sanguine joys, no doubt? Perhaps I shall smoothen out some of those details - the children do not need to know the full truth of your diet. But they shall be rapt all the same, thank you.

The version where you've chosen not to kill Cazador before finishing the game is censored in a much different way, essentially turning Astarion's depressing story into one of perseverance.

(Spawn, Cazador alive) Astarion: Halsin, I've been hiding in sewers and eating rats. It's not a glorious tale. Halsin: Ah, but the glory can be found in the telling. The children love tales of underdogs, facing odds most unlikely. They shall appreciate your story, trust me.

You could dive into a huge analysis about this particular response regarding the morality of shielding children from unhappy endings and the enticing nature of stories about 'nobility in poverty', but that's a heavy philosophical debate I don't feel is suited for this silly little post. I just find these bonus endcaps really fun for the few who have persevered through an entire Origin run, and it's an extra crumb for the few who enjoy Ascended Astarion's odd chemistry with Halsin.

[thrashkink-coven]

I grew up constantly being told that I was too prideful for my own good. At 10 years old I was having arguments with my mother because she didn’t respect me as a person with my own autonomy and thoughts. We would debate about religion, why bad things are just bad, and why you must obey your elders no matter what. At 10 years old I was insisting that such a thing could not be true, and even if it was, I simply would not respect it.

I remember back then, as I was being dragged into church and forced to wear clothes I didn’t like, when my mother would say “your pride will be the death of you, you are a child, I am an adult, what you say doesn’t matter, what you want doesn’t matter. You cannot talk back to me. You must do as I say. You’re stubborn, you’re selfish, you’re too prideful. You’ll understand when you’re an adult.”

And I remember thinking then that I would prove her wrong. I would never change in that way, I would always have too big of a mouth, I would always talk back to any unjust authority, and I would never obey an order simply because someone who sees themselves as more than me “said so”.

I remember being a child, only just starting to open my eyes to the world, and always always knowing that I had a right to be heard. I had a right to think for myself and choose what I wanted to do. But as a child, no one listens to you when you say that. No one thinks you truly understand. And now that I am a man and I continue to say the same things, people like my mother don’t know how to approach me. I was truthful and real since the time I could form words. Somehow, even as a young kid, I knew that I had a right to be free, and I would never let anyone take that away from me. Not even the people who created me.

So of course I fell in love with Lord Lucifer. Of course I was receptive to the light bringer and the serpent’s tongue. I’ve been told since the day I was conscious that I had already bitten the apple one thousand times. I was told that I was already ridden with pride so great it didn’t make sense for my age. And those church goers and priests didn’t know what to do with me.

I remember my baptism, when the priest asked me if I had anything to say, and I told him that my greatness came from no one other than me. I remember saying something like “When I do great things in the future, please know that it wasn’t because of this. I am the one who is responsible for all of my accomplishments”. And I remember there was a strange silence in the room that was overtaken by the sound of holy water rushing into my ears, and my mom wasn’t pleased with me afterwards. What a strange thing to hear come out of a kid’s mouth on the day of their baptism. Perhaps the water should have turned black and made it clear to everyone that I was the devil in disguise. Or perhaps there was never anything evil about that in the first place.

But Lucifer… I remember him saying to me that he’s always loved the way I talk about myself. Not because I speak particularly kindly or flatter myself, but because I have always spoken of myself as an individual, a person. Sometimes a flawed person, sometimes talented, sometimes foolish. But always, always a person. A person with dignified thoughts and feelings worthy of recognition and respect. Never once was I lesser than. Never once was I greater than either.

Perhaps I was born with the sin of pride, maybe it’s all I’ve ever known. My family constantly tried to beat it out of me in way of submission because they believed that God only accepts sheep that are docile. But there is one God, angel, demon, who never dealt in chains and cages.

Lucifer, Helel, light bringer, illuminator. Perhaps I was yours all along, because I’ve always been mine.

[yannaryartside]

ANALYSIS OF THE PORTRAYAL OF DEPRESSION THROUGH MICHAEL BEARZATTO

Why does this character mean so much to me as someone who was once suicidal

tw underneath: talks about self-arming/self-deprecating thoughts and substance abuse, particularly the last section that also will repeat the tw.

Disclaimer: This is about how I think Michael is one of the most helpful portrayals of depression I have seen and how I think it would have helped me, even though he died. The show is about healing from losing someone in this tragic way, but for me and my friends, the part that explores this character also means a lot.

A little about the importance of depiction of suicide and depression in media. You can skip this if it came from the character analysis; this is just to illustrate the characters that helped when I was going through it. See you at part 1.

When I was in my late teens, I entered a dark period in my life, with insomnia, depression, and memory lapses. It was primarily due to the emotional dread and trauma I got from having a narcissistic parent, being an autistic girl (not diagnosed back then), and the impending quarter-life crisis. I had no support group or emotional intelligence to deal with it all; I only got into therapy years before it all passed. That was until I met the girls that are, to this day, my two best friends, probably the only family I have ever known: V and E. V was going through a hardcore case of harassment in her school, and E had been neglected by her mother her whole life, only to definitely being abandoned by her recently at the time. We didn't know it by the time we met, but we would all hit the suicidal stages in our struggles with depression, even after we became friends.

We met in a Christian youth group we didn't want to be in. But in this space, we formed a friendship that will become our refuge from the world, our support, and the place to share our common interest in becoming writers. In the end, more than in the church we were attending, we found the courage to fight our demons in the pieces of fiction we were consuming. Because we could relate to those characters and their struggles. They seemed real to us. When I introduced them to the Bear last year, we discussed the things that the show got right when talking about Mickey.

Part 1: The portrayal of his loneliness

The inciting incident of the show is Michaeel's death. Still, there is a lot of discussion on how he was isolating himself long before that, and you could say the story of Carmy that we know today officially begins the day Michael cast him out of the restaurant. Which makes you think about why he did that.

Things that Michael was afraid of, that made him isolate himself:

For Carmy to see him act recklessly: now, we know Carmy saw Michael's explosive behavior before ("Fishes" and multiple family/staff anecdotes), but maybe he was starting to be afraid of not controlling his reactions or being aware of them. Was he having memory lapses? Was he afraid of losing his temper and hurting Carmy? The drugs could have dragged him to the point of not even recognizing himself.

Was Michael afraid of not being able to carry on the dream they had as kids? Was he buying on the idea that he was a failure and would never amount to anything good?

In addition to the previous reasons, I think Carmy's admiration was what he was the most afraid to lose. Most people have speculated that Carmy and Michael have an age difference of 10-12 years, and their father abandoned them, so Michael was the closest thing Carmy ever had to a father. This is one of the reasons Carmy idolized Miachel so much. Michael cannot even give Carmy a concrete answer in 'Fishes' about the restaurant's future and has emotional breakdowns afterward at the thought of disappointing him. It is even implied (by Richies look when Michael wraps himself in the blanket), that after that conversation, Michael may have consumed drugs. His behavior also becomes more erratic after this moment, losing track of stories he has told before and erupting in violence at the dinner table.

Part 2: The portrayal of hiding

Disclaimer: I can only speak of this thinking of my own family and the families of my friends who were depressed/suicidal like me.

Michael was already doing everything he could to hide his addiction, but I think Carmy was afraid of seeing the signs. Understandably so. People already mentioned that Michael was using, but Carmy never believed them. He was not thinking of Michael as his brother but as his parent. Because Michael was the only "parent" he could emotionally rely on. We can all have clouded vision by fear. Particularly if we are struggling and deeply emotionally wounded. There is no mention of someone else doing anything about it. Even his best friend, Richie, never confronted Michael about his addiction. Michael was the pillar of emotional security to everyone around him. They may even be afraid that confronting him will make things worse. God, after seeing "Fishes," I kinda understood why Michael didn't bring up anything to that environment; not only was everyone fucked up in their own way, but as Carmy said it "When you don't know what are you feeling, asking somebody else how they are feeling seems insane." I wonder how much Michael cared about his own feelings. That is something messed up to say, but is also true.

Part 3: The portrayal of Michael's responsibility.

Thoughts on the "what could have you done" scene. tw of suicidal thoughts particularly apply here.

I love that , when Richie said

"I wish I had done more," Carmy instantly replies 'What could you have done?"

It is essential to talk about suicide prevention while also understanding that nobody has control over your life or your life except yourself. A whole team of supporting, emotionally intelligent people may not have been enough to save Michael. The family is the environment when other genetic factors built it up, but nobody else pulled the trigger.

It is not like people cared more about their happiness than Michael's life; that is never the case. They all wanted to see, but no one is responsible for Mickey's death except himself. The thoughts of "what could I have done" to help him will just prolong a guilt that has no solution. When I was suicidal, I wouldn't have blamed anybody. There were people involved in my unhappiness, even aggressors, but I was the one who would have given up. Even Carmy tried to blame people for Michael’s death, Nat even blamed the restaurant.

I knew it was my responsibility to seek help or not. Finding ways to help my friends was difficult even if I knew them well and their situations. It is difficult to talk about, even if you want help. When my mom found out, years after the worst of it had passed, she would swear that she didn't see signs, but that is such a complicated topic. In the end, my friends and I just kept going. We all want to be the heroes of our own stories, but depending on the stories we tell ourselves, we may end our own chance to fight for ourselves.

Saying "they were afraid to see," is not the same as assigning blame, and I am sure the show will come to a point of having this conversation. It is probable that people tried to help Mickey or that he sought help himself at some point; it is very difficult to actually comprehend suicidal thoughts, more so if the person struggling with them is someone you love. Most of the people surrounding Mickey never would have imagined that he would die the way he did. Probably because that is the way Michael wanted it, even if he also wanted help, even if he dreamed about someone noticing. Because I dreamed of people noticing.

Part 4: The importance of a mirror

In the end, maybe he was more afraid of being found (ashamed, lost) than how much he wanted to be found (saved). He may have thought that all of his desperation/demons were more powerful than him. I once thought similarly, so I can relate to it. Adding the element of addiction makes it all more difficult. The show is about people dealing with the lost of Mickey, but this character made me revise a part of myself that I once wanted to keep in the past, afraid of looking at that darkness, which will prevent me from healing from it, even if the desperate thoughts that once made me suicidal are lone gone. Moreover I think Storer has chosen to show us so much flashbacks of Michael so we also can see the elements that broke him, in the context of knowing his tragic ending.

We get to know of much he meant to people, how much he shaped Carmy for better or worse. I was particularly touched by the fact that even when Nat found love in Pete and Carmy found purpose in cooking, Michael was likely never able to find fulfillment, or worse, if he ever found things that made him happy, he left them behind to keep the restaurant out of family responsibility, he may have thought that was the only thing valuable about himself.

We don’t know what things pushed him to the edge, but we know, as people that value the lives of our loved ones, that those things were based on lies, the lies he had learned about himself. The show made an effort of showing us those lies, the “you are not worth anything” and “you have no future” statements, the implied abuse, the addiction, the beliefs that all those lies could overpower him. We can see the good person that was hidden under that pile shit. The love he felt, the dreams he had. We get to imagine the future he could have.

We know, has people that have dreams of their own, that can feel love for this fictional character and can relate to him in some way, or just out of simple empathy, we wanted him to live too.

That is the most helpful way to depict suicide/depression, at least is the type of portrayal that has helped me the most. Don’t paint over it with thoughts and prayers, let me see it, in someone else struggling with it, I can see clues of the lies I once believed too, let me put myself in the shoes of this person that may be as broken as I am, and because I see the good and value in him, I can start to see the value and good of myself that my depression was forcing me to ignore.

I don’t know how a person that is currently going through depression will think of Mickey, but I think it at least will validate the things that break us in the context of what came to break him. Even if he died, because we wanted him to live, it may give us courage to fight our own demos.

About the future of Carmy.

There is abuse, addiction, emotional neglect, and many other things that caused the trauma they all carry in different ways, but since Carmy is probably gonna struggle with depression, self-deprecating, and even suicidal thoughts next season, I wonder if the characters are gonna reflect more on the ways they can support him, instead of latching to their damaging ways of thinking, that have hurt them all. This show is about healing, so I am happy to think Carmy will find solace in his support system.

Edit: I edited this post, changing actually the whole approach, because I wanted to choose my words carefully, maybe provide other writers on why characters like this are important. Thank you for reading.

[catholic-character-tournament]

Round 1 - Side A

Propaganda below ⬇️

Claude Frollo Propaganda:

This man got horny and his response was “that woman must burn”

I love him so much. More seriously Book Frollo is much more ambivalent than Disney Movie Frollo which makes sense because we're talking about Victor Hugo VS a children's movie. He didn't kill Quasimodo's mom, he took him in (when himself was only nineteen and already in charge of his own baby brother since their parents had died not long before) when he was left on the church's doorstep. I mean, he does quite a few reprehensible and slightly evil stuff afterwards but he had a good start, you know ? He taught Quasi to communicate by signs when he became deaf because of the bells. He was also very much into alchemy which was pretty cool. His behavior towards Esmeralda was still very much not okay but I'd like to point out that Phoebus is also a jerk in this one. And Quasi's quite a bit amoral because no intelligent enough to understand some stuff

I actually haven't gotten very far through the book yet but from the musical (not the disney one the other one it's SO GOOD) I can confirm he sucks at being catholic. literally tells a child over and over that he's ugly and unlovable until he fully believes it and won't let the kid go outside. https://genius.com/Alan-menken-out-there-lyrics (lyrics to the song in which frollo convinces quasimodo he's unlovable. ableist as hell and shitty in every way you can possibly imagine and it breaks my heart every time. feel free to listen to the actual track but it doesn’t get good until about 40 seconds in) frollo keeps saying it's good and right to punish sinners himself, and it's not right that the wicked go unpunished. there's a really satisfying moment in the musical where quasimodo sees him for what he is and repeats his words back to him (7:45 - 8:54, frollo is the one with the insanely deep voice) and it gives me goosebumps every time to hear that "yes you do" link to that video: https://youtu.be/HL7WZcTIgus

I honestly wrote this submission because I suffered from severe insomnia for being reminded that I might have poor taste when it comes to enjoying media since I enjoy Disney version of Frollo even after I watched other versions of this character. (I am so sorry the host yes I am that annoying anon lying in the dark little corner of your ask box. I have no other thing to do in my life so hello again) His character is different from the original novel version, and to be honest as an adoption, that is NOT necessarily WRONG. He had more struggles with his pride and his self-imagine in the Catholic framework. "Beata Maria, you know I am a righteous man, of my virtue I am justly proud" as the opening line of his villain song, clearly states his main struggle throughout the movie--pride and self-imagine (super-ego) vs lust and instinct (id). Once his self-imagine in the Catholic framework was on shaking ground, he bent his twisted sense of "righteous" to make him less painful. Tbh, the novel version used the example of Bruno d’Ast to justify his hornyness, so it's just classical Frollo behaviour no matter which version it is. (SMASH THE TABLE) HAVE YOU READ~~THE NOVEL~~ I REPEAT: HIS CHARACTER IS NOT JUST "I HATE WITCHCRAFT AND I AM HORNY AND RACIST". I REPEAT: HIS CHARACTER IS NOT JUST "I HATE WITCHCRAFT AND I AM HORNY AND RACIST". I REPEAT: HIS CHARACTER IS NOT JUST "I HATE WITCHCRAFT AND I AM HORNY AND RACIST". I am sorry for the noise pollution in your submission Google form. I should have taken my sedatives regularly. I am truly sorry. Also please don't bully me in the debate, novel/musical enjoyers. LOOK, I AIN'T YOUR ENEMY. I LOVE NOVEL/MUSICAL FROLLO, I JUST LOVE DISNEY VERSION AS WELL, I AM AS TORMENTED AS YOUR FAVORITE CATHOLIC PRIEST. I am not a native tongue, so I tried my best to express my thoughts/feelings/justification why Disney version should be a qualified candidate as well. If you tried to debate with me, I would be drowned in my poor English. Sorry again.

Javert Propaganda:

His whole deal is like, “can someone still be good even if they’ve broken the law? Can you still be godly if you’re a felon” He really believes that by upholding the law, he is absolutely in the moral right all the time. And when he realizes that’s not true, it absolutely destroys him

he is the law and the law is not mocked <3 he is also. so gay. i'm sorry i refuse to believe you're even a little heterosexual if you chase jean valjean for like over 20 years for breaking parole and/or bread theft and recognise him by his muscles and have a major moral crisis as soon as he's nice to you one (1) time also he gets called out by a child that one time?? that was fun ALSO HE UHH???? THINKS HE SCREWED UP ONE TIME AND LIKE. ASKS HIS BOSS TO FIRE HIM???? (the boss is valjean he doesn't know that yet dw abt it) also uh uhm. he jumps into a river,,,, but before he does that he feels the need to put his hat on the fence nearby so it doesn't get wet lmao he's so silly goofy <3333

[artist-issues]

Day Nine💖

(reminder that if anybody wants me to stop sending these asks at any time, just tell me and I will stop!)

what is the thing that you are the most passionate about in life and why? what sparked your interest in it? is their a goal with it you want to reach, and are you actively working on your passion, or is it just something you know a lot about?

It should be Jesus but I don’t think it is, not perfectly, not all the time. What I tell myself and others it is, most of the time, is “storytelling.” But what I think it actually is (most of the time, but not when I’m in the Spirit) is self-glorification and wanting to be famous.

So there’s the triple-nature. What I should be passionate about, what I want to be passionate about, what I am passionate about underneath it all. But only one of those things is going to actually endure, and it’s “what I should be passionate about.”

Anyway.

What sparked my interest in storytelling was a combo of factors, but I remember the exact moment it came together clearly. I was getting ready for church and I’d been up all night (because at this point in my life I was like 19 and having trouble sleeping was a thing.) And I was trying to decide what to do with my life. I had interest in animated movies and in counseling but I didn’t know what to go to college for, so I was taking a gap year.

And as I was getting ready for church my draft table had the “Lilo & Stitch: Collected Stories From the Film’s Creators” book open on it, and I was listening to a worship playlist in my room and thinking about movies, and thinking about telling some of the kids I worked with in student ministries what made Lilo & Stitch kind of a Gospel story and how I could tell that to them convincingly.

(This is not my picture, but the book looks like this.)

It was open to the producer’s foreword. And this song came on my playlist:

Which is about how God is the inventor and producer behind everything. It’s Tyler Joseph and Travis Whittaker. But I wasn’t familiar with this song yet, so I thought the lyrics were saying “You’re the author, the producer, the inventor of the scene.” It’s not, it’s “inventor of the seed,” but whatever, same principle.

Then like I was having some kind of dramatic realization, the vague idea that all of life was a movie God made, and the main point was Himself, and all man-made stories that were good had nuggets of that in them, clicked together. I had never thought of reality that way before.

And ll through that morning’s service and yammering to my mother at lunch afterward, I was just thinking thinking thinking about it. About how, in movies, the setting tells the story as much as the characters and events tell the story. (Stitch starts out in vast outer space where all the ships look vaguely like fish—then the scene transitions to a small, folksy town with a local feel, but still plenty of fish imagery.) And how, in God’s “movie,” the plants and the way they work tell the story of the Gospel. Seeds, growth, death, rebirth. How the seasons do the same thing. How the animals do the same thing—the freakin caterpillar is a crawling worm, then goes into a kind of death for a period of time, then comes out a new creation.

The art of storytelling, settings, characters, narrative, and all, is just a hobbled-together copy of how God has been communicating from the dawn of time.

And my brain was racing, and I remember thinking about the idea that Christians are supposed to be “little Christs.” Well, if He was THE storyteller who told His story to show us Himself, then what better could I do than be a little storyteller who showed people Him, too? Not just with my career and my writing and art, but with the way I obeyed Him with my life, obviously.

But that’s how I decided what to go to school for. And that’s what got me into the industry I’m in now.

All that to say, if there’s anything that is actually accurate about reality and God in my little “realization” or philosophy, it’s only because God showed it to me, not because I came up with it myself. And if it’s not accurate, He didn’t show it to me, I made it up and heaven help me. But so far I think He did show it to me, so I keep trying to tell stories without letting that become an idol.

[xmo-rmon]

To ensure I was not recognized as I raided the church for books, I picked a building I had never been to before, a couple of cities away from the one I was raised in. As far as the floor plan went, I was confident that I knew my way around as soon as I stepped through the door. As I pretended to be on my phone to discourage people from talking to me, I muttered, “Yep, there’s the basketball court” as I passed the “cultural hall”, which was actually echoing with the thuds of basketballs at the time.

What I did not remember, and realistically could not have recognized before, was the oppressive atmosphere that was built into the very structure of the building.

Granted, the building was at least a few decades old, and I spent the last few years of my membership in a brand new building. But it was not far off from the one I spent most of my time in before that. Brick walls painted shiny white, blue heather carpets, black name plates with bronze text by every amber door. But the walls were so close, the ceilings so low, the lighting so sparse and sickly. Even the chapel, when I stepped in to grab a hymnal, was so strangely dark. The certainty that all the doors to the outside were unlocked was the only thing keeping it all from feeling like some horrible prison. Literally.

My wife and I like to watch ghost hunting shows, even if we don’t take them seriously. Whenever a prison is being investigated, we say, “Of course you feel bad in there, it was literally built to be unpleasant to be in. Look how low the ceilings are, look at all the tiny rooms, think about how horribly dark and quiet it must have been in those remote, solitary cells.”

Granted, things that are scary to one person can be comforting to another; places are made holy by the significance that humans give them. A prison cell could be used for nothing but tea parties and puppy cuddles and someone not acclimated to the space would still be uncomfortable. As a twitchy, feral little neurodivergent kid, I hated going to church and having to sit still, but sometimes it would be my family’s turn to clean the church, and I did not get the “liminal space” chills in the empty church the way I would today. I just liked running around in a space I had to be “reverent” in otherwise. And as a young teen, starved for affection and contact, it was comforting to huddle up with people I felt I could trust. But humans have a natural fear or discomfort for cramped, oppressive spaces, and the church could not train me out of such an innate thing. In my later years, I started having more and more panic attacks just from being in the building. But the church, of course, did train me to interpret that fear in a way that kept me subservient.

And, reflecting on that, I feel a little sick about the level of control they had.

Fear is so important. Understanding those fears, even more so. It’s our natural alarm that alerts us to danger, and while we need to manage our anxiety, we must be allowed to be afraid. But the church reaches down into our very foundations as human animals and claims it all as their own. As a mormon you’ve been gifted the wisest form of fear in the world, the holy ghost, and you’re told that wisdom will always lead you closer to the church. The fear you feel in a cell and the fear you fear in a church could be the very same, but if you recognize both as the holy ghost, then the holy ghost could not possibly make you feel bad in a church, so you must be feeling good things, actually. You must be feeling the spirit.

Doing baptisms for the dead, I was too short for the water level. Every time I went under, my feet would slip out from under me, and I’d have to struggle to resurface. Afterward, I’d sit in the seats in the dead silence, shaken down to the core. The best I would feel was relief that it was finally over, but I attributed it all to the spirit moving me. I was not a teenage girl who very very much did not want to let a strange man low key drown me, but had been manipulated to believe I’d be a sinner if I didn’t. I wasn’t a teenage girl who had been groomed to believe her consent did not matter where the church was involved. How could any of that disturb me when the holy ghost only made me disturbed about sins? When the holy ghost had a huge hand in me feeling like saying no would be a sin?

Anger is a sin, so you can never object to the way the church treats you. If you want to satisfy your innate biological desire for human intimacy, getting married in the temple is the only way. Fear is only real if it has nothing to do with the church, and if it does, you’re being given an opportunity to show how good and faithful you are for disregarding it.

There is no room. The ceilings are low, the walls are close, the lights are dim. But the doors are unlocked; you’re not trapped. You don’t even have to go and check.

The holy ghost warned you not to.

[random2908]

Today, the woman who sat next to me in choir this past season (new this year) was introducing me to an old friend of hers. Her friend was saying it was great she was in choir because she was a good singer, and she said she always listens to me. I was like, well, I'm not the best person to listen to because it's only my second year, and there are songs I don't know that well yet.

(It's a religious choir so it's the same songs every year, but it's also like probably 40+ songs that we have to learn in 2 1/2 months; people who come year after year have the whole thing memorized, but it's a lot to pick up in just one season. She and I both had the advantage of, generally being in the religious community, we knew at least half the songs already--in my case, some from childhood; in her case, she's in her 80s so she's had time to pick things up. But that's still 20+ songs to learn in a very short amount of time.)

She explained to her friend that she got through choir by listening to me. I was like, that's just because I'm loud! I tried to listen to her, too, but she doesn't sing as loud as me, so it's hard. I listen to the (hired) choir director/pianist, because she usually sings along with the sopranos and she's very loud, and obviously knows all the music.

She was like, no, you don't understand. She was like, when you know the piece, when you know what note you want to hit, you have perfect intonation every time.

So that was nice to hear! I thanked her, of course. I told her it was impossible to tell from inside my head, but at the same time I really care about it, so I'm glad to hear I'm doing it. She said she could tell I cared about it, because it's not an accidental ability, even if I couldn't hear if I was getting it right. I told her I wondered if it was because I was trained as an instrumentalist, not a singer, as a kid. When you're playing an instrument in an ensemble, intonation really matters.

Like, I didn't say this, but. It seemed like the majority of kids who were still in band by high school had perfect relative pitch. (Perfect absolute pitch--what people usually mean when they say "perfect pitch"--is incredibly rare; as far as I know I've only ever met three people who had it.) So I always just assumed I had perfect relative pitch, like most of the other kids did, because no one had ever presented evidence to the contrary. I'm pretty sure I have partial absolute pitch, too, just from accumulated age--I don't think I did as a kid--but of course not perfect absolute pitch.

But perfect intonation is a step beyond that. It's perfect relative pitch, plus your voice actually doing exactly what your head thinks it should do. And that's the part I was never sure of. Especially since, once in college, a friend asked me to sub in at her church choir for a day, and then afterwards told me I was sharp. So I just always assume I'm off a bit, and I can't hear it because I'm hearing through my bones and it's a little different than someone else hearing me through the air. But maybe I have better vocal control now than I did at 21. (...I don't feel like I have better vocal control than at 21. But maybe I do.)

But yeah, I do care. So it's good to know I've got it.

[pardi-real]

Tarot of Destiny / Chapter 14 - Happier Than Anyone Else

Prev | All | Next

Warning: also definitely spoilers

Hanamaru: “Aight, then. Finally, just the 2 of us, huh… Let's get along as fellow grim reapers, my lord.”

> “Yours is reversed though…”

Hanamaru: “Yeah. As said before, my ‘Death’ card is in the ‘reversed position'... It seems to mean things like… ‘retry’ or ‘restart’.

Well, leaving aside whether this tarot fortune-telling is accurate or not, if it's to save you, my lord... I'll do whatever it takes. Hmm… look back at myself through this card and convey the feelings that arise from it to the lord, huh… 'Retry'... 'restart'....

Hmmm… Well, some parts of it might really apply to me.”

> “Apply to you?”

Hanamaru: “Ah, it might get a tiny bit serious, but... I had a rough life, much worse than now.”

Then Hanamaru calmly talked about his past. He lived as a bounty hunter in the eastern lands, angered a corrupt authority figure, and his hometown was burned.  It was the first time he talked about what happened before he came to the church orphanage.

> “That sounds tough…”

Hanamaru: “Well, you know how it went afterward, my lord.  I've always... wanted revenge against the angels. The ones who killed those kids five years ago... I wanted to avenge them so badly. 

Of course, I didn't let on how messed up I felt about it to the kids who survived.  I was seriously regretting it, like it was eating me up inside… I was so angry, I felt like dying.  But now, meeting you, becoming a devil butler and all, I've finally got the power to take on those angels.

It's something to be happy about, but sometimes I think... if you weren't in this world, my lord... I might have died trying to avenge them without releasing the devil's power.  I couldn't exact revenge without it.

So when I think about it... I'm glad you're here. Thanks to you, I can continue avenging the kids without being killed by angels. Wait…  Saying it like this makes it sound like you're just a tool for revenge. My bad. 

I didn't mean to hurt you… but frankly, before meeting you... I only thought about using you for revenge. Because back then... I had no idea what kinda person you were.

Remember?  When we first wore tailcoats and went to show ourselves to you... You were like... ‘I want you guys to be happy.’ You know… I'm pretty good at identifying scammers. So when I heard that, I became convinced and was like, ‘Ah, this person is really good.’

Of course, being adored by the butlers helps, huh? Yo! Look at this charmer right here! So, just like everyone else, I fell for you, my lord. I want to stay by your side forever... 

I thought my life would be just about hunting angels, a grim existence... But It turned out to be a pretty enjoyable life. Thanks, my lord.  And, let's continue to get along from now on. I hope we can be together for a long time.

So... Don't worry about the tarot's result. You could even turn it into tissue paper and throw it away.”

> “Y-you're right…” > “Can I, really…?”

Hanamaru: “Oops. That wasn't very butler-like. Oh well. I guess I really am unrefined.”

~ A little while later ~

Having received the feelings of all 17 butlers, I decided to think again about what Ms. Elvira had said about ’the way to be saved from an ominous fate.’

Teddy: “So, my lord... Have you come up with anything?”

Yuhan: “Lady Elvira mentioned, ’You have experienced the answer firsthand.' Is it possible that the answer lies in our shared experiences?”

> “I'm not quite sure yet…”

Hanamaru: “Well, let's take it easy. It's just a talk about fortune-telling anyway. Some fortune tellers even intentionally sell ‘comfort goods’ together with ‘anxiety-inducing predictions.’  It might be a loss to take it too seriously.”

Teddy: “But, both Mr. Berrien and Mr. Haures said that Lady Elvira's fortune-telling is accurate... I want to be optimistic, but I can't help worrying.”

Hanamaru: “Oh, right. How about this, then?  If the upright Death card is making you uneasy... Then, my lord, you can do a ‘handstand'.”

> “Handstand...?”

Hanamaru: “Yeah. If you do that, you'll become the Death card reversed, just like me. If we're both in the reversed position, you should feel reassured, right?”

Yuhan: “Mr. Hanamaru…  Please think more seriously about this.”

Hanamaru: “Haha, sorry, sorry. But don't you want to see the lord doing a handstand too?”

Yuhan: “Sigh... I definitely can't let my lord do a handstand, but for my lord's sake... Perhaps we should try anything. Well then, Mr. Hanamaru, please try doing a handstand.”

Hanamaru: “......Huh? Me?”

Yuhan: “Yes. If Mr. Hanamaru does a handstand, the tarot will change from the reversed position to an upright position, right...  That is to say, if there's a change in Mr. Hanamaru's fate, it means that handstands have an effect.”

Hanamaru: “......Yuhan, you…… ...You want to use me as a guinea pig?”

Yuhan: “Oh? Who was it that wanted to experiment with my lord?”

Hanamaru: “......Hey~ Teddy. Help me out here~.”

Teddy: “Huh? Oh, okay... Then... I'll grab your legs as you do a handstand to help you, Mr. Hanamaru. Alright, go ahead!”

Hanamaru: “Hey! That's not what I meant…”

I couldn't help but smile at the playful exchange between the three. It lightened my uneasiness about the ominous fate, and I started feeling a bit relieved.

Hanamaru: “Ohh. Seems like my lord is feeling a bit better now.”

Teddy: “That's right! Even if we don't find the answer now, there's no need to hurry!”

Yuhan: “Yes. We will protect my lord no matter what happens. You are an irreplaceable presence to us…”

Hanamaru: “Yeah. And of course not just because ‘you can release the power of devil butlers.’ You've brought us many other, more precious things.”

Teddy: “For us, my lord is more precious than life itself! Please don't forget that. From now on, we will protect you and live by your side, my lord. So... There's nothing to worry about.”

> “Thank you, guys”

All the butlers were trying to make me feel less anxious, promising to protect me no matter what. Their powerful words… little by little, made me feel at ease.

Prev | All | Next

[themattress]

Fire Emblem: Three Houses

Continued from my last post.

I cleared Chapter 3 and recruited the Ashen Wolves from Abyss on all three save files.

- More interesting character insights! On the Black Eagles file, I am again reminded what a precious bundle of nerves and neurosis Bernadetta is, and I enjoy the emotional conflicts between Hubert and Ferdinand over how to best service Edelgard and between Caspar and Petra over the former's father killing the latter's. On the Blue Lions file, I am amused by Annette's clumsy antics and fascinated by the conflict between Dimitri and Felix plus the related conflict between Dedue and Felix. And on the Golden Deer file, the relationships Claude, Hilda, Lorenz and Marianne all have with one another are great, as is the emotional conflict between Ignatz and Raphael over (again) the former's parents causing the death of the latter's. And of course, the Ashen Wolves are all fantastic, being unique representatives of all four factions (Church, Empire, Kingdom and Alliance) while also being their own faction.

- Because Lord Lonato is Ashe's adoptive father, I was sadistic and brought Ashe in as my mission assist character on both the Black Eagles and Golden Deer files, meaning he had to help kill his father on all three playthroughs! But that brings me to an interesting point: since the Black Eagles version of White Clouds was written first, they thus established Lonato as a character first and then created Ashe as his adopted son afterward; they would do the same in connecting Annette, Mercedes, Sylvain and Felix to Gilbert, Jeritza, Miklan and Rodrigue respectfully. But Ashe is a unique case in that....there's really not much purpose to him after this event. When you consider that the rest of the Blue Lions are the tightly-knit group of Dimitri, Dedue, Felix, Sylvain and Ingird plus the bestie duo of Annette and Mercedes, Ashe feels glaringly out of place. I don't mind the kid, but he's kind of a throwaway character.

- Speaking of Lonato, I'm not entirely sure how sympathetic I find him. His gripes with Rhea, Catherine and the Church of Seiros are absolutely valid, and while some other characters give him grief for involving the commoners he reigns over they are clearly following him of their own free will so I can't share their view. But on the other hand, he will flat-out try to kill his own adopted son when he's only trying to talk him down and reason with him, and in the Golden Deer version Claude says he and his insurgency would have ravaged all the small villages of innocent people on their march to sack Garreg Mach. Perhaps he was being manipulated by the Western Church, but Lonato ultimately seemed to let his grief over his eldest son blind him to everything else and make him go about things the worst possible way.

- As much as I love the Golden Deer route, I'll admit that it has the weakest scene following the battle. In the Black Eagles route, Edelgard reveals more of her character and how self-aware she is about the paradoxical nature of her philosophy: no hesitation or backing down from those with unreasonable views of justice that causes them to do terrible things "for the greater good" while also acknowledging that she isn't really any better since this requires her to risk the lives of others and take morally dubious actions in the name of what she considers "the greater good". Dimitri in the Blue Lions route, meanwhile, anguishes over this very philosophy and desperately wishes to believe there is another way, one which avoids bloodshed. Him noting that the insurgents killed were "fathers and sons" particularly highlights his own personal trauma from the Tragedy of Duscur, while him being against slaughter in the name of an alleged just cause hints at the shame he feels over what his kingdom did to the Duscur people. Claude, meanwhile, just loredumps, and it's information that you could find out elsewhere (ex: the first Support between Claude and Lorenz already discusses Claude's heritage and situation in the Alliance). Hilda at least brightens the scene up when she comes in, showing that she's more shrewd and perceptive than she lets on.

- Ummm....

So yeah, with this horrifying theocratical insight, Rhea's getting even more interesting.