#so my understanding and feelings around christianity are very……complicated

[sinofwriting]

Girls Are Private Creatures - Pierre Gasly & Charles Leclerc

Words: 2,399 Summary: Pierre and her have always been best friends, having a baby together didn't change or complicate that until he says something he doesn't mean to. Note(s): Was very fun to write and somehow Charles managed to sneak in his way into this as a love interest, still not too sure how that happened, lol. This is a one off, no part two, sorry everyone! Also, I don’t speak french and while I didn’t use google translate for the french, I still used a translator.

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“Ah, there are my favorite girls!” Charles exclaims, jogging over to them, exchanging kisses on the cheek with her before taking the baby out of her arms. Elodie gives him a gummy smile and he coos at her, nosing at her hair, before pressing a kiss to her cheek, a giggle leaving her because of the smacking sound it makes. “So, beautiful, Miss Elodie. I shall have to keep you and your maman close.”

She shakes her head at the poor wink Charles gives her, but gives a nod, stepping beside him as he begins to walk around the grid.

“Is that Elodie?” Max asks, as they start to pass the Red Bull garage. “Can I?” He asks, looking at her, with his arms already reached out to take her from Charles. Charles pouts at her, but she ignores him, looking at her content baby. “Elodie.” Her little head turns to look her way. “You want to go to Uncle Max?” Elodie gives a little squeal at the name, hands shaking and she smiles, nodding. Max eagerly takes the baby from Charles' arms. “I can’t believe you are letting Max Verstappen hold her.” He pouts. “You are just mad, your Elodie time got cut short.” She playfully scolds, bumping their hips together. He pokes his bottom lips further out for a second, before throwing an arm over her shoulder, tugging her close for a side hug as they watch Max talk to Elodie, bringing her into the Red Bull garage and pointing out different things to her.

“How are you feeling?” She sighs, drawing away from Charles. “I’m fine, Cha. You don’t need to worry about me.” He frowns at her, crossing his arms over his chest. “You are my friend. I will of course worry.” He then tilts his head to nod at her face. “You have circles, chéri.” “I have a six month old. Sleep is not a blessing I get.” Her french accent is thicker and his eyebrows raise, her upset clear just from that. “You only get circles when you are worried and not sleeping. What is happening?” She swallows, eyes locked on Elodie who now is babbling to Max in her babytalk, the driver has such a serious look on his face, as though he understands every word of it and is taking notes. The words are bubbling up in her but she sees Christian joining Max and Elodie and upon spotting her, he smiles waving her over. “It is nothing, Cha.” She shakes her head, giving him a smile, before reaching forward to squeeze his arm. “Let me know if you’d like to stay the night with us. Elodie always loves seeing her godfather.” “Of course.” He murmurs, watching as she leaves to join the trio in the Red Bull garage and before he can think better of it, he’s moving to Alpine’s garage.

He’s easily able to get to Pierre’s drivers room and he doesn’t bother knocking, just throws the door open, uncaring of the near naked state of his best friend and his protests as he shuts the door behind him, hands settling on his hips.

“What is wrong?” “Charles!” Pierre is looking at him with wide eyes, a hand over his crotch despite the fact that he has underwear on and it’s nothing that Charles hasn’t seen before. “Get out!” “Non. What is going on? Y/N and Elodie are here, you are nowhere to be seen. She isn’t sleeping and is worried about something but won’t say what.” Charles pokes at his chest, harshly, ignoring the yelp it earns him. “What did you do?” “Why is it me who did something?” He protests, the hand that has been hovering over his crotch, moving to rub at the spot Charles had poked. The younger looks at him unimpressed. Pierre sighs, sitting on his massage table. “I, uh, I fucked up.” “That is obvious.” “Thank you, calmar.” Charles shrugs. “I said it was a mistake.” His brows furrow. “What was a mistake?” Pierre winces and he braces himself on the table. “All of it. Us kissing and then starting our, uh, benefits. And uh Elodie.”

His head wipes to the side before he knows it and he can feel the sting on his cheek and something a bit wet on his lip. His tongue darts out and he can taste a bit of blood.

“Tête de noeud.” Dickhead. Charles spits out, glaring at one of his oldest friends. “Comment pourriez-vous dire une telle chose, penser une telle chose.” How could you say such a thing, think such a thing. “Je sais.” I know. “No, vous ne faites pas de lien. Elle est votre fille.” Charles hisses. No, you don’t. She is your daughter. “Et elle est votre plus grande partisane, la seule personne qu'elle aime le plus est Elodie et pour vous,” He stops himself, shaking his head. Anger and sick tangling together and sitting heavy in his stomach. And she is your biggest supporter, the only person she loves more is Elodie and for you too, “Je ne peux même pas te regarder. Tu me dégoûtes, Pierre. Je ne veux pas vous voir près d'eux ou moi. Et j'espère que personne ne s'en posera la question. I’m not feeling kind.” I can’t even look at you. You disgust me, Pierre. I don’t want to see you near them or me. And hope that no one asks about this.

Before Pierre can say anything else, he leaves throwing the door opening and ignoring the looks from fucking Esteban of all people as he leaves the stupid French garage.

Hours later as she burps Elodie, humming softly as she walks around the hotel room, she hears a knock.

“Charles.” She greets, opening it. “Chéri.” He greets back, pressing a kiss to her cheek before stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. “She ate already.” He notes with disappointment, spotting the cloth over her shoulder. She throws him a sorry look as Elodie lets out a burp, making them both tell her good job and she pats for a few more seconds before rubbing at her back. “She’s been hungrier recently. You missed out by ten minutes.” “Is she still eating at night?” He asks, taking Elodie from her and cooing at the baby, rubbing their noses together just to see her little eyes go cross eyed before pressing a kiss to her forehead, inhaling the scent of baby with a bit of vanilla from that perfume he had bought Y/N for Christmas last year. She watches him with an amused smile. He always did the same thing with Elodie. “She wasn’t, but for the past few days, yes.” “Perfect.” He beams. “I will take the midnight feed.” “Cha,” she warns. “You have free practice tomorrow. You don’t need to exhaust yourself.” “It is free practice. Besides, I've driven the tractor hungover once already this season. I can handle a little free practice with some exhaustion.” He rolls his eyes at the idea of being exhausted from Elodie. She was many things but never exhausting and he tells her that.

“Exhausting, miss Elodie. Why I’ve never heard such a lie!” The baby giggles at his exaggerated tone and expressions, little hand going up to rest on his cheek and he pretends to eat it making her squeal. “Exactly! Your maman is crazy for saying so.” She stares at the two, feeling a pang in her heart as she’s reminded of all the times Pierre did something similar.

He always wanted the late night feeds, really any feeds he could get. He took all the diaper changes too, uncaring of the blowouts or when she started to move more how difficult it could be to get a new diaper on.

Tears prick in her eyes as she thinks of him, a weird concoction of sadness and anger dwelling in her. She knew he had been lying when he said that Elodie was a mistake. Pierre loved being a father. It hadn’t been something he wanted so young or expected but he loved Elodie, truly loved her. She was less sure about them kissing for that first time and then continuously falling into bed together. He could think of that as a mistake. But it was a mistake that led to Elodie. So could it really be one when it gave them such a perfect baby?

“Pierre told me what he said.” Charles murmurs after he sets Elodie on her playmat, which she grunts at before getting distracted by the toys hanging in front of her. She shudders, arms going over her chest. “He is a dick.” “Not in front of Elodie, Charles.” She warns. She didn’t care that Elodie couldn’t truly understand what they were saying or even hear them. She wouldn’t have Pierre insulted in front of her. “I’m sorry.” He apologizes, eyes flickering over to her before returning to Elodie whose babbling. “He shouldn’t have said those things.” “He shouldn’t have said that she was a mistake.” She corrects. “Pierre can say what he pleases about me, not her. Never her.” She murmurs. “Nor you. If you won’t stand for him saying such things for Elodie, which I will as well, I won’t stand for him saying such things about you.” “He didn’t mean it, Cha.” She shakes her head. “He loves her, adores her. Do not burn bridges you’ll regret.” “For you, I could never.” Her eyes snap away from Elodie and meet his eyes. “Charles.” He shakes his head. “Don’t say anything. I’m just telling you. You are worth more than he has given and ever thought of giving you. And if,” he pauses, lifting her hand, her left hand, to his lips. “You ever want to give us a chance, I will be here. And even if you don’t, I will still always be here for Elodie and you.” She watches with wide eyes as he presses another kiss to her hand before dropping it and pressing his lips to her forehead. “Lay down, relax, chéri. I will take care of Elodie.”

She does lay down, but she is unable to relax. Because hadn’t Pierre teased for the last year and a half that Charles had a thing for her? Something she ignored, thinking he was pulling her leg, being a little shit like normal. But to know it was true, to learn the truth of it. It sat heavy in her heart and god it aches at the thought of Charles and his feelings.

Charles wasn’t perfect, no one was, except for Elodie, but that was a bias that the majority of them had when it came to her little girl, but he was amazing even with his faults. His people pleasing ways, pushing his feelings away, not putting himself first, the anger he sometimes carried with him, the grief that still sat heavy on his shoulders. But there were his pluses as well, his dedication and focus to racing, his love for his friends and family, his ability to not have to be on all the time, to be able to sit at home or somewhere and chill, and his patience. He was unbelievably patient but also knew when to push, to not give up or in.

Something warm starts to bubble in her as she considers, admittedly not for the first time, a relationship with Charles. The way he’d come home to her and Elodie after days away. The sweaty hugs after getting out of the car. The dinners and vacations with his family. The gentle way he’d touch and hold her. Not like she was fragile, but something important. And Elodie, the way he’d be with Elodie, more so than he already was. She can see the days and nights when they have Elodie, not Pierre, how they’d put her to sleep together, play with her, read to her. Watch as she crawls and then toddles around. Can see him bringing her around Monaco to the spots he grew up with as a child and sharing them with Elodie.

The thoughts and near dreams are overwhelming but in the best way possible. However there is Pierre to consider. He wouldn’t disappear from their lives, he could never, not just because of Elodie, but because he was a best friend to both of them. He would always exist with them and she knew that Charles could handle her past with Pierre, he had already dealt with the knowledge, had a constant reminder of said past in front of him in the form of Elodie. But would Pierre be able to handle her and Elodie having a future with Charles?

They weren’t in love with each other. They certainly loved each other, but there was a reason that they only had sex and never went on dates and always made faces at the jokes and ideas of being together. Sex was a different beast than a relationship. And they both never wanted a romantic relationship with each other. They both had gone on dates with other people during their time as friends with benefits. She had only stopped after learning she was pregnant and once she was further along, Pierre had too in solidarity. It hadn’t lasted too long as soon as Elodie was two months he went back on the scene, but it had been something.

Her lips twitch into a smile as she's reminded of how excited Pierre had been when he came back from his most recent date. Rambling equally to both her and Elodie about how pretty and smart his date was and how she even liked kids, babies at that.

She’s jerked out of her thoughts by the sound of her phone chiming. Grabbing it, she sighs seeing Pierres name but opens the message.

Could I say goodnight to Elodie. Just goodnight. I won’t stay longer She sighs again, quickly typing out of course and sending it.

“Pierre is coming to say goodnight to Elodie.” She tells Charles, sitting up. He frowns, scooping Elodie up and sitting on the bed beside her before setting Elodie down to the left of her. “Will you be okay?” “I’ll be fine.” And she reaches out to him, taking his hand in hers and intertwines their fingers, earning wide eyes from him. “Besides, I think I need to talk to him.” “You mean?” “I mean, let me talk to Pierre. Make sure he’ll be okay with this. He means too much to both of us to not check.” “I will hit him again if he’s not.” The promise makes her jaw drop, “You’ll what? What do you mean again?” “Ah.” He swallows nervously, and he’s suddenly able to feel the ring that caught Pierre’s lip earlier more than ever. “Nothing?” He offers, with a smile.

@cixrosie @teti-menchon0604 @eugene-emt-roe @badbatch-simp24 @darleneslane @fanboyluvr @gemofthenight @peachiicherries @lpab @copper-boom @benstormy @boiohboii @iloveyou3000morgan @topguncultleader

#pierre gasly imagine #pierre gasly x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine

[rainylana]

Preachers daughter

Eddie Munson x female reader

summary: eddie is becoming obsessed with “plain jane”.

warnings: based around the character/artist of ethel cain. language, reader is described as thin, brown hair/eyes and very plain and boring. eddie describes her as “ditzy” and “weird”. hints of physical abuse/bruising. talk of religion and christianity, church. reader is starved of attention. some angsty shadows around the edges, some fluff here and there. Slight smut, reader tries to give Eddie a blowjob, hints of sexual abuse.

a/n: my first fic in months!! leave me some love and let me know what you think!! also, if this gets enough love and positive feedback i might make another part!

You never spoke unless spoken to, had a plus marks in grades. You never smiled. You had few friends, a couple girls you sat with a lunch, but no one you hung out with outside of school. Eddie had started watching you when senior year came along. He didn’t know why. You hadn’t changed that much. You looked the same, acted the same. You were the same boring, plain Jane. That was what everyone called you. Plain Jane. You tried to not let it hurt your feelings.

Eddie hadn’t interacted with you much. Nodding a hi in class, waving at you on the bus once or twice. Offering an apology if he’d ran into you in the hall. But never really a conversation. He’d spoken a full sentence to you once in the nurses office. His nose had been bleeding from a punch, while you had been in there from a stomach ache. You both had sat in that little room with ice packs and a mint.

He was starting to become obsessed with you, the gang pestered him about it, laughing at him. He always talked about how mysterious you were, wondering why you never spoke. “It’s like she’s amish or something? Did she used to be amish?” He’d asked one day.

He wanted to know more about you, but how? He couldn’t exactly strike up a conversation with you. You barely reciprocated back the words. When the day came when you both finally had an actual interaction, it fueled the fire in his belly, his growing desire to get to know you, to understand why he liked you so much. Right now, he still didn’t know.

On the way back from Hellfire, it was starting to cloud up very darkly. A storm was brewing, and from the looks of it, a bad one. Eddie’s radio was cranked to the max, a new single out by a band he had yet to know the name. He wondered if other people would discover his songs like that one day, by a band they had no idea who’s name belonged to it.

That’s when he saw you, on the side of the road. He knew it was you from the long, brown dress that fell down to your calves, black flats and hair laid straight down your back. Plain Jane. “The hell?” He muttered under his breath, pulling up slowly and rolling down his window.

You stopped abruptly, startled by the oncoming vehicle, looking up to the window, the driver, with wild brown eyes.

“Need a ride, y/n?” His hand laid on the crank of the window. “Looks like we got a hell of a storm coming.”

You looked up to the sky, the wind blowing hair into your mouth. “I’m not supposed to ride with strangers.”

“We’re not strangers.” He chuckled. “You’ve known me since second grade.”

You gave him a look, a long one, holding your gold cross necklace before you eventually nodded, opening up his van door and climbing inside. He offered a hand to you, but you managed inside fine without it.

You lived about five miles north of his place on the outskirts of town, the baptist church, your fathers church, also being a mile from town. Your father was the only preacher in town to have children. The relationship with your parents was complicated. You idolized your mother, loved your father and brother. At the end of the day, that’s what was important and nothing else.

Three minutes into driving. Eddie couldn’t take the silence anymore. “So strangers, huh?” He forced a laugh to break the silence. “You consider me a stranger?”

You looked over at him, confused and in a daze. “No. But you don’t go to church.”

“So?”

“Daddy doesn’t want me to associate with people who don’t believe in God.”

“Who says I don’t believe in God?” He defended, hand on the wheel and other lighting a cigarette. “Just because I don’t go to church doesn’t mean I don’t believe in God, Y/n.”

“Do you?” You said curiously, eyes on the cigarette.

Eddie shrugged his shoulders, blowing smoke out the window. “I don’t not believe in God. I have bad luck as is. I don’t need God pissed at me for not believing in em’, ya know?”

His words didn’t make much sense to you, but regardless, you nodded and kept quiet. It wasn’t in your best interest to pry uncomfortable conversations. However, being the daughter of a preacher meant that students, your peers, liked to confess to you when they had problems. One day, Chrissy Cunningham had needed to get something off her chest, worried she was going to go to hell for smoking weed under the bleachers. You didn’t feel like Eddie needed this kind of treatment; counseling.

Eddie held out the cigarette for you to take, to which you politely accepted. It didn’t surprise him. He knew you smoked. He caught you one day underneath the large oak tree by lovers lake. He’d shocked him almost to his knees. He figured it was your only source of rebellion. He didn’t tease you for it.

You inhaled and exhaled, feeling ten times more relaxed as you breathed in the smoke. You handed it back to him. “Thank you.” You said softly. “It’s nice of you to take me home.”

He waved his hand nonchalantly. “I’m not gonna let the reverend’s daughter walk home in a storm. I probably wouldn’t get into heaven, would I?” He smirked over at you.

You couldn’t help but smile, tucking a hair behind your hair. The corner of his eye caught your hands, purple bruising around your knuckles. He stared at them for a moment, eyes bouncing between you, your hands and the road. They were angry and red, dark around the bone. It looked painful. He gave you one last look, a confused, strange one, before turning his eyes back to the road. How did you hurt your hands so badly? It looked like you’d been beating a punching bag all night long. He forced it out of his mind to stop thinking about it. It wasn’t his business.

“So,” Eddie cleared his throat. “You got big plans this weekend?”

“I’m going to read.” You answered plainly.

“Fun.”

He was kicking himself for being so awkward. He’d been thinking of you for months now, wanting to get you alone so he could understand why you had gotten under his skin. It’s not like you were drop dead gorgeous. You weren’t ugly by any means. You were pretty. But pretty like other girls he went to school with? It’s not like you shared similar interests. Hell, he wouldn’t know. You’d never share your interests with anyone anyways. Your hobbies consisted of reading the bible and sewing on the front porch.

Thunder began rolling in, rain hitting the window shield. Eddie turned on his wipers, quickly rolling up the drivers side window to avoid getting wet. You were looking out your window to the sky, bringing up a nail to bite.

“Scared of storms.” He noticed your habit of anxiety.

“No.” You shook your head. “I love them. I’m hoping for a tornado.”

He gave you a weird look, nodding. “Okay.”

You hoped the storm would destroy your home and everyone in it.

You swallowed back bile and pushed the sinful thoughts from your young mind, taking away your finger and down to your lap. Lightening struck.

“Shit.” Eddie cursed. “Maybe we should pull over. Shouldn’t drive in this.”

You stayed quiet, fingers mentally crossed the storm would worsen. You loved storms, the danger of it all. It could end your life and that excited you. It was up to mother nature whether you lived or died.

“There’s a boat dock with a shack up ahead. Reefer Rick’s place. He’s outta town.” Eddie spoke louder over the pelting rain, which was turning to hail. You both ran to the shack, your feet splashing in muddy puddles that dirtied up your pale legs.

You both panted when you got inside safely. You were cold, wrapping your arms around your freezing body. It was dark and musty, covered in cobwebs and mold, empty paint cans and boxes ruined from the leaky roof. You were warmer running out in the rain.

“Here.” Eddie held out his hellfire jacket to you.

You shook your head. “No, thank you.”

“You’re gonna get yourself a cold.” He kept his arm out stretched. “Come on, you’ve got less layers on than I do.”

“No, thank you.” You repeated. “I don’t like the…well, the logo of your club on the back.” Your cheeks blushed red in embarrassment, hoping not to hurt his feelings after saving you from the icy storm.

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Suit yourself.”

Eddie fixed himself comfortably against the wall, huddled up in a little corner, breathing into his hands to warm himself up. You shivered in your spot, arms crossed and feet shuffling to stay warm yourself. “How long do you think the storm will last?”

“Thought you liked storms?” He didn’t look up at you, yet he still smirked slightly.

You swallowed and turned away to look around some more, hoping the movement would keep you from going into hypothermic shock.

An hour later and Eddie had managed to build a fire in a metal trash can that was cut in half. Rick had kept some wood and news papers in the closet, so Eddie used that until he had a descent fire roaring to give off satisfying warmth. The storm really wasn’t letting up. Eddie, was beginning to grow agitated. He’d been waiting months to spend time with you, understand you, and you would barely speak to him.

“How’d you do on the english test?”

It was hypocritical of him to talk about, or show interest in grades when he was riding the fine line of a D and F, but he was tired of the silence.

You sat a few feet away from him, curled up in yourself, his jacket thrown over your shoulders. He insisted you wear it when he heard your teeth start to chatter. Your dress was slightly damp, but growing more dry by the second, your hair ratted.

“I did okay.” You said meekly.

Eddie couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “You sure don’t say much, do you?”

You looked up to find him staring at you inquisitively. “I don’t have anything to say.”

“I think you have plenty to say, actually.” He corrected you, pointing a mud clad finger. “I think you’re just afraid of what people will think.”

“I know what people think of me.” You clasped your cross necklace. “They call me “plain Jane”.” I’m sure you’ve heard it before.”

He had in fact, yes. Even called you the term before, several times.

“It doesn’t matter to me, though.” You shook your head. “Only one person really judges us in the end.”

Eddie looked uneasy at the thought of being judged by…God. He looked you over, swallowing as he shook his head. “Fuckin’ hell.”

His language startled you. “What is it?”

He laughed, shaking a hand. “It’s just…I don’t know. I thought maybe it was fate that I got to pick you up today, so you know…we could get to know each other better.”

You gave him a strange look. “But you already know who I am.”

“I mean,” He stressed in annoyance. “I don’t know, take you out on a date or something? Damn.” He cursed, shaking his head like this was the absolute worst thing he’d ever done.

Your eyes widened and your lips parted. “Me?”

He nodded, leaning back and crossing his arms. He looked like he was a five year old pouting. “I get it if you’re not interested. Just tell me rather than sit there with your mouth hangin’ open.”

You closed it automatically, swallowing nervously. You were completely astonished. You never knew that Eddie had those kinds of feelings for you. Eddie was just…Eddie. He was always there causing mischief and trouble, picking fights here and there. But now that you sat and thought about it, there were many of times you recalled catching his eye in the hallway or the cafeteria. He was handsome. You liked his hair, though you knew your father wouldn’t approve of how long it was.

Your father wouldn’t like this, but he didn’t like you either. There wouldn’t be any chance of being able to go out with Eddie, not being able to risk him seeing the both of you together.

“Maybe,” You started, taking his jacket off your shoulders. “Maybe we could have our date here.”

“Here?” He craned a brow. “In this shack? Would be the cheapest date I’ve ever been on.” He chuckled, scratching above his eyebrow. “So you’re interested then? You’ll go out with me?”

Your smile turned into a frown, your guilt and fear sinking in. Eddie was a man, and just like any man, only wanted one thing. Surely a date was not a date. It was a date. You supposed you didn’t mind, after thinking about it for a moment. You didn’t mind the idea of sleeping with him. It excited you actually, but not anymore than the idea of being taken out, treated like a real lady.

“Alright.” You nodded.

He smiled, clapping his hands together. “Good.”

Five minutes past. No one had said anything. You assumed he wanted you to make the move. You startled him when you crawled over to him. “What are-” Was all he’d gotten out before you were climbing into his lap to roughly kiss him. It was all so sudden, and his body was having a hard time registering what happened. He couldn’t keep up with you.

When he did, he cupped the back of your head and slipped his tongue into your mouth, your own saliva dripping down his chin. Your hand slipped from his chest to his belt, but before you could undue it, Eddie’s eyes opened and narrowed. “Whoa, now,” He chuckled, pushing you back gently. “Slow down.”

“You don’t like it?” You looked hurt. “I thought-”

“Well, yeah,” He chuckled. “I liked what you were doing, but all in good time sweetheart.”

It was so fast and so sudden, everything that had happened. Your heart was still racing from making out, your body still wracking with building pleasure. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize.” He scooted up against the wall. “It’s okay. I just want to take you out on an actual date. I didn’t mean I just wanted to fuck you in this old shack.” He snorted, teeth shining in the dark. He looked so amused, so interested in you.

“O-oh.” You stammered. “I didn’t know.”

“Is that okay?” He asked you.

“Oh, yes, yes,” You rushed, glowing red. You didn’t know how dates worked. You didn’t go on them. You weren’t allowed to leave the house very much anyways. You weren’t sure what excuse you’d be able to come up with to get away, but surely you’d come up with something. You were sneaky, after all. Had to be.

Eddie could tell by your body language that you’d never been asked out before. As dirty as it was, that excited him. When the rain stopped, he helped you up, put out the fire and drove you him. He never stopped thinking about your hand on his chest, and neither did you.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #stranger things season four #joseph quinn #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson x y/n #eddie blurb #eddie munson x female character

[kickinganddriving]

I Can See You - CP10

notes: a lil quick comeback to puliblr and a lil birthday present to my bbg @10vnderhaze ilysm babes!

song suggestion: I Can See You (from the vault) (Taylors version)- Taylor Swift

pairing: Christian Pulisic x reader

Warnings: A lil steamy, some mutal workplace pining, closets.

wc: 1.6k

"You should come over tonight," he whispers in your ear as he passes you in the hallway, his voice low and seductive. You know you shouldn't, but everything about him gives you butterflies in your stomach. It's the way he walks, the way he talks, the way he casually refers to you as "sweetheart" in conversation. You know you really shouldn't, but… you really want to.

The shivers down your spine are saying yes, but your mind is saying no.

Rushing to your desk, you can feel the warmth spreading to your face as you spin around in your swivel chair, imagining what might happen if you do go over tonight. Your body starts tingling as your brain wanders to the potential future.

His hands intertwine with your hair, and your bodies and lips move in sync as you rise up and down in his lap. His other hand moves to your hip to guide your body at a sensual pace. You feel his tongue hook through your lips into your mouth after you break the kiss to breathe, quickly being cut off again by Christian.

The room is a mess, with clothes and bed sheets scattered across the room. The air is thick, humid, and smells of sex. Your hands explore his body a little bit more after every time you kiss. Light moans and gasps escape both of your lips as you hear a string of praise and expletives coming from his lips.

As your lips leave his mouth and move south to the region of his neck, you hear him whisper, "Have you finished making the press statement yet?" You quickly open your eyes to realize that you are neck-deep in the middle of a very hot daydream, but you seem to forget the fact that you have work and a job that needs to be completed.

"No, sorry!" you quickly reply back, smoothing out the skirt you are wearing and fixing your hair.

"It's due tonight, get to it," your supervisor replies as he taps your desk and turns around.

Opening your laptop, all you can think about is the very eventful daydream you had just before and the probability of it occurring if you do go over tonight. After quickly finishing your work, you decide it's time to get coffee, as it's only 1 o'clock, and you are yawning. Walking out of the little maze of cubicles, you bump into one Christian Pulisic.

"Have you thought about my offer from earlier?" You hear him say.

"I want to, but you know we shouldn't," you say lightly, placing your hand on his chest, if only he wasn't wearing that stupid shirt.

"Why can't we?" He responds as he places both of his hands on your waist and takes a step closer to you.

"Christian, we can't," you say with a hitch in your breath. "I know that, but why? I want this, and you want this, so why can't we do this?" He says, lowering his face so close that you could feel his presence.

"Because people are going to find out, and either way, it's going to make things more complicated than they already are."

"Why do you of all people care about what other people think? Just let it happen, sweetheart," he begs as he presses a few kisses to your cheek and neck.

"Christian, unlike you, my chance of getting a job if this gets out and I get fired is way lower than yours." You can practically hear his groan as he pulls himself off of you.

You sigh, trying to gather your thoughts amidst the swirling emotions inside you. Christian's persistence is tempting, and a part of you desperately wants to give in to the desire you both feel. But you know the potential consequences of acting on these feelings and it scares you.

"Look, it's not just about what others think," you say, trying to explain your position. "It's about what might happen after the fact.” Christian runs a hand through his hair in frustration, but he seems to understand your concern.

"I get it, I really do," he says, his voice softer now. "But what if we keep it a secret? Nobody has to know. Just you and me.”

As much as you wish you could believe it could work, you know deep down that secrets have a way of coming out eventually. And if it does, it could ruin not only your job but also Christian's reputation.

"I know you think we can keep this under wraps, but we both know how difficult that can be," you reply, trying to hold your ground. "It's risky, and I don't want either of us to regret our decision later."

Christian looks conflicted, torn between his desire for you and his understanding of the potential consequences. "Can't we at least give it a try? I promise I'll do everything in my power to make sure nobody knows until we want them to know.”

You bite your lip, considering his proposal for a moment. The attraction between you is undeniable, and the thought of exploring this connection with him is intoxicating. But you also know that your career is important to you, and you can't afford to jeopardize it. His hand makes its way to your cheeks, as he angles your head to be face-to-face with him you shake your head no as you respond "I get it. I really do. I just wish it didn't have to be this complicated."

"Me too," he replies softly, as you reach out to touch his cheek gently. Something clicks in your head and you press your lips onto his, your bodies connecting and working with each other. He realizes that both of you are in plain sight, and discreetly guides both of your bodies into the nearest room he could find.

Pulling away for air, you realized where you were, in a fucking broom closet. Then you realized what you were doing. But he’s never looked prettier than how he looked at that moment, his hair messed up, from your hands running through it. Your lipstick smudged on his face, leaving a light tint of pink on them. His eyes were wide, and full of lust. Your heart wanted to go back for seconds, but you knew that you had to go back to work.

“Chris… we shouldn’t… I should go.” You say stuttering as you feel the same warmth from earlier creeping up your face.

“Alright yeah, we can talk about this later.” He says simultaneously flustered with you. The tension between you is palpable as you both retreat to your separate tasks for the rest of the day. The sexual tension that once seemed exciting now feels undone and needs to be completed.

Later in the evening, as you're leaving work late, you receive a text from Christian. "Can we talk?"

You hesitate for a moment before replying, "Sure."

You meet him outside the office building, and it's clear that he's been waiting for you. The streetlights cast a soft glow around him, making him look even more alluring.

"I missed you," he says, his voice filled with love and lust.

You laugh to yourself while peering into his eyes "Christian, it's been 5 hours, you can’t miss me that much.”

"I can't stop thinking about you," he admits, taking a step closer. "I tried, but it's impossible."

Your heart races as you look into his eyes, feeling the pull of the connection between you. "I can't stop thinking about you either, but we need to be rational about this."

"I know, and I hate it," he says, frustration evident in his tone. "But I can't help how I feel."

"I know it's not easy," you reply, your voice softening.

He reaches out to touch your hand, and you can feel the warmth of his touch travel through your entire body. "I wish it didn't have to be this way."

"Me too," you whisper, torn between your heart and your mind. For a moment, you both stand there in silence, the weight of unspoken emotions hanging heavily in the air.

“Just kiss me now.” You blurt out.

“What?” He asks with confusion at your sudden statement.

“You wanna kiss me, I really want to kiss you, and you are giving me puppy eyes and I can’t take it anymore! So just kiss me before I regret saying that you could!” You blurted out and as soon as you knew it his hands were on your face, he was gently pushing you against the brick wall of the building, and diving in for the most intoxicating kiss you could have ever imagined. You might’ve forgotten what air was during that kiss, tongues moving with each other. Bodies moving closer to the other, deepening the kiss each second.

You were practically suffocating when he pulled away from you, but you didn’t care, you were in love.

“Holy hell,” You say, catching your breath, and leaning your head against the brick wall. You can feel his hands place themselves on your waist.

“I want more.” He says as he places his lips back on your neck.

“This is the farthest we can go without HR getting involved Chris.”

“Fuck HR baby, they don’t need to know” His words slowly turning you over to his side of the argument.

“Then we better take this back to my house…”

taglist: @pulisicsgirl@noeesd19​ @she-lives-in-her-dreams​ @jayrami3​ @brkic​ @girlmeetsposts @ruby4ever4 @lizzypotter14@neverinadream​ @kepamount​ @christian-pulisic​ @thoseboysinblue​ @breakablehcaven​ @julianalvarez9@femgawd

just comment to be added to the taglist!

#christian pulisic #ac milian #christian pulisic fluff #christian pulisic fics #christian pulisic x reader #christian pulisic smut #usmnt

[concreteburialplot]

VIRALITY // 10

10 - Maybe Both, Maybe Neither

pairing: nicholas ruffilo x fem!oc [vallie]

masterlist/intro: here | crossposted: ao3 | word count: 5.8k

summary: after waking up next to each other vallie & nicholas go their separate ways. vallie goes to visit an old friend who may be more than friendly. nicholas goes to sober up noah but doesn’t expect him to pull the curtain back on his resentment.

warnings: mentions about alcoholism/AA meetings/cheating, arguing, noah being annoying but what's new, tea is spilled !!, vallie is vulnerable for once in her life, lots of dialogue, alternating POVs sorry 🥲

A/N: Sorry it's been like 2 months since I’ve updated, it literally did not feel like it 🥲 school & life are kicking my ass lol + this chapter ended up being so complicated / difficult

Also! This chapter introduces a very mild crossover with Christian 'Kras' Anthony from the band Chase Atlantic - he's being used as a fun little temporary reoccurring side character. Don't worry, knowing who he is isn't necessary to understand his character lol i just think he's cute🥰

don't like it don't read it. don’t be mean for no reason & let others enjoy things thnx :)

-NICHOLAS-

A jarring buzzing jolts me awake. I sit up a bit with scrunched eyes trying to follow the noise with a wandering patting hand. The noise leads to Vallie’s phone rattling on my bedside table next to her. I grab it and sleepily ignore the call out of habit.

In my still half-sleep state, I don’t want to be anywhere else besides where my body was curled up against her. I return to my spot with my arm around the brunette, tugging her closer. Her scent fills my nostrils when I nuzzle into her neck. The smell of her hair is peppermint-y and the scent on her skin reminds me of marshmallows and… matcha?

Whatever it is, it’s warm, cozy, and smells so yummy it makes me want to eat her again.

Before I have the pleasure of manifesting that thought into reality, her phone goes off vibrating again, this time making me significantly more aggravated.

I snatch the phone looking at her caller ID – the name plastered across the screen:

Christian

with some emojis I’m far too sleepy to decipher.

Christian?

I decide not to ignore her phone call from an evidently urgent caller.

“Hey, Hey.” I gently nudge her shoulder. “Your phone has been going off.”

She lets out a sleepy groan that is probably the cutest noise I’ve ever heard.

She takes one look at the ID and immediately ignores it and shoves it under the pillow.  

Odd.

She yawns and rubs her eye, “What time is it?”

“I’m not sure.” I try to look at the edges of my window covered with blackout curtains trying to gauge even the time of day. “You have your phone, check it?”

Her fingers tap against the mattress. “It’s not that important.”

“Who’s Christian?” I blurt out without thinking.

From the angle I’m at, I can see her eyes widen a bit at the question.

She clears her throat. “What?”

“The person who kept calling you. It was someone named Christian?”

“Oh um,” She bites down on my lip, seemingly contemplating her answer. “He’s a friend.”

I’m filled with a feeling I’m not sure I enjoy nor one I should be feeling.

“A friend?” I ask, unconvinced.

It’s none of my business. It doesn’t matter who he is.

“Yeah, a friend.” She scrunches her brows at the wall. “Why do you care who’s calling me?”

“I-I don’t.” I reply but I know I’m a shit liar and I probably don’t sound very convinced. “I was just wondering.”

“Right.” She yawns then gets up in a panic like she just realized where she is. “Oh my god we fell asleep.”

“Yeah…I figured you gathered that by now.” I said falling down flat beside her.

“Fuck Nick, how am I gonna get out of here?” She scrambles for her phone beneath the pillow to finally check the time. “Fuck, fuck, I have to leave.”

“Okay, okay, calm down. Let me just check out the house, I can take you to get your car.” I pull myself out of bed and let myself stretch out my arms above my head.

“Fuck.” She mutters, readjusting her entire torso in her tight top. “Remind me to never sleep in a corset ever again. I need to get out of this, can I borrow something?”

Her attention lands on me and at first, her forest greens are inquisitive and calm but when she actually looks at me, they widen. Her eyes slowly trail down my body and land where my shirt hangs above the exposed skin of my hips.

Watching her tongue slide between her lips makes my heart thump in my ear drums so loud I can barely hear what she’s saying.

 “Also, can you um,” She clears her throat and looks back up at me, “Help me get this off?”

“Sure.” I nod and drop my arms back down.

She shifts in the bed so the zipper in the back of the faux-corset faces me. My fingers delicately gather her dark chocolate locks and drape them over her shoulder to get them out of my way. Her tan skin curves so beautifully from her neck to her shoulder that I feel as though if I don’t kiss her there it would somehow be insulting.

The need to kiss her there feels as necessary as air, so lean down and press a hesitant kiss to the crook of her neck as I begin unzipping her top.

She doesn’t stop me, which I was sure she would stop me now in the daylight.

Another kiss up, I linger more there.

Then another in the same spot, then another, and another, and another – until I am fully peppering her skin with open mouth kisses and my hands roam her curves.

She lets out little noises the closer I get to her ear that remind me of the ones she gave me when my tongue was inside her.

It’s not until I’m nipping and sucking at her skin that she speaks.

“Nick…” She whines in a tone that says ‘you know better’.

I tug down the rest of her zipper.

My lips still lazily drag up her neck.

I hum against her and let my hands wander down her sides to her hips. “Let me make you feel good.”

She lets out a shuddered whine but not a red or green light.

My hands round her hips giving them a gentle back and forth rub, “I need to taste you again.” I press another kiss against the sensitive skin below her ear and I can feel goosebumps erupt all over her skin.

My fingers burn everywhere they meet her skin and beg to be everywhere  they shouldn’t be.

She closes her eyes and lets herself breathe for a second.

“Nicholas.” She repeats, more sternly this time. “I have to leave before anyone sees me.”

“I know.” I say simply and pull away, strategically resting both hands over my semi.

I know I shouldn’t press more. I know shouldn’t try to convince more. But god do I want to. All I’m thinking about is fucking her senseless.

She keeps a hand on the front of the corset to keep it flush on her skin. “Could I please borrow something?” She reminds me of her original request.

“Oh yeah sure, sorry.” I quickly scan the room for the closest item.

I spot a barely worn Deftones shirt and hand it to her.

“Thanks.”

 She just sort of stares at me then makes a ‘turn-around’ motion with her hand.

“Oh, sorry.” I shift away from her. “It’s not like it’s anything I haven’t seen before.”

“Shut up.”

I hear her let out a sigh of relief, probably from finally being freed from the constricting top.

“Okay you can turn around now.”

I turn back to her and find what I expected: her in my shirt.

What I didn’t expect was to somehow find her even more attractive in my shirt than even a lace corset.

As much as I’d like for her to stay, I fear that if I don’t get her out now, I’ll devour her whole.

“I’ll just… go scope out the area.” I thumb over my shoulder towards the door.

“Good idea.” She nods.

I very quietly sneak out of my room into the empty hallway, gently closing the bedroom door behind me.

After tiptoeing around the house, I find everyone asleep as it seems still quite early, at least for them.  

The drive back to the bar is quiet and somewhat awkward. I’m not sure if it’s because of what we did or if I crossed some sort of invisible line and made her upset.

Or maybe both,

Maybe neither.

Maybe I’m over thinking it.

We haven’t talked about anything, no rules, no boundaries. I don’t know how I would bring that up to begin with. What the hell are we doing? And how do I feel about it. How do I want to feel about it? 

We say goodbye and it’s stiff and odd. I’m not sure if I should kiss her? Or treat her like my colleague?

Maybe both,

Maybe neither.

That one feels more like a maybe neither.

The way she acted this morning makes me think that whatever… this is, is over.

I know it should be done, but there is a part of me that doesn’t want to stop. At least not yet. Maybe if I got one more fix.

Regardless how I feel about it, it was a mistake. I knew that the first time, I knew it last night and I know it now.

Why did I let this happen. How did I let this happen?

I tap my fingers anxiously against the steering wheel once I’ve parked at home.

I know Folio wouldn’t really care but if Noah or Jolly found out about this?

Oh my god.

I don’t even want to think about what would happen.

All I know is two things.

One, I can’t keep fucking thinking about this – I can’t keep thinking about her.

Two, I unfortunately know what I need to do when I walk back through our front door.

-VALLIE-

As soon as my car door shuts behind me, I let out a long sigh that I wasn’t aware I was holding.

I fold my arms around my steering wheel and rest my forehead against it.

“Fuck.”

The entire ride home there was this nausea festering in the pit of my stomach.

I like being with Nicholas.

I like being with Nicholas too much.

And this stupid fucking Deftones shirt is too comfortable and smells too much like him – and I like it more than I should. And I need to get home as soon as possible to get it off me.

This is absolutely the last thing I needed – catching feelings or whatever the fuck is filling my chest with butterflies from someone I’m representing.

This is the band that I shouldn’t have even taken on in the first place, and now I’m here on the verge of vomiting because I miss the way his bed feels. This was not the plan.

I shake my head from the the thoughts as I walk through my front door. It’s just the dickmatization talking. That’s it. I like his dick and that’s all.

His huge fucking…

No.

No.

And god his fucking tongue...

No.

No.

This absolutely cannot be happening.

I won’t let this happen.

I need to nip this in the bud before it goes any further.

I chuck my phone and keys on my dresser and use my palms to lean against the edge.

An abrupt buzzing of my iPhone against the hard wood shocks me from my dissociation.

Christian

Christian

Christian

…could be exactly what I need.

I slide the answer bar across the screen and bring the phone to my ear.

“Hey Kras.” I smile, using his nickname.

“Val!” He chimes cheerfully on the other line. “I’ve been trying to get ya all day!”

“I’m busy Kras, you know that.” I roll my eyes playfully. “What’s up, what do you want so badly?”

“Tour ended last week and I’m staying in LA for a bit for some band stuff before I head back home to Sydney.” He pauses. “I wanna see you. I need to talk to you about something.”

I press my lips together and take a deep breath, suddenly stressed about what exactly that meant.

“Okay. When and where do you wanna meet up?”

“Today? My place?”

“Okay, see you then.”

After a much-needed shower I’m finally at the door of his temporary apartment. I smooth out my outfit, which wasn’t much really, just some sweats with a cropped tank. With as long as I’ve known Kras, it didn’t really matter what I looked like, but I still wanted to look cute. I use my hand to flatten my tied up hair to make sure there’s no ridges before I knock on his door. It doesn’t take long for him to answer it.

“Val.” He greets with his signature big goofy smile.

The tall, long-haired blonde envelopes me into giant hug and I embrace it. His scent fills my nose with memories; it’s soft, comforting, and most of all, fun.

Christian and I have always been close, he’s the closest thing I have to a best friend. Our friendship has always been…interesting to say the least. I think most people would consider our dynamic complicated, but to us it’s quite simple.

I give him a good, hard squeeze around his midsection. “Augh, Kras I’ve missed you.”

He reciprocates the squeeze and places a kiss atop my head. “I missed you too.”

I pull away with a smile and smack his arm, “You don’t text me enough! I didn’t even know your tour ended.”

“Me? The phone works both ways Miss ‘You know I’m busy’” He mocks me jokingly.

“God, I forget how strong your Aussie accent is in person.” I chuckle, diverting the conversation.

I shiver at the ice-cold chill I get from his AC and rub my arms for warmth.

“Fuck it’s cold as shit in here.” It’s so frigid even my teeth chatter.

“Yeah, sorry I like it freezing. You want a jacket or something?” He offers then crosses the room when I nod.

He picks through some clothes in an open suitcase and hands me a multicolored flannel. I pull the flannel over my arms letting the material engulf my body.

After a brief catching up about tour and life, I lean against the wall and cross my arms.

“So, what is it you wanted to talk about.” I cut straight to it.

He bites down on his lip, and I can’t tell if he’s excited or nervous.

Maybe both, maybe neither.

“We need a manager.” He blurts out.

“Oh? I thought you were working with-”

“We want you Val.”

I laugh, because surely, he can’t be serious. I don’t belong to an agency and work my two clients freelance, all on my own. There’s no way I could take on another band, especially one as successful as Chase on top of the other two.

“What? No, no, I absolutely couldn’t manage you guys…”

He steps towards me and trails his fingers down my arms and hooks onto my hands. “Sure you can. You used to, remember?”

I shake my head, “Oh, you know that doesn’t count Christian. We were nobodies – you were nobodies. Of course I could manage your measly little 10,000 Instagram followers.”

He squeezes my hands and tugs on my arms. “C’mon Val. It’ll be like the good old days. It’ll be fun!”

“I don’t know about you, but living in a tiny LA apartment with three men struggling to afford food wasn’t really that good or fun.”

He rolls his eyes and tugs on my arms again. “For old times’ sake?”

I shake my head, “No, no, I already have enough on my plate. I just took on another band not that long ago.”

“Please Val, for us?” His brows curve up, and he gives me the biggest hazel puppy dog eyes that he knows I can’t say no to. “For me?”

I groan and rest my head back against the wall. “I’ll think about it, okay?”

His hands leave mine and find their way to my hips, slipping under the flannel so his hands are holding onto bare skin between my tank and my sweats. His forehead presses against mine.

“Is there anything I can do to help change that answer?” He asks between the small space separating us while his finger traces my jaw line tilting my chin up a bit.

I tug at my lip – this is partially why I came here right? To nip my Nick problem in the bud, to break the dickmatization spell.

“I don’t know, maybe.” I tease up at him with round eyes.

“Hm.” He hums and leans in, pressing a kiss to my lips and I freeze.

Even though we’ve done this a million times before, it just feels wrong now. Nicholas and I aren’t even… anything, we’re just fucking, right? But it still feels odd.

I know this feeling.

And I know what it means.

Fuck.

I pull away and give a little head shake.

“Plum?” He asks using our code word for when we’re interested in or dating someone else.

I groan loudly, shuffle past him to his bed in the studio apartment and dramatically fall flat, face down onto it. Then let out an even louder, longer groan.

He walks over and gently sits criss-cross on the bed next to me.

“Must be a pretty good Plum to have you like this.”

Our friendship was simple. We’re the rare example that a friends-with-benefits can be truly, purely platonic and casual. Kras is a generally affectionate guy, even with his bandmates. And he is one of the only people I feel comfortable being affectionate with, so I let myself be affectionate with him.

We are platonically affectionate best friends who fuck when we’re single. It sounds impossible but it’s who we are and who we have been for almost 10 years. 

It’s nice, cozy, and convenient. Easy.

He’s safe, familiar, and reliable.

Which is more than I can say for any friendship or relationship I’ve ever had.

I turn my head towards him still flat against the bed.

“It’s bad Kras.”

“How bad?”

I chew on my bottom lip. “I work with him.”

His eyes widen. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

“…In the band you were talking about?”

I turn back to hide my face in his duvet. “Oh yeah.”

“Val noooo.”

I chuckle at how his ‘no’s sound like ‘naaauur’s.

“I knooow.” I whine into the sheets.

“Singer?”

I shake my head against the duvet.

“Guitarist?”

“Bassist.” I reply muffled in bedding.

“Oof.”

A laugh escapes me at his reaction. I pop my head up at him, “Stop, I know.”

I pull myself up and cross the bed to sit next to him and lay my head on his shoulder.

“Maybe I just really like his dick.” I state confidently staring out the large window across the room. I blankly watch the daytime city lights flicker across the highrise-littered skyline.

“You think so?” He asks looking down at me a little. “I’ve never seen you get like this over just good dick. You’re pretty cut and dry about like…emotions. You’re good at separating sex from feelings.” He laughs and nudges me. “That’s why we work so well.”

I groan and hide my face in his shoulder because I know he’s right. He’s always right when it comes to shit like this.

“He sang to me Kras.”

“Oh god…was he any good?”

I feel my cheeks heat up and I nod against his arm, “It was so pretty.”

He laughs and tickles my side, “Look at you! You’re smitten! I never thought I’d see the day.”

I grab the nearest pillow and smack him with it, “Shut up!” then fall back flat and cover my face with it.

There’s a silence between us for a bit, a million things running through my mind, but Kras speaks for me.

“You know you can’t love him, right?” He says gently.

My brows furrow immediately, I slam the pillow down and shoot straight up.

“WHOA, whoa whoa.” I cut through the air with my hand. “Nobody ever said anything about…the L word. I do not…love him.” I can barely get the word out as if it’s something forbidden. “I barely fucking know him. I just like his dick.”

“Okay, okay.” He raises his hands in defense. “You can’t like him. You know that right?”

“I don’t even know if I like him. We’re just fucking. That’s all.”

He glares at me with a face that screams, ‘yeah right’. “Well, fine, you know you can’t keep fucking him.”

I let out a long sigh.

“Yeah, I know. I thought coming here to fuck you would help.”

He laughs then tapers off in thought.

“Maybe we don’t actually have to fuck in order to help.” He suggests.

I raise a brow at him, “What do you mean?”

“Well, I mean… guys normally don’t just sing to girls they’re casually hooking up with.”

“Okay…?” I motion for him to keep going.

“So, if it comes up or anything, you could just lie.” He shrugs.

“Lie about what?”                             

“About like, fucking someone else. If he likes you enough to sing to you, he probably won’t be happy if you tell him you’re fucking someone else. So, he’ll stop trying to fuck you.”

I chew on my thumbnail in thought, he’s right. Like always.

“Maybe. I don’t really know if he’d even care. We never really talking about anything… I thought we just had a silent agreement about just fucking, he never said anything about-”

“He sang to you Val.”

I anxiously twirl the ends of my ponytail and chew on my bottom lip. “I don’t want to hurt him.”

He gives me the most ‘are you for real’ glare.

“Okay, okay.” I deflate. “IF it comes up, I’ll mention something.”

“Just don’t say who I am. I don’t know him, he could beat my ass." He laughs. "Plus, it would be pretty awkward for him to find out that you’re fucking a hot guitarist from your other band.” He smirks cheekily.

“Shut up.” I elbow his side playfully, “I never said yes.”

“But you will.”

I chew on my lip thinking it over.

On one hand, I’m already insanely busy and overworked with the two artists I’m already managing.

On the other hand, as odd as they are, they are old and close friends of mine. It wouldn’t be like managing strangers or learning a whole new fanbase, I helped build the foundation of the one they have now back in 2014.

And it would be a good distraction.

If this plan works out with Nick, maybe I could move on from Plum status and I can actually focus on my job.

“Fine. I’ll do it. BUT,” I hold a finger pointed towards him menacingly, “ONLY temporarily.”

“Ah yes! I knew you would!” He exclaims, wrapping his arms around me and tackling me to the bed, pressing various ‘thank you’ kisses to my cheek.

“Okay, okay enough.” I chuckle trying to escape his grasp.

-NICHOLAS-

I let a long sigh at the bottom of the stairs, shifting my weight between both feet. I tap my fingers on the wooden railing anxiously. I probably shouldn’t be this rattled over something I’ve done a million times before. But it doesn’t get any easier.

I push myself up the stairs in one driving force knowing that it has to be me. It’s always me.

Never Folio. Never Jolly.

It’s always been my job.

There’s no response when I knock on Noah’s bedroom door.

I knock again, no answer.

I knock again, no answer.

So, I let myself in.

As expected, Noah’s passed out with a fresh bottle of whiskey half drank on his nightstand. His room still in as much filth as it’s been for a while. For as long as I’ve known him, I’ve only ever seen his room even remotely messy a handful of times, and this is the worst I’ve ever seen it. In the past I’ve known the reasons behind the mess or the drinking – usually over a breakup or some depression spell – but this time he kept me in the dark. I have no fucking clue what's going on with him.

If I wasn’t so aggravated with him already, the mess of the room would worry me even more than I already am.

I cross the threshold of garbage between the door and his bed and pat his cheek awake.

“Noah.”

Sleepy snores tumble from his mouth and while one might find them endearing, right now, they’re pissing me the fuck off.

“Noah.” I say more sternly, nudging him more. No luck.

I try various other ways, and nothing works. He’s out cold.

So, I try a tried-and-true classic.

I climb on top of him and straddle his waist over the duvet, one knee at each side of his hips. His boney exposed shoulders offer a great anchor so I grab them, shaking him awake.

He comes-to slowly, droopy heavy lids struggling to open. His fist goes to rub his tired eye but winces when he’s reminded of the swollen black and blue that surrounds it.  

“The fuck are you doing?” He groans, stealing a pillow from beside him to cover his face. “Get off of me.”

I snatch the pillow from his grasp and toss it across the room. “No. You’re going to get up. You’re going to shower. And I’m taking you to a meeting.”

He shields his eyes with his arm. “I’m-I’m fine Nick, don’t need a meeting.” His words slurring together.

“You’re a fucking idiot.” I correct.

“I don’t need a meeting.” He hiccups and I can smell the alcohol radiating off him, seeping through his skin. “I’m not going. I'm just gonna sleep.”

I grab his wrists, pin them to the bed and get low to his face. “Oh you’re going. We’re gonna sober you up, starting with a shower.” I pull off him and stand beside the bed.

“Let’s go. C’mon.”

“No.”

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Either way has the same result. Let’s go.”

“No.”

I sigh, even though I knew it would end up like this. “Fine. Hard way it is.”

I yank the sheets off him and use two arms to scoop up his body by his midsection and throw him over my shoulder. He’s thin enough to where even I can lift and carry him easily – or maybe I’ve just gotten used to the weight of him in my arms.

“Nick let me fucking go.” He whines but doesn’t try to wiggle out of my grasp, probably too hungover to move that much.

With every bit of my strength, I carry his thin body to his guest bathroom.

I all but toss him into the shower, start the water, and fling the curtain closed.

“Hey! What the fuck!” He yells and shuts off the water immediately.

He slings the curtain open and snatches a towel off the nearest rack, wrapping it around his shirtless torso.

“What the fuck is your problem, Nicholas!” His hands frantically wipe the water from his face. 

I let out a frustrated groan and turn to leave. "Stop being a baby." 

He steps out of the tub and calls after me, “Hey, I’m not fucking done talking to you!”

The shower shock did exactly what I needed it to do, sober him up, but now I regret even waking him up.

“My problem is that you’re a fucking drunk Noah.” I snap turning back to him.

“I’m not a fucking drunk, I have it under control. You’re just fucking paranoid!” He steps into the hallway dripping water all over the carpet.

“I’m not fucking paranoid, Noah. I’m not letting you drink yourself to oblivion.”

His brows lift in offense, “Let me? What the fuck are you, my fucking keeper?”

“Sometimes it sure fucking feels like I am!” The words escape me before I can stop them.

He chuckles in disbelief, “Well, nobody fucking asked you to be.”

“It doesn’t matter if anyone asked me to, I have to because who the fuck else is gonna pick your sorry, bruised ass off a bar floor in the middle of the fucking day?” My hand helps exaggerate each word.

“Jolly or Folio would’ve.” He sasses, crossing his arms.

“Oh yeah? And how long you think they’d put up with that?” I step closer to him. “Not for as long as I have, that’s for fucking sure.”

His eyes scrunch together like he’s hurt or offended.

Maybe both,

Maybe neither.

“I won’t let you push out everyone in our lives Noah.”

His eyes land on me and he cocks his head to the right a bit like a dog processing a foreign noise.

“‘Push out everyone in our lives’ is that what this is actually about? Alice?”

My gaze locks on him and my hands curl into tight fists at my sides. There are many words I want to say but none seem able to leave my tongue.

“Oh my god. You can’t be serious.” He steps back and points defensively at me. "I didn't push her out, you did!" 

My blood boils and burns as it courses through my veins. My eyes narrow at him.

“I know you fucked her Noah.” I shove my finger so hard into his chest that it nearly knocks him back.

“I didn’t even like her Nick! Why the fuck would I fuck her?” He immediately denies.

“Because you always have to have everything you want, including the things that aren’t yours.”

“‘Things’” He scoffs. “Funny how you’re so upset about someone you only see as a thing.”

My teeth grind so hard it makes my jaw clench, “You know she was never a thing to me until you fucked her.”

“Oh, give it a break Nicholas! Stop blaming me for her leaving.” His hands exaggerate his words then points straight at me. “You are the reason your relationship failed. You are the reason she left.”

My eyes narrow as I step closer to his soaked body. “I would really watch what you fucking say if I were you.”

“Or what?” He asks but I have no answer. “When are you going to stop punishing me for something I never fucking did?”

I watch his eyes: dark brown, heavy, bloodshot, and one lined with a dark bruise from the bar fight. His words sound genuine, but I know his eyes, I know them like the back of my hand.

I know when he’s lying, and he’s lying to me right now. I can’t prove it, I haven’t been able to, but I know he’s been lying to me for the past year.

“For the love of god Noah, can you just stop fucking lying?” I snap. "You don't even have enough respect for me to tell me the truth?"

“Wow.” He presses his lips together for a moment. “You must think so low of me to really believe that I would do something like that.”

“I don’t have to think low of you to believe the truth.” I hiss, stepping towards him. “But you’re going to keep denying it so it’s irrelevant what I believe did or didn’t happen. What I do know, is that you have a fucking problem, and you need help.”

He steps towards me with low brows and narrow beady eyes, “I didn’t fuck Alice and I don’t need a fucking alcohol anonymous meeting just because I still like to get drunk sometimes. I am a fucking adult, and I don’t need you to ‘save me’.” He scoffs and runs his tongue across his teeth. “You know? Maybe that’s what actually drove Alice away, you and your fucking high-and-mighty, savior complex bullshit.”

Every inch of skin on my body feels like its burning and my heart races so loud I can barely even think clearly. I tighten my fists so tight that my nails dig into my palms painfully. I know that if I do anything, it will make me look like the villain.

“I can’t fucking hit you because if I do, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop.” I growl lowly. “Get sober or don’t, I don’t fucking care anymore – but we have a chance, a real chance at making it now and if you ruin this for us Noah, I will never fucking forgive you. Do you understand me? I will fucking destroy you if you fuck this up for us.”

His brows curve up and he looks at me like I’m insane for insinuating that he would. “I won’t.” He replies through gritted teeth.

I glance over the railing when I hear the house beginning to stir with Jolly and Folio starting to wake up, which is exactly what I was trying to avoid. I don’t need them getting involved.

“Just,” I lower my voice between us. “Make it to rehearsals, meetings, shows – the rest I don’t give a fuck. Just make it to work. Sober.”

“Fine.” He says quickly, "If that will keep you out of my fucking business and leave me the fuck alone."

"Fine."

"Fine." He repeats, because of course he has to have the last word, before storming off to his room and slamming the door behind him.

I mirror him, making it to my room and slamming the door.

Once alone, the feeling that courses through my body is nauseating, painful and overwhelming. It is a visceral ache, I feel it twisting in my chest first, in my ribs, then flows and pools in the pit of my stomach.

I thought I moved on from the Alice situation. I tried to force myself to believe him, I tried to forget and push it so far down that it wouldn’t hurt. Tried to rationalize, maybe he didn’t sleep with her. Maybe he didn’t betray me. Maybe it really is just me projecting the weaknesses of our relationship onto him. But no matter how hard I push it down, it always bubbles back up.

And in my gut, I know he did it. Everything adds up, the timelines, the behavior, all of it.

I was just never prepared for a girlfriend to cheat on me with my best friend. I was never prepared to have him sleep with my girlfriend. Not after everything we’ve been through.

I was never prepared to have my heart broken by the two people I trusted and loved more than anything in my life.

In retrospect, I guess, I should’ve expected it. For as long as I can remember Noah always had girls fawning all over him. He always had that lead singer charm even though he never planned on being a frontman. Girls were never an issue for him, he seemed to get anyone he ever wanted.

Is it really that far-fetched that the one I had wanted him too?

Is that all that this is going to be from now on? Any girl the rest of us want, would just want Noah first?

I never pictured that this would be our future.

I never pictured my best friend of over a decade fucking my girlfriend then lying about it to my face.

I never pictured having to drag said lying, alcoholic best friend out of bed trying to get him to an AA meeting just so he could be sober enough for rehearsals.

I never imagined that out of the four of us, it would be me having to hold it all together. I never signed up for that. I signed up to play an instrument, to sign CDs, sleep in busses and sit in interviews. I never signed up to play manager, I never signed up to secretly scrape Noah off bar floors, be his personal caretaker and tentative AA sponsor. Doing all of that just to have it thrown in my face, to stand next to him – every day in rehearsals, in photoshoots, on stage, across the fucking dining table – knowing what he did and pretending that I’m okay with it.

I never thought I’d feel stuck in this band, this thing Noah and I have worked on and dreamed about since we were 15. I’ve poured so much of my life into this fucking band.

I can’t just up and leave. I’d have nothing left. I’d be nothing without them and I can’t be the bomb to blow us up. Especially not now when everything is just starting to take off. All this work would’ve been for nothing.

It’s not just my livelihood and dream, but theirs as well. I can’t do that to them.

And as much as I want to, as much as I’ve tried, I can’t leave Noah. We both know I’m right whether he wants to admit it or not. Nobody else would do what I do, nobody knows what I do, and nobody knows how to take care of him the way I do. He’s stubborn and stupid and won’t let anyone else in the way he’s let me in.

I don’t know why I’m the only one who has gotten the curse of his trust, but I have it and I can’t hand it off or set it down – no matter how heavy or suffocating it is.

Next Chapter -> 11 - Peak Fashion

tag list; @ladyveronikawrites @kingdomof-omens @persuasivus @strawberryruffilo @thebadchic @the-hell-i-overcame @sinkingteethinwhitenoise @cncohshit @dominuslunae [comment if you'd like to be tagged?]

A/N: The love for this story has honestly been so overwhelming (in a good way obv) and I couldn't be more grateful. I really thought this would flop lol so, thank you so much for every like, reblog, ask, or comment. It means the world to me truly. Thank you.

i love hearing your thoughts so feel free to share! (i'm really bad at responding to comments/asks but i still love them 🥺)

#2 POVs bc i was feeling SILLY #& by silly i mean the characters were not cooperating with the assignment #sorry if this chapter is all over the place i was having so much trouble with this one #this is the first time i’ve ever had multiple POVs in one chapter & i can’t tell if i like it or not #vallie wears princess by kilian perfume #i love how vallie's character is developing #i think vallie & kras' friendship came out so cute 😭 #nicholas ruffilo fanfic #noah sebastian fanfic #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #noah sebastian fanfiction #nicholas ruffilo fanfiction #nick ruffilo fanfic #nick ruffilo fanfiction #nicholas ruffilo x oc #nick ruffilo x oc #nicholas ruffilo x fem!oc #bad omens x oc #noah sebastian x oc #noah sebastian x fem!oc #virality series #virality #christian anthony #christian kras anthony #christian anthony fanfic #kras anthony fanfic #chase atlantic #chase atlantic fanfic #concreteburialplot works

[switchcase]

hello! please feel free to ignore this question if it makes you uncomfortable, i totally respect it if this isn’t something you want to talk about or get into.

i’ve been seeing the sentiment that the ISSTD is “corrupt and not to be trusted,” almost always tied to discussion of asserting that recovery of repressed memories isn’t “real” or that ritual abuse “isn’t real.” i’ve also seen folks tie this into accusations of antisemitism on the part of the ISSTD for validating victims of RAMCOA. (i apologize that i do not have screenshots of nor links to these posts so please feel free to take what i say here with a grain of salt, i understand that it’s on me to substantiate my claims and i don’t have anything on hand to do so.)

may i ask what your thoughts or feelings on this are? i only ask because you are clearly extremely well read on this subject in addition to your lived experiences, and i’ve been having a really difficult time just trying to wrestle with it on my own. i genuinely hope my asking you this isn’t disrespectful, and if it is, then i sincerely and deeply apologize and want to reiterate that i respect your right to not answer this or deal with it. i don’t want to be cruel or intrusive to you at all. i would appreciate your insight if you’re able and willing to give it, but if not then i understand completely, and in either case i hope you’re having a good day and i wish you the best. your blog has been very helpful to me in getting a better understanding of all types of disabilities, not just DID, and i’m deeply appreciative of everything you do here.

This isn't disrespectful at all and is a very good question to ask! My answer will be very long because it's complicated.

Specifically the phrasing of "corrupt" for the ISSTD in regards to memory recall and RA stems in large part from TST and Grey Faction wording who launched multiple harassment campaigns against the ISSTD, specific therapists, and individual survivors. In all honesty TST engages in a lot of shock-value and primarily antitheistic politics (eg the "become a Satanist so you can say you have religious reasons for abortion" thing as if actively pairing abortion = Satanist is At All a good idea in a predominantly Christian society), and their primary reason for proposing this is that decades ago, the term used for ALL forms of RAMCOA was "SRA". It was an umbrella term for all forms of extreme abuse (because the first ones to be noticed by the psych field were cult and religious abuse survivors) and was frequently disclaimered as not necessarily being related to cults or Satanism until the various name changes for the abuse type came into play (RA, RAT, severe sadistic abuse, etc). But mainstream society assumes that RA = Satanic cult, in part because of the original usage of the umbrella term, in part because of Satanic Panic, in part because they misunderstand "ritual" as in the occult definition and not "ritual" as in "methodical" in the same way that OCD is described. Either way, TST and Grey Faction jumped on this. Also, it is just kind of weird to me to associate a research journal as having certain collective thoughts and ideologies. They don't. It's a place to submit, publish, and read research papers, and a place to get CE credits if you want to pay extra for that. There are people who know each other and work together sure, but also a lot of them do not know each other and a lot of them disagree with each other. They aren't really much different from any other research journal like The Astronomical Journal.

Recovered memory discourse began for two reasons: 1) when this issue started, which was around when mandatory reporting of abuse became the law in the states, the psych field did not have a protocol for how to handle missing memories or court abuse cases especially where children were involved. This meant that therapists, investigators, and lawyers often used leading questions or asked directly about certain things, and those types of questions are now known to be able to mess with someone's recall (eg, "what were they wearing" vs "was he wearing a blue sweater"). They did this especially due to the time crunch in court cases where they felt they couldn't afford to wait for the memories to come back on their own. 2) abused children who had become adults started suing their parents (successfully) for their child abuse, and this led to the creation of the mostly parent and nonprofessional group False Memory Syndrome Foundation. They did exactly zero science but were very loud about how unfair it was that they were getting sued by their kids, and it led to this becoming a mainstream thought that ended up being researched by others. There is no evidence that FMS is at all true and recovered memory research shows accuracy is actually very high so long as someone remembers it organically and hasn't been manipulated (by accident or on purpose) into it. (Incidentally also why I deeply hate it when people in trauma circles label others' experiences for them)

As far as the antisemitism. In psychology textbooks and papers and so forth: I really, really need people to understand that a psychologist writing down what their patient believes has nothing to do with whether they actually think that's accurate. Outside of the academic texts: I really, really need people to ask themselves why they think groups of people willing to abuse and torture other people as a collective would have progressive, unproblematic worldviews and believe people should have rights. The type of person that devalues others' lives to the point of being able to torture someone else of their own volition is most likely going to have certain views of who is "worthy" of existence and who is "worthy" of having power over others. They will also feed these ideologies to their victims. Whether because they genuinely believe this OR because they are deliberately making sure that if their victims talk, they will not be believed and will just be perceived as crazy. Again, group that tortures people, lying is not exactly going to be taboo to them. Especially when it comes to preventing victims from running away, saying shit like "oh the entire city/the cops/the govt knows we're doing this, they'll just bring you back if you run" is effective at intimidating, creating despair, and causing submission and simultaneously sounds like a conspiracy when a survivor says "the government and all politicians are in on my abuse." They don't even have to be an organized group to pull that, I've seen people with parents or in DV situations where they'll claim they're buddies with cops/judges so you can't report them or they'll threaten to call the cops on their victim. And honestly also: survivors can simply be bigoted. Doesn't mean they were never abused or that they're lying about their abuse just because they exhibit poor behavior or harmful beliefs. Otherwise a lot of the DID community and a lot of people in trauma spaces in general would magically become trauma free.

My stance on this is that I don't surround myself with people who are engaging in harmful behaviors, regardless of their rhymes or reasons for it or whether I can sympathize. This is not limited to bigoted beliefs, but includes things like paranoid beliefs, lashing out frequently, emotional regulation issues in general, people who have no ability to set boundaries, etc. (I am not trying to say bigotry is equivalent to these other behaviors, simply that I do not stop at avoiding bigotry) The cause of behavior can be understood without being tolerated. It is not conducive to my own recovery to do so, particularly because the things they say are often triggering for me as someone who used to have extremely paranoid beliefs that I was fed, as well as my own group having been white supremacist in nature and much of my abuse having a racialized aspect to it. Whether they improve or not does not affect me. I hope they do change and grow, but I do not tie myself to people in the hopes that they'll change. People will only change if they themselves want to.

I hope this is helpful for you.

#ask #anonymous #ramcoa

[traincat]

Kaine connecting with religion but that religion being Catholicism always felt like a wasted opportunity and/or something that still has the potential for a good story? Perfect way to explicitly state Peter's Jewish identity and explore it. Also tbh I think Judaism would be good for Kaine. Yes I'm also Jewish but I swear I'm speaking objectively- it's such a hopeful religion and culture, rooted in struggle and survival in a way that Christianity isn't.

That's a really good insight about survival and Judaism and Kaine, anon. It's like the old joke about every Jewish holiday being "they tried to kill us, we survived, let's eat" but for Kaine it's more like "they tried to kill me, they succeeded, I'm here anyway so now I'm going to order $800 worth of room service." Extremely Jewish of him.

I have complicated feelings about Kaine and Catholicism—though I'm gonna go ahead and say I think comics in general handle Catholicism badly and kind of just treat it like General Christianity or Default Christianity which is I guess what happens when your media empire is founded by Jews.

It's always giving this.

But yeah like honestly I don't think my feelings on Kaine and Catholicism and Kaine and heterosexuality are really that different, where he's aware that these are things you do to Be A Person but doesn't grasp the nuance because he was grown in a vat by the worst man to ever get tenure, so he's trying to connect to something that isn't a good fit for him or that maybe he's not particularly interested in as part of his efforts to be a Real Person and not just Peter Parker's broken clone. Which is really interesting! I don't think that was Yost's intent in Scarlet Spider (2012) when it comes to either Christianity or the Kaine/Annabelle romance, but that's always how it comes off to me on a subtextual level. Kaine is trying to do things the "right way" but he only has a very limited idea of what the right way is, or even that there are other options out there for him. He sees a church, he goes into the church. He sees a girl who is into him, he tries to follow a script where he can't be with her because he's bad news, not because he's not actually interested. (I have a lot of feelings on Kaine's canon romances, such as they are. He's the gay clone.)

And because he's not like Ben and he doesn't have all of Peter's memories, he's sort of awkwardly stumbling around the concept of faith as he sees it in the wider world, without a full understanding of either the nuances of that faith or of his own heritage through Peter. I also feel like even if he did know Peter was Jewish, that might be something he would feel reluctant to embrace unless he was given permission by Peter to share in that with him, because of his complicated feelings on Peter and Ben and his relation to both of them and what he feels he can and can't take away from those connections and what he hasn't earned.

I also do sometimes wonder if Miles Warren was a (lapsed) Catholic and if that's something Kaine picked up through him. That would be something interesting to explore.

#kaine parker #traincat talks comics #*replies #jewish peter parker #by extension

[sassymajesty]

may I ask what made you pick judaism, if it's not too personal & you're willing to share? i legit dont know enough about religions so i'm genuinely curious. like why not islam or something else? or why not transfer to protestant or orthodox church? you said you did some wandering, so i'm just curious what made you pick judaism over everything else. like i said i'm not judging or anything, just pure curiosity due to my lack of knowledge! but i'm glad you found something that resonates with you :)

short answer, jewish beliefs resonated the most with me and the more i learn about it, the more at home i feel

long answer, oh boy, i really did do some wandering. i'm putting it under a cut because i wrote a whole essay

i stopped going to the catholic church when i was 15, and the next... ten years? were spent trying to find myself. because i've always known that i believe in something more, but the idea of an old guy in the sky ruling over us with an iron fist felt very odd too me. and that's how i came out of the catholic church

my dad used to say that religion is supposed to bring you comfort and give you the support you need in tough times. that's something that has always stuck with me but then, which religion?

i tried the agnostic route for a while, but that didn't bring me any comfort. then i went to a buddhist temple a couple times, because the logic was sound to me, and i was at a time in my life where acceptance and kindness was what i needed. but still, i felt like there was something lacking

i googled a lot

being gay, i didn't quite vibe with most christian denominations in my town. but my cousin invited me to the presbyterian church and i went there for a few months. it kinda worked for a bit, because i was sure i didn't believe in saints and they talked about jesus with so much love, and tried to spread the love he taught the world. i used to leave the church service feeling very loved, and it was better to read from the bible than it was to just listen to the priest read it and being told that i'd never understand it myself

i just... didn't feel the same love as everyone else. i felt like a fraud even when i was annotating my bible as everyone else. theirs were full of devotion and mine felt flat, i didn't know how to pray without, you know, scripted prayers, i felt like an impostor. then, well. then it got to a point where i couldn't simply ignore being gay for the sake of being accepted there, and i stopped going

at the time, i was working at a health clinic and i worked with pious people from other christian denominations and they were so judgemental of everyone that came in, forgetting their own past and still claiming to be a good christian. which only pushed me away from any other christian denominations, the fanon interpretation of jesus bothered me too. it all felt too restrictive

that's around the time i started wondering whether or not i believed in jesus. it's always been complicated for me to make sense that god, jesus and the holy spirit are separate but still one. i could kinda figure out the holy spirit and god working together, but for me, jesus was a man, a human man who had been kind and drastically radical for his time, but still a man

honestly, at this time i was pretty lost and finding comfort in bits and pieces here and there. christian music actually helped me a lot during this time, go figure

it took me actually meeting a jewish person (that's how small judaism is in here, i had no contact of anyone jewish for 26 years of my life) for me to learn that you could even convert to judaism

i had the catholic thinking of "oh, judaism is an old religion that doesn't really exist anymore" and "the old testament god was barbaric", but getting to learn more about it with fresh eyes was a really breathtaking experience

i like that the rules make sense. there's no "because the church says so" or "because god will be sad if you do it". whatever argument you can think of, someone has gone over it at least a thousand years ago and have had people arguing for or against it ever since. i love it that you get to ask questions!!! you're encouraged to!! oh that's my favorite part, i can have doubts about whatever and no one will talk behind my back that i'm not a good catholic girl. and i get to learn about this practice that goes back thousands of years, and not to be a nerd, but i love how much incentive there is to read and learn and discuss and talk through things and question everything and think critically about every passage, every tradition, every book ever written on judaism

i'm reading "here all along" by sarah hurwitz and there's a chapter called "freeing god from "his" human-shaped cage in the sky" and in it, she talks about different conceptions about god that jewish people believe in. and that is when i realized oh yes, this is home. because god stopped being an old guy in the sky and became this force that no human being could ever describe or understand. god can be all knowing and all powerful, but they can also be all knowing and not all powerful. they can be everything — a shadow the tree casts, the good in humanity, resting on shabbat. god can be the "process of being" or the force that pushes you to be the best you can be. i haven't explored a fraction of those but i love it that i don't have to choose just one, and i don't have to believe in one version that's dictated to me

all my experiences with judaism have been incredible so far. i used to slog through an hour long mass, now two hours every friday feel like not enough. the community i found (both in the synagogue i go to and online) is very welcoming and there's so much strength in them. the more i learn about the practices, the why behind them, the more at home i feel

we had an event for people who want to convert and we talked about being gay and judaism and everyone was pretty much you just gotta find a rabbi that you're comfortable with but even the most conservative ones are mostly chill with it, and the conversation moved on to another question. and that? being accepted fully by who i am, that's incredible for me. i don't have to change, i don't have to force myself to believe in anything

i'm gonna end this here, otherwise i'll be talking about judaism until next week

#anon #💌 #jumblr #jewish conversion #judaism

[takeme-totheworld]

Feeling Small

(cw: religious indoctrination)

One of the things that I've carried with me my entire life thanks to my upbringing is the constant feeling that literally everyone is looking down on me. Because as a evangelical kid whose whole life was church, I was always aware that I was being judged. And the thing is, the judgment was coming from both inside and outside the church.

From the inside, we were constantly being scrutinized and judged for how well we measured up to the standards of the faith. It was soft-pedaled, sold to us as love—my church gave off big Buddy Jesus vibes on the surface—and I believed them when they told us it was love. These were trusted adults, my community. But I think some part of you can always sense in your gut when you're really getting judgment and control masquerading as love, even if you can't articulate it. I was acutely aware of feeling like I didn't fit in or measure up from a young age, even though I loved my church and tried really hard.

So that was from within the church, and I think people who haven't been in this position have a hard time understanding how anyone raised in that environment could view it positively and feel attached to it. And that's a very complicated question with a very complicated answer, there are a lot of different factors, but the one on my mind tonight is that I was also constantly aware that people outside the religion were judging me. Judging me for being weird and sheltered and out of touch and a not-normal amount of devoted to my religion. Judging me for my obviously ignorant and backward worldview. Judging me for going around evangelizing (a thing we were constantly encouraged pressured to do).

This wasn't the word anyone would have used in the early aughts when I was a teenager, but I was extremely aware that being an evangelical Christian was cringe. My non-religious peers and even a few of my non-religious family members often rolled their eyes at me, talked to me dismissively, treated me condescendingly or even mockingly.

I was constantly made to feel small. In church, subtly and insidiously. Out of church, much more openly and directly. In the end, it didn't matter. I couldn't please anyone. What do you do when you can't please anyone?

My solution was to cling harder and harder to the church, until it finally broke me. Why? The answer to that could probably fill a book all by itself. But part of it was that I honestly didn't believe the world outside my church had anything better on offer. Why would I, when I'd been made fun of so much for being that religious weirdo? I didn't have any reason to think that former religious weirdo would somehow be seen as more likable or less cringe. I couldn't imagine willingly stepping out of the only community I'd known into a world that, as far as I could see, loathed everything I had been, everything I had come from.

In the end, I got out and now here I am, almost middle-aged and doing all right for myself. But I still feel so small when I think about who I was and how people looked at me and treated me back then. There's still a part of me that I constantly have to fight with, that thinks the person I was as an indoctrinated evangelical teenager was someone worthy of utter contempt.

When that is how we as a society consistently treat and talk about people indoctrinated into fundamentalist, controlling religions, we make it even harder for them to break their conditioning and leave. And it's already really, really hard to do.

#religious trauma #religious indoctrination #exvangelical

[margridarnauds]

What's your opinion on Mad Sweeney in American Gods TV series?

He seems like a good starting point to many things about Irish mythology and history and its perception and I'd love to know your opinion, if you're willing to share.

Oh, god, so this is going to be complicated (I'm having another rough evening, so I'm finally getting to the backlog.)

First off, let me be honest about this: My standards for medieval Irish lit adaptations are high. Potentially too high. I try to acknowledge what any adaptation is trying to do, whether the execution lives up to the intent, what I think they do that's innovative, and what they do that isn't, but the truth is that I have very, very high standards for this. Especially for Lugh and CMT, because even though Bres is my baby, Lugh is too. I make fun of him, but he's almost as much a part of me at this point as Bres is. I've had over a decade to form a close attachment to him and think about what I'd like to do with him. This is important because...I distinctly remember being a teenager on here, seeing a bunch of adult academics on here act like they were the supreme authorities and objectively right on how to adapt these things, and getting very intimidated about...doing anything with these things. (Also see: The reason why I stopped interacting with Arthuriana and Greek Mythology after I was, like, 20 -- it got very exhausting to make sure that all your headcanons followed other people's headcanons.) And I don't want to do that. I am going to try very hard to not repeat the sins of the past.

Let me be honest with a second thing: In my opinion, it is nigh impossible to adapt medieval Irish lit. Or, rather, to adapt it in a way that's both relatively accurate to the cultural nuances while also being satisfying. Any of the Mythological Cycle, Ulster Cycle, or Fenian Cycle, because there's a whole cultural context to these things that isn't always immediately obvious, and unless you have an intricate understanding of it, you're going to fail. And I'm not just saying it as an elitist academic: I'm saying it as someone who once SWORE I was going to create the Most Accurate Irish Mythology Adaptation...and then ended up getting three degrees and working on a fourth in order to achieve it, STILL not feeling like I can do the source material justice. Medieval Irish texts aren't long, but they are DENSE, and it's very easy to end up tangled in them if you aren't careful. Rick Riordan did an online MA in Celtic Civilisation at UCC and spent time in the Gaeltacht learning the Irish language, got accepted into a PhD program at Harvard before he had to pull out. Like...that's what this material demands. Not requests, demands. All this to say...I wouldn't say it's a value judgement, on a whole, if a given adaptation stumbles.

So, onto the actual question:

Here are the cons, as I'm rewatching his flashback scene. On the record: I don't like it.

Let's go into why I don't like it, so we can see whether this is me being Me or not. First of all: Sweeney/Lugh blames " Mother Church" for turning them into "fairies and saints and dead kings" -- this is a popular misconception, especially if you run around in pagan circles, and it enjoyed a level of popularity in the field itself up until the 1980s. That being said, current research in the field generally focuses on reminding people that literally *all the material we have about the Tuatha Dé from medieval Ireland was written by Christians*. Christians who CARED about reconciling their own traditions with the doctrine that they loved dearly. In other words...Mother Church saved Lugh's ass. Also, the idea that Leprechauns are descended from Lugh, which...no one seriously believes in the field and is kind of embarrassing in there considering how widely debunked it is.

As a side note, it's understandable why they use the modern Irish pronunciation for both "Lugh" and "Tuatha Dé Danann" (never a term I use, btw), but it throws me off.

Then, the voiceover from Thoth.

"You were the god of the sun, of luck, of craft, art, of everything valuable to civilization. 'The Shining One', they called you. You saved your people from their old enemy, the Fomorians. 'Lamfhada' they called you, 'long hand', for your skill with your spear...but the Tuatha Dé Danann were scientists and artists. The Fomorians were madmen. Monstrous beings that came from under the sea, under the ground, under the surface of things. Nightmares. The madness. It came from him. Your father's father. One eyed Balor of the Fomorians...He tried to kill you. He heard prophecy that his grandson would kill him so he rounded up all his grandchildren and drowned them all in the lake but, you survived, like you always do."

Overall...I don't love it. It's a very generic look at Lugh and a very generic look at the Fomoiri, which really focuses on the idea of the Fomoiri as an Evil Race, while the Tuatha Dé are the Ideal Logical Aryans, with the Fomoiri being the one to "infect" the Tuatha Dé with their evil, evil genes which cause everything wrong. It ignores the nuances that actually exist in CMT (Tethra isn't Indech isn't Balor isn't Bres). The reference to Balor killing his grandchildren is in the later folk tradition, not from the medieval text. Most importantly, the notion of Lugh as a "sun god" is something that's not GENERALLY believed, or at least not something that's taken for granted as true anymore. In general, if I was to assign Lugh to a FUNCTION, and this is something that I feel like is a CRUCIAL thing to miss, is that Lugh Is Social Order. He is the barometer that you can use to judge how a given writer views Irish society. He is a savior, he's pragmatic, he's ruthless. He's striking, like a cut diamond that, every single time you look at him, you see a new facet of him, catching the light just so.

All that aside, the flashback is really unfortunately racially coded in a way I really don't like.

The Fomoiri being depicted as dark to the Tuatha Dé being fair skinned is one of my LEAST favorite adaptation decisions, and it's one I see unfortunately frequently. (The one detailed description we get of a Fomorian, in CMT? IS BLOND. AND HOT.) While Lugh is depicted as a stereotypical Celtic warrior, with the red hair (which...there is no depiction of the TDD that is WRONG, but redhaired Lugh bores me), torque and the woad body paint (which is NOT something that we have any record of the Irish doing.) There are some later descriptions of the Fomoiri coming from Africa, but...if we DO make that decision? WHY IS LUGH WHITE? (Also it annoys me that Balor is described as "Lugh's father's father" -- like, it's a petty complaint, but it's erasing Lugh's mother and his heritage from her, especially when the battlefield is all men in the flashback. It's a very macho version of CMT that I don't like and, again, misses that Lugh isn't (just) a Macho Warrior -- he's also society. That includes the part of society that includes women.) (Lugh is not a misogynist...even though he has a bad history with his wives cheating on him...he IS a classist. He hates all poor people equally.)

Anyway:

Here are the pros:

So, I've just said that this depiction was simplistic, racist, and not particularly accurate to the spirit of Lugh from the medieval texts, even if it technically gets the overall details (Lugh Defends TDD From Grandfather) right. What DO I like about it?

...I do like that it actually sheds a spotlight on Lugh. I like seeing my funny little guy around. And, really...as picky as I am...I HAVE to be grateful for what we get, because that IS the state the field's in, even as I resent that we can't ASK for more. Lugh has never become RIDICULOUSLY popular in Ireland, or anywhere else in the world, with the Nationalist movement skipping over him almost entirely, in contrast to figures like Cú Chulainn and Fionn who are recognizable. I think it's good to get people interested in this sort of thing, though I think the issue is that it doesn't really encourage people to do more, since it's...the same old misconceptions as always, the same things I was reading fifteen years ago, the same simplistic binaries, in an era where we have a lot more material that IS publicly available and, frankly, they had the budget to consult an actual Celticist. It feels like, for a series that, overall, was praised for going beyond the stereotypes of these mythical figures, it's kind of a letdown. I think they could have definitely done better tbh.

#long post #lugh mac ethlenn

[serpentstole]

Hey I was wondering what your view on luciferianism is? I know a lot about theistic satanism (as one myself) and the horned god but not much on Lucifer.

That's a bit of a complicated question! I'll try to keep things brief so I don't end up writing you an essay, but I welcome any follow up questions if there's something I didn't go into/cover/explain.

My view on Luciferianism as a whole is that it's a very vague label. It can encompass a lot of beliefs, both theistic and atheistic (as with Satanism). In the past, I made myself this working definition.

Luciferianism is a religion or system of belief held by those that appreciate and strive to embody the traits typically associated with Lucifer as Lightbringer, such liberation and rebellion over blind faith and obedience, and a pursuit of knowledge or enlightenment. It can be theistic or atheistic, and typically involves an equal appreciation for the arts and science. Incorporating the occult or some form of magical practice is common among theistic Luciferians, but not a requirement.

How people then choose to put those concepts into action can vary wildly. For example, I'm personally of a belief that a focus on liberation, rebellion, a rejection of dogma, and a pursuit of higher understanding of the world around us should lead people to be more socially minded and aware of how many bigotries and biases are built into our cultures and our day to day exchanges. Meanwhile, many people who fall under the vague LHP umbrella (Luciferians, Satanists, etc) will regurgitate militantly evangelical talking points with a coat of black paint, use their animosity towards Christianity as an excuse to be Islamophobic and antisemitic, have incredibly homophobic or transphobic attitudes, so on and so forth. Everyone wants to think they have the actual enlightened truth, you know? I don't think Luciferians are any more or less immune to conspiratorial thought and systemic bigotry than the rest of the population.

I'll also give a quick list of what I (personally) think Luciferianism is not, or at least doesn't have to be, since there's some trends I see in discussions about it that I don't particularly like.

Inherently better or more thoughtful than Satanism. I often see the two described in contrast/opposition to each other, with the idea being that one focuses on the philosophical while the other trends towards being more carnal. I feel like the way they're compared gives an overly simplified view of both, and I don't like that I tend to see it written with the implication that Luciferianism is the more noble set of beliefs. I have my quibbles with LaVeyan Satanism especially, but they're far more to do with the writing that helped inspire it and how I see that put into practice by the Satanists I've known.

Automatically hostile towards other religions. This truly exhausts me. I think the harm that religious groups that have a massive amount of political or social power can inflict on individuals, communities, and even countries cannot be understated. However, I far too often see this devolve into animosity towards the very concept of that religion or the religious individual instead of examining what this says about power, control, corruption, the protection of abusers within their communities, and other important aspects of the issue.

Inherently demonic, infernal, edgy, and so on. I know this is a bold claim coming from me, given my personal aesthetic, and I have often been quietly irked by the Luciferians who try to push too hard in another direction and reject the concept that anyone should approach Lucifer as anything but a love, light, and knowledge Jesus alternative. However, I think a lot of people cling to the idea that a concept, deity, or style of magic needs to be appropriately "dark" enough to be incorporated into Luciferianism. The end result is a lot of appropriation from closed practices and very samey books or talking points.

If you wanted to take a look at some of my thoughts in great detail, I have a bunch of posts tagged as 30 Day Luciferian Challenge. Some of the links between them don't work since they were written before I changed my blog name, but I try to keep the tagging as coherent as possible. I stand by what I wrote (so far as I can remember) so they're a closer look at questions like who Lucifer is to me, what drew me to Luciferianism, my thoughts on the community, advice I'd give, that kind of thing.

#luciferianism #theistic luciferianism #ask #asks #answer #answers #kiaqtexistuku

[nekropsii]

what are your interpretations for those classes and aspects, out of curiousity? (or a link to an interpretation thats good)

[Re: This post.]

Okay, that's an incredibly complex, multi-tiered question. I'll try my best to summarize it as briefly as possible, though!!

FOR THE CLASSES:

The fact that Bards are the Wildcard Class is true, and I'm not going to dispute that... But I think the way that some people go about interpreting Bards is a bit weak. Oftentimes, they're made out to be forces of pure, unpredictable chaos, when... That's not the case at all. That has, in my opinion, never been the case. From my observation, the role of a Bard in the greater context of a Session isn't that they create Pure Unpredictability within the field of that Aspect, but rather that they're representative of Instability within the field of their Aspect. Those are two entirely different things. Bards do, in fact, have some greater purpose and reasoning behind their actions- it's just that those reasons might not make sense to someone who is particularly mentally stable- or, "hinged", as some might like to put it. Their status of being rather Unhinged and/or Unstable individuals is why they're known to Make or Break Sessions- especially since I'd argue that their existence may hint towards a general feeling of instability within that Aspect throughout the entire session... They are Passive Classes, after all.

Pages are not "Baby Knights", because that would fundamentally defeat the entire purpose of their journey and existence as a Class. Pages represent Lacking, and their journey revolves around Deficit- both in themselves, and in those around them. When their Deficit in their Aspect is healed or resolved somehow, they are stated to be one of the most powerful Classes from the viewpoint of baseline power. If a Page evolved into a Knight upon their full realization, that's not a victory. That's the start of an entirely new journey as a character with a power level that many, many people were able to start with. That's just a cruel joke, at that point. I have so many choice words for the whole "Pages evolve into Knights" theory that if I enable myself any more space to talk about it here, that's what the entire post will turn into, so I'll forcibly stop myself there.

FOR THE ASPECTS:

Doom is a very complicated Aspect, and it hurts my heart to see people boil it down to Misfortune and Death. That is... Nowhere near the full picture, and it's so saddening that no one ever seems to truly take the effort to dig deeper. It's also about Control, Self-Sacrifice, Restriction, Necessity, and so many other things. It's fascinating!! There's pros to being a Doom player- it's not all bad!! Also... The Doombound do not bring bad luck. Think of them like an Absol, from Pokemon- if one of them starts hanging around you a lot, their presence isn't going to kill you. It can, however, serve as an omen- the Doombound are attracted to those that are already Doomed. Come on.

Hope is not inherently good, nor is it inherently positive. In fact, we have yet to see a single example of a Hope player who is a happy person... Lol. Hope is about Belief, and that's an entirely neutral concept. My personal pet theory as to why Hope was elevated to be this paragon of good in the eyes of the fandom is that it has to do with the western world's relationship with Religion- especially the USA and its relationship with Christianity. That's a topic for another day, though... But anyways, Hope can very much so lead to toxic idealism, an inability to accept reality, and suffering... And quite easily, too! I'd argue it's actually a key part of the Aspect! It's not an inherently wholesome or fun Aspect. No Aspects are. That is how they work.

Rage is not "The Hope Aspect, but Evil", it is representative of Disbelief... Which is, you know, the actual opposite of Belief? I'm not sure why Rage gets so commonly misinterpreted as "The Evil Aspect", nor do I understand why they're so heavily related to Demons. Demons are a construct of Hope, actually, and so are Cults. Sorry! It's also not an inherently bad or negative Aspect- it's just Skepticism, Anger, and Pessimism... Which would sound bad, if you forget the fact that those are necessary parts of life in order to have an even moderately healthy experience with being alive.

I'm going to plug one of my besties here, because I will take literally any excuse to do so, and you kind of asked for it. @scalematez is an absolute scholar on the subject of Hope and Rage as Aspects, and she is the only person I've ever seen actually understand them on a deeper level without defaulting to some of the most common, rather egregious stereotypes regarding those Aspects. Here's an essay of hers about their dichotomy, go give her a follow!

#homestuck #homestuck meta #homestuck analysis #homestuck classpect #classpecting #bard class #page class #doom aspect #hope aspect #rage aspect #bard.pdf #page.pdf #doom.pdf #hope.pdf #rage.pdf #nekro.pdf #nekro.sms

[stuckasmain]

Moulin Rouge - movie thoughts and comparison

I mentioned this in my last post but later in the week after seeing the show, we watched the movie. There’s a lot to be said and my feelings are complicated (just as they are the for stage version). It has a lot of elements I love and a lot of issues at the same time so let’s just get into it.

It has the movie advantage. Big budget flash - pardon the pun- spectacular. The huge cast plays to its advantage and its detriment. We get a wide array of weird, wild and wonderful. Body type, ethnicity, etc. You get a well rounded image of what the district is like. At the same time it sort of takes away in that- the focus is on no one. A lot more  bohemian friends (the musical knocks it to the main three and helps develop that friendship a tad more), more people working at the rouge in general and we get less of a look at they’re relationships to each other etc. It’s? I love there’s more , realistically there would be, but it also takes away from everyone at the same time, if that makes sense.

The editing is everything. It’s the silly, whimsical and funny sort of deal. There’s fast forwards/speeding characters up, random explosions of sparkles etc. My favorite things are everyone tossing their hats into the air and they literally go through the roof, the gun hutting the Eiffel tower, Zidler moon. The musical does a similar effect in the opening number(s) with the confusion and whimsy it hits up with.

Period costuming! For the most part! While I can appreciate and understand the musical going the more bedazzled and more 80s route for the clothes… something about it being a jukebox musical and running around and talking in a more modern fashion while dressing completely like it’s 1899 is so good. Something about Christian wearing white tie- looking incredibly awkward in it might I add- and going 🥺 across the room is everything. More of this! Period dramas- period anything! Take note!

Props for featuring the actual can can

One of my leading criticisms however, as much as I am a complete sucker for a montage scene I feel like there’s too many and it starts to muddy what exactly is happening. There’s context lost that the musical later fills in. Here however “she’s dying” *two month montage of her very much doing the opposite* I know it’s to reveal the illness but still. Montage + to many characters = loss of context/gravity

The duke is great. I love a “oblivious man child who gets violent when he doesn’t get what he wants” however he’s also not really a active threat until the last chunk. They keep putting him off and his threats off until it becomes real in the last act— he’s funny but I think i prefer to musicals take of having him more outright villainous and actually taking Satine away for huge chunks of time. Making a good reason for jealousy and fear of her mistreatment.

john leguizamo. I don’t actively seek out movies he’s in but he’s a treat whenever he does appear. That being said the difference between the two Lautrec’s is wild lmao. Similar but the musical has him WAY more focused on his own pining.

Ewan McGregor Christian 💕

I also mentioned this in the last post but I think the play in the movie is weaker however Satines death is stronger as it knows to do the grand celebration before, thus making it hit all the more harder by it simply ending.

#moulin rouge #moulin rouge 2001 #moulin rouge movie #moulin rouge musical #moulin rogue broadway #ewan mcgregor #nicole kidman #john leguizamo #jukebox musical #musical #musicals #movie musical #comparison #review #mini review #ramble #period piece

[punkinspice]

If you don't mind my asking, are you still Christian? I have seen your posts over time about leaving cults and whatnot, and I was curious how that impacted your faith.

Hello! I don't mind you asking at all, and I am happy to talk about it, it's just that it's a very touchy, complicated, controversial and long answer that I don't always know how to answer it in a way that makes sense. (this may get really deep)

If I were to be 100% honest, I will admit that I personally no longer believe in or identify with being a Christian or the Christian faith.

As to what I believe in currently, or what I'd call myself now? I really don't have an answer to that. I guess you could say I'm currently leaning more towards being an agnostic and sometimes atheist? But honestly, the things I may agree with today, may change tomorrow. and I'm sure the things I will believe in currently will be completely changed in a year. And.... I am ok with that. I want to be questioning and to have an open mind to things, opinions and questions and to have the permission to be wrong and to change my mind on things as I learn new or more information.

This is not a choice that I've come to easily, or glibly. It's been a process I've been in the past 3 maybe 4 years of my life, and I think in the last year is when I've chosen to leave the faith. It's a place I never thought I would be in and it's involved a lot of pain, confusion and trauma and healing in my life. There is a whole ton more I could go more deeply into, but I don't feel this is the right post to do that, and I don't quite have words yet to explain or describe everything.

As far as the cult thing goes, there were and are a lot ways that I was raised and taught to believe in, that by definition, was a cult. There were a lot things that were abusive and still traumatize and cut into me deeply and I am in the process of recovering from and untangling the things that were taught to me and it still brings up a lot of trauma for me, of which I am thankfully getting help for.

I also joined a well known Christian organization around the age of 21/22, and was in it for over 2 years, until Covid hit and I had to go home. And the more time I was out and after a ton of research and studying, I will be honest and say that that organization is a cult, and it did leave a lot of mental and financial wounds on me that I am going to be recovering from for a long time. Did I learn a lot from that experience and grow from it? Yes I did, but it is an experience and chapter of my life that I am glad is over.

I know that from the short examples that I've given it's really easy to say that that really wasn't true Christianity, or it was just people poorly misrepresenting the word and love of God, or worse, blaming me and saying that I was never a Christian to begin with, which I can't even begin to explain how much and how deeply into the faith I truly was, and how hurtful that allegation is.

...And maybe all of that is true... And maybe it isn't....

There is a lot of pain, betrayal, anger and grief that I am still healing from and will be healing from for years to come. I don't want to live in a state of bitterness and anger and blame of the things that were done to me. But I also want to admit and be honest about the wrongs that were done to me and the abuse that was done to me in the name of Love.

I need time and separation, but mostly I need love and understanding. It's one of the most painful and isolating experiences I've ever gone through in my life, and so utterly earth shattering and life changing and most of the time you can't even talk to your family or friends about it because you are so afraid of the way they will react and what they will take away from you.

A lot of this is very surface level of my journey through this "deconstruction" of faith if that's what you want to call it. There's so much more that I could go in depth in, but again I don't always have the words or mental fortitude to really get into a lot of things.

If you still have questions I'll try my best to answer. I know this is a really sad and hard thing for a lot of people to hear, and yeah.

It is sad. It's devastating.

There are days I wish could go back to the way it was, or that I could fully go back into the faith.... but I can't. And, despite the excruciating pain and grief that I've been going through, I ironically feel so much more freedom and peace than I ever did in religion. Which I know is hard to comprehend... it's hard for me to explain.

I'm sorry for the ramble and the heaviness. But I guess now's as good a time as any to finally admit this about myself and where I am at.

My final thought is to please have so much grace and understanding to people in your life who are going through a similar process to me. If you have friends or family in this same process, please just be kind to them. They didn't ask for any of this, and many times these doubts and questions came from things out of their control, and they're simply trying and surviving the best they can. There is so much pain there that I'm sure they haven't expressed to you because they are afraid of losing everyone and everything that they love, simply because they do not believe in the same thing anymore. So just love them, and hold space for them and don't argue or defend, as that will only push them away further. And also be open to them. They may have very important and valid insights to things that you may have become blind to. If you really believe in a loving, kind and gracious God then he would be doing those things for these people 10 fold.

#OOF #this was a lot heavier than i intended but I think it needed to be said #its been........ a very very long journey that i am still coming to terms with #but its also a journey that i am so glad to be on #faith #deconstruction #cults #christianity #tw trauma #sorry op #long heavy sigh #welp #here goes nothing #if you have more questions or just wanna chat my dms are open

[actuallylorelaigilmore]

now that i'm an adult, i think one of the most insidious effects of being raised in conservative christianity is that i know, in a painful and personal way, how harmful that world of religious values and traditions can be...but i still feel reflexive nostalgia for elements of it that i grew up with.

i'm listening to a podcast that mentions the 700 club and i don't think pat robertson and hatred of gay people even though i'm fully aware of all that now.

instead i remember my grandmother and her little sitting room with the tv in it and how she would watch the 700 club every day, how much she loved billy graham and how much of her time she spent at local bible study and helping with worship services at the nursing home. i remember going with her to play the flute there, practicing the old rugged cross and amazing grace at her house first.

my mature brain also remembers how much she would talk about the end times and y2k and how confused and terrified that made me at 14, and how she insisted on talking to any friend of mine she ever met about jesus and how embarrassing that could be, and how insistently my whole family enforced a very white christianity and how baffled i was by that.

but i read revelations in 1999 to try and make sense of my grandmother's wisdom, and i never worried while she was intruding on my friends that it might be upsetting for them or just plain rude, and though i couldn't understand why my mom took away the illustrated bible where jesus wasn't white, i knew she must have had only good intentions when she said it wasn't an appropriate gift for me.

even though a lot of things about the religion i was raised with left scars that feel forever raw, like i get to spend the rest of my life fighting a bitterness that's inconsistent with the kind of person i want to be, i was still raised with it--in a bubble that told me there was only one truth, while i was a pliant autistic kid who believed everyone i trusted. and in that truth, there wasn't room for complications. it felt simple. it felt like family, and home, and love.

that didn't change until i changed, until i was grown enough to have questions, and not understand the answers i was given, and see harm to the people around me and wonder if there was a better way. the person i became could never go back there. but the person i started out as, for sixteen years, can't jump forward, either...so those feelings live forever, unchanged.

i think the 700 club and i think of my grandmother, who could be cruel and was absolutely racist and indoctrinated me as a toddler when i was left at her house overnight, a story i was told often growing up because i 'accepted jesus into my heart' while too young to even remember doing so, a binding contract on my soul that could only be enforced if i believed it.

but my grandmother was also the person who i trusted most in the world, the one who came to my school events when my mother stayed home. up through her last days, she was my biggest champion and source of strength, who made me believe i was her favorite during an undiagnosed unstable childhood when i really needed to be somebody's favorite.

i think the 700 club and it makes me cry, because christianity and my grandmother were inseparable; i never experienced one without the other. christianity loved me, and christianity broke me, and both can be true and both can be complicated and all of it hurts. i guess it will always hurt.

but there will always be nostalgia tangled up in there too, and that's the part that doesn't feel fair, because i didn't get to choose the religion i was brought up in. i just get to carry it anyhow.

#cleaning out my drafts #christianity #my formative years #my childhood #life stuff #long post

[yieldfruit]

Please pray for me. I’m not doing well and nobody knows apart from me and God. I feel so alone and dejected and worthless. I know these feelings are not fully true, but because there are truths within the lies, my mind accepts it all as true. It’s making me so sick and tired these days. On top of that, I’m developing very strong feelings of jealousy. I feel so wretched!

I’ve been spending more time around friends and though it’s nice to fellowship with other Christians, most of my friends are now married with children. I’m happy for them, but I can’t help feeling this twinge of emptiness when I’m surrounded by so many flourishing families. I don’t like feeling sad, but this week has recalled knocked me down emotionally. I KNOW the Lord is in control and sovereign over all, but my heart twists and turns trying to make sense of my husbandless, childless situation and it’s taking everything in me not to just burst into tears over my desire to be held and cherished. The goal of someday having a husband and children to care for and love seems to be slipping away like sand and as the dream disintegrates, I’m left feeling like God has forgotten me yet again. And then the jealousy kicks in and the thoughts of “I don’t deserve it and God is punishing me” follow. It’s a brutal cycle of bad and worse thoughts and feelings. I know it’s wrong and I will soon break. Please pray for me.

Hey there, thank you for sharing this and you are not alone. I am so sorry for how you are feeling and what you are experiencing; you are able to express it so well. May the Lord give you comfort soon; I understand though and it's complicated waters. May the Lord provide for you. May you have deeper joys and may you experience being loved and loving in return and God willing children to raise and nurture in Christ. 🤎 Lord, please provide for my sister in Christ. You hear her heart and see her dreams, Lord. You have given much love and hope within hearts for relationships that are close and I pray you will provide, Lord. Please provide for her. In your name we pray Jesus, amen.

[aragarna]

Zorro or Good Omens

For the ask game my dear!

Hello there, my dear old Valley! :)

Sorry it's taken me so long to answer. I *will* answer with a gifset as the "make me choose" game is supposed to be, but that might take even more time because aaaah life. Anyway. So here is why it took me so long:

I actually had to think about that one super hard. It's such a difficult choice to make LOL probably because both shows have characters that resonate quite deeply with me, but regarding different parts of me.

Zorro: I really like the character of Diego, who dedicates his life to help others, is always very considerate and caring and is passionate about trying to make the world a better place. The definition of a Good Guy. I *wish* I had a tenth of his courage and he reminds me to look after others, when it's so easy to get caught up in our own life. So he's someone I understand and look up to.

I guess there's also the struggle to live up to the society's expectations, to his family's expectations, the inability to tell people who he really is. Not that I have a secret identity, but we all, to some degree, wear a mask, hide our true nature and try to live up to people's expectations.

Also the fencing. ;-)

Good Omens: For neither of them you specified which version, but for GO I'll specifically pick the TV show, as I think it resonates a bit more with me. Mostly because it expands Aziraphale and Crowley's characters, and their relationship. As a romantic asexual, I don't often feel represented in fictions. I do get love, I do understand love stories, but I don't get the sex part. Attraction, to me, doesn't translate in wanting to sleep with someone. And given that almost 100% of romances in fiction end in sex, well, there's always a part of those stories that remain foreing. But Aziraphale and Crowley, it's not like that. And I know lots of people do like to add a sex component to the story, but that bit of canon that angels and demons don't have sexual organs (unless they make an effort) is actually important to me. The way I read and feel Aziraphale and Crowley's attraction, it's not physical. They just enjoy each other company. They enjoy that feeling of being together, discussing together, seeing the world different through the other's eyes. They like the world better with the other in it. But they don't sleep together. It's been clearly said that after S1 they carved their own bit of a existence for themselves. They have their phone calls and dates, and Crowley comes to the bookshop, etc... So they *are* in a relationship. It's just not sexual (and I really hope Neil will keep it that way, cause it's important to me)

Also, there's the whole Good vs. Evil, more theological discussion that the show handles really well. I love how it's making fun of all the contradictions of the Bible and the Christian religion. But also how being Good in a complicated world is *hard*. Being Good sometimes requests courage and questioning one's own believes. And standing up to your boss.

And it's hilarious, when it's not heartbreaking. It's silly, in a very absurd British way.

So, there, this is what went all through my head. because of the difference in popularity, I feel like Zorro is more personal. Everyone loves GO. It's all over the internet. There's like a new fic every 20 min or something (actual stats I've seen floating around). So for some reason, it makes me feel depossessed of it. While the Zorro fandom is me and 5 people, 3 of which prefer the 1990 show. But on the other hand, Zorro is an old thing (1919!), and it says a rather "classic" story (he's the spiritual father of all the superheroes, after all), while GO is much more unique and modern. It's an important piece of fiction.

#a meme! #rambles #zorro #good omens #about me