#for context I go to a catholic school but I’m not even catholic so

[gayerthanevertbh]

say your prayers - one.

pairings | dark!priestess!natasha romanoff x reader

– summary: your school have church service once every week. of course, as a good little schoolgirl you are, you attend to it. which means you always have to see your priestess, natasha, who you are secretly infatuated with. until there was an unexpected turn that made you feel something else other than good. but maybe, even better.  

– warnings: smut/dark taboo themes - 18+ YOU’VE BEEN WARNED! non-con/dub-con, religious themes, sacrilegious acts, blasphemy of religion, biblical references, rough sex, loss of virginity, dark!natasha, oral sex (r receiving), Mother kink, heavily detailed smut, natasha being a creep, and more.

– notes: this was so well written i’m actually kind of happy about this chapter. there will be more in the future, for now this. enjoy! <3

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I attend the chapel every week. The school requires you to, so I don’t really have a choice. Usually, my choices are: to drop my scholarship and move to a new school so I don’t have to do all the religious routine or suck it up. And mostly, I do suck it up. Mainly because my parents are believers of God and would be a saint when it comes to him. I’m like that too, I pray and confess my sins and sometimes even ask for help when I do need it. I’m a good girl, as they say. And I am a good girl.

It just simply goes away once I see my priestess once a week.

Ruther Catholic College has been my high school life, I’ve been in boarding school ever since I turned fifteen years old. My parents, who are religious people, think that Catholic schools do good for schoolgirls like me. I am a good schoolgirl, I just have issues that I’d rather not talk about. I have never been vocal about it either, not finding a sense in it since I don’t talk to a lot of people. I do have friends, but I skip my time with them so that I could read my books. I’m an aspiring writer, a journalist. I write the simplest stories that are book worthy and it makes me think that I am talented and educationally smart–since I was raised that way. I’m a Rogers, for Christ’s sake. Of course, being academically smart has to be on the charts.

But I cannot shake off my infatuation with my priestess, Natasha, who is twice my age. She has the kindest eyes that I’ve ever laid my eyes on, all my teachers are bastards and have soggy jawlines. But Mother Natasha has a face of a babe with the maturity that comes with it. Her lips are subtle and thick, and her hands are quite long and neat. She wears this attire every Friday and does the chapel, preaches the word of God, and makes us go to the confession room to reveal our sins with no shame. I still have to wonder who was behind that divider, because there are many women in that church that could possibly be forgiving my sins. I’ve blatantly confessed to many women, not knowing who they are.

Anyway, the humanities building is the largest dorm of all in New York. We have our own rooms, our own food too. But we are still required to go to the cafeteria to say our prayers, to bond with other schoolgirls. I, personally, do like having my own space. The context of someone being in your room can be very intrusive, which I am not fond of. I have a desk that has most of my writings, and poems that are short. On the other side, my single bed was there as well as my long rectangular-shaped window. Beside the door are my bookshelves which have the cross of Jesus Christ above the wooden shelf. I’d invite a friend or two to have a book date, but never less sleep there. There would be a couple of nuns on the watch, especially at night. That means we aren’t allowed to even get out of the building without permission and say where we are headed. Only our parents can pick us up from our school.

Today is Friday which is my luck to see Mother Natasha again. I hiked my white long socks all the way to my knees and got into my black shoes that felt hard on my heels. Though, I have no choice but not to wear them. When I was in the hallway, I could feel the cold breeze of the air. It’s September and it’s the start of my year, I turned eighteen a week ago and spent it with my parents. Some of them say I still act like a fifteen-year-old kid, but I don’t think that way. With how smart I am, I felt like an adult once I reached this age. I see Wanda with her hair tied up that shows off her brunette locks, she smiles at me and brings her arm inside mine.

“Guess what?”

“What?” I asked while trying to stop the itch from my feet, making my face scrunched in a weird look.

“I’m getting a laptop soon!” she says joyfully, squealing with her arms tightening around mine. It hurt, but it didn’t matter. I smiled to silently tell Wanda that I was happy for her, truly I was.

“That’s nice,” I responded with a huff because of the cold wind. “I was wondering when I’m going to get mine. I could write better stories there.”

“You’re always writing and reading, don’t you ever get bored?”

“No,” I huffed again. “Not really. It only keeps me away from reality, I get to choose what it feels like to be loved and unloved. I also get to choose whether I’m religious or not.”

I was a good girl but never came to terms with my religion. I believe in God, though. I truly do think he’s capable of all of us sinners and people, it’s just hard to believe when your teacher says something about the world ending. Revelation is not the best chapter in the Bible, it never was. Truly because I think it’s fictional and hypothetical for these things to happen, it has been said for many years. I still don’t see it happening.

Maybe that makes me a sinner of not being afraid of death. I'm not afraid of the underground world once I die, because I know that it’s a place for me and other people who go through my struggle. I’d rather not admit it, it makes me feel ashamed of myself.

When we reached the big wooden doors that lead to the chapel, I gulped. I could feel my throat restraining as if I’m not allowed to talk–which was the case, you aren’t allowed to talk in the chapel. Once it opens, all of us schoolgirls come rushing in quietly. Of course in line. I see my teachers being in the back row while there are a few nuns in the front row, and the section of my class sits in the right row in the middle of the church. So I sat there quietly with Wanda, who had her feet pressed together. A nun was at the altar playing the piano that was ringing in our ears beautifully, and I do find it relaxing. And once everyone was in the chapel, the priestess made her entrance.

Mother Natasha.

I could hear Wanda mumbling, “I wonder if she has a husband. She seems lonely, I mean look at her stance. It screams I want a husband. Do you think she wants one? Or does she have one already?”

I imagine Mother Natasha bringing her husband, who is possibly a priest. And I almost made a grimace look because of that imagination. I’d like to think Natasha is a lonely person who has her personal space and has a wonderful mind. And even if I don’t know her, she radiates that kind of mood. Especially how well-spoken she was, even if they are scriptures from the Bible. I responded to her quietly that I don’t think that she wants a husband, and Wanda just shrugs saying with another mumble: “That’s sad, I don’t want that. I would like a husband someday.”

Why do everyone has to think about marriage? Why can’t we just be happy with ourselves? I do personally think that marriage is a waste and something impulsive to do. There’s nothing forever in everything, even with stupid marriage. The thought of the word forever cringes me, it makes my body feel tingly with that word. I hate it, I hate it more than my dad.

“Please stand up for our prayer,” says Mother Natasha with a broad voice, everyone else closing their eyes. I had to do it as well but urged them to open again just to see her, to take a glimpse of her. After a long prayer, the service began. I was holding onto my Bible while still listening to her preaching, appreciating how there was so much power in her voice. I wish I could easily do that, to attract people with just my voice.

“For rebellion is as the sin of divination,

And insubordination is as iniquity and idolatry.

Because you have rejected the word of the Lord,

He has also rejected you from being king.”

When she says those words with such vulnerability, we make eye contact. It was brief, yet it meant so much to me. She looked at me. And I could see her creating a small smile that was so fainted, you could barely see it. My body tensed from the way her eyes were looking at mine, it was like I couldn’t breathe. My heart stopped. How utterly infatuated I was with something sinful that I cannot despair. She was a woman, a grown woman. I was a kid, practically a teenager still. Yet, she still looked at me without meaning.

After the service, we were asked to go to the confession room as always. It had to take a while since there were a lot of students and it took at least a minute or two. I was waiting in line with my fingers playing on the edge of my skirt. I bit the inside of my cheek, wondering about the possibilities that could happen later once I confess. But mostly, I thought about how Mother Natasha looked at me and almost gave me a smile. Was it sinful enough for me to want it from her?

“Y/N Rogers,” a nun calls me. I lifted my head up in response. “You’re up next. Don’t take too long.”

I mumbled a thank you for being polite and walked inside the small booth, closing the curtains. It felt intimate to be here again, to sit on the warm wooden chair and be faced by a divider. I start by saying with a light voice: “Bless me, Mother, for I have sinned. My last confession was about watching sexual films that my friend and I did, and I have thoughts about it. And for my next confession, I began to research abortion so that I could be prepared for the future. I know that it’s sinful to kill a child inside of your womb, but I was very curious. I will never do something like that again. And for my last one, I’m having an infatuation with someone that they do not know me. They barely made eye contact with me, and I’ve been thinking about them for the longest time.”

There was a short pause until the priestess asked, “Is this person a schoolmate?”

I began to shake my head. Lies, full of lies. I can’t confess something like this, it would be sinful enough to commit to it. It was just a stupid girl crush, no big deal. Wrong, it was a big deal–especially at this church. Homophobia is the real issue here, and they ban any homosexual acts from this school. So, I lied through my teeth.

“No, Mother. Someone else outside of school.”

“By the authority vested in me by the church, I absolve you of your sins in the name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost. May your confession be a reminder of you, child.”

I then realized how feminine the voice of that woman was. It sounded younger, and not some haggard old voice that you’d usually hear from another priestess. No, this sounded different. It sounded exactly just like Mother Natasha, although more feminine. Much lighter. I overthought this conversation until I made my way back to the room, where I had to do my project in English Class. My teacher, Mrs. Davis, is an outstanding poet. I love learning from her, but she seems too old for me to like. I’m assuming she’s in her sixties or maybe late fifties, but who am I to care about her age? I just simply love her class.

I kiss the small cross from my bracelet as I do a little prayer by the window, apologizing for my sins. It’s a daily ritual, a routine where I knelt down peacefully and talked to God. Whether he’s hearing me or not, I could tell how disappointed he was with my simple infatuation with a woman who was in her forties. I was ashamed, but never truly understood with the exception of being homosexual. Perhaps, I was. But I try my best to push it away, and it’s working.

“Forgive me, Lord Father, for I have sinned today. I know I may have disappointed you, and I will do my best to remain pure to your eyes. In the name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

                                                       —

Saint as she was on the outside, the devil she was on the inside. Natasha has urges, sexual urges. Maybe infatuation too, but more on the concept of fucking someone has been on her mind. Especially to me, specifically to me. How she’s trying to condemn herself whenever I'm around, how to try not to notice my eyes whenever she preaches. She prays to the Lord every day to push the feeling off, to be a saint in front of his eyes. But her urges continue on as if it was hunting for prey.

Mother Natasha is now inside your room with the door being quietly closed. She holds her clerical collar around her neck, trying to hold off the animalistic self to not grow out immediately. She takes in the coolness of my room, hearing the sounds of the clock ticking as well as the lights outside from the window are yellow. She looks at my desk and places a finger down, swiping across from the wood. She brings her finger to her tongue and licks it–rolling her eyes back at her head at the image of me on her desk. It’s getting worse day by day whenever she sees me by the halls of Ruther College, she wants to bite me. To simply take me that no one else could. Mother Natasha takes a few steps to my bed and simply admires my slumbered body, smiling to herself and whispering: How beautiful you are, my little lamb. How effortlessly pretty you are.

She takes out her hand and ran her knuckles against my soft cheek, afraid enough that she’ll wake me out of my slumber. Relief left her body when I didn’t stir awake and continued her actions. Mother Natasha has always admired me, especially whenever the teachers would talk about me to her. They would say how well disciplined I am and how much they love my writings, saying that some of my essays could be poetry. She admires that very deeply and takes it in by heart. Before she could do further action, she goes to my desk and starts opening drawers quietly. Something catches her eyes, it’s underwear that has never been washed.

“Perhaps this is yours, little lamb,” she murmurs to herself while touching the cloth of my old juices, running her thumb against it. She brings it to her nose and smells it, almost making a euphoric sound out of it. She’s insane, utterly and completely insane to me. “How beautiful you are, how much you make me crazy.”

Mother Natasha shoves the sheer pink panties inside of her pockets and maneuvers toward me once more, looking down at my body. She takes the ridge of the blanket and moves it down slowly, her eyes staring at my face to see if there are any reactions. None. So she continued until the blanket was at my feet. I was still asleep, deeply in fact. My eyes were so shut that I didn’t even know she was already behind me, her hands remained untouched from my hips. It was as if she was afraid to even hold my arms, to smell my neck. Forgive me, Father, she thought to herself and takes a good amount of smell of my hair. Strawberries. She began to be obsessed with me at this moment and thought about numerous acts that she could do to my body.

I was awoken with a strong pair of hands on my mouth, making me scream from the top of my lungs. Above me, there was a familiar sight and I will never forget this day when I found out that it was Mother Natasha who was on top of me. I was bewildered, scared, and distraught. But scarier if that made sense. I tried pushing her off with my hands fighting against her, but she was unbelievably strong. Was this happening? Am I dreaming? I was infatuated with her and wanted her to notice me, but never like this.

“Shh, baby, please,” her voice sounded like a beg, her eyes are now kind but I could see much evil that was inside her green eyes. “Please stop, quiet down. Shh, it’s okay. I won’t hurt you. I just want a little taste from you, okay sweetheart? Just a little taste…”

Once she put her hand away, I wanted to scream. But her lips were attached to mine and I simply almost passed out because of it. Is this what it feels like to be kissed by your priestess? Her lips were so soft, so plump. My eyes went from terror to closing them, almost giving in to how well she pressed her lips on mine. My hands went immediately on her chest and pushed her as hard as I could, but her hands were caught on my wrists and her eyes are no longer kind. Her eyes were in pure anger.

“Stay down,” she demanded, hovering over my small body as I tried fighting against her. Tears are starting to form in my eyes, but she didn’t care. She needed to let it all out. “Baby, you’re breaking a poor old woman’s heart. Please stay still. I need to take you, I want you so much.”

I wanted to be freed from her arms, away from her lips. I didn’t want it, I told myself not to want it. It was a sin, an awful sin especially when it comes from another woman. Would’ve it been better if she was a man? Hell, that’s even worse. If I do admit that I like it, I might as well be as sinful as she was. Her hands were absolutely everywhere, she was holding my hips with a grip–making me think there would be a mark as well as her kisses on my neck. She was desperate. So so desperate for me. My face was pressed against the soft pillow as she assaulted my helpless body, smiling faintly to herself when I was only wearing a pink tank top along with white cotton panties.

“How beautiful you are, my little angel…” she whispers to my ears and hooks her fingers to my underwear. My eyes bulged out and I was quick to say something before she could even pull them down.

“I’m not experienced, I don’t–can you please stop what you’re doing to me, Mother?”

She clicks her tongue and juts her lower lip as if feeling bad for me. I started to whimper when she shakes her head a “no”. Meaning, that she doesn’t want to stop. She was about to hurt me and I’m going to like the hell out of it.

“Jus’ be a good girl for me,” Mother Natasha mumbled while kissing the corner of my lips sloppily, trying to pull away from her mouth but she makes a threatening voice: “Stop moving or I will hurt you.”

I quivered from the voice that she erupted, I trembled vigorously when she put her hand on my right breast–her mouth near my ear as she shushes me down, threatening me some more. I wanted her to stop, I wanted her to leave. Because knowing myself, I could lose control once she doesn’t stop. I was inexperienced, I don’t know how to touch a woman or even a man. My lips are no longer a virgin, they have been manipulated by her lips instead of a precious one. But maybe, she is the precious one. Maybe, I was just stubborn to realize that.

“Forgive me, Father,” I whispered to myself while her lips were biting on my neck–hissing myself with a loud whimper and immediately covering my mouth once more. From the corner of my eye, I could see her smirking as she whispers hotly on my face: “There’s no Father here, my little girl. It’s just me, Mother. I will take good care of my precious baby.”

She brings down my panties with a grunt, her other hand still on my mouth as she throws the discarded undergarment onto the ground. Mother Natasha quietly gasps to herself as she sees my unshaven core, her mouth-watering from the sight. I could feel more tears trickling down from my eyes as she touches my cunt, knowing how dry it was.

“I’m going to get you so wet, little lamb… You shall see the ecstasy from the Lord. This is his gift, bringing me to you, kitty.”

With those nicknames, it made me wet. Those words are so foreign in my ears like I’ve never heard of them before. And I never did, so the way her sultry voice speaks to me makes me want her to touch my sensitive parts until I was eaten by her. How much I wanted her and how endlessly I denied it. I continued to cry and so on, letting her dominate my poor body while she was smiling at how much has been revealed to her.

“Recite the whole Hail Mary for me,” she quickly says with a domineering voice, turning me until my back is pressed against the mattress. I looked at her and pulled my tank top upwards with effort. “Detka, stop fighting it. Eventually, your virginity shall be mine. We were meant to be this way, accept it.”

I couldn’t. I thought this was supposed to be different, I thought that she’ll only be my priestess and nothing more than that. But I was so driven by her stamina and her harsh kisses that I’m making myself give in, I must give in to not disappoint her. So I did. She smiled widely once I took off my tank top, throwing it across the room and I was fully naked beneath her. I covered my chest with my arms and shyly said, “I think we’ve had enough, Mother. I–I think we should stop.”

“There’s no stopping here,” she harshly whispers and kisses my lower lip; biting it even, which made me let out a tiny whimper. “Give yourself to me, little lamb. I’ll make sure you’ll be filled with so much love from me, I promise.”

She pushed my legs wide and gasped quietly once she saw the full view of my vagina, I could see her hungry eyes far from here. It’s a sight that I’ll never forget, that I’ll imagine once I go to sleep every night. Her mouth lands on my stomach and makes swirling kisses with her tongue, whispering biblical words that I cannot comprehend due to the fact that I’m a mess. Tears are coming out like a river, as well as my whimpers of mercy. She gives open-mouth heated kisses on my pelvis and finally, her mouth was on my cunt. I arched my back in response, my hand went flying to her hair to grip it; she didn’t mind. To her head, she loved it.

“Please,” I begged and took a deep breath, releasing the tension inside of me. “You have to stop, Mother. I–I can’t do this with you, this is wrong.”

She shakes her head in disagreement with her eyebrows scrunched together, but her eyes are still glued to my clitoris. She whispers with a deeper voice: “This is never wrong for the both of us, my child. It’s meant to be.”

Her tongue squirmed all over my folds as I covered my mouth with my mouth, moaning when her lips were attached to my clitoris. She sucks on it, making a sipping sound while her hands are roaming around my stomach to calm me down. Her mouth was rough, as well as her tongue. Especially her tongue. It’s like she knows what she’s doing with it, and I don’t even understand the techniques that she’s releasing from within her. Mother Natasha continued to eat me from down there as I prayed to the Lord for my sins; quietly.

“You taste divine, my angel…” she praises, her eyes closed as she licks and licks my departed folds, the tip of her tongue prodding against my cunt. “So fucking good, this pussy is so beautiful… Want you to shave it for me.”

I still had my hand gripping her hair tightly and let her assault my cunt with her mouth and her tongue that would draw me from my orgasm. She still had her chapel outfit on, which kind of made my body feel hot. I could still see the clerical collar around her neck, as well as her cross necklace that was made out of wood. But none the less, I was in true heaven while she ate me out like a starved animal.

“I’m so–Lord, Forgive me,” I begged, and I pleaded. My chest starts to heave deeper as my pants become more ragged. “Stop, please stop! It’s too much–I can’t take it…”

“You taste so fucking good,” she groaned against my cunt, admiring my clenching hole. “Look at that, you are nothing but my child. I’m cleansing you away from your sins, I’m the one who listens to them. Don’t be a dumb baby.”

I let out a whining moan at the sound of her voice and how she says them with so much sexual power within her body. I began to whine more once I felt two fingers dipping inside of my vagina, and I immediately lifted myself away.

“No, please. Anything but that. I’m saving myself for the Lord,” I whimpered in pleading but she never wavered. She just kept her arms around my hips as her fingers rubbed my clenching hole. I said with a louder voice, “I said stop, Mother! You’re going to hurt me with your fingers…”

“No, no, baby…” she coos, smiling at me gently while still rubbing smoothly against my hole. She could see how terrified I was, could see how pure I was. And she was grown enough to know that she was taking advantage of me. Should I let her? If I was going, to be honest in the vein of the Lord, yes I wanted her to take my virginity. “Don’t be scared, my child. I’m here to take care of you, remember?”

She thrust two fingers inside my womb without warning, making me scream from my hand. It felt like something broke inside of me, like a river flowing out of my vagina. And to my thoughts, it was my juices. She loved the way I screamed, the way my body squirmed to get away from her. But really, I just wanted more. I needed more even though it stings, it hurts.

“That’s it,” she kisses my clitoris again while pulling out slowly to just pump in again, with more force this time. She could see the way my hips arched and with that, she pushes my lower stomach down with a growl. “Be a good angel, little girl. You’re giving yourself to me, what a saint. Beautiful, just like that… You’re so tight.”

She completely lost her temptation over me, she was a whole new person. And either way, she didn’t care. She wanted me as much as I wanted her–now that I have figured that out. She curls her fingers inside of me with a vigorous moan, latching her mouth once again on my clit while flicking that blud. I start praying once again, asking for forgiveness. Telling to God how much I’ve disobeyed him, it was a sin to commit an affair with a woman0–especially a priestess. I can’t help myself, I’ve fully grown to the feeling of her inside of me. I wanted it, even though on the outside I didn’t.

“Stop,” I whined while I still had my eyes closed, trying to get away from her hungry mouth. But her arms were so strong that you’d think twice if she’s a woman. Maybe she’s just a very strong person. “Please stop, I can’t take it! I’m sorry, forgive me, Father… For I have sinned. Oh god, please–I’m feeling so–”

“You’re loosening up,” she chastises, pulling herself up to smother her wet lips against mine. Our teeth clad together and made a clink, which hurt a bit. But I was so lost from the pain and pleasure that she was giving me, that I couldn’t help but let out a desperate moan. She smiles against my wet lips, almost tasting me. “I broke you in, huh? I love your pretty little body so much…”

She gropes my breasts while thrusting inside of me hard, her fingers curling to hit my special spot. My eyes were shut completely as my mouth gaped open, giving her access to kiss me. I could feel her dark redhead locks against my sweaty skin as she pumps her fingers, feeling my walls not as tight anymore. She loved the feeling of her taking my virginity, the one where she gets to taste a girl first. And god, I have made her crazy. Utterly insane.

I moved my head away from her lips and held onto the headboard steadily, almost coming from an orgasm that I’d never had before. She still has that smile on her face, it was as if she had won some trophy. And then I realized I was that trophy, I was her prize. I could feel the cross dangling onto my face as she whispers harshly, “Good little girls like you make me feel alive, lamb. You have no idea how attracted I am to you, how obsessed I am whenever you pass by. I know your little stares, baby. I’m not dumb enough to not see them.”

Immediately, I was embarrassed. But that feeling was at the corner since there are multiple emotions that I’m going through in just one night. I wanted to hate her, to never see her again. She was a saint that I always praised, but a demonic human being at night. Though, I love her. I love the way she manipulates my body, how she could control it–knowing what she wants. I was just some little girl in her eyes and felt innocent. Maybe those were her type, good little innocent girls like me. Except that, I was at the right age. It would’ve been an awful turn if I was a bit younger.

Our kiss was like an unforbidden fruit, like how Eve finds a beautiful apple from the snake. She was Lucifer, I was Eve. She knew how to manipulate me into some kind of sick action that I really loved, and I hate myself for it. I loathe thinking that this was not destiny because it felt like it did.

“I have so much desire for you,” her breathing becomes hard and I don’t know how to respond to her desperation. Her eyes are closed now, but I felt her forehead against mine as she gropes my right breast with a tight grip. “Forgive me, my child. I just couldn’t help myself any longer… I had to take you.”

Come for me, angel. Come around my fingers.

Those words repeat in my head as her mouth latched now on my nipple, sucking it while still rubbing my clitoris with her thumb–her fingers still inside of me. I felt disgusted. Yet, alive. My cunt was now abused with her power and I wasn’t ashamed of it, but I could still feel my tears falling down from my eyes endlessly, it was as if I am truly ashamed of what is going on. Eventually, I came on her fingers and she had her mouth on me to muffle my screams. She knew what she was doing, she damn knew. I was so lost with the feeling, the mixture of pain and pleasure. My body trembles from her fingers inside of me as my body sweats like crazy.

“That’s it,” she whimpers, kissing my lips harder with her rough mouth. “That’s it, come on… You’re so good to me. You’re such a good little schoolgirl, huh?”

I nodded relentlessly and continued to come around her fingers. Once I am done, she pulls out slowly and brings her lips to her mouth–sucking my come with her eyes closed. I watched the way she lathers her other all over her fingers as if she was starved. And truly, I was too. I panted loudly and laid my head back onto the pillows, sobbing after our sinful encounter.

Her eyes soften and touch my cheek with her knuckles, whispering: “You did good, my child. You did very well. I hope to see you again next week. Will I see you again?”

Why was she acting desperate? She knows she has more power over me, why is she giving me the control to see her? Mother Natasha has the willpower to control me, to make me feel like a bad person. It all felt different, too different. But I gave her a slight nod and tuck myself away from her, still whimpering from the sex that we made. I hear her say: “I made love to you, my child. Don’t act like you don’t like it. You came around my fingers, I hope you get to do that with my cock too someday.”

Someday? And what does she mean by that? Was there something else that I did not know? I felt scared now but wanted her to hold me close. Eventually, I felt the bed dip and watched her as she fixed herself, mumbling a few words that I could barely hear. She turns over her shoulder and gives one last smile before she leaves my room, closing the door quietly.

I cried during that night, feeling ashamed of what I’ve felt or thought. I hate to admit that I loved our sex, I loved the way she took me. But it felt so sinful that I could feel my body as a dirty thing; a dirty creature. I never want to show up in her chapel again, I never want to see those eyes.

But I do, so badly that it aches me.

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[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for not telling someone her boyfriend cheated on her with me.

TLDR at the bottom.

So this all started when I (21M) and the boyfriend (Garrett 21M) were 16. I really liked him and we had some history. After months of pining, I made a move but he took it the wrong way and we ended up being FwB.

Fast forward a few months and he’s being…weird. Ignoring me during the school day only to bounce back to wanting to be around me, telling me he feels guilty about sleeping with me (he was catholic) then acting like I’m being an idiot when I don’t initiate sex, generally just dodging my attempts to interact outside of sex and getting my help on homework. At this point I’m fairly certain he knew I liked him romantically so I figured he was acting weird because of that and asked for space. He gave me a bit of time but when I started to hang around him again he started guilting me over ‘abandoning him again.’

Like I said earlier, we had history. We dated for a couple months when we were 15 and after I broke up with him, I didn’t really talk to him much for the summer. He guilt-tripped me a lot over this and dating someone else after him and I fell for it hook-line-and-sinker. I was into him and didn’t see the red flags.

Anyway, after graduation we ended up going to college at the same place and continuing being FWB and I kept doing homework with him. However, pretty soon after we got up there, he confronted me about telling my friend, Hannah (15F when we were 18 so 18 now) about us being FwB. He made me promise I’d tell her we stopped and wouldn’t tell anyone else, then used that to guilt me even more.

For context, Hannah was friends with my little sister and I ended up being her ride everyday after school and we had a lot of the same after school activities. She knew about the FwB thing because I’d talk to her and my sisters about how I was so into him but couldn’t tell if he liked me back because he was so erratic in how much affection he showed me. Garrett met Hannah a bit before we left for college at a get-together and apparently they exchanged numbers.

So, a bit into school I get a call from Hannah and she tells me she couldn’t hide it anymore and that her and Garrett have been together since the week we left for school. I’m horrified because 1. I’m still sleeping with Garrett and 2. She’s 15 and in high school. I was kind of in shock and sick to my stomach so I didn’t say anything at that time. Looking back, I can see now that this is why he was so insistent I tell her we broke things off and why he’d been guilt-tripping me so much about telling her I’m the first place (despite him also telling one of his friends).

As soon as I could, I got Garrett to come over to my place and confronted him. He started telling me about how they hadn’t actually been together, just talking to see if they’d be able to handle long distance, and I once again fell for it. He tells me that they officially got together over the weekend he went home and that’s why Hannah called me. I told him I wasn’t comfortable with it and that it freaked me out he was dating someone that much younger and that we won’t be sleeping together again.

A few weeks go by and he’s at my place almost every night and nothing happens. And then there’s a little cuddling and it’s like I’m with that boy I first met who was nice to me all the time and freely gave physical affection. It’s important to note here that this was during lockdown and I had no roommates. He was the only person I saw consistently and I hadn’t seen my family in months. If he wanted to throw an arm over my shoulder or let me put my feet across his lap then I was going to let him, I was touch starved as hell and hadn’t had so much as a handshake from anyone but him in months.

One night cuddling turns into me on his lap but nothing really happens and I end up telling him I’m taking him home. The next time he comes over, he climbs in my lap and to avoid this getting too personal, he basically does everything he knows I like until I kiss him back. And then word for word says “I was wondering when you’d give in.”

We ended up sleeping together a couple more times before it finally stopped for good because we both felt guilty. Around the time it stopped, I’d also been hanging out with his roommate and our mutual friend a lot and he had started getting explosively angry anytime we’d hang out without him even if we’d invited him and he’d turned us down, then he’d guilt me again over how lonely and left out he felt after he’d yelled at me. About this time I started realizing how manipulative he’d been and shortly after found out he’d been lying to both me and his roommate about various things to keep us separated and me isolated.

But yeah, so Hannah. I was planning on telling Hannah, but I didn’t know how to do it without Garrett retaliating. He’s got anger issues, is taller than me, and has photos of me I’d really rather not get out and knew my address. So I planned to tell Hannah after I’d moved over the summer.

But then things with Hannah went south. I’m not going to get into it, but basically she said and did some messed up things and I told her I didn’t want to talk to her anymore. But she kept texting me, would drive hours to my campus and would text me that she saw me and wanted to talk. I kept telling her not to contact me and it got to the point that I was afraid of her finding out where I worked and cornering me. I had to threaten to call the police to get her to stop.

As far as I know, she and Garrett are still together and I still feel guilty about not telling her he cheated on her with me, especially because those last few times I knew it was cheating. I’m not scared of Garrett anymore, but more so that contacting her will lead to her texting me all the time again and destroy any case I have for harassment.

TLDR: My emotional manipulative ex FWB used me to cheat on his underage girlfriend, and I never told her because I 1) was afraid of him retaliating and 2) don’t want to contact her after she stalked me.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

[spicybylerpolls]

It is genuinely ASTONISHING to see how many people are against your blog because they believe “it’s bad/weird to fantasize” or they say stuff like, “analyzing is fine. fantasizing is evil.” Actually fantasization is a divine gift, a spiritual experience, one of the best things we can do as humans. And most clearly Bylers agree!

They spend all day fantasizing about Mike and Will holding hands, going on dates, kissing, even ‘making out sloppily’ but the second we on the spicy side say that we want Byler to fuck, people start freaking out. How dare you fantasize?

Stick to analysis, freak.

Can someone please tell me why sex is such a big weird scandalous taboo? Have we gone back in time? Is this an evangelical youth group? Is this Catholic school? Are we Mormons? To fight back, some say, “Oh I’m not fantasizing, I’m just exploring the character dynamics” as if fantasizing will implicate them as some kind of dirty rotten sinner, as if this is some kind of gotcha that will expose fandom nonces.

But I don’t get it. I’m doing both, unapologetically! I’m exploring Byler’s dynamics, just like we do with ever other HC and canon analysis point, AND I’m fantasizing about them fucking like rabbits until the end of time, just like we fantasize about how the Byler kiss will go or how Mike will finally admit his sexuality.

Last time I checked, sex is part of sexuality, it’s literally in the name, and it’s a Divine Gift. Mike and Will are not disembodied beings who only want to hold hands and look at flowers all day. They are gay teenage boys who are sexually ravenous for each other. It’s clear this era of Puriteens didn’t devour Reddie or Stenborough smut under the covers while giggling and kicking their feet. And none of them would have SURVIVED the Harry Potter fandom.

The other side of this are the adult fancops who are siding with the puriteens and constantly trying to cancel Bylers for thinking unholy thoughts. You can only think analytical thoughts while wearing suits and taking cold showers. Meanwhile 65% of the fandom is openly attracted to Finn, and I’m supposed to be gaslit into thinking this doesn’t translate into their experience actually watching the show? I’m supposed to believe they watched him drool over Will’s ass and then said, “No, he didn’t do that”?

“But why aren’t you fantasizing about adult ships like J0pper or JAncy or or or-”

Because I don’t care about them? No offense. I’ve never read J0pper or JAncy fanfic in my life. And this isn’t J0pper Tumblr? It’s Byler Tumblr. I’m a Byler and naturally I want to see my favorite characters rail each other romantically? And it’s very, dare I say, unnatural and unrealistic when you read fanfics and Mike and Will kiss each other and don’t so much as get a boner. One boner?

I’m so tired. It’s utter gobbledegook.

Especially giving the context of what Stranger Things and Byler represents, it’s so obvious that sexual exploration is the natural evolution for these characters in their arcs in Season 5. Self-actualization and an embrace of the queer experience in all its sensuality and beauty.

The shame WILL be on the other side.

yeah, all great points! I think people get overprotective and hyper-vigilant, and they want to make sure they're taking a strong stand against their nebulous, exaggerated, hypothetical image of the shadowy "30-year old creep" getting off to Byler smut in a dark room.

but you're right that all Bylers "fantasize" about many things, even those most vocal in the analyze-only movement. technically all of Byler is "fantasizing," since they aren't together yet and they are fictional. we're all just envisioning scenarios and situations!

for some reason tho, people are chill with people daydreaming about every romantic scenario imaginable and chill with people conjuring up sad, tragic, angsty situations involving Vecna and bullying and pain. but sex? no. sex is shocking, alarming, and frightening.

also, this is definition of fantasize:

there's nothing inherently creepy about that definition. It's neutral.

#byler #spicy byler #no poll

[highpriestessarchives]

Expectations: In Which Diverse Stories Have Extra Criteria

CW: mentions of racism, brutality, colonization, more of a vent post than anything informative

As much as I don’t like it, I feel as though the best way to start this off is to provide context on my own background. I’ll get to why I don’t like it in a moment, so bear with me. I’m a first generation born Filipino American. My parents are from Tarlac (and a DNA test shows that we also have lineage traced back to Northern and Western Philippines as well some Central & Eastern and Southern China), and they raised us in a semi-traditional Filipino fashion. They didn’t teach us the language in fear of us being made fun of by other Americans, but we did grow up eating the food, respecting our elders, and practicing Filipino Catholic traditions that my parents grew up with in their homeland.

Needless to say, the remarks that followed me into my adult life have pulled my resonance with my heritage in every which way. To other Filipinos and other Asians, I looked part white, and they would ask for pictures of my parents for “proof” that I wasn’t. True story: I remember one of my college friends grabbing my phone and showing her friends in an “I told you so” manner, as if my race was some mystery for them to crack. It wasn’t. I fully told them from the start that I’m Filipino. My Titas would tell me that I looked “mestiza,” and how many young girls in the Philippines would want to look the way I do, and I didn’t know how to explain to them that I started hating how pale I am because of how other Asians would assume my race because of it.

At the same time, my non-Asian counterparts (yes, majority of the people who made these comments were white) would assume that I was some hodge-podge of all Asian cultures. I remember my high school teacher showing us a Vietnamese medicine commercial (this was a class on medical malpractice, and, if I remember correctly, she wanted to show us how medicine is advertised internationally), and she walked into class saying, “The only one who might understand this clip is Rory.” She’d used my deadname at the time, but you get the idea. Jaw-dropped, I had to say, “I don’t speak Vietnamese. I’m not Vietnamese.”

I know, what does this have to do with writing? We’ll get there; don’t worry.

Around 2018, the term “decolonization” entered my realm of awareness. I would see other children of immigrants from all over the world dive into their heritage and continue their ancestors’ practices. Thinking that this would be a genuine way to connect with my roots (I had, and still have, a complicated relationship with the Catholic Church, so I was excited to hear about other Filipino faiths), I began doing my research. At the time, I had a sizable following on TikTok, and I would post entertainment-only sort of videos regarding my spirituality and craft, and I even had to put out a video explaining why I didn’t go into more detail with the Filipino aspects of it. I wasn’t as learned with it as I am now, and I was afraid of the criticism and backlash others would have towards it. In hindsight, I really shouldn’t have given a sh*t, but the internet, as we all know, is cruel.

See, I use my writing as a way to connect with myself and other people, mainly. Yes, I have a story to tell, but a majority of my purpose is to discover and process my own emotions and findings. I use what I observed in society and how I grew up as well as what I learned from my own research. I won’t go into detail of the racism Asian Americans face nor the brutality we have endured over the years; frankly, if you are not already aware of it, Google is free.

Still, my work seemed to be followed by one main criticism: this isn’t yours to tell.

There were a myriad of reasons behind it. I wasn’t born in the Philippines, I’m white-passing, I wasn’t raised with anitismo, other marginalized groups have it “exponentially” worse, etc. I’d be lying if I said this didn’t affect my writing. I froze. I grappled with what I was “allowed” to tell based on all of these criteria. I’d pull up article after article of what I learned in hopes to justify the reasons for including certain aspects in my work; but because of my own upbringing, it never seemed to be enough. What’s worse, a portion of these criticisms completely dismissed the aspects of racism that Asian Americans have spoken up about time and time again (once again, because other’s have it worse or because there just wasn’t enough awareness about it for it to be “valid.”)

Imagine that. We read of thousands of iterations of medieval fantasies from white authors, thousands of European fae romances, thousands of Greek mythological retellings, and treat it as the default. There is no question of whether the author is Greek or Gaelic enough or if their ancestors played a huge role during the medieval era. Hell, my first published work was based on Greek and Celtic mythology, and no one talked about my race then, whether it was about how white I look or how I'm not white at all.

But gods help us if a minority doesn’t fit the ultimate minority model while telling their stories. To be honest, this was why I started disliking the need to talk about my background; it has begun to feel as though it is more to provide credentials rather than to satiate genuine curiosity from other people.

Yes, I do recognize that I wasn’t born in the Philippines and that I was raised Catholic, but I’ve come to terms with how I feel like that is okay.

First of all, if we want to hear from more diverse writers, we cannot keep projecting this “model minority” expectation towards them. Otherwise, it will discourage other diaspora writers, such as myself, from connecting and relaying their heritage in fear of not being “[insert marginalized group here] enough,” whatever that even means at this point.

Secondly, our history is full of movement, whether it was by our own will, such as my parents’ decision to come to America, or if it was forced upon us by our oppressors. As such, those raised outside of their homeland only further enriches our culture, not dilutes it.

To filter the perspectives of or to project your own biases towards diaspora writers is to promote the narratives of the colonizers. We are valid, and our stories should be, too.

#writingcommunity #writing #writers of tumblr #writers on tumblr #writers #writeblr #writers and poets #writerscommunity #writing life #poc author #diverse reads #diverse books #filipino #filipina #poc writer #creative writing #writer #writerslife #writer stuff #novel writing #on writing #writing community #authorlife #authors of tumblr #author #author life #author blog #author speaks #diverse authors #authors of color

[utilitycaster]

Hi, first religion anon (NOT the same as the second religion anon). My main complaints are with TUC (mostly s1 but the ‘Jesus is real’ thing in s2 really bothered me) and the way that Laudna and a few other characters engage with the gods on CR. I have 0 complaints with Sam, I think his engagements with religion as both Scanlan and FCG are fascinating. I think things like ACOC and Kristen on D20 are done fine, but when they move outside of Christian allegories they tend to stumble. I know Brennan and Ally have philosophy backgrounds and Emily has a religious studies background, but frankly I’m not super confident in American universities’ ability to make people deconstruct Christian hegemony, and things like Emily using the phrase “Judeo-Christian” aren’t super encouraging to me.

thanks for clarifying, I was wondering about the second anon bc I was like "the first anon came in being fairly normal even if I don't agree and this feels...bad and also just a hunch but it feels like it's coming from a Cultural Christian who is not American. (also I did get your follow up question and I want to answer that one separately bc I think it's a good but separate point).

I know it's not terribly popular to say but being weird about the term "Judeo-Christian" feels like one of those things that Jumblr and other people in Jewish Millennial/Gen Z spaces online made a big deal about and I'm like "uhhhhh this was a thing my actual Jewish middle school teachers said sometimes; it's not the best term, no, but it was the go-to term in a lot of contexts until quite recently to the point that yeah, Emily going to school in the 2000s would probably hear it even from Jewish profs, and so it's not so much a red flag as a sign that she graduated before 2010."

I also honestly don't mind Jesus being real in TUC 2; at some point if you've decided all other mythology is real why not Christian religion. It feels, in a way, far more Christian-centric to treat Christianity as something that cannot be incorporated, as too real, as compared to say, Norse or Greek myths or Golems.

I will say that I agree that Ally and Marisha do tend to be a bit more limited in how they engage; I actually don't mind Laudna's frustrations with the gods from a "I think this comes from Marisha's personal feelings" perspective more so than a "could we...actually explore this as a throughline rather than a bunch of random-ass statements." I do think that Ally does tend to pull from their own experience; understandably so, but yes, it's very different than my experience as someone not raised Christian let alone strictly so.

I guess, and this might just be difficult to do as an anon ask thing, that I am looking at this very holistically. I am looking far more at what the GM is doing than an individual player, and I haven't had issues with Matt, Brennan, Murph, or Aabria's portrayal of divine forces. I find that Worlds Beyond Number has been explicitly very not Christian (and indeed, heavily influenced by Shintoism and pre-Christian Irish religion) in how the spirits are portrayed, and while I think Matt does tend to draw a lot from Catholic architecture and imagery and vibes, the way the gods engage with the players does not feel exclusively Christian (notably in Campaign 2; none of Fjord, Caduceus, Yasha, nor Jester's experience feel inherently cultural Christian beyond the fact that Travis mentions he doesn't feel like he can connect with the Luxon because 'it's a shape'). So it means I'm not looking to Ally for example for an exploration of religion that is as accessible to me, but I do find that actual play on the whole feels fine. I find a lot of the claims do feel like they get really hung up on specific details (eg: the Santa jokes in Chetney's backstory) instead of the overall feeling (eg: the fact that many of the deities have a very open, fluid, and at times intellectual form of engagement; the fact that the general message is that suffering is not purifying but rather simply sucks; Melora death domain traditions and especially Caduceus's philosophy which is very much outside American Protestantism; the polytheistic society of Vasselheim.)

#answered #Anonymous #cr tag

[angelthoughts]

so i’ll give you guys a little context of what my life has been at least for the past two years. <3

im 18, still in high school (catholic school) and im literally about to finish in a few months. i struggle a lot with my mental health, mainly because of daddy issues and self worth so yeah that’s a little fucked but i try my best everyday.

i don’t have a boyfriend but my life when it comes to boys it’s not boring. last year i had a year long situationship with my best friend (who i’ll call F) that really got me fucked because he started getting weird and when i asked what was going on he said a million lies and it turns out he got a girlfriend (even when i asked if there was something going on with that girl and he denied everything) and she didn’t like that we were friends so i lost my first love and my best friend. He wasn’t the first guy i liked but he was the first one i loved but it’s ok, now it’s just weird.

i had a tendency to like older guys but it’s so hard to find someone that age in my hometown cause it’s REALLY small like the gossiping never stops and it’s impossible to do something without everyone finding out (for example the first time i kissed F a lot of girls found out and they just couldn’t keep my name out of their mouth) so i just go for boys my age, currently i have the biggest crush on this guy (V), he goes a year below me but he is SO hot. he is friends with F and some of my friends but it’s so hard for me to make a move bc he makes me nervous but hopefully i’ll get to do something before i graduate.

As in friends i can’t really complain, i’m not the most popular girl in school like at all but i get invited to most parties and i have plans every weekend although my wilder phase was when i was 15 i really enjoy having a good time with my girls.

i don’t think there’s much to say after that but if you want me to tell some stories about something lmk <3

#catholic coquette #2014 tumblr #old tumblr #gaslight gatekeep girlboss #coquettecore #coquette #nympette #princesscore #daddy issues #vent #just girly thoughts #just girly things #girlblogging #tumblr girls #princess

[exvangelicalrage]

Sin Is Fake

6/5/23

I realized something this week. Which is that I don't believe in sin. Obviously, I don't believe in a lot of things, including god, christianity, and literally anything, haha, but I realized this week that I'd been taking the idea of "sin" as a given.

The idea of sin has been a constant in my life since my birth; only a few weeks after we came home from the hospital, my parents had me "dedicated" in front of the church congregation, which is the protestant alternative to the catholic baby baptisms. Instead of saving your soul, however, it's merely a commitment by christian parents to "raise their child in the way he should go" or whatever. And in this case, that meant raising their child to believe they were inherently sinful and needed to be saved by jesus in order to go to heaven. 

I've long determined that people are not inherently sinful; that babies are not evil from the moment they are beget; that children do not need to plead forgiveness for imagined wrongs. 

But the idea that perhaps sin simply... doesn't exist at all? That is new.

When I was five, I kneeled next to my bed on the pink throw rug my great grandmother had given me, clasped my hands together, and said, "Dear jesus, please come into my heart and forgive me." As I said the words, there was a deep sense of "this is what I'm supposed to do in order to get to heaven." I hadn't quite put together the "I'm sinful and need to be forgiven" part, despite the emphasis on that during Sunday school and vacation bible school, but I knew the words and I said them and I meant them. 

But as I grew, it didn't take me long to fully understand what "sin" was. 

Sin was whining about chores. Sin was arguing with my brothers. Sin was being obstreperous. Sin was reading instead of cleaning my room. Sin was talking back to my parents. Sin was watching other kids get picked on in school and doing nothing. Sin was not wanting to do my homework. Sin was getting bad grades. Sin was not listening to the teacher. Sin was watching movies. And listening to secular music. And reading books with swear words in them.

Sin was doing anything that upset my parents for any reason. 

Sin was lack of total perfection.

Sin was making god mad.

I asked for forgiveness regularly. As a 7 year old. As a 10 year old. As a 12 year old. I knew my soul was irreparably blackened, and jesus was the only one who could cleanse me and guarantee my way into heaven. 

When I reached my teenage years, I continued to pray for forgiveness, but I tacked on an extra little request at the end of my prayers: "Please forgive me, and also, if you notice me doing something wrong, could you just let me know?"

"If I'm doing something and don't realize it's a sin, could you please point it out to me?"

"I'm not entirely sure quite what I'm doing wrong, but I know it must be something, so please forgive me even for stuff I don't realize is wrong."

It's a pretty heavy weight, to walk around thinking that you're perpetually committing grievous offenses but have no idea what they are. To believe that god is incessantly watching every movement, every choice, and every thought, and judging you accordingly. Especially as a child. And sure, the pastors said "his blood covers it all" but what does that even mean? And if his blood covers "it all" why couldn't we just be regular people? Why did we have to focus on being as perfect as possible? 

The thing is, though, the existence of sin is necessary to christianity. If humans weren't inherently "sinful" then what would the point of christianity be? Because if we weren't inherently sinful, nothing would be preventing us from accessing heaven. We wouldn't need jesus, we wouldn't need the bible, and most of all, we wouldn't need the church. 

Sin, at least in a christian context, is a direct and willful violation of god's will. But in order for it to be real, a.) god has to exist, and b.) we have to be able to determine what his will is—irrefutably. But since god (if he exists) hasn't provided a clear-cut directive... how can we possibly ensure that we aren't violating god's will? And if we can't know his will, we can't violate it on purpose.

Hence, sin is fake.

But if pastors, leaders, humans make clear-cut statements that say, "This is wrong and I know because god told me so," then they can claim that your violation of their commandments is sin, and in doing so, they strip access to heaven from you.

The idea of sin allows humans to control other humans. Even humans who don't believe in their ideology.

But if sin doesn't exist in the first place? That hill they're standing on is nothing but air.

To be clear, I think mistakes are real. I think we can do things that we wish we hadn't. I think we can cause harm. We can do things that upset or cause pain or discomfort toward other people, ourselves, or the world around us.

But sin? Nah.

I think I still carry this weight, even though I left christianity over a decade ago. 

It's clearest for me in this subconscious  pressure that suggests I'm "living a sinful lifestyle," despite the fact that even according to christian standards, my "lifestyle," as it were, is pretty innocuous. I'm straight & hetero, married and monogomous, donate and volunteer to causes, mind my own business most of the time. But I do swear. And read romance novels (with sex scenes *gasp*). And I'm not christian. Which all equals "sinful lifestyle" in my subconscious, I guess.

But there's a lot of freedom in being able to look an action in the face and say "What harm does this cause?" If the answer is "It causes no harm," I can move on with my life. And if the answer is "It causes this specific harm," then I can remediate to the best of my ability. 

Litter? I can donate to an environmental organization or pick up more trash than I dropped. 

Give voice to my internal biases, even unintentionally? Apologize immediately and truthfully. Or donate to an anti-racist/feminist/trans-inclusionary/disability activist organization if an apology isn't possible. Or all of the above! 

Steal something? Give it back. Pay for it. Go to jail. Whatever. Make amends.

There is freedom in accountability. There is freedom in taking responsibility for my misdeeds. I don't need jesus or christianity to "save" me. All I need to do is own up to my behaviors, decisions, and choices, and the consequences therein. 

I can make amends. All by myself. No penance, priest, or prayer necessary.

If everyone did this, instead of just "praying for forgiveness," I think the world would be a lot less shitty place.

-----

A not-exactly side note: 

If I'm being honest, I think this whole blog is partially about me trying to make amends in a way. It's also therapy through writing, an exploration of my feelings, and a process to think through some of the concepts and ideas that still nag at me. But I could do all of that without sharing it online.

The one thing I feel more guilty about than anything in my life, was the evangelism I did as a teenager. I talked down to other people. Tried to convince them they were evil. I built walls around myself, and judged everyone else as either "saved" or "unsaved." I roped people in, with music and a pretty smile and the threat of hell. 

I understand that I was still a child. And that the religion I wielded was placed into my hands by adults. That it's not entirely my fault. I know I was trying to do what was right. But I also feel strongly that I caused harm to those around me. Harm I regret to this day.

I made it out. But not without casualties.

It's a strange type of survivor's guilt.

So I'm hoping that writing out & sharing my experiences, feelings, and pain will maybe help somebody somewhere. I want to do something good that directly counteracts the harm I caused then. Maybe I can support someone leaving the church now, validate someone who is questioning, or offer logic, reason, and experience to help someone see the door. 

Maybe it'll help, maybe not. But it feels like the right thing to do.

#christianity #sin is fake #exvangelical #ex christian #exchristian #ex evangelical #indoctrination #religion #exreligious #ex religious #christianity sucks #atheist #agnostic #agnosticism #sin #making amends #deconstruction #deconversion #antichristian #religious trauma #cptsd #religiousabuse #apostate #purity culture #cult

[angeltreasure]

Could you give me some advice or i don’t even know but anything that you have learned on your journey with God or in general as a Catholic for not doing or experiencing stuff in the world that most people see as amazing or fulfilling and I guess for more context like when people say that some things that are the best and brag about doing things or going places like I know a lot of it can come down to Instagram but I guess in real life too.

I still think I’m early in my faith journey so there’s still a lot I’m learning, but before I knew God I would be one of those people who tried to keep up with the world and would stress but try to show off what I’d done or so called cool things but actually I was really sad so I know it can be lies. It’s so hard sometimes because I think this is something that is used against me to try and stress me out and no matter how many times I say I’m done, it sfill gets me sometimes

Good Morning!,

I know exactly what you are going through, because I experienced this myself growing up in picking schools. We had all kinds of trends growing up and everyone wanted to keep up with the latest trend, the newest popular fashion of high quality brands, who could get the most piercing, who could download Snapchat to get that dog face filter, who could do the best duck face, who could get the best senior year photo, who had the most animal bracelets made of rubber bands, who bought the latest bracelet being sold by the after school group, etc etc etc.

Before we know it, we find ourselves a clone of the rest of the boys or girl and now we have anxiety trying to meet impossible expectations and try to fit in so the crowd doesn’t make us outcasts. You’ll find yourself sad and empty, with a void in your heart that can never be filled. The void in your heart is a God shaped hole that only God Himself can fill.

When we examine ourselves as Catholics, we need to stop and take a step back. All the friend circles all the social media all the shows and fashions are of “the world”. They live in the blue sphere but not you, no. Before you can call yourself a student of this school, a student of this college, a baseball player, a cheerleader, a goth, a girly girl, a cosplayer, a Trekkie, a political party, any label, your identity in God comes first. You are a child of God. Look at this verse that I think of often, it’s one I read at my grandma’s funeral:

For none of us lives for ourselves alone, and none of us dies for ourselves alone. If we live, we live for the Lord; and if we die, we die for the Lord. So, whether we live or die, we belong to the Lord. For this very reason, Christ died and returned to life so that he might be the Lord of both the dead and the living. You, then, why do you judge your brother or sister? Or why do you treat them with contempt? For we will all stand before God’s judgment seat. It is written: “’As surely as I live,’ says the Lord, ‘every knee will bow before me; every tongue will acknowledge God.’” So then, each of us will give an account of ourselves to God. Therefore let us stop passing judgment on one another. Instead, make up your mind not to put any stumbling block or obstacle in the way of a brother or sister.

- Romans 14:7-13

You don’t need to keep up with the world. Let the world have its rat race. You are very special. You have the ability to pray for all these people that you feel you need to keep up with. Think of how many do not even know how to pray and thank our Lord. You can be like the only leper that gave thanks to Jesus for healing. Stop searching for your true self in trends. This is who you really are, check this out!:

You have searched me, Lord, and you know me. You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar. You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways. Before a word is on my tongue you, Lord, know it completely. You hem me in behind and before, and you lay your hand upon me. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain. Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast. If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me,” even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you. For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, when I was woven together in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be. How precious to me are your thoughts, a God! How vast is the sum of them!Were I to count them, they would outnumber the grains of sand— when I awake, I am still with you.

- Psalm 139:1-18

If you ever forget who you are and what you must do, I highly recommend getting a cup of tea or coffee and a little snack, find a comfy place to sit, and open your canon Bible’s New Testament to read the Sermon on the Mount. You can find most answers you probably have about how one must act as a child of God. I never get bored of it.

We have new challenges in our age with the fast information bombarding us everyday, especially with the use of social media. Using social media isn’t in the Sermon on the Mount specifically, but we can learn from Tradition on how to we can use social media with a greater purpose for good. The Vatican released this document that I highly recommend every Catholic to read as soon as possible.

#asks

[swamp-world]

god i am SO frustrated with all of the shitty one-dimensional lean-in “feminist” takes on Goncharov now that everyone’s finding out about it. like. you can’t just boil it down that easily yk?? Katya is easily the most three-dimensional Scorsese woman, but I don’t think that’s actually because of Scorsese. even Roger Ebert pointed out that it was most likely Jwhj’s writing that allowed Katya (and also Sofia to a lesser extent) to actually be a person and character in her own right!! (i think it was Melissa Park who wrote about how this reflects early elements of Jwhj’s queer journey and life? read her book The Last One Looking for more)

it’s just that I’ve seen a lot of posts about what a #girlboss Katya is for faking her own death and making out with goncharov AND andrey AND sofia (YES they made out you can’t convince me that just because they were in disguise they didn’t both mean that) and don’t get me wrong I love that as much as anyone else but like

you can’t take this out of its context. the whole “and then she faked her death and used her feminine wiles” thing can absolutely be done in a subversive and empowering way, and I’ve seen some fanfics or reimagined endings that have her live and take over the mafia herself, but i personally hate that because like.

the whole thing takes place against the backdrop of the immediate aftermath of the russian revolution and the wars, with how it shows the intergenerational trauma at hand (i could go on for HOURS about the role of the kitchen table, it made me cry when I first saw that scene) and so to try to put 21st century feminist models on top of something that’s immediately engaging with the tensions of what feminism meant in a soviet context at the time (AND an italian context too, I’m thinking about The Catholic School right now, because while the events in that took place two years before Goncharov was released, it provides a good (fictionalized) encapsulation of the social context that inspired Jwhj), through the lens of a mainstream American man, is just flattening it down too much. it’s a miracle that Jwhj got credit for writing this at all, and that their writing actually managed to make it through as intact as it did (and I think in the 1996 remastering we got to see a bit more of what it could have looked like without studio interference, and also without Scorsese being Scorsese) but it’s clear that a lot of their vision for what the film could have been about and could have said was really overshadowed by Scorsese’s own style and goals. it’s no wonder film bros like it, right, but that doesn’t mean we have to give it to them wholeheartedly

BUT that also doesn’t mean we need to girlbossify it so that it can be easily digestible in a single sentence. twitter is dying, let’s stop with the 280 character film analysis takes, especially with something as rich as this.

#goncharov #goncharov (1973)

[driftwccds]

˗ˏˋ elijah gutierrez ⟶ introduction

elijah gutierrez picked up their key from the front desk two years ago. the twenty four year old uses he/him pronouns and is a muralist from new york city, america. According to their apartment application, people have told them they look a lot like michael cimino, and the character they identify with most is jaime spano from saved by the bell. santa moneda gives you a warm welcome, and we hope you enjoy your stay. ( s/star, 25, she/her, est )

B A S I C S

˗ˏˋ full name ⟶ elijah luis gutierrez ˗ˏˋ age ⟶ twenty-four ˗ˏˋ pronouns ⟶ he/him ˗ˏˋ place of birth ⟶ new york city, america ˗ˏˋ star sign ⟶ capricorn

I N T E R V I E W ( bio & backstory )

I:  can  you  state  your  full  name,  age,  and  how  long  you’ve  been  living  at  santa  moenda,  for  the  record  ?

E:  “  elijah  gutierrez.  “  he’s  already  relaxing  back  in  the  chair,  tipping  the  front  legs  towards  the  ceiling.  he  offers  the  camera  (  and  the  interviewer  )  a  disarming  grin.  “  i’m  twenty  four,  and  i’ve  been  here  for  two  years.  “  

I:  let’s  start  at  the  beginning  :  where  were  you  born  ?  what  is  your  family  like  ?

E:  “  new  york  city,  baby,  “  his  tongue  pokes  out  between  his  teeth,  and  he  waves  his  pinky  finger  and  thumb  through  the  air.  “  not  all  as  glamorous  as  you  think.  well,  actually,  that’s  a  straight  up  lie.  i’m  not  going  to  pretend  i  lived  in  the  slums  in  brooklyn  or  any  of  that  shit.  my  dad  owns  a  pretty  big  contracting  company  and  while  my  mom  jokes  all  the  time  about  how  she’s  his  trophy  wife,  she’s  a  law  professor  at  columbia.  i  also  have  four  younger  brothers,  all  of  them  doing  their  thing  at  university  or  college.  my family was pretty blessed with what we got. “

I:  what  was  your  childhood  like  ?  

E:  “  if  you’re  trying  to  get  some  kind  of  gossip  out  of  me,  you’re  not  going  to  get  it.  “  he  jests,  throwing  his  head  back  with  an  easy  laugh.  “  i  don’t  have  any  complaints.  we  were  pretty  stereotypical  of  your  upper-middle  class,  catholic  american  family.  my  parents  loved  all  five  of  us,  even  though  i  can  guarantee  we  were  a  fucking  nightmare  to  deal  with.  we  loved  each  other  too.  “  he  pauses,  before  adding,  “  we  were  competitive  as  hell  though.  when  your  parents  are  that  successful,  there’s  always  that  kind  of  quiet  expectation  that  you  will  uphold  their  legacy.  they  didn’t  berate  us  or  anything  ——  don’t  take  that  out  of  context.  they  just  pushed  us  to  do  the  best  that  we  could  do,  and  in  turn  we  always  pushed  each  other.  when  you’re  one  kid  in  five,  especially  with  busy  parents,  you  inherently  want  to  stand  out.  the  best  way  to  do  that  in  our  family  was  by  outperforming  everyone  else.  i  got  lucky  being  the  oldest.  the  pressure  only  builds  when  each  of  your  brothers  gets  a  better  SAT  score  than  you,  and  the  only  way  you  can  show  off  is  by  getting  perfect.  “  he  shrugs  “  it  was  fun.  we  all  pushed  each  other  to  be  the  best  we  could  be.  i  don’t  think  i  would  have  accomplished  what  i  did  during  school  if  i  hadn’t  been  so  obsessed  with  setting  the  bar  so  high  they  couldn’t  beat  me.  we  went  on  family  vacations.  we  went  to  each  other’s  graduations.  we  went  to  church  on  sundays,  even  between  all  of  the  after  school  activities  and piles of homework we had to do.  we were just your average family. “

I:  what  kind  of  kid  were  you  ?

E:  “  if  i  showed  you  pictures,  you  wouldn’t  even  be  able  to  recognize  me.  “  there’s  a  proud  gleam  in  his  eye.  “  i  was  such  a  hardass  in  middle  school...  a  real  stick-in-the-mud.  everyone  hated  me,  and  i  don’t  blame  them.  “  he  snorts,  leaning  back  in  the  chair,  “  i  loved  all  the  catholic  shit  ——  like,  cmon  man,  the  whole  bible  was  just  a  rulebook  on  how  to  live  your  life.  when  you  were  as  terrified  of  literally  everything  like  i  was,  that  was  like  the  dream.  even  my  parents  thought  it  was  a  little  weird  how  much  i  adhered  to  the  jesus  shit  because  it  was  more  than  even  they  did.  i  don’t  even  think  i  had  a  personality  outside  of  the  idea  that  i  was  the  kind  of  kid  to  follow  the  rules,  to  set  a  good  example  for  all  my  brothers.  and  the  worst  part  about  it  was  that  i  put  all  those  expectations  on  myself  :  like,  i  swear  to  god,  i  can’t  even  remember  a  time  where  my  parents  ever  told  me  to  do  better  than  what  i  had  accomplished,  but  i  felt  that  pressure  anyway.  maybe  it  was  my  teachers  ?  or  maybe  it  was  just  what  the  reputation  of  being  that  kind  of  kid  does  to  you ?  either  way,  i  wasn’t  a  happy  kid,  or  even  a  particularly  pleasant  one  to  be  around.  i  got  mad  ——  like,  genuinely  pissed  ——  when  other  people  would  drink  underage.  nobody  wants  that  guy  at  the  party.  i  think  i  started  to  grow  up  a  bit  when  i  got  into  high  school  and  i  realized  that  i  was,  as  anyone  who  has  that  kind  of  rigidity  in  their  lives,  fuckin’  miserable  to  be  around,  and  i  had  to  be  around  myself  all  the  time.  sheesh.  “  he  shakes  his  head.  “  i  don’t  know  how  i  survived.  “

I:  the  career  that  you  picked:  what  made  you  decide  to  go  in  that  direction  ?  how  do  you  like  it  ?

E:  “  art  was  kind  of  my  one  escape  for  most  of  my  life.  it  was  the  one  place  where  i  felt  like  i  had  the  freedom  of  expression.  i  didn’t  show  anybody  what  i  made.  i  didn’t  take  any  art  classes  as  a  kid.  it  was  like,  kind  of  a  personal  thing  for  me,  you  know  ?  my  parents  let  me  paint  one  wall  of  my  room  white,  and  gave  me  free  reign  to  do  whatever  i  wanted.  that’s  any  kid’s  dream,  right  ?  a  whole  wall  to  draw  on,  and  you  have  permission  to  do�� it  ?  most  of  it  was  really  bad,  but  saturday  mornings  where  i  would  get  up  early  and  spend  the  whole  day  painting  whatever  i  felt  like  on  the  walls,  it  was  the  one  release  i  had  for  all  that  pent  up  anxiety  and  anger  that  i  felt  in  here,  “  he  squeezes  his  fist  and  presses  it  against  his  chest.  “  it  never  occurred  to  me  that  that  could  be  a  career  for  me,  because  it  wasn’t  law  or  business  or  physics  or  anything  like  that,  you  know  ?  art  was  something  you  did  when  you  weren’t  smart  or  good  at  anything  else.  i  was  ——  standardly  ——  jealous  of  the  artsy  kids  at  school,  the freedom  i thought that  they  had  that  i  didn’t  give  myself,  but  i  masked  all  that  by  acting  superior  to  them,  because  i  knew  how  to  do  linear  algebra.  “  he  groans,  “  it  hurts  to  admit  that.  but  anyway,  when  i  went  to  university  i  took  a  couple  of  art  history  classes.  i  did  it  for  credits,  but  then  i  got  really  into  it.  i  realized  that  some  of  the  greatest  artists  in  humanity  did,  basically,  what  i  did  as  a  kid  :  like  the  sistine  chapel  is  just  one  big  painting  on  the  ceiling  of  a  building.  not  that  i’m  comparing  myself  to  michelangelo.  i’m  not  that  good.  but  you  get  my  gist.  i  got  really  into  it,  and  when  i  left  school  i  thought  :  hey,  why  not  ?  now i don't think i could get myself to settle into a desk, even if i tried. “  

I:  what  was  the  most  defining  moment  in  your  life  ?  how  has  it  impacted  you  personally  ?  

E:  “  so  i  went  to  university,  right  ?  “  he  starts,  now  leaning  forward  in  the  chair.  his  hands  begin  moving  animatedly  around  him  through  the  air.  “  i  got  accepted  into  a  bunch  of  ivy  leagues.  but  here’s  the  thing  ——  for  all  of  my  planning,  i  didn’t  know  what  the  fuck  i  wanted  to  do  with  my  life,  because  i  didn’t  know  who  i  was.  like  i  said,  i  had  no  personality  outside  of  being  that  irritating  guy  who  told  the  RA  on  everyone  in  first  year  ——  yeah,  i  know.  i  told  you  everyone  hated  me  for  good  reason.  so  when  i  got  to  the  end  of  my  bachelors  in  business  at  harvard,  i  was  like…  what  the  fuck  do  i  do  now  ?  do  i  get  my  masters  ?  do  i  work  for  my  dad  ?  i  didn’t  want  to  do  that,  even  though  i  loved  him.  i  guess  something  just  clicked.  i  had  an  epiphany  where  i  was  like…  shit  dude,  i  don’t  want  to  do  any  of  this.  the  office  job.  the  long  hours.  even  if  it  came  with  all  that  success  and  praise  that  i  had  been  reaching  for  my  whole  life,  it  didn’t  make  me  happy.  i  had  a  mid-youth  crisis  ——  a  term  that’s  becoming  increasingly  more  popular  now  even  though  it  sounds  fuckin’  ridiculous  because  really  it  was  just  a  mental  breakdown.  i  didn’t  do  anything  for  a  few  months…  except  i  painted.  i  painted  a  lot.  i  would  get  a  hold  of  these  massive  canvases,  and  i  would  just  give  myself  freedom  to  express  whatever  it  was  that  i  was  feeling.  i  think  i  grew  a  lot  as  a  person.  like  yeah,  the  therapy  definitely  helped,  but  doing  art  helped  me  realize  what  it  was  that  i  wanted  to  do.  i  wanted  to  keep  painting.  it  was  so  much  fun  when  i  surprised  everyone  by  telling  them  i  was  effectively  running  away  to  chile,  to  the  beautiful  city  of  valparaíso,  to  pursue  a  career  in  art.  specifically,  murals.  i  find  smaller  canvases  restricting,  though  for  the  sake  of  practice  i  do  use  a  sketchbook  for  most  of  my  ideas.  anyway,  that’s  my  whole  life  story  boiled  down  to  one  motivational  tedtalk,  “  he  laughs  and  gestures  in  a  false  bow,  pretending  to  click  an  imaginary  clicker.  

I:  why  did  you  come  to  santa  moenda  ?  how  do  you  like  it  ?

E:  “  valpo  is  arguably  one  of  the  most  romantic  cities  in  the  world, though buzzfeed articles fail to ever acknowledge that.  it  produced  pablo  neruda  ——  he's not a great role model, but his art is still stunning.  there’s  the  museum  dedicated  to  him  not  far  from  here.  even this  building  itself  is  it’s  own  work  of  art.  i  mean,  fuck  dude,  wake  up  just  one  day  here  and  open  your  window  to  look  at  the  courtyard  and  you’ll  know  exactly  why  i  came  here.  i  didn’t  want  to  do  the  standard  artist  thing  and  run  away  to  europe;  it’s  so  fuckin’  gloomy  there,  and  everyone  who  has  ever  produced  anything  in  europe  has  been  so  god  damn  depressed.  i  wanted  to  add  my  art  to  something  that  was  already  a  mosaic  of  beauty,  and  valpo  was  the  obvious  choice.  so  was  santa  moenda.  architecture,  excluding  brutualism  ——  because  who  the  fuck  calls  a  cement  block  art  ——  is  it’s  own  form  of  artistic  expression.  read  the  history  of  this  place,  man,  and  you’ll  get  what  i’m  talking  about.  “ 

M I S C H E A D C A N O N S

so as mentioned in the bio section, his family is semi-religious and he adopted that as part of his life. he's not like a bible thumper or anything, but he definitely still believes in like a god and an afterlife and uses that now as kind of a medium to explore the beauty of the world... blah blah blah. you've read a book before.

head in the clouds mf. he gave himself such little leeway growing up that now he's gone in like, full pendulum swing in the other direction. he's just here to live his life and have a good time. do not put any expectations on him because he will run away from them because he refuses to put himself back in any boxes —— from his perspective he worked too hard on his own " growth " to get trapped in that misery bubble of what other people think of him again.

dreamy romantic. he loves poetry and love songs and literally just about any kind of art.

he comes across as kind of stupid, and he prefers to present himself that way because of how he was raised, but this man has a brain behind him. he was very smart at one point, and still finds himself falling down research holes where he will collect a bunch of information about things that he's interested in.

there's some form of undiagnosed adhd in there which is probably why he was so rigid as a kid ( coping mechanisms ); he is just vibing now though.

he is a muralist, which means most of his pieces are painted on the side of buildings or inside places !! this is not really a viable career option but he does kind of have some financial cushions to lean on thanks to his parents, who are very supportive of him if not confused.

competitive !! so competitive !! also even though he pretends he isn't, he is still a perfectionist, and he gets really irritated when his art doesn't turn out exactly as he wants in his head.

his pinterest is here, again with some random connection ideas but again he's open to just about anything ! that is all the end thank you for putting up with my info-dumping bios.

#˗ˏˋ elijah gutierrez ⟶ introduction #intro #smhqintro

[slutsofren]

oooh i’m not sure if this has been asked yet but directors cut on why you chose hebrew as the language for the book? and how will that tie in to the story, did the humans in reader’s world once come in contact with ancient fae of some sort?

AH THIS IS SUCH A GREAT QUESTION and one that has a very intricate answer so please just stick with me on this, just-

hold on let me get my whiteboard out!!

okay SO-

when i initially read acotar i read amren and her WHOLE VIBE as being an angel. like full stop, "be not afraid" biblically accurate angel. beautiful and terrifying and to be revered. i am what i jokingly refer to as a "recovering catholic" and went to catholic school. i was aggressively indoctrinated to our catholic church so when i read amren speaking of twin cities that burned i single-mindedly only read it as Sodom and Gomorrah* which further solidified my theory. is it true? idk. is it how sjm wanted her to be read? idk. it's just how i personally read her character.

* = as for Sodom and Gomorrah, for those who are unfamiliar with it- a very very very simple way to understand the verse was that they were twin cities that were punished by god for their sins and god destroyed them from existence for their apparent wickedness against his plans for humanity and nature. there's a lot of external context im leaving out but intrinsically that is the gist.

now i haven't read crescent city and i read throne of glass YEARS ago once so my memories of the series is fuzzy but i've heard that CC does go a bit deeper into abrahamic religious imagery throughout the two books. [spoilers for CC] with that being said i know of the crossing over sjm is aiming for with the tie-ins at the end of CC2 and i did read that snippet so after that came out it really did kind of help push this specific idea that i had of world jumping souls and whatnot.

so with me reading amren as an angel who was trapped into a fae body i felt that the book of breathings had to be hebrew. it felt right for my interpretation of amren and for her and reader to have that thread of connection of being from the same world, only thousands of years apart. i felt that if reader was at least culturally knowledgeable enough to recognize the stylized lettering of hebrew and recognize it enough to know it was a Semitic language, amren would 100% throw her entire being into readers corner. she trusts reader enough to know she is telling the truth but i see amren as being just that much self-serving that she was never going to justify doing whatever reader asked of her without question, but seeing the book, seeing reader recognize the language that (from amren's perspective) only amren knew, she saw you the reader for the first time and finally thought- this is it, this is where i am going to get answers.

as for the bigger picture, reader was not the first world-jumper ever. in fact reader is only a number of a multitude and suriel has alluded to knowing about the situation prior. the only difference is that this is the first time that a world jumper has came with the knowledge and foresight of reading acotar (lol 🤪) and was prepared enough to survive the specific narrative that was before them as feyre. almost like a how-to guide of what not to do right? lol. i have future chapters outlined enough that i know how i want to tell this story and where i want to deviate away from sjms storytelling and insert a narrative that includes world-jumpers who are not inherently good or even morally-grey. that there are world-jumpers who want to see the world bow down to their whims and destroy.

but now im just getting spoilery lmfao

as for humans from OUR world going to prythian, like i mention, reader was not the first to body swap with some one for whatever reason. historically in the high lady of cunning, i would like to imagine that it has been happening for generations and those who have tried to explain their situation have either been silenced one way or another or, more likely, decided to keep silent and try to survive. but even if all of those were potential possibilities, how many of those world-jumpers were fae? or even something stronger, far more ancient like a minor god of this world? along the line i believe a few fae from one court or another gathered together in secret and created the book of breathings as a failsafe, in a language only they could understand and read.

whether or not any of what i mentioned above actually make it into the fic is to be seen because like i said, i have a very solid outline for the future of the high lady. regardless, i hope i answered your question and gave you insight to where my mind is!! i love this funny lil horny fic and i will ALWAYS want to talk about it and behind the scenes stuff so if ya got any more deep dive questions, just shoot 'em in the inbox!!

thank you so so sooo much for your ask!! 🤲🤍🌹

sending you love anon muah!!

#I WILL DEEP DIVE INTO THIS FIC ANY DAY #YOU WANT LORE?? I WILL GIVE YOU LORE #anon ask #inbox 💌 #the high lady of cunning #the high lady talks #the high lady lore

[kiraridertime03]

Finding my Visibility: A Ramble-y Writing

I hope you don’t mind this post here, it’s a bit personal, but I’ve needed to crystallize some thoughts, especially given what today is. I hope you don’t mind.

I created this little blog to act as a way to express myself properly. My realization of, well, being trans in some way, has only come very recently, within the past few months, really. It has been a long, awkward process. About 3 years worth of on and off questioning has led me to this conclusion, with some especially interesting breakthroughs getting me here. However, I am not really in a position where I can easily just come out to those around me. Making little bits online like this, even if I’m not especially social about it, has been especially affirming for me.

You know, it’s funny. Like many others I’ve seen, I did do little affirming things before “figuring it out.” Back when I first got to High School, I decided to start growing out my hair. In part, it was a pre existing bit of rebellion, what little I could do. I was taken to Catholic schooling all my life, and in my combined elementary and middle school, part of the dress code was hair length. Girls had to have long hair and boys had to have short hair, excluding certain cultural things that would probably get them sued. This did lead to a funny childhood slip where I determined gender primarily on hair length, leading to me being really confused by girls with short hair. However, my High School, while still being Catholic, let up on long hair. Therefore, on a whim, I decided to grow my hair out, spurred on further by seeing one senior with extremely long hair. I rationalized it by saying I didn’t like haircuts, mainly the prickly feeling I would have for the rest of the day around my collar. Now I see that it was more so that I found more negatives than positives in going to get my hair cut short at SportsClips. 

I say this because, towards the start of my questioning, there was this one interaction that has really stuck with me. I was in this honors physics class I took in my senior year of high school. It was a small class, there were only, like, 10 of us, made up mostly of my friends and their friends. Also, this one short soccer playing guy, but he doesn’t really matter. One of these people was this one trans girl. She was really the first trans person I ever encountered, and one of the first times I had ever encountered the concept of transness, outside of shitty conservative joke (singular) that I had inherently encountered growing up in a very conservative setting. Initially, she intimidated me, a lot. I didn’t know how to interact with her. For someone who made their entire personality “BEING GOOD AT ACADEMICS,” as I eschewed the entire concept of emotional fulfillment in any way, it didn’t compute. After Covid, I became more chill, but still felt that intimidation (all of which came internally, by the way, she was very nice). In this physics class, we had even begun interacting a little. This brings us to one random interaction in the end of one class. Us, as a class, are messing around, having a fun conversation. Then, for some reason, she says something like, “I grew out my hair because of my gender, you just kind of did it.” It was in a joking context, and I know the conversation led naturally there, but I don’t remember much of it, because my mind was preoccupied by the emotional panic of having my recently started questioning being clocked. It was a brief, yet intense panic, as I was still heavily denying myself, even still. After a bit, I eventually responded with my usual response when something came about for my appearance, “Oh yeah, It’s just because I’m lazy. I don’t really care how I look.” Usually, that was a good response, as it was often true.

Not with my hair length, though.

Cut to now, where I continue to let my hair be long, despite the hardships, a good 6 years on from my decision to let it grow out. I have a hard time of imagining my existence with short hair. I’m not  100% content with it, I wish I knew how to care for it better, something I am trying to learn better. However, I still do it because it, overall, gives me a sense of pure, positive emotion that I had lost for a long time. That’s been a lot of what has led me down figuring out my gender. I have tried to follow what has given me that emotional fulfillment, that sense of true feeling that I lost in youth. I mean, it’s not something that being in a religious family necessary perpetuates. I’ve found Catholicism, at least how it has been expressed around me, celebrates fear and repression. It especially doesn’t go well in a family with specific, traumatic losses, which become rationalized as “God’s Plan for Us.” Seeing that, seeing my grief and sadness as “God’s Plan,” I think, ultimately led me to repress all positive emotion, only allowing for sadness, panic, or the pure apathy I felt with masculinity. 

However, finding my gender, or at least, the parts of it I have found, has given me an indescribable sense of emotion that I can only rationalize as “Joy,” I guess. I think it goes deeper than that, but I don’t think any language would have the proper words for what I feel. Yes, there has been sadness for what I’ve lost and fear for what hurdles may come my way, but the Joy is also there, a joy that I only associated with guilt before, thanks to all of that Catholic guilt. I found that joy thanks to other trans people being visible. 

I think that is why today is so important. Being able to see other trans people be happy, be who they are, regardless, is what led me to detangle my guilt from who I truly was. I think it can do this for so many others, too. I have found that, even while having to be closeted in life, even the little bits where I can both see people like me and express myself gives me so much joy, that I can keep going on in my day, my week, my year, and I thank all those who were there, unintentionally, to help me figure out who I am. I am posting this in part to act as that expression, to find that joy through that apathy and pain, and also, hopefully, to help people like me. 

So, as I sit here, typing this out in my funnily trans colored JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure Part 5: Golden Wind T Shirt, that yes, I’m trans. I may have some shakiness in the exact specifics, but I know that I identify as more femme than I do as my assigned masculinity. I am Allison Marie, you can call me KiraRider, though. I hope you all can find yourself as I’ve found myself.

Now, I need to go back to getting deeply into Pirate media for some reason.

#transfem #transgender #trans

[nerdygaymormon]

It’s my third decade around this lovely planet. I was raised in Utah, Catholic, gay. I portrayed being straight in high school, gained some scratches and dents and came out after graduating (broken but safe). Now, I am puzzling life. In my mind, playing with the idea of being a father. The typical, going with nature.

Years ago, I asked God for a sign, he replied. And I kept eating, different, versions of the Bible’s, languages, perspectives and enjoying great ancient history. Seeing patterns, rewriting my own philosophies until my belly was pretty full.

I’ve come to learn that being gay is like my ADD, it’s something you’re born with. And life is like my bad astigmatism, but you can refocus to see. But even I burden pain. It’s not that I find Men attractive, it’s that love is involved. I can’t change my dreams. By now I’ve realized that I’m going straight to hell (turning to dust, mormon version). Unless, I manage to live the after life, as the great Egyptians did.. etc.

And i know my options, I can be like a eunuch, not having relationships, sticking with church oh but not being castrated, yet I still burn in hell, aka into dust. I can pretend to be straight, get married, have children and you know the rest. And surrogacy.

So my question, so if someone like me chooses to go against the nature of the church. Surrogacy, rearing and rasing a semi righteous family… then it’s not as bad as burning in hell right ? Dust.

please do not take this offensive, I’m trying to figure out, my own things.

Hello anon,

If I'm understanding, you're writing to say you want to be a dad and you're thinking about the ways this could be done--marry a woman, adopt, or surrogacy.

I think that's a beautiful dream, to want to be a dad.

I also think being a parent is tough if you don't have a partner who can help do all that needs to be done, but there's plenty of single parents out there who show it can be done.

I'm not sure why you think you're going to Hell? Because you're gay? Do you really think that the God who let you be born gay also is going to condemn you for that? I don't get how that makes sense. That's like saying you're going to Hell for your astigmatism.

My view is God loves queer people because God is our Father and because God loves diversity.

————————————————————-

I'm going to share a few links to things I've written about scripture passages, maybe these will provide some hope

The story of Sodom & Gomorrah is often used to justify bigotry and violence against gay people, but maybe this is exactly what the story is warning against.

Consider the story of Jonathan & David, the possibility that this is a same-sex relationship blessed by God has made it a favorite of queer Christians.

God put Ashpenaz & Daniel together, consider that when pondering whether gay people have a 1-way ticket to Hell.

Jesus healed the male lover of the Roman Centurion soldier, what does this indicate about Jesus' views on same-sex love?

Jesus taught that "eunuchs" (which, in context, seems clear he’s speaking of men who don’t have a desire or attraction for women) are not required to marry women

Paul gives an argument which supports gay marriages

Frankly, most Bible verses used against gay people don't hold up when put back in context. And there's certainly many principles taught in the Bible that support encouraging love between two people.

[meowydoe]

@june-doe-event - day 6!

I don’t feel like drawing all of these guys so I’m just gonna write out who is what and why lol

Constance Blackwood - The Most Successful Girl in Town

I like to think that the Blackwood Cafe has the most exquisite cuisine in all of Uranium. I mean, it’s been in her family since they opened the mines, it must be pretty good. I like to think she got a ton of success from that. Though I don’t think Constance could ever think what is said in What the World Needs, even if she isn’t the nicest girl in town this time.

Ricky Potts - The Most Romantic Kid in Town

You can’t tell me Space Age Bachelor Man isn’t romantic. “I have no desire to rule the galaxy, oh, to hold you close is enough for me” - come on!! SABM is their Monique Gibeau. I think they and Noel’s characters would roughly stay the same, just different titles. Both can fit into the others title if it’s in the right context, yknow?

Penny Lamb / Savannah Crawford - The Angriest Girl in Town

(I might change Savannah’s last name. Idk. I put both Penny and Savannah because it can be either or)

Moving to a new town can be very stressful. Moving to a dead-end town and having to attend a Catholic school in a choir,, is probably twice as much. (Now I have nothing against Catholics, you do you, but I hear a LOT that Catholic schools are not the best place to be.) And what does stress lead to? Most commonly if not to depression, it’s rage.

Noel Gruber - The Most Imaginative Boy in Town

He has quite the imagination with all of the Monique lore. I don’t really have much to say here, it’s all just what I wrote for Ricky, but vice versa lol.

Jane Doe - ???

Ocean’s parents never bothered to take care of her, you think they’d identify her? They probably don’t even know she’s gone. (Her head would be a rag doll - raggedy anne style with the red yarn, freckles, orange triangle nose, the 3 strand eyelashes)

Mischa Bachinski - The Nicest Boy in Town

Woohoo! He got adopted by parents who actually loved him! Nice Mischa would be insufferable to be around, though. His mind would be Talia 24/7. (Do we blame him? No. Go be lovey dovey with your fiancé, my dude, you deserve it).

#ride the cyclone #rtc #ride the cyclone musical #jane doe rtc #constance blackwood #ricky potts #noel gruber #ocean o'connell rosenberg #mischa bachinski #penny lamb #dolly’s dialogue

[ashley-slashley]

Holy Diver

Chapters: 1, 2, 3

Summary: POV: you have a crush on a catholic priest having a crisis of faith

Rating: M/Mature

Warnings: cussing, heresy, very long paragraphs

A/N: I’m definitely going to hell for this one. I’m blaming William Peter Blatty, William Friedkin, and Jason Miller for making Damien Karras a very loveable and friend shaped character. If you’re not cool with the idea of sleeping with a grief stricken and religiously challenged Catholic priest, I understand, and I highly recommend you not read this fic. I’m taking some creative liberties with both the exact time of year the movie is set as well as the map of the area the movie is set in. If someone is thinking “well actually” about this, you’re having redditor thoughts about a smut. What are you doing with your life?

Chapter 3: me, myself, my bullshit, and a man that society says is unfuckable

Who in the fuck calls at this hou-oh. How is it 2:30 pm?! “Hello?” I try to not sound rude on the phone, “I wasn’t given a name, but I was given this number in the offering plate today during mass.” a kind and curious voice was audible through the phone. They fucking did it. “I’m incredibly sorry father, a friend of mine thought it would be really funny to put my number into the collection plate.”, he asked where my friend would get an idea like that. How do I tell a priest that I’m going to jump out a window in embarrassment? “My friends are really”, I paused, holding in my want to use an expletive, “annoying. Please excuse their”, can’t say bullshit in this context, “nonsense.”

He asked if I was ok considering the pauses I was taking to calculate my words, well, he’s already heard my bullshit at the bar. “To put it frankly, I’m censoring myself so I don’t accidentally spew heresy in your presence. Before you ask, I wasn’t raised Catholic, I just know there’s some things you can’t say in front of a priest”, “I actually was put through medical school and trained in psychiatry through the society of Jesus” he explained. I fucking lost it, he probably thinks I’m having a mental breakdown or a Satanist if I’m laughing at that, I should explain. “I am so fuckin’ sorry, man, whenever someone says the word society, I can’t take the subject matter seriously. I have no idea why.” I rambled, aw shit, I said ‘fuck’ in front of a priest. I’m already going to Hell, might as well take the fastest route possible.

I heard a noise I didn’t expect - a giggle. He’s laughing, I laughed at something about him, and he’s laughing. “Why did your friend put your number in the offering plate. If it makes you feel more at ease, you can think of me as a psychiatrist.” Damien assured me. I asked if he remembered those women at the bar who were laughing and someone mentioned killing themselves and then they went to the restroom together, he asked if that was my friends and I. I explained that no we weren’t drunk or high, we’re just - weird, and no, none of us actually wanted to kill ourselves, I’m just an edgy bastard. Things you don’t say to a priest or a psychiatrist, well, at least he doesn’t know I would accept his company in bed. I heard another snicker, are you fucking kidding right now? This dude, I swear to god. What next is he going to ask, “would you want to meet up at that bar today or this evening?” goddammit, he must be a telepath. I accepted his offer, I can already hear my friends giggling and making stupid remarks about this.

Unlike other people in my situation, I’m not going to dress up in a figure hugging outfit and show off my physique as well as wearing the most uncomfortable shoes solely because they make my legs look better and add sex appeal to my appearance. I don’t have time for that shit, nor do I feel comfortable in that attire, I like to look shapeless and ominous, thank you very much. Besides, you look at the weather and tell me it’s appropriate to look like a generic centerfold you find in a smut magazine. It’s like in the lower thirties outside, though dying of frostbite and hypothermia might get me out of meeting with a certain priest, I don’t think he’d appreciate that. Donning an appropriate layering of clothes, I make my trek to the same bar from last night. Alone. Nobody to hide behind or make an excuse to hide in the restroom with. It’s just me, myself, my bullshit, and a man that society says is unfuckable.

#the shitposter writes #damien karras #damien karras x reader #the exorcist

[unconvenchinal-charm-reactivated]

hey again. yes, people are being taught that, because if a woman has a miscarriage at a hospital, what the doctor will write down is that she had a "spontaneous abortion" since that is the term for it. like I said before, a miscarriage is an abortion, just one that happened without an intervention. abortion occurs in animals too from things like diseases and viral infections. again, abortion doesn't necessarily mean induced abortion. abortion refers to loss of pregnancy, which yes, can be medically induced, or it can occur spontaneously. it depends. so, the crossword puzzle wasn't wrong.

to answer your question of "Are people being taught that they’re the same thing?" - yes, this is literally what I was taught in biology at my private Catholic high school, which I attended from 2006 to 2010, so, nothing new, really. our school had a pro-life stance, obviously. saying that a miscarriage is an abortion isn't going against pro-life somehow. it's literally the definition that would be taught in basic biology classes (and like I said before, I went to a Catholic school with a pro-life stance, so this wasn't being done to turn a bunch of high school kids "pro-choice" or anything - it was just to make sure we were aware of the correct medical terminology).

I don't think the argument against pro-lifers has anything to do with spontaneous abortions? when I've seen people say they're "pro-choice", it implies that they think women should be allowed to choose to go to a clinic and induce an abortion. a spontaneous abortion isn't something you choose, unlike an induced abortion.

Sorry anon, I’ve put you on hold long enough. I haven’t had the time or energy to put into this and you certainly deserve that out of respect but truth be told I won’t have either anytime soon so I’m just gonna try my best.

It does seem that a “spontaneous abortion” is a widely accepted term for a miscarriage. However, I wouldn’t say it’s universal as I have literally never heard it before until you mentioned it in any of my education in both Catholic and public schools. But that could just be the wonders of the local public education system. I’m sure there’s many things they’ve never taught either by choice or by ignorance.

It just doesn’t quite make sense to me grammatically to equate the two words as “to abort” something implies a conscious effort and is therefore always “induced,” even if it is “spontaneous” whereas “miscarriage” is more concise in that the structure of the word itself automatically implies that the body spontaneously and unintentionally could not carry. I admit that in the context of the objectivity of a crossword puzzle clue it’s nit-picky, but it does strongly imply something that was not the answer to many people.

As far as your view of the argument against pro-lifers, I have seen a lot of people first-hand get upset that pro-lifers are against treatment for miscarriages, even though they’re not, because of this misconception that pro-lifers are against all abortion, including the “spontaneous” ones. And I think that’s really what upsets me about this because it perpetuates and propagates confusion, which is the goal of misinformation.

But that’s all I got. Someone can jump in on this if you want to. Hope it didn’t come off harsh or rude. Definitely not my intent.