#religious trauma tw

[exclusivelyhomosexual]

#talk about actually giving a child a guilt complex #exvangelical #crt #make it make sense #religious trauma #religious trauma tw

[dragonageconfessions]

CONFESSION:

It really, truly deeply annoys me the amount of Sebastian fans who act like people not liking Sebastian is just fandom weirdness or that it makes no sense. Its not like hes a disparaged group that fandom treats badly for no reason, ie black characters and morally grey women. They act like there's no reason to dislike him, but I'm sorry, did they forget the amount of people who are raised Christian and end up traumatized because of it? Every time Sebastian talks and he imposes his beliefs about the maker onto me or other companions, talking about the maker like the makers existence is factual, it just makes me see red. He talks about events as if the maker is 100% factually confirmed to be involved with them, including events that involve Hawke and the companions and its really gross and awkward.

Wynne, by comparison, it never felt like she did that. Her own belief was self contained in the way she talked about it. With Sebastian its like, you believe, but WE DON'T! So STOP! His discussion with Merrill is so disgusting given whats been done to elves and their culture. Christianity hurt me growing up but more than that it deeply hurt many of my friends. They will carry those scars and their self hatred and paranoia about going to hell for a lifetime now. Almost every time Sebastian speaks it feels like a flashback to sitting in a room with my weird abusive Catholic relatives, so no, I'm not just being weird for disliking him.

#Dragon Age Confessions #Dragon Age 2 #Sebastian Critical #Dragon Age Fandom Critical #religious trauma tw #religious abuse

[actuallyfallen]

Archetropy and Personal Choice

I had heard the word "archetrope" around the alterhuman community before the OtherCon (the biggest convention for alterhumans) 2023. Although in vague terms, I had heard of it. I sort of got the vibe from the word, so I never felt the need to look into it. A vague sort of, "Identifying with an archetype, or a trope from media," vibe. What came to mind for me was tropes like the knight, the prince, the rogue. Classic roles. The stuff you'd see on tarot cards or such. The alterhuman community is known to look down on "newer" sources of identity, after all (see the long-standing hesitancy to accept fictionkin).

So, when I joined the panel being hosted by someone named Vyt (who can be found on tumblr, as @thelightfluxtastic) all about archetropy, I thought I knew what to expect.

Vyt described their archetype as "the right-hand man".

Well, Vyt mostly talked about "the paladin" as their main tropetype. But that was the sort of archetype I expected. "The right-hand man" may not be considered a "modern" archetype, but the specific phrase of "right-hand man" for it feels rather new in comparison to how I viewed archetropy before.

My mom was a pastor.

She was in charge of a very large building, which acted as a place for church services on Sundays, and as a kindergarten during the day. I remember watching my mom being up on the church's stage. I didn't learn until I was an adult that she actually had stage fright. I remember stalling whenever I went to the principal's office, because, of course I went to my mom's school for kindergarten. And going to the principal's office when your mom is the principal is certainly… a time, of sorts.

I was a good little Christian kid, though. I was a trouble child due to my undiagnosed autism making me seem "rude" to everyone around me, but I followed what my parents taught me to believe. One could hardly say I was doing so on purpose, though. I didn't even know there was any other option, after all.

Vyt went on to define archetropy as looking at an archetype or trope or such, and saying either, "I am that," "That's want I want to be," or both. Though Vyt also makes a point to say that "archetropy", as a term, was coined specifically to be both linguistically flexible and very broad in definition. It can be involuntary, voluntary, intrinsic, extrinsic, 'identify-as', 'identify-with'…

Vyt also discussed connections to kintypes for archetropal reasons. For example, being dragonkin because one identifies with how the trope of dragons are shown in media.

I can trace multiple kintypes of mine straight down to the same root. This Christian upbringing of mine. Surrounded by it. Suffocated by it.

My mom would often work late, so, as she locked herself in her office, I would be left alone in this huge building. I often stayed in the auditorium during those times. I didn't like the big, open area, so I'd often hunker down in one of the two more closed-off areas. Those two areas were surrounded by walls, but were very small and had no doors, thus, considered a part of the auditorium. One was decorated in green and black. It had beanbags, a step to sit on, and a chalkboard that covered the entirety of one of the walls. The other was pink. It had two chairs and a whiteboard. Covered with sparkly materials, it was hard to leave without some of it sticking to you.

I hated the pink room. Specifically, I hated the texture of everything. Almost everything had this god-awful fuzzy texture that was almost feather-like. The chairs, the rug, the walls. Even the pens there had a grip made of this texture. I couldn't stand it.

But every time the church children my age were there, the boys would go to the green area, and the girls to the pink. The teachers and other officials would call them "the girl room" and "the boy room". The boys and girls would often have one person standing guard near, or in, the door, just to make sure nobody of the opposite gender even got close to their room.

Even when I was alone, in that huge auditorium, I couldn't bear to enter the boy's room. It was wrong. But the first time I did, and I layed down on the beanbag, I exclaimed to my little brother, "It's no fair that you guys get these!" I was so much more comfortable there.

But, still, I rarely came in, even after the barrier was breached. I stayed away on purpose. I made my brother promise to not tell anyone I was there.

I was supposed to be a good girl. Never mind my intersex condition – a good GIRL. One who likes pink, who likes my church dress, and who likes the fuzzy, feathery textures with a smile, for the sake of how others see her. For the sake of fulfilling my God-given role.

As Vyt talked more and more about archetropy, it became clearer to me that modern tropes and archetypes were absolutely included. "The mad scientist" was named as an example. TV Tropes was named as a place to find a list of tropes and archetypes in media.

The TV Tropes page for "The Pastor's Queer Kid", describes the trope like this: "[The pastor's] kids seem to be every bit as perfect as they are, and have the perfect relationship with them. Well, except for one. You see, this one has a secret they're not sure about admitting to their parent. The secret being… Well, this kid isn't heterosexual (and/or cisgender, etc., as the case may be)."

I remember finding the page for this trope and lighting up. Scrolling right down to the "media" section, to see if there were any pieces of media with this trope that I would be interested in. Seeing one of my already-present kintypes there and giggling a little bit to myself. Oh, I'm so predictable! Of course I'd already have a character like this as a kintype.

I realized I was queer very young. Too naive to think better of it, I came out to my parents too soon. Not even a teenager yet, I had to comfort my mother as she cried over me being queer. One of the biggest God-fearers around, I was struck silent when my mom expressed that she feared me going to Hell, and her going to Heaven.

She phrased it as, "What will I do without my child in Heaven? You have scared me so much. I have given you a role to fulfill, and you have failed. Now, I must watch the one I love be punished."

She told her child that they would go to Hell, and be separated from everyone they love for eternity. Poor her.

(Pay no attention to the child, parentified and afraid. Do not look at the way its breath hitches when she says this. The look of disbelief on its face. She really thinks I'm going to Hell…?)

(Look at her, now. She is the victim. This is her spotlight.)

It took me years of purposeful work to undo the toxic mentality that I was taught. About purity, about martyrdom, about the flames of Hell licking every queer's feet. And I still get nightmares sometimes, but I'm proud of how far I've come. When I feel a surge of queer joy, when I see a queer person's smile, when I experience gender euphoria, I know this is it. This is what I've been fighting for. And I know that it's worth it.

I searched TV Tropes for other tropes that fit me, halfheartedly picking up a few more. I wanted an excuse to list "my tropes" on my website's 'about' page, just to add "The Pastor's Queer Kid" on it. I didn't care about the other ones I listed – I just wanted them to be there so I could feel like I had a reason to put that one in particular.

When the archetrope panel was coming to a close, and taking questions, I typed into the chat, "If people are certain archetypes or tropes in real life, would someone like that be able to identify as an archetype? Even if they technically just are it?"

I am my mom's child. I am queer. I struggled against the religion I was suffocated by, and came out the other side damaged, but alive. I try to let people know the sort of harm this upbringing can cause. I am purposefully open about this aspect of myself.

Vyt answered my question. "My default answer is gonna be, ‘Sure.' Like… I think there's something powerful in embracing something, on purpose."

On purpose, I am The Pastor's Queer Kid.

#apologies for the tag vyt! just wanted to make sure folks could know where to find you. #archetrope #archetropy #fictionkind #alterhuman #alterhumanity #alterhuman essay #essay #📋 i'd show you my halo if only i knew where i had put it #homophobia tw #religious trauma tw #transphobia tw

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

Home Sweet Home AU: Shepherd's Tone

(TW: Religious Trauma, blood/gore/injury, animal death, body/face horror, unhealthy friendships/familial issues.)

"I can't make myself look at it. but She needs me to see what I have done.

Like a deer in headlights, I can see what is coming for me."

Word count: 10'586

Notes: Not much to say for this one. just heed the warnings and enjoy :)

Mark had been staring at his bedroom ceiling for around an hour. His blanket had fallen off of his messy bed a while ago, leaving him exposed to the cool air of the room around him, though he didn’t once attempt to lean over and pick it back up. His eyes blankly stared upward as he laid in the dark, seeing the dim light from downstairs shining from the stairs and barely illuminating the cracked open door leading out of his room. He remained still, taking in a deep breath as he continued to hear the words from the living room underneath him.

He couldn’t make out any proper words of course, considering the floor between him and his parents’ conversation dampened the noise enough to make what they were saying sound muffled and barely decipherable, though Mark couldn’t help but feel his heart wrench whenever he made out the few words his brain was able to process. “Mark,” “help,” “therapy,” and “Wrong” were among them, though Mark could tell by the aggravated and worried tones of their voices that there was more to it than just that. Were they aware Mark could hear them? Or were they just oblivious, hoping the son they were talking about wouldn’t notice and they could simply go back to pretending nothing bad is going on in the morning. Either option made Mark feel sick in his stomach, and he wasn’t sure if tears would come out first, or if the urge to scream and shout at them about how he felt would beat it.

Mark chose to cry.

August 12th, 1992. 2:13 AM

Mark was quiet as he walked out of his room, carefully approaching the stairway as he clutched the single remaining strap of his worn out backpack. He quietly walked down the stairs, soon finding himself in the living room as he looked around, pointing his flashlight around the room as an attempt not to use the main light and blow his cover. He let out a soft breath when he saw nothing there before he quickly approached the front door, opening it before leaving the house, locking the door with his spare key before he ran towards his car.

It had been nearly an hour since he heard his parents stop talking and go to bed, yet he could still feel tears trying to fall down his cheeks as he swung open the car door and hopped inside, tossing his bag into the passenger seat. He took in a deep, shaky breath before he started the car, wincing at the sound of the engine starting up and the lights flicking on and shining brightly on the front of the house. As soon as he heard the loud sound and saw the bright lights, he muttered curses to himself, all before he backed out of the driveway as quickly as he could and drove down the road.

He had done this before; multiple times in fact, though his heart still pounded with something he figured was his anxiety creeping up on him, or the frustration he felt deep inside. They didn’t understand, and Mark doubted they would ever understand him, with his father especially feeling as though he didn’t believe a single word Mark said. Mark glanced at his radio, turning up the volume as he drove down the road, his headlights illuminating the nearby forest that ran down both sides of the asphalt. As he listened to the music, he tried nervously humming along, grasping his steering wheel even tighter.

He prayed for a sign that night, just a single sign from God himself to let him know he wasn’t going out of his fucking mind. However, all of his prayers remained unanswered, making his increasing dread in his chest all the worse as the days turned into months. He didn’t even notice that tears were forming in his eyes, nor did he understand why that was the case as they ran down his acne-ridden cheeks. Why? Why him? Why did he of all people have to have this happen to him? He can’t handle this kind of stress, with the fact that no one believed him making everything feel like an unbearable weight on his shoulders. No, he wasn’t losing touch with God, like Arthur seemed to think; if anything, it felt like God was losing touch with him.

Mark felt his knuckles ache with the amount of force he was applying to the worn leather steering wheel, jaw clenched and shoulders tight. Why did Cesar’s House have to be so far away? Why did his parents choose a house outside of town? His drive to school was 45 minutes long, maybe even longer if it’s icy out. God fucking damn it, was it always this fucking cold in the car? Was the shirt he was wearing always that scratchy? Oh God, he couldn’t just hold himself together for five minutes? Why was he crying so damn much? Why was the music louder than he set it at? Why was everything SO FUCKING LOUD-?

A deer was in the road in front of him.

Mark snapped out of his thinking to grab the wheel, swinging it to the side the best he could, though it appeared to be a tad too late. His car slammed against the deer, his wheels screeching against the asphalt as he skidded to a stop in the middle of the road. He froze, his breathing frantic and his mind blank as he shut off his radio and leaned back in his seat, muttering various curses under his breath as he tried to process what just happened. He took in a few deep, shaky breaths before he hesitantly reached for the door’s handle, stepping outside and into the dark road.

“Don’t be alive, don’t be alive, please don’t be alive…” Mark muttered under his breath, clasping his necklace in his hand as he walked In front of his car, seeing the smear of blood and chunks of fur stuck in the grill. “O-Oh…God…” He could only hope the deer died on impact, with the thought he was going to see a half maimed, yet still living animal In front of him making him feel nauseous. He walked through the headlights beams, looking behind the car to see the deer on the side of the road, somewhat lit up by the taillights of the vehicle. Mark took in a deep breath, hesitating before walking towards what looked like a corpse. As he got closer, he fought off the urge to gag at the sight of the large gash on the side of the deer, with its ribs buckled in. Mark was at least glad to see that it appeared to be dead, with its one remaining right antler dug in the dirt by the road and its eyes glazed over. Mark stepped back, staring at the animal as his body shook, still recovering from the shock of the accident. He forced himself to take in a breath, preparing to turn back and continue his drive.

He froze, however, when he began to hear the deer making noise.

He turned back, seeing the deer’s head tilting upward, its vocalizations sounding close to an elk, though choked and gurgling. It groaned and let out bellows as Mark stared at it with horror, with its sounds becoming less natural as the seconds ticked by. It sounded as if it was attempting to speak with vocal chords it didn’t have, sounding out certain parts of words Mark couldn’t identify. M’s, O’s, and Ah sounds came from it; a horrid cascade of animal sounds that were attempting so hard to speak like a human, as if it was so desperate to tell Mark something, but was physically incapable of doing so. It screeched and bellowed, Mark stepping back with every single vocalization until it abruptly stopped. Its head slammed against the dirt as it puked up what appeared to be veins, blood running out of its mouth and onto the cool grass as it became still and silent.

The sounds of the crickets from the woods, along with the sound of the engine running were all the sounds he could hear, with the horrid “speaking” ceasing. Mark stared at the deer, stumbling back as he grasped his necklace, muttering a small prayer under his breath before he ran back to his car and hopped inside, driving away as soon as he shut the door behind him and not looking back.

3:12 AM

Cesar was lying in bed asleep when he heard the knock at his front door. He stirred awake, staring up at the ceiling as he tried to process whether the sound was even real before he heard a more rapid set of knocking, causing him to groan and force himself up. He sat up, rubbing his face as he placed his feet onto the carpet and walked out of his room. “I’m coming, I’m coming…” He stated before hearing more knocks. “Dude, just wait a single minute, jeez…”

He walked into the living room, stepping onto the cold tile in front of the door, wincing slightly at how cold it was before opening the door. He tiredly looked through the doorway before his eyes widened slightly. “…Mark?”

“…H-Hey—”

“Do you know what fucking time it is?”

“Yeah, I…I do.”

“Then what are you doing here?” Cesar questioned. “We have school tomorrow—”

“I…Look I just…n…need to talk.”

Cesar glared at Mark with a tired, blank expression. “…Talk over the phone.” Cesar went to shut the door, being stopped by Mark, who grabbed the door with his hand.

“Wait, please, I…” Mark paused for a second, feeling Cesar’s irritated stare even as he looked away. “…I need to stay here tonight, okay? I…I promise I won’t be trouble.”

Cesar remained silent for a second, seemingly thinking before he let out a deep sigh. He relented, stepping out of the way and opening the door. “…You’re sleeping on the couch.”

“That’s fine.” Mark walked into the home, grasping onto his torn backpack tightly before throwing it onto the couch as Cesar sighed and shut the front door.

“Mama’s gonna ask why you’re here,” Cesar said as he approached the archway that led into the kitchen. “And when she does, just…tell her…”

“I will.”

Cesar turned back before pausing, standing still before muttering something, sounding as though the words got caught in his throat for a second. “Y…You can’t…we can’t keep doing this.”

“…What did you say?” Mark asked, not catching what Cesar said.

Cesar appeared to hesitate before responding. “…I said goodnight, we’ll…talk tomorrow.” With that, Cesar left to go to bed, leaving Mark by himself, not even giving him a blanket or pillow. Mark sat in the dark living room in silence, sitting on the couch as he attempted to stop his hands from shaking so much. He clasped his knees, rubbing the denim of his pants as he stared at the ground in front of him, attempting to think of anything aside from the haunting image of the deer splayed out with gore dripping from its mouth. He laid down on the couch, crossing his arms and resting his head on the arm rest, hoping his sweatshirt and jeans would be enough to keep him warm for the night, not even bothering to take off his shoes before he stared forward, lightly rubbing his metal cross before closing his eyes, deciding to try and get some sleep.

??:??

Mark found himself walking down a damp road, looking up at the starless sky to see that it was completely black; past midnight. He stumbled down the asphalt road, barely able to see much of anything through the darkness around him, only able to make out a faint set of red lights in the distance that slowly got closer as he walked towards it. The closer he got the more he made out the vehicle, with the red lights being its taillights. It looked like his car, though its wheels seemed to have melded to the asphalt, throwing out the option of using the car to drive wherever Mark was going, the answer of which he wasn’t even sure of. He walked around the car, seeing that its headlights were shining forward onto something on the road, being something that made Mark’s stomach churn; the body of a deer.

It writhed on the ground, veins hanging from its rapidly salivating mouth, its ribs broken and legs bent. Its oddly human looking eye stared up at Mark as he approached, its mouth opening and jaw twitching as it let out unholy sounds once again. It sounded closer to human speech than before, it “speaking” urgently through its bellows of pain, though once again the words never reached Mark’s ears.

Mark stepped back away from the deer, listening to its vague “words” before he turned back towards the road, wondering if he could manage to hitchhike home. However, he only walked a few feet before he paused abruptly, and covering his mouth as nausea hit him like a freight train. He hunched over in the middle of the road, attempting to throw up something but being unable to get it out, choking and gagging as he clawed at his throat. Blood began to pour out of his nose and the corners of his mouth as he struggled. He felt something clogging up his throat, making it hard to breathe or even choke out a single yell for help before he finally coughed up whatever was stuck into his hands.

Veins; he could feel their pulse still.

He coughed up blood and viscera onto the asphalt below him, eyes watering and staring in horror as he tried to get it out, but being unsuccessful with every attempt. He stepped back further, hearing a loud pulsing in his head as he did so, panicking as he began to hear faint screams, both from the deer and from other things he couldn’t identify. His breaths were becoming nothing more but pained gurgling and gasps, his throat burning and his insides aching. His sweatshirt was stained a deep crimson from the veins hanging from his agape mouth, and his confusion, deep pain and nausea only grew in intensity before he froze. A loud honk of a horn sounded beside him, with him looking to his left, only to see a set of headlights speeding towards him, hitting his bloodied, trembling form.

He awoke abruptly on the couch, splayed out across it as he took in a breath. Blood had streamed down his face from his nose, staining his face and dripping onto his clothes. He couldn’t even process that he was awake before he covered his mouth, sitting up before scrambling out of the living room, down the hallway, and into the bathroom, promptly puking into the toilet. He threw up what appeared to be deep-red bile, with him being too disoriented to even process it before he leaned away from the toilet, resting his back against the bathroom counter as he stared forward blankly, holding his hand on his chest as he felt around for his necklace, feeling his heart pound when he realized it was no longer there.

He stood up, flushing the toilet before rushing out of the bathroom, looking at the floor to try and find the missing necklace. He reached the living room before he threw around his things in an attempt to find it, only failing to do so and feeling his chest tighten. “No, no no no no no NO—” He muttered frantically before stopping abruptly, staring forward when he finally saw the necklace, seeing that it was dangling off of the top of one of the clock’s carved in “wings”.

Mark paused, staring at the necklace that was slightly swaying from its spot on the edge of the wooden wing as he approached it. He looked up at it, holding his arm up, with it just barely out of reach as he tried to retrieve the golden cross—

GONG.

GONG.

GONG.

GONG.

GONG.

The sound of the clock made Mark yell and fall backwards, staring up at the clock’s face, holding onto his necklace tightly before he scrambled to his feet, running out of the room and swinging open the front door of the House, not even remembering to grab his backpack as he slammed the door shut and ran to his car, driving away as soon as he started it. As he drove away, he attempted to ignore how he could’ve sworn the “wing” the necklace was hanging off of twitched and shook the necklace off of itself. It was just his imagination, right? He hoped so, anyway.

7:15 AM

Cesar stared at the drops of blood he found on the bathroom floor in silence. He wasn’t sure why they were there, or why they seemed to trail into the hallway as well, though the sight was unnerving enough for him to back out of the room and gently close the door most of the way. Cesar had thrown on a simple black T-shirt with a faded design on it, along with blue jeans, all before opening his bedroom closet and grabbing a plain gray hoodie and his backpack. He walked out of his bedroom, feeling his exhaustion creeping up on him despite him getting a decent night’s sleep, aside from the interruption that made him stay up for 30 more minutes. He walked into the living room, sitting down on the couch with a sigh, attempting to rub the tiredness from his eyes as he waited. He continued to sit in silence for a bit until his mind finally clicked something together: Where was Mark?

Cesar had realized that he hadn’t seen Mark since he woke up, or even heard his mother mention him when they ate breakfast. If nothing else, he should’ve been on the couch, yet he wasn’t. He must’ve gone home early, Cesar supposed, sighing with a tinge of annoyance with the realization that him coming over that early in the morning was therefore pointless. However, as he thought to himself, he glanced down at the ground, pausing as his eyes hit something; Mark’s worn out backpack.

The bag itself was hanging on by a single remaining strap, of which was held by a few frayed threads and some pieces of duct tape. It looked as if Mark hadn’t gotten a new one since he was in middle school, or was simply extremely reckless with it. Either way, Cesar reached towards it, grabbing its strap and, against his better judgment and worry of being caught looking through another’s things, he unzipped it to see its contents.

The first thing he saw was, of course, a pair of clothes, being a worn out shirt and blue jeans, but after pushing them to the side, he saw what was buried underneath them; a bible, a notebook, and a couple pencils. Cesar grabbed the notebook, pulling it out and staring at it for a second. Was he really going to look through someone’s personal journal? His curiosity was killing him, and as his hand absentmindedly reached for the cover, he glanced up at the clock, seeing it was only 7:21. He had time.

9:35 AM

The bells rang in the school’s halls, Mark flinching at the noise as he opened his locker, dumping his books into the rest of the mess in there, stopping things from falling out with his arms before slamming the door shut. He stood still for a moment, looking around at the rest of the students talking and walking to their lockers to get ready for the next class, catching the eye of a couple of them. The eye contact never lasted long it seemed, with the other person looking away as soon as they realized who they’re looking at. Mark didn’t blame them; he knew he wasn’t looking the greatest, and his glare was hard enough to cut glass, though at that point, with how exhausted he was, he couldn’t care less. He just needed to get this school day done with—

“Hey.”

Mark looked to his right, seeing Cesar standing close by, staring at him. Mark sighed, figuring he was going to ask where he went last night, or why he was there to begin with, so preparing to have that conversation, Mark responded, “Hey, look I…I need to stop over again after school, I forgot to grab my b…” Mark’s voice trailed off as he looked down, seeing what was hanging from Cesar’s hand; his backpack. “…bag.”

“Just take it.” Cesar held the bag up to Mark, who hesitantly grasped it and held it close before opening his locker once again.

“…Th…Thanks.” Mark said quietly, coughing before quickly shifting his leg to block off the opening of the locker as a pile of loose papers and books nearly spilled out as he placed the bag on the hook over them.

“Look, do you hate me or not?”

Mark paused at the question, turning towards Cesar with a confused look on his face. He wasn’t sure if he even heard the question right before responding. “…I d…what do you mean?”

“…I…” Cesar appeared to pause for a moment, gesturing vaguely at the backpack before looking up at Mark. “…I read your journal and saw what…you were saying about me.”

Mark stared at Cesar, stepping away from his locker and letting everything fall out onto the ground. “What?”

“I was curious, alright? I shouldn’t have done it but I really just needed to kno—”

“Why did you do that?”

“Look, I—”

Mark stepped forward, staring down at Cesar with a look that could kill. “Why the FUCK did you look in there?” Mark questioned as he grew closer, ignoring the bell that was ringing behind him.

“Dude, calm down!” Cesar said. “…I just don’t get why you can’t just say this shit to my face.”

“What kind of fucking friend are you?”

“What kind of friend are you?” Cesar snapped back. “You talk about me like I’m a piece of shit that doesn’t care about anything but myself!”

Mark stared at Cesar with a rising fury as he continued. “‘He just doesn’t listen to me, he’s ignoring everything I say,’ As if I haven’t been listening to you since we met.” Cesar spat. “If anything, I’m probably the only person that does listen to you.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Mark fists clenched.

“Do you hear what you’re saying half of the time?!” Cesar questioned. “You keep saying weird shit then acting like you didn’t say anything right after! I can only handle so much Mark, I can’t keep listening to your ramblings otherwise I’d go insane too—”

Mark clasped onto Cesar’s shoulders and swung him around, slamming him against the lockers as he stared into Cesar’s eyes. Cesar’s half angry, half concerned look turned to fright as Mark’s hands clasped onto his shoulders hard enough to make them sting, thumbs digging into his collar bones and fingernails digging into his skin. Mark stared at Cesar in silence, jaw clenched and nose beginning to bleed before his furious gaze suddenly vanished, with Mark grasp lessening before they both heard something down the hall:

“HEATHCLIFF!”

Mark’s head snapped around, seeing one of the teachers staring at the two as Mark backed away. The teacher appeared furious before she continued; “I expect you to be in the principal’s office by the end of the day.”

Cesar rubbed his sore shoulder before looking at Mark, who was staring at the teacher like a deer in headlights, his hands tense and fingers twitching. Mark glared at Cesar from the side of his eye, clasping his hands together as if he just needed to squeeze something very hard. However, the fury was gone from his stare, replaced with a look of fear, for a reason Cesar was unsure of. Either way, Cesar couldn’t help but wonder what would’ve happened if the teacher didn’t step in, and wondered how close Mark’s hands would’ve gotten to his neck before he stopped.

All Cesar knew was that he could barely even recognize who he was staring at when they made eye contact.

Mark sat outside of the principal’s office, his leg bouncing and his elbows planted on his knees as he stared at the linoleum floor. Every other student had already left, leaving him by himself in a silent hall. He could hear his mother and the principal speaking through the door, only barely muffled by the wall and door itself, allowing him to make out a part of their conversation:

“These outbursts appear to be…getting more common, Mrs. Heathcliff, and I’m simply worried of them getting only more violent if something isn’t done soon.”

“I…I understand that.” Leah stated, her voice soft as usual. “He’s…he’s a good young man, I-I don’t…I don’t know why he would react like that towards a friend, I mean…Cesar and Mark have been joined at the hip since they were children, I don’t understand why he’d suddenly become so…aggressive.”

“I understand your concern. However, if these behaviors continue, then I’m…afraid action will have to be taken.”

“What kind of action?”

“Suspension, to…possible expulsion from the Mandela County school system.”

“…You can’t be serious.” Leah’s voice quivered as she spoke.

“Of course, expulsion is only for extreme measures, and at this point, I don’t believe it will be necessary, though I’m only warning you that behaviors like these can lead to only more problems later on. Have you…spoken to him about this before?”

“…I…suppose not.”

“I’d recommend you start. Your child appears troubled, Ma’am, and I feel the best course of action is consulting his councilor and speaking to him personally. I understand now is…a hard time for everyone, and I’ve seen my fair share of students being put under extreme stress due to these unprecedented events, and I believe Mark is a similar case.”

“I understand.”

“Thank you for coming in today, ma’am. I’m…hoping this will be the last time we have a conversation like this.”

“…I do too.”

Mark waited a little while longer, no longer paying attention as he blankly stared at the ground, all before the door opened beside him and he looked up, only to see his mother’s face staring back at him.

“You alright?” Leah asked softly.

Mark remained silent, the guilty look in his eyes answering for him.

“…I have work in a little while, do you want to come with me?”

Mark looked away for a moment; did he really want to spend the rest of the day at the library? He thought about it before looking back up at his mother’s face, the sad gaze she was giving him making him decide before he nodded in silence. If it made his mom happy, he supposed it wouldn’t hurt to spend some time finding books to read. If nothing else, it was a quiet environment he could stay in as he recovered from how overwhelmed he felt. Leah smiled softly before Mark stood up, with her standing by Mark’s side as they left the school, finally putting an end to Mark’s horrid school day.

The drive to the library was a silent one, Leah occasionally pointing out things, like stores already putting things up for Halloween despite it being a couple months away, or waving to someone she recognized from church. She talked to Mark, not expecting or needing a response from him, just making sure he was listening by glancing at him every once in a while. Mark simply looked out the window, seeing it was a cloudy, gray day outside, looking as if it was about to rain. It was dreary outside, though Mark didn’t mind that much; just gave him an excuse to stay inside.

Leah led Mark into the large library in the middle of downtown when they arrived there, Mark looking around the expansive, two-floored library with a neutral look on his face. He had been there a few times before, learning that it had been constructed a long time ago from Leah, though the old architecture was somewhat obvious when he saw how worn out some things were. He looked around and saw that there was barely anyone there aside from a couple of people at the computers or walking around, browsing the books on the shelves.

“Alright, if you need anything you can just come get me at the front desk,” Leah said quietly, turning to face Mark. “If I’m not there, I went to go tend to something and won’t be gone long, alright? You’re free to do anything here, just…please don’t get into trouble.”

Mark nodded quietly, with Leah smiling softly before turning and walking away, leaving Mark by himself to figure out a way to entertain himself. He put his hands into his sweatshirt pocket, beginning to look around, his tired eyes looking over the books as he tried to find anything of interest to him. He read title, after title, after another title, seeing none that piqued his interest whatsoever. In fact, most of the ones that he recognized were because he had read them in class before, made to write a book report on them despite most of them being boring and predictable. That or he had already read most of them on his own time, like most of the books from Stephen King. He couldn’t even remember the amount of times he’s read “The Shining”, or watched the movie of the same name, basically able to recite everything that happens in both by heart. 

He sighed, walking out of the aisle and towards a small table he saw against one of the walls, one that had a printer on it, available for anyone to use. He walked towards it, opening the printer and grabbing a few pieces of paper from it before shutting it once again, all before grabbing a pencil that was on the desk and walking towards one of the tables in the middle of the room. However, he paused, glancing at something on the wall before he stopped walking, staring at it for a while. On the wall was a public cork board, one that anyone could paste whatever they wanted onto it to promote an event or anything of the sort. One of the papers on it drew his attention however, seemingly pasted over a pile of similar papers.

It was a missing poster for a young man, who seemed to be named “Michael Richards.” The picture was of a man with a short, low ponytail, and an open hoodie with colored sleeves, the color of which Mark was unsure of due to the photo being in black and white. He couldn’t see anything below the mid-torso area, though Mark was more focused on the face of him. The face nor the name rang a bell in Mark’s mind, though the sight of him smiling widely, seeming to be having fun despite his face being plastered on a missing poster made a pit form in Mark’s gut. A face of happiness on something that was basically a public death certificate for the Mandela area.

Mark shook off the sudden chill up his spine before continuing his walk to the tables, sitting down and placing the blank papers in front of him, staring at them with his pencil in hand as he thought of something to draw. He rested his head on his free hand, staring at the blank page in silence as he absentmindedly scratched his head. He felt as though he was being watched, hunching over his papers as if he was scared someone was watching him doodle from right behind him. Mark glanced around, seeing that no one was even close to him, nor paying him any attention, so he let out a sigh and began to draw.

A few hours had passed, and Mark threw yet another crumpled up paper ball into the trash, with his left hand stained with graphite. He sighed deeply, walking towards the front desk to see Leah speaking with someone on the other side of it. Mark waited for their conversation to be over, resting his arms on the tall desk as he looked around. He was starting to feel hungry, most likely due to him skipping breakfast that morning, despite his mother cooking for them. He looked out of the front doors of the building, seeing that the sky was already beginning to turn orange as evening approached. He stared outside blankly, looking at nothing in particular before Leah spoke.

“You alright?”

Mark looked back to see Leah was looking at him with a slightly concerned look on her face. He nodded before Leah spoke again. “You want to go home?” she asked softly.

Mark nodded again.

“Alright, I’m going to be here for another few hours, but I’ll call home and see if your father can come pick you up,” Leah reached towards  one of the phones on the desk before looking back up at Mark, who had a look of disappointment on his face. “…you know what? How about I see if I…can get off a little early tonight. Maybe we can do something like…play a board game or something. Does that sound alright to you?”

Mark glanced to the side, thinking to himself for a while. His true plan was to go home, get some quick dinner then go to bed, even if he wasn’t necessarily looking forward to yet another night of night terrors. He looked back to Leah, nodding slightly once again, causing a faint smile to form on her face. “Alright. I’ll go ahead and call Arthur then.” She stated. Mark started to walk away, though Leah stopped him by speaking once again. “One more thing…” Mark turned to face her, seeing she was smiling, though it was a sort of sad smile. “…Thank you for staying here with me. I think it’s good for you to get out and around like this, you know?”

Mark didn’t respond, looking at the ground and nodding slightly before walking away. He wasn’t necessarily looking forward to the ride home that would most certainly involve his father berating him for his school mishap, though at least he had a couple hours of peace and hopefully more when he got home.

9:15 PM

Mark stared blankly into the living room from the kitchen, leaning against the wall as he watched Leah and Sarah playing with building blocks on the carpet. He could feel his exhaustion creeping up on him, judging by the heavy eyelids and the foggy mind. He would’ve gone up to his room by then, sleeping the night away until morning came, but something was keeping him up, whether it was his fear of nightmares or his insomnia. He supposed it didn’t matter either way; if he was going to stay up, he might as well accept it.

He opened the fridge door, digging through everything in there before grabbing an energy drink he had hidden in there. He looked at it, standing up straight before closing the fridge door. He jumped, startled by the sight of his father standing there, staring at him before looking down and seeing the can in Mark’s hand.

“…You know those aren’t good for you.” He stated. “They’re bad for your heart.”

“…Y…Yeah, I know.”

“Just…don’t get in the habit of drinking those.” Arthur sighed.

“I won’t.” Mark turned to go upstairs, Arthur watching him before speaking again.

“Oh, before you go,” Arthur called. “The trash needs to be taken out, could you do that? I need to get some bills paid.”

Mark looked at Arthur, one step on the first stair before he sighed and stepped back down. “…Yeah I…can do that.”

“Good. Though don’t be out there for too long,” Arthur stated. “People have been hearing what sounds like a bear around here.”

“There aren’t bears around here…” Leah said. “It’s probably one of the neighbor’s dogs.”

“Either way, just get it done, alright?”

“Mm-hm.” Mark placed the can on the kitchen table before brushing past Arthur and towards the trash can. He tied up the trash bag, pulling it out and lugging it over his shoulder, hoping nothing spilled out or broke as he approached the back door.

It was already getting dark, with the sky being a deep blue, near fully black. He couldn’t see much past the back porch light as he stepped out onto the concrete, looking around before spotting the trashcan right to the side of the porch, on the other side of the wooden railing. He sighed, taking one last quick glance around his dark backyard before opening the small gate and stepping onto the damp grass. He whistled to himself as he opened the garbage can’s lid and threw the bag into it, hearing it thump against the bottom of the plastic bin.

He wiped his hands on his pants as he walked around the porch, placing his hand on the gate to open it before he paused, feeling a more intense feeling of being watched than he felt in the library, making his blood run cold. He looked behind him, into the trees, but saw nothing but darkness and whatever overgrown plants were there past the yard line. He turned to his right, seeing the empty road, also seeing nothing. He turned to his left and—

There was a face staring back at him from the tree line.

Mark couldn’t move as he stared at the Figure in his yard; a monochrome man in a jacket with colored sleeves and a black shirt, with its dark hair tied back. Its face however was what made Mark’s heart pound, seeing two large, near completely black eyes aside from the small hints of white staring back at him from the dark. Its gaping maw was impossibly wide open, its eerily white teeth the only thing visible in the blackness. It was only the top half of the body, and Mark could see its organs hanging from the bottom half of its torso, and its arm bones and veins hanging from torn arm stumps, bloodying its clothes and bleeding onto the grass below it, hovering as if it still had legs to stand on.

Mark stared at it with wide eyes, unable to look away as if he was trapped in some kind of trance. It didn’t seem to be moving, or at least on a passing glance, though Mark could tell the longer he stared that it was ever so slowly approaching, its face unchanging. Mark finally shook off his sudden paralysis, swinging open the gate and scrambling onto the porch, locking the gate behind him before lunging towards the back door. He fumbled with the doorknob, finding that it was locked, as if it was jammed. He slammed his hand against the door, screaming for someone to open it before turning back towards where he saw the Figure, only to find that the yard was empty once again. He froze, silently searching for the Figure before he turned around fully.

Its two beady eyes stared back at Mark from the other side of the porch, its head twitching ever so slightly as its gaze never once moved away from Mark’s cowering form. Mark backed away, staring at the Figure as he tried to do anything aside from stand in one place, despite his legs turning into jelly. He stared into the thing’s eyes; its unblinking, unmoving eyes. Mark’s eyes watered and his throat was too tight to even let out a sob before his eyelids suddenly felt as heavy as elephants.

Then he fell asleep.

Mark couldn’t process what his parents were saying when he woke up, hearing them somewhere in the room with him, with them speaking in hushed, worried tones to each other. Mark hadn’t yet opened his eyes, but he could gather that he was lying on the living room couch, with what felt like an ice pack on his head. Perhaps the ice pack was a good call, considering the throbbing pain he felt in his skull. He overheard his mother talking to his father, seemingly contemplating taking Mark to the hospital; as if he hadn’t gone there enough already. Mark winced slightly at yet another sharp pain in his head before he finally opened his eyes, being greeted by Arthur standing at the end of the couch, one hand on the back of it as he looked at Leah, who was in a chair to the side of said couch.

“Mark!” Leah all but jumped out of her seat when she finally saw Mark’s eyes were open, kneeling by the couch and lightly caressing Mark’s head. “Are you alright? What happened?”

Mark couldn’t even get an answer out, with any words he could say becoming lodged in his throat. Instead, he let out a groggy “I don’t know”, not even attempting to make his voice loud enough to hear it clearly.

“W-We found you on the porch, just passed out I-I thought something happened to you—” Leah covered her mouth, taking in a deep breath as she suppressed her urge to cry. “Do you remember anything?”

Mark stared blankly at Leah, thinking hard as he slowly sat up, wincing when he felt his headache come back. After a few moments, he began speaking: “I was…taking out the trash ‘nd…” Mark said quietly. “I…I w…”

The Figure’s gaze pierced his soul when he remembered it.

“…I don’t know, I…think I just…passed out.”

“Leah…” Arthur said softly. “I think you should…go get some rest.”

“I…I’m fine.” Leah said, her voice wavering slightly. “Just a…a little…I…”

“Sarah needs to be taken to bed anyway.” Arthur said. “I think you need some time to…calm down.”

Leah sighed, looking at Mark before kissing his forehead and walking away, grabbing Sarah’s arm as she led her upstairs, Mark seeing Sarah was looking at him as they walked away. Mark stared at the stairway for a few moments as Arthur sat on the chair by the couch, sighing deeply as he did so.

“…What did you see out there?”

Mark looked at Arthur with furrowed brows and a confused look on his face.

“You’ve…mentioned seeing things lately, but you never said what.” Arthur continued. “What have you been seeing?”

Mark’s stare alone questioned why Arthur needed to know that.

“…You know, sometimes people are given visions.” Arthur stated. “Many of God’s prophets were given these visions or…messages to give to the people of this world. Sometimes they seem…vague, or confusing or…even frightening to some, but they have to…mean something. So I just want to know…what you have been experiencing. Because…it’s possible God’s trying to…speak through you.”

“…I d…I don’t think it’s God, Dad.” Mark muttered, lightly rubbing his necklace with his thumb.

“There’s a possibility it could be.” Arthur said, leaning forward. “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

Mark looked at the ground blankly, thinking of what he could say or do before he closed his eyes for a moment. “…I was driving t…to Cesar’s house last night.” Mark started. “I just…w…wanted to…to stay the night, but when I was driving I…I hit a…deer.”

“…I see.” Arthur figured that explained the stains and fur on the front of the car. “…What about this?”

“…I checked on the deer and…” Mark paused, thinking carefully, staring at the floor with an unblinking stare. “…It wasn’t dead.”

Arthur simply nodded, his brows somewhat furrowing.

“…It tried speaking to me.” Mark said in a monotone voice. “…Vomiting out its organs and veins. Attempting to talk to me with vocal chords it didn’t have. It wanted to speak to me. It needed to give me a message, but was incapable of doing so.”

Arthur sat up and leaned back in his seat, mouth open slightly as Mark continued.

“I saw it in a dream the same night. Its words were clearer but they still never reached my ears.” Mark droned. “I felt them…crawling under my skin. Veins pushing themselves out of my body; choking me. All-encompassing agony. A mind running with thoughts that didn’t belong to me. My misery was only ended by the sight of two headlights coming towards me.”

Mark shook his head slightly, finally blinking and rubbing his dried out eyes. “…And then I…woke up. I had t…to vomit after that dream, and I just f-felt so…sick. I went home right after.”

Mark looked up to see Arthur staring at him with widened eyes, stuck in a stunned silence before he gestured towards his nose. Mark stared at Arthur with confusion before he began to taste blood, feeling something warm running out of one of his nostrils. “O-Oh…shit.” Mark stood up, immediately heading to the bathroom and closing the door behind him. Arthur watched him leave, unable to speak as his hands trembled slightly. He could barely put his own thoughts together, only recognizing a deep feeling of dread within him that he hasn’t felt before.

Maybe Mark was right; it didn’t sound like God was the one speaking to his son.

August 13th, 1992. 2:12 AM

Mark laid on his side, curled up in the middle of it in the fetal position as he held his necklace in his hand, using his other arm to lightly rub his opposite shoulder. His family had fallen asleep hours ago, seemingly without much effort, though Mark appeared to not have been blessed with such a thing. He stared forward, not at anything in particular, his green eyes staring into the darkness visible through the cracked open bedroom door, not once looking away. He shook slightly, both from the lack of a blanket over him and the discomfort in his body, feeling as if his insides itched and couldn’t be scratched.

He realized it was silly to be afraid of the dark, especially as a near legal adult that ditched his nightlight when he was 10, though his mind didn’t seem to think so. Flashes of that thing’s face appeared in his mind, imagining it staring back at him from the hallway, waiting for him to fall asleep. Mark’s bloodshot eyes were beginning to become dried out from his unblinking stare, stinging enough to make him tear up before he finally closed them for a moment, opening them back up right after, seeing that the door was open further than it was. Mark let out a panicked gasp, sitting up and scrambling for his flashlight on his nightstand, turning it on to see that nothing was in the hallway, yet the door creaked open slowly before stopping entirely. His breathing was harsh before he managed to calm himself down, deciding it was best to go then instead of later.

Mark stood up, shambling around his room, kicking away trash and piles of clothes before standing in the doorway, looking down the dark hall before sneaking towards the stairway. He quietly walked down the carpeted stairs, into the living room, and towards the front door, looking back at his house as he reached for the doorknob, pausing for a moment before opening the door and leaving the house without a word and without a thought.

The drive to Cesar’s house was a quiet one, with Mark not even bothering to turn on the radio, with only his thoughts keeping him company along with the gentle sound of the AC. He stared forward blankly, unmoving and silent, eyes darting around the dark woods to the sides of the road, searching for the reflected lights of an animal’s eyes. Yet, that night appeared more silent and empty than it was before, with no surprise buck there to hit. However, he half expected to see the slowly decaying corpse of the deer he hit the previous night, though he never saw one, even as he passed by the spot he hit it at; another animal must have gotten to it. The food chain was still in effect despite the rest of the world falling apart, it appeared.

The town was as empty as usual when Mark finally drove through its border, blankly staring through his windshield as he drove through the large gateway leading into Wisteria Avenue. Cesar’s house was completely dark, with both him and his mother presumably asleep when Mark parked on the side of the road, staring at the house with dull eyes before he hesitantly opened up his car door, stepping onto the curb before approaching the front door. To his surprise however, the door appeared to be slightly opened; almost inviting to anyone who wanted to come in. The worry of a possible intruder lingered in Mark’s mind as he reached for the strangely warm door knob, though was quickly snuffed out when he heard the sound of an all too familiar ticking noise coming from inside.

There it was; the clock Mark had seen in dreams, nightmares, and hallucinations alike. He walked into the living room, staring at the clock’s face, its hands moving with every beat. Mark turned towards the archway leading into the kitchen, carefully walking towards it, before moving through the kitchen, and towards the back hallway, eyes somewhat glistening in the dark as he approached one of the doors. He grabbed the handle, slowly opening it part way, its hinges creaking as he looked inside, seeing a bedroom. Cesar was sleeping in his bed, completely still and not even reacting to Mark’s presence whatsoever.

Vulnerable.

Mark slowly shut the door after only a few seconds of blank staring, all before he heard them once again; the bells ringing three times. Mark walked out of the hallway, back through the kitchen, passing by a set of glass sliding doors, partially cloaked by curtains. He glanced outside, seeing nothing of interest in the backyard aside from the faint orange light from a nearby streetlight, though the darkness made him turn his head away, imagining widened eyes staring back at him from the dark if he didn’t look away first.

When he made it back into the living room, he saw the clock once again, but noticed two things when he approached it: There was an odd, sweet smell coming from it, almost like vanilla. Secondly, the door was opened, the compartment with the pendulum being exposed somewhat through the partially opened glass door. Mark didn’t even know that the door could be opened, assuming it was completely stuck shut for a reason he didn’t know. However, there it was, open, almost like it wanted him to take a closer look at its inner workings. However, when Mark lightly pressed his cool hand on the door to look closer, he was interrupted by the sound of a loud thud against something on the other side of the House.

Mark backed away from the clock, peeking from behind the kitchen archway to see the glass doors had a new red smear on the outside of them, dripping down onto the small patio below it. Mark stared at the stain, stumbling towards the doors, pushing the curtains out of the way as he looked outside, seeing nothing but grass and trees past the backyard once again. His eyes glanced from side to side, all before he heard a loud deer call just out of view. He flinched, backing away as he placed his hand on his chest and over his necklace, all before sighing, feeling embarrassed that he was scared by the local wildlife. He unlocked and slid open the glass door, looking to the right, expecting to see a doe or even a buck standing there munching on grass or something, only to find that his blood ran cold when he finally saw it. 

“You.”

The deer hobbled along on only its front legs, with its two back legs appearing lame and unusable. Its left antler was hanging on by a single bit of broken bone and nerves, and its side appeared bloody and broken. How the deer made it all the way here from the road to Cesar’s house with only two working legs astounded and frightened Mark to no end, making him nearly want to vomit. It leaned down and began gnawing at a rotten apple on the ground, from the tree that was right behind it. Mark couldn’t look away as it chewed and ate the rotten fruit as if it would kill it if it didn’t. After a few moments of horrified silence, Mark watched it raise its head, facing Mark and staring at him with constricted pupils. Veins and sinew were hanging from its agape mouth as its head twitched and legs trembled. Mark took a step towards the glass doors behind him, preparing to go back insi—

The deer was pounced on by a tall, pale figure that leaped out from the tree line. Mark yelled, stumbling back and falling into the kitchen as he heard loud, staticy yells and screeches, along with pained bellows from the deer just outside. Mark scrambled to his feet, slamming the door shut and closing the curtains, backing away until he was against the opposite wall. He could hear flesh tearing and bones crunching as Mark shuffled towards the archway, all before Mark ran towards the front door, ignoring the clock and swinging open the door, slamming it shut behind him before he booked it to his car. He had never started a vehicle that quickly in his life, backing away from the House and speeding down the road, not once bothering to check if he was under the speed limit. He felt as though he was missing something as he drove away, despite not bringing anything there, but it didn’t matter. Mark wasn’t lingering long enough to see what that large humanoid wanted.

6:10 AM

Mark audibly groaned when he heard the sound of his alarm clock that morning. He knocked the alarm clock over, it hitting the ground with a soft thud, thankfully hitting a pile of clothes on the ground next to the nightstand. Mark stared at the ceiling, still wearing the clothes he wore to Cesar’s House; in fact, he hadn’t slept at all during that time, only staring at the ceiling blankly with dried out eyes, only blinking every couple minutes at least. Another night of fearing nightmares and swearing he heard sounds outside his window, his heart beating hard enough to keep waking him up whenever he dared to doze off. He pondered whether he wanted to stay at home and pretend he was sick, or go to school and get another boring and overwhelming day done with, and knowing the amount of missing days he’s already taken, he reluctantly decided on the latter.

He groggily sat up, sitting in place for a few moments before standing up on two shaky legs, shambling towards his bedroom door, grabbing his backpack on the way then moving through the hallway. When he made it downstairs, he saw Leah in the kitchen, cooking breakfast for him and Sarah, with Sarah already at the kitchen table. The smell of food alone, even if it smelled good, made Mark feel nauseous, getting rid of any appetite he had left. Mark stared at Leah and Sarah for a moment before speaking.

“Is Sarah done eating?”

“…Oh she hasn’t eaten yet, I’m still making everything.” Leah explained. “Though, she’s going to stay home today anyway, if…you’re ready to go.”

“…Why isn’t she going?”

“She’s getting a cold, it seems…” Leah sighed. “Got it from her classmates I reckon.”

“Hm.” Mark looked towards the front door with a tired, half-lidded glare.

“…Oh, by the way…did you…leave last night?” Leah asked. “I-I’m not mad, I just don’t think it’s safe to—”

Leah turned to see the front door open, only to close soon after, with Mark completely missing from the living room. Leah sighed softly, looking back at the stove and pan of eggs with a worried look in her eyes, lightly rubbing her thumb on her sapphire necklace.

11:23 AM

Mark was losing it in that fucking school.

Mark stared at his desk, scratching the wood of it with his chipped nails, leaving small lines in its surface. He stared at the math worksheet he had been given, with only a few scratched out answers in the spots given and the rest covered in what must have been hundreds of small, messy doodles. He couldn’t even think of the rest of the answers, his brain moving as slow as molasses yet as quickly as a racecar. He looked around, seeing the rest of his classmates staring at their worksheets in complete silence, with not even music blotting out the thoughts (or lack thereof) in his head. Nothing and everything all at once.

Mark glanced towards the other side of the room, seeing Cesar sitting at his own desk. Mark was surprised he hadn’t chewed out Mark about what happened the previous day, yelling at him about how they weren’t friends anymore and how he wished that Mark was dead. Perhaps a cruel thought, and maybe misplaced, but Mark would’ve rather had Cesar be the one to yell at him about how unstable he was than his own mind. At the very least, he could choke out the words of someone else, but not his own mind.

The clock in that room was starting to sound like a jackhammer in Mark’s ears. It felt as grating as nails on a chalkboard, all the while the feeling of being watched didn’t once subside. Mark couldn’t concentrate on whatever work he was meant to be doing, only staring blankly downwards, and waiting for the bell to ring once again. He felt as though his own thoughts were overrun by something else, making him unable to even think of a single thing on his own clearly. Mark glanced up at the board at the front of the room, seeing that the words on it were warped in his vision, nearly completely unreadable. Mark began to regret going to school; he would’ve rather risked getting suspended for absence than deal with the horrible feelings he had while at that school.

Mark took in a deep breath, attempting to gather his thoughts as he looked around, rubbing his necklace to try and ground himself as he attempted to not panic in the middle of the classroom. He looked at the teacher, who was sitting at his desk, staring at a few papers on it in silence. Everything was silent aside from the damned clock hung up on the wall, one whose ticks and tocks made Mark want to rip his hair out. As every second went by, he felt more and more exhausted, with his mind foggy and thoughts unclear. He felt as though something else’s hands were wrapping against his head, making him move at its will and not his own.

BANG.

The first loud bang caused everyone in the class to flinch, with Cesar even dropping his pencil.

BANG.

The second one, albeit not as loud as the previous one, was enough to make everyone turn around, Cesar turning to see what was going on. Mark on the other end of the classroom, face down on the desk, blood gushing out of his now broken nose when Cesar all but leapt out of his seat and ran towards Mark, with even the teacher standing up and making his way to Mark’s desk.

“Mark?!” Cesar questioned, making Mark look up, blood pouring out of his nose, and his bloodshot eyes looking up at his “friend”. “Mark what the fuck happened?!”

“I’ll call the nurse and take him down th—” The teacher offered, but was interrupted by Cesar.

“N-No, I’ll just take him there—get up—” Cesar grabbed Mark’s arm, hoisting it over his shoulders before stumbling towards the door, trying his best to ignore the stares of his fellow concerned and frightened classmates as he left the room.

Cesar and Mark limped down the hallway towards the office, Cesar struggling to hold Mark’s weight due to Mark barely holding himself up. Cesar glanced up at Mark’s face, seeing two, dead, yet scared eyes staring back at him from under his messy hair. “W…What the FUCK was that?!" Cesar questioned. “…Why?!”

“I…d…I-I d…don’t…” Mark muttered so quietly Cesar could barely hear him. “I d…didn..t…sh…she…I-I…”

“Look man just…fuck, just hang in there, alright? We’re almost there,” Cesar said quickly, spotting the office at the end of the hall. “We’ll figure out how to fi—”

“Why.”

“…What?” Cesar paused for a second, seeing Mark was staring down at him with widened eyes.

“…I th…thought y-you…y…you hated…me.”

Cesar thought for a moment, looking at the ground before shaking his head. “We’ll talk about it later, just…” Cesar glanced down at the floor below Mark’s feet, seeing the growing puddle of blood under his shoes. “…Fuck, okay just…keep moving.”

Cesar continued to all but drag Mark to the office, trying to ignore how dread-inducing Mark’s dead-eyed stare was so he could walk the final distance there.

7:33 PM.

Silence.

For once Mark was staring at the ceiling in silence, but now finally feeling as though his brain was clearing up, enough for him to think for himself. The tight bandages on his nose hurt like hell, as well did the cross in his clenched fist that made his palm bleed, though the pain didn’t matter to him anymore. He stared at the bathroom ceiling, the water in the bath around him long since cooling down, to the point where it was barely lukewarm.

For once he felt…calm. Or at least as calm as the looming sense of dread that never left him would allow. As he laid in the water, fully clothed but not caring of how drenched his clothes would be afterwards, he let his mind become completely blank. Perhaps his emotions and thoughts had become so numb due to how overwhelming everything had become, stripping him of every ounce of energy he had and leaving nothing more than a husk. Either way, he didn’t even flinch at the sound of the knock on the bathroom door, only turning his head towards it before hearing a familiar, yet friendly voice.

“…Mark?”

Mom.

Mark sat up straight, letting out a quiet “yes?”, only really audible to him and him alone.

“…Are you alright?” Leah asked from the other side of the door, her voice soft and comforting. She heard movement and water splashing on the other side of the door before it was opened, Leah letting out a small gasp when she saw Mark standing there, with clothes that were dripping water onto the tiled floor and a hand that was covered in his own blood. Leah stared at Mark, letting out a saddened, soft, wavering smile before brushing Mark’s hair away from his left eye, seeing his green eyes in full. “…Y…You know I love you…don’t you?” She asked with a slight squeak in her voice.

Mark’s intense, blank stare was fixated at his mother’s face, eyes beginning to water before he wrapped his arms around Leah, sobbing into her shoulder as Leah returned the hug. Leah herself felt tears swelling up in her eyes, and began crying quietly as she embraced her son, not wanting to let go no matter what.

“I love you…don’t you ever forget that…ever.” She squeaked past her tears. “…God…please…” She choked on her own words before muttering one last thing:

“I just want my son back.”

#the mandela catalogue #mandela catalogue #tmc #tmc home sweet home au #hsh mark #leah Heathcliff (tmc) #Arthur heathcliff (tmc) #hsh cesar #The Figure (hsh) #Home (tmc) #body horror #face horror #blood tw #gore tw #tw animal death #religious trauma tw #unreality #shmorp writes sometimes #Hoo boy. thats a lotta tags. #Though. please heed the warnings. this ones. pretty heavy. #Also experimenting with more. creative fic “descriptions”. #Also changing the typical format of the pre-fic stuff. Like I might not add Notes sections as often when I literally have nothing to say- #Anyway! hope you enjoy! this one hurts- /VLH

[queer-here-and-in-fear]

ok, if you can stomach absurd amounts of gore, horror, death, i think i should say gore twice, body horror, religious trauma, implied s/a and post apocalypse i need you to go read hell followed with us rn. best book i have read in fucking years. i literally just got it last night and finished it that night. here are the pros:

what if body horror was related to the trans experience. what then.

the gore is described so naturally. cant describe it perfectly but god the gore feels as natural as weeds sticking up between cracks in the sidewalk.

this is also a case where imo body horror is used properly and it isnt just "what if.. deformities!! ooh spooky!!" its the horror of being changed against your will and the horror of pain and the horror of loosing yourself and the hope of taking that back.

two seperate characters who use neo pronouns!!!

erin, trans girl!!!! love her

love interest is autistic and shows symptoms of autism and thats ok and good, actually.

RAGE!!! RAGE IS GOOD AND YOU ARE ALLOWED TO BE FUCKING ANGRY!!

they represent the feeling of being loved/worshipped in a way thats too much so so so good it made me physically sick. having them who you dont know grab at you, like you are so beautiful they can only plea to touch you, to have you. looking at you like you are the most beautiful cattle.

set in future but politics feels.. chillingly similar to what were experiencing rn. genuinely thought some quotes were real or this was based off a real group for a moment till i saw the date 2025. only difference is that its more ecofascist.

the body horror never makes anyone inherently unloveable. even with flesh tearing and teeth nashing and too many eyes and blood where organs once were you can be human. you can be loved.

terrifying but hopeful. they are dead but we are alive.

HYSTERICAL insults to kalvin garrah in this shit. make an entire character to say fuck him.

the inherently disabled horror of having your body and mind fail on you against your will and the hope of never being the same but surviving.

also the disabled horror of having your body taken from you and changed and twisted for others betterment. to be a martyr by sake of suffering.

#hell followed with us #gore #tw gore #gore tw #body horror #body horror tw #tw body horror #death #tw death #death tw #sa #tw sa #sa tw #religous trauma #tw religious trauma #religious trauma tw #nox text posts

[proudfreakmetarusonniku]

sometimes I think about the fact that the final final (for real this time) isaac dlc is called repentance and it ends with isaac ascending to heaven by realising there’s nothing he needs to repent for and that he didn’t deserve his abuse and then i want to cry a bit. just ugh. god. “are you sure this is how you want this story to end” because isaac thought that his life deserved to end in suicide and he’s being told directly that it’s not and he deserves happiness… and not even going into the religious stuff i think too much already about how suicide is considered theologically a sin and so many of isaacs personas represent the post mortem punishment he believes he's going to have but even despite that he reconciles with his faith and is able to move on anyway because what matters isn’t the dogma but in following the tenets to love one another and therefore love oneself… like god isaac was made for the self hating traumatised obsessed with Christianity kid i was around the time it came out and still lives inside me today bc that just fucking hits so hard man it’s beautiful unironically.

#sorry the crying on shit game makes me feel things #i had a 1 hour long run okay it gave me a lot of time to think #isaac #tboi #the binding of isaac #suicide tw #child death tw #religious trauma tw

[tommyssupercoolblog]

Person With Religious Trauma X Person Who Has No Idea What The Hell They're Talking About

(this is me and Seán BTW)

--------

Person A: "Aren't you ever scared that when you think something bad God's just gonna like...kill your loved ones?"

Person B: "am I WHAT????"

--------

Person A: "Sorry I keep apologizing"

Person B: "you're fine!"

Person A: "yeah, thanks, sorry."

Person B: "??"

Person A: "shitsorry- augh- it's just like, I just feel, bad all the time you know? Since I was taught I'm like, bad inherently and have to work to redeem myself. All of us being made in sin and all that. It's like, your default state, being bad?? So I just always FEEL bad."

Person B: "Babe....what the FUCK."

-------

Person A: "do you ever worry you're like, wrong about your beliefs?? Gonna go to hell or something??"

Person B: "nope!"

Person A: "shit, FOR REAL????"

#ship dynamics #ship dynamic #i made a textpost #angst #hurt comfort #religious trauma #religious trauma tw #religious trauma cw #tw religious trauma #cw religious trauma

[salembutnotthecat]

part 1 is here

here is part 2

tw emeto, concussion mention, religious trauma, parental substance abuse mention

There were fragments of things.

Opening his eyes in the med tent, trying to speak in the ambulance. His consciousness came and went as it saw fit.

Now, as Novak stirred, there were the sounds of medical equipment. The heart monitor, beeping slowly but normally. His normal.

Novak’s consciousness was returning in fragments. The harsh light stung his eyes, and he winced against the discomfort, closing his eyes again. The rhythmic beeping of monitors echoed in his ears, only adding to his disorientation.

He felt a hand on his face.

For a moment, through the disorientation, he wonders if he’s sixteen again, when the car accident happened. When Saorise and Santiago were ripped away from him, driving and arguing.

When the social worker came to the hospital to break the news. To tell him that the one family who cared no longer existed.

There’s a soft click of a tongue, a hand under his eye, running over his cheekbone.

“Don’t cry słoneczko… you’ll be okay.”

It’s Marina. He knows her voice.

Novak turned his head, toward her voice, before opening his eyes, moving a hand to create a sort of blinder with his hand, over his eyes, trying to shield them from the painful fluorescent lights above him.

He opened his eyes, looking at her.

“Where’s Elya?” Novak forced out, “Where is she?”

His voice was failing. He was losing it. From being sick, from being exhausted. But he had to know. He had to know where Elya was.

Marina sat by his bedside, her face etched with worry. Her eyes flickered with relief as Novak's gaze gradually focused on her familiar features.

“She’s fine,” Marina said, “She thinks you’re superman, the way you got hit and got back up. She’s so proud of her dad.”

Novak forced a tired chuckle, “I try to be her superman, for sure. And yours too, I guess. I want you guys to be safe, and happy, I love you guys. I’m sorry I couldn’t finish the game.”

"Słoneczko, I’m just glad you're awake," Marina whispered, her voice was kind and quiet, “It was just a game.”

Novak blinked, attempting to make sense of his surroundings.

"What happened, though?" Novak asked, “I… how did I get from… from playing to… here?”

“Your voice sounds bad, słoneczko, can you try some water for me?” Marina reached for a water pitcher on the bedside table, pouring a small glass.

Novak nodded. If for nothing else than to ease Marina’s nerves. She helped Novak take a few sips, the cool liquid offering a welcome relief. But he still felt sick, and his head was absolutely killing him.

"You fainted, love," Marina explained, her fingers gently brushing his forehead as Novak laid back down. She walked over to the door, flipping the light switch off. "There… that should help… Anyway, they brought you here to make sure everything's okay.”

There's a pause. An uneasy silence between them.

“It’s not, is it?” Novak asked as Marina sat back down, breaking the silence, "It's... not okay."

Marina hesitated.

“Don’t lie to me,” Novak asked of her softly, “Please.”

“You have a bad concussion,” Marina said, “And a bad case of the flu. They said you'll be out of practice for two weeks at least. But they ran some tests on you, their typical ones but also… a few others.”

“What kind of tests?” Novak asked.

“Just blood work, ultrasound, they needed to make sure it wasn’t appendicitis or something,” Marina said, “Novak, have you had issues with your stomach before?”

“What kind of issues?” Novak asked.

“Like, recurring ones, not just stomach bugs but… issues with your stomach,” Marina asked.

Novak thought for a minute. God, he tried. But his head was killing him, he was horribly dizzy, and couldn’t tell if he was going to vomit or black out again.

“Can… ask me again… when I don’t… feel so…” Novak tried to say, covering his mouth with his hand to stifle a gag.

Novak heard Marina curse. But apparently, a nurse was planning for this, because Marina grabbed a basin from the counter in the room, handing it over to Novak, who gagged up water. Just water, and just a little.

But even a little, the effort made his head hurt worse. Like his skull would just split open.

His breathing is hard, but the nausea passes.

“I’ll see if they can get you… anything,” Marina said.

-

In the sterile atmosphere of Dr. Simmons' office, sixteen-year-old Novak sat, a tension hung in the room like a weighted blanket, and not the good kind.

Anika Rossi, his seventh foster mother now, scowled at him from the pages of the Bible she brought with her.

“I don’t know why we are here,” Anika said, “Have you thought about praying about it?”

“I have,” Novak said. It wasn’t true, not really. But Anika’s religion was blinding, and Novak knew that. But he tried to rationalize with her. Even if he had to lie.

“Well, you haven’t prayed long enough,” Anika scoffed, “Prayer is the answer. If these symptoms are true, you and I both know it has nothing to do with anything other than your blasphemous lack of faith.”

Dr. Simmons came into the office then. Before Novak could respond. Maybe divine intervention was a thing.

"So, Novak, looks like you’re here because you've been having stomach problems. Can you tell me more about the symptoms?"

Novak hesitated, glancing at Anika, whose disapproving gaze silenced him.

“Mister Petros?” Dr. Simmons asked again, “Everything alright.”

“Go on,” Anika said, “Tell him, since apparently it is so pressing.”

Novak bit his tongue, stopping himself from saying something he would regret.

Two years. Then he could age out. He just needed two years… unless Anika gave him up.

"Perhaps Mister Petros could use some guidance, prompting if you will," Dr. Simmons said, “Describe the pain.”

“It isn’t as much pain as it is… nausea? Not all the time but I feel like it’s not normal?” Novak tentatively spoke, glancing at Anika, who scoffed audibly.

"Nausea?" Anika interjected, her tone dripping with disdain. "That's nothing, Novak. It's just your stomach rebelling against all the junk you eat. You don't need a doctor for that."

Dr. Simmons, trying to steer the conversation back on track, asked, "Any specific triggers for the nausea, Novak? Certain foods or situations?"

Anika rolled her eyes, muttering, "Doctors and their pointless questions."

Ignoring Anika's comment, Novak continued, "I... I'm not sure. It just comes and goes. I thought maybe it was something I ate, but it happens even when I eat normal stuff. I tried changing my diet too, and that helped but then it didn’t. There’s not a pattern. It just… happens, like I just randomly get a frequent stomach bug?”

“You should try praying about it Novak,” Anika said, “Are we almost done?”

"I understand your concerns, Miss Rossi," Dr. Simmons replied calmly.

“It’s Mrs.,” Anika said, “I am married to the most godly man I could ever ask for, you will respect that.”

“My apologies, Mrs. Rossi,” Dr. Simmons said, “As I was saying, we are working together to understand what might be causing Novak's symptoms. Novak, you were saying?"

Novak, grateful for the doctor's understanding, continued, "It's like I randomly get a frequent stomach bug. No specific patterns, and changing my diet only helps temporarily."

Anika sighed audibly, clearly annoyed by the prolonged discussion. "You see, Doc, he just needs to eat better. It's not some mysterious illness."

Dr. Simmons acknowledged Anika's input while addressing Novak, "I appreciate your efforts to adjust your diet, Novak. It's a good step. We'll explore other possibilities as well. Now, about your eating habits—"

Anika cut in, "Can we just get to the point, doctor? I don't have all day for these pointless discussions."

Dr. Simmons, maintaining his patience, continued with a nod to Novak, "Unless you want to do extensive testing, the best I can do is prescribe an anti-nausea and anti-emetic, stronger than what you can get at a drugstore but I hear it tastes better anyway..”

“Absolutely not,” Anika said “What he needs is prayer, not prescriptions. We’re here because it is my duty as a follower of the Lord to bring up the next generation of his disciples, and I cannot do that if they get taken from me because I won’t play the silly little game of attention seeking so many of these young people play. Now, are we done?”

-

Days later, the soft glow of sunlight seeped through the curtains, casting a gentle warmth in Novak's room. The hospital seemed like a distant memory, replaced by the comforting familiarity of home. Marina sat by Novak's bedside, watching him with a mother's concern.

“How are you feeling, słoneczko?” Marina asked, her hand caressing his forehead.

Novak hesitated, his gaze drifting towards the window. "I'm getting there, Mom. Just taking it a day at a time. Hardest part is missing practice.”

Marina's eyes flickered with both relief and lingering worry.

“Your little superhero has been guarding your room like a fortress,” Marina chuckled, attempting to lighten the mood, “She said she wanted to be super just like daddy… and the best way to do it is to guard your room. Not sure what she’s guarding you from though.”

“Myself, probably,” Novak chuckled, “Hell knows I need it.”

"How are the symptoms?" Marina asked, "Your head and the vertigo?"

"Vertigo died down, thank god," Novak admitted, rubbing his face, "My head is still killing me, but that goes with the territory of a concussion."

"What about your medicine?" Marina asked, "The... which one did they give you? Rizatriptan?"

"Yeah, think so," Novak nodded, "I don't want to take it unless I really need it."

"It sounds like you do," Marina said, "But I suppose I can see where you're coming from.

Marina sat on the bed, sitting by Novak, rubbing his shoulder. “The doctors called again,” Marina said softly, “About the testing. They want to test some medicine on you. We never did finish that conversation.”

Novak hesitated, his breath catching in his throat. He hoped she forgot. And yet…

“Can I ask you a question,” Novak said, turning his gaze away from her and to the book in his hands, though he shut it.

“Of course,” Marina said, sitting across from him.

"Mom," Novak began, his voice soft and slightly shaky, looking away from Marina, avoiding her gaze, "If I told you anything, would you believe me..? Please believe me."

Marina furrowed her brow, concern deepening. "What do you mean, słoneczko? Of course, I would and will believe you. Why wouldn't I?"

Novak hesitated, the words struggling to find their way out. "Even if I said I was having... issues, with my stomach or something, but I didn't know why... would you believe me?"

“Of course I would, why would you ask me that?" Marina asked, “I will always believe you, even if nobody else does. I’m your mom, it’s my job.”

Novak took a deep breath, debating the merits of telling her the truth. The whole truth.

"Mom… Marina,” Novak began, his voice shaking, "Can we talk?"

Marina nodded, "Of course, Elya's asleep in your room, Henry's here keeping an eye on her too. What's going on słoneczko?"

Novak bit his lip, thinking over his words, before speaking, "You… did know I went through seven foster homes before I came to you… right?"

Marina nodded, “Of course. The social worker told me to be prepared.”

"I ended up in foster care because of my parents," Novak admitted, the weight of his past hanging heavily in the air. "They were heavy addicts. Their addictions made me… a troubled kid I guess, because I lacked stability. And then when I was seven… then they took me away from them.”

Marina's expression shifted from curiosity to a mixture of sadness and understanding, "Is that why you never take the rizatriptan?

Novak nodded. Marina squeezed Novak's hand.

"My dad was violent, and my mom was lost in her own world of addiction," Novak continued, "I got bounced around foster homes, and some of them... they weren't good. There was abuse, neglect. I never felt like I belonged anywhere…”

Marina hugged him from the side. He wrapped an arm around her too. This felt… safe.

Marina was safe.

“I had one family that cared… but they were taken from me,” Novak said, “Car accident. They were fighting. I think because of me… but I’ll never know.”

“Słoneczko,” Marina said, rubbing his shoulder, “I promise it isn’t your fault.”

“But… after that I started getting sick,” Novak said, “Anika… the woman I was with before you… she didn’t believe me. It didn’t matter how many friends parents got concerned, it didn’t matter how many times I was sick in front of her… none of it mattered.”

“What do you mean it didn’t matter?” Marina questioned, “It had to matter.”

“Not to Anika,” Novak said, “Her favorite thing to tell me was to ‘just pray about it’s, because to her… surely I couldn’t be sick. It had to be because I had no faith.”

“That’s bullshit,” Marina said, but continued rubbing Novak’s shoulder, "People like her give off bad impressions of whole churches and denominations."

“I got better I guess,” Novak said, “I mean… for a while. Anika was convinced I was the devil incarnate, so she turned me over to child services, but it wasn't so bad... I ended up with you.”

“Have you had these issues the whole time?” Marina asked.

“Yes, kind of… no?” Novak stammered, “I got better. And then college happened and football happened and Alyssa Schmidt happened… and then professional and then Elya… it’s been getting worse. I just… try to hide it. I don’t know what else to do.”

“That’s why you have days you won’t eat anything…” Marina said, “Or go to bed early.”

“Yeah. Usually if I feel nauseous I just… don’t eat,” Novak admitted, “I try to sleep, usually it never works. After I know everyone is asleep… then my body kind of… rejects everything I put in it and yes, it helps. But I get so… afraid? To be sick and have you or Elya or even Jayden or Henry… any of you know.”

“Słoneczko, you don’t have to be scared…” Marina said, “I know you’re not one to want to be coddled, as much as I want to. But I still want to know if you aren’t feeling well.”

“What did the doctors tell you?” Novak asked.

“Not much,” Marina admitted, “I mean… they thought you had stomach problems based on how dehydrated you were… and I think someone said something about your results mirrored that of someone with somewhat severe acid reflux, but I don’t know what exactly.”

“That’s what the doctor I saw… wow, almost ten years ago?” Novak said, “That was what he thought.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through all that,” Marina said, “Really. But… I’m here. I promise, I’m here. I’m your mother. You have my last name. You are my family, and I love you as such. And then there's Jayden, Henry, the rest of your team, you have safe people now słoneczko.”

“I know,” Novak nodded, giving Marina a proper hug, “I’m starting to realize that now.

#emeto #emeto fic #emeto cw #emeto tw #sickfic #fever cw #fever tw #abuse cw #abuse tw #tw abuse #religious trauma tw #religious trauma cw

[side-b-bumblebi]

Sometimes I feel like I'm walking on eggshells around other people's religious trauma and I don't know if they'd do the same for me.

I try to avoid anything that will upset them, try to avoid Christianity entirely if it makes them feel better, but they still feel more than happy to mock religious people, especially Christians, around me knowing that I am one.

Do they think it was a walk in the park having people speculate on whether or not LGBT people were going to hell for years? Do they think I enjoyed laying awake at night fighting tears because I thought my friends would hate me if they knew?

It's true, I've had an easier time than some. My mom used to have outdated ideas about LGBT stuff, but she's taken the time to educate herself. Maybe they resent that they didn't have that or something.

But... is it fair that I should face the brunt of that? Maybe I said stupid things to them before, BUT I WAS A CHILD. They gave me issues about my neurodivergent traits as a little girl that I'm still working through, but I've forgiven them, surely they can forgive me too? We were just kids who didn't know any better.

And I think they have forgiven me. They know I was young and they know they said some pretty dumb stuff when they were young too.

Yet why do they still treat me like I'm the one who hurt them? Why do they try so little to see me differently when I'm always trying so hard for them? Even silently praying before a meal or making a comment about some persecuted Christians in another country (keywords in another country) or something as tiny as wearing a cross necklace quickly gets me snide comments.

They remind me they have religious trauma. Okay. That is entirely fair and they should ask me to respect that. I've bent over backwards to respect that. But... I haven't seen an ounce of respect in return. I told them that it made me upset when they did these things because Christianity has been one of the few things that has helped me to stem my tendencies towards self-harm.

And they mocked me for it...

I'm trying so hard not to resent them and be bitter. I love them so much. We've been so close for years, I don't know what I would do without these people. But I don't feel like I can be myself around them. I'm starting to feel so very suffocated around them.

I just want to be me. I'm okay with being delicate and gentle if that's what they need. I just wish they'd do the same for me...

I have church wounds too... everyone thinks I don't, they think I'm Little Miss Perfect who's never had a problem. But I've struggled horribly with religious anxiety. I used to lie awake at night thinking about hell, terrified I would go there.

It's taken years for me to get to the point where I can really say I love God and not that I'm needlessly afraid of Him. I want to celebrate that, I want to shout it from the rooftops. And I want help on the days I stumble backwards. But they won't be happy for me. They only see what they want to see. They only see Little Miss Perfect. And even if they could get past that, they'd still think I was stupid for not just giving up on Christianity all together.

I'm so very sad right now. I don't know if I'll ever find people who love me for me sometimes...

#then i remind myself of my comminity on here... that helps #it's just so hard sometimes #self-harm tw #religious trauma tw #side b catholic #side b christian #side b lgbt #side b bisexual #catholicism #queer catholic #queer christian

[lukas-dark-miracles]

Lukas Inspiration || Poetry weaving

"Lukas didn’t want to be a monster - although now he supposed that was his role in the stories now. If he was to be a part of a bigger plan, he shouldn’t have cared so much for a human who he didn’t know the name of. He should have let her die. He was supposed to further a new gospel of darkness, and show that there was harmony there. He was supposed to play a role and maybe out of kindness change her - but a part of him couldn’t. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t make her give up the choice and he couldn’t let her just die without trying. " From Jaws

" 'We need to show them the dark, then? People can be saved if we show them the dark?' Lukas said unsurely - like a small child trying to understand mortality. It almost made Lizzie smile - the fact that he was so simple to think that anyone would be saved.

'Exactly that, little mouse,'She said, watching him flinch slightly at the nickname. He must have remembered her whispering that when she was stabbing him. Pity she liked that endearment. 'Because we cannot show them through the light, we will show them through the dark. We will have people’s worse and not try to fix them but accept them. We will let them do their worst to test the light, and when it becomes a standstill, we will know that we were right.' " From A New Gospel

"He was used to that question by now, and carefully he had an answer that had happened quite organically after probing people on what they wanted in a group. It was actually pretty easy to cultivate a sense of belonging when you’re thinking of why others might feel alone." From Come with me Now

"Lukas wasn’t sure why he kept doing this, sitting outside in the courtyard of the Church he once ran. Perhaps part of him did it instinctually, he had on many occasions sat out here after all. It was a perfect place to contemplate everything, the good and the bad. Maybe it also reminded him of those twilights with his Sire, where she wasn’t so scary. The gardens of a church had been a place of peace - the last time he had peace. So he sat there quietly thinking, his hands clutching each other in a pretend version of a prayer, his head bowed for prayers he no longer thought God could hear. 

Maybe this just proved  he actually wanted to pray and turn to the light, but he was already a monster. He was chosen for this after all. Salvation for Lukas could only be through the darkness, so he should stop trying to hear the choirs from inside the church. He should stop trying to hold a rosary closely. He should move from his spot, even if just being near the old church gave him comfort. He didn’t need it anymore, and more importantly he didn’t deserve it. Surely though he could stay in the garden outside. After all, Eden was the place where good and evil were hand and hand until it tipped. Surely the snake had the same amount of rights to wander the place as did the rest of creations." From In the Garden of Good and Evil

" Lukas wasn’t exactly sure what was going on with the vampire in front of him but he knew well enough that people were willing to die for a lot of things. He stilled his face, in a similar way he had the day he died not wanting to set off whatever that was in the other. She reminded him a lot of his sire and he wasn’t quite sure if that was a survivable thing." From a Comforting Face

"'I don’t think most of the people here are going to live if someone doesn’t kill me. If I don’t kill them She will and I can’t stand to see the blood again. I keep asking God to kill me and he hasn’t, so everyone’s going to die and the only thing I can do is kill them before she tortures them in front of me again. No one is going to agree to go through this hell or be a puppet. I hate Her and her games,' Lukas said horrified, his eyes wide as the words seemed to pull from him before he could stop them. He hadn’t meant to say that and as soon as he did his mouth clenched. 'What exactly did you just do to me? What was that?” His voice was harsh, arms crossed as he felt the burns on his hands itch. He didn’t like thinking about this, and he didn’t know why it was pulled from him. " From Confessions in the Dark.

"He really was beautiful, and Lukas couldn’t help how his eyes widened and he paused. He only seemed to remember to breathe when Cassius stepped back slightly arm still wrapped around him as Lukas’s brain tried to catch up with what was being said and implied. The smile seemed too lovely to be for him, and part of him wanted to step back afraid of the last beautiful person that had turned him into a monster. While he had only wanted to be Lizzie’s friend, this close he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be Cassius’s. Not when he was this close to him. Hell -  he didn’t want to be, and he really didn’t know what to do with that information. So, he just looked for a moment, and then realizing that he did need to speak if only for the other’s sake he tried to form words. Clunky and not at all possessing the confidence of a former preacher he whispered, 'I don’t want you to let me go. I really don’t. That’s dangerous, Cassius.'" From a Totally Normal Date

Credits (in order) @mortemoppetere @realmackross @nightmaretist @muertarte @disinfernus @singdreamchild

Quotes (x)

#religious trauma tw #domestic abuse tw #domestic violence tw #idealism sits in prison; musings #I had fun again another for you all #again thank you to everyone who writes with me I had to pick only so many threads but I love all of them very muchly #I would smoosh all of them together if given half of an opportunity.

[chr1st14nr4dqu33r]

can i ask why you believe in god?

Teigfer warning for technical traumadumping but...Well, there are technically two answers to that.

One: Im TransChristian. I have religious trauma and this is a coping mechanism. I believe in God because it helps me handle my day-to-day life. Thinking that a higher being loves me for me is nice and makes me feel good.

And two: Spite.

Not only spite for the people who gave me trauma but spite regarding anti-christians who made me feel bad for even thinking about being christian. Spite regarding anti-muslims, the ones who used to tell me that wearing a hijab was immoral and told me to go read about peoples trauma so i would never touch religion again. Spite regarding the people who tell me God hates me.

I am a good person out of both faith and spite.

Mostly spite. But also, I enjoy staying in my good graces.

God bless. Amen.

#christianity tw #religious trauma tw #tw religion #radqueer community #radqueer

[r7iverett]

vent rant

mAN why do i feel guilty

I had a really good day today, got shit done, yet I feel guilty over saying “please don’t call me best friend”. Just 6 simple words are making me feel guilty for, what, sticking up for myself? Saying I’m uncomfortable with being called that by someone I don’t really like??

Oh, yeah, and I hate two people whose names are similar to mine!! One’s a fucking homophobe AND transphobe, the other one I wouldn’t be surprised if they were. And they’re both Christians. Nothing bad about being Christian, but they’re the “get Jesus and repent” kind. Man, I don’t know if I have religious trauma or what but I actually despise religious talk. Makes me wanna cry. I was in elementary when I was first shamed for believing in no god. ELEMENTARY. I was younger. Less mature. Less understanding of the world. And yet a fucking adult shamed me for believing in what I wanted. A full grown adult.

And now I’m put into a school full of Christians. And I’m the probably only atheist here. There may be one more but I’m not sure. But I feel like the only one. Luckily, I know someone who respects people who are gay and is Christian and doesn’t pressure it onto me 24/7. Because I hate people like that. I hate the person sitting next to me in TSA because they believe that gayness and being trans is wrong.

I hate the people sitting at the table next to me in ela because they’re so stupid and so immature. I hate my classmates in gateway because they’re so stupid to the point where they don’t know what basic reproduction is. They’re so fucking stupid. I hate them so much. I hate them. I hate my health class because people don’t ever listen or do anything except one person, and the people to the right of where I sit, except for one person because she’s actually smart, just don’t care. They don’t care about others. I hate the person who sits a bit ahead of me in health because they think my anger is funny. I hate everyone and anyone who thinks my anger is genuinely amusing. I hate it when people say “I understand you” and yet they don’t.

I hate everyone who says that. I hate anyone who says basic, negative human emotions are funny. How would you feel??? How would you feel if you were angry and people were laughing at you? How would you feel if people were pressuring something on you that you don’t believe in? How would you feel, hm? How would you feel if you were so emotional to the point where you isolate yourself for hours on end without other people’s voices and touch while you have a breakdown? How would you feel? And be honest, people! How would you feel?

People don’t understand. They don’t understand my brain. How I function. Funny how the only person who’s super super close to me (aka my mom) doesn’t understand my feelings. And yet people who I don’t interact as much with, such as one of my friends who’s present online but also an irl friend, understands me more than anything. Funny how my online friends get me more than my parents. My mom doesn’t understand anything. She says she’s the same way and yet she’s not. She’s compared sitting and standing once, saying they’re the same thing. /srs

I think my mom’s dense because they are, in fact, nkt the same thing. And I hate when she says “would you do this in class?”, because, NO. I WOULD NOT. But I’m doing it here, because it’s a non-public space, and no one can see me but myself, my brother and you. And I hate my dad, too. I don’t like him. I love my parents, but I don’t like my dad too much. I hate him more than I love him. He doesn’t believe someone can go by they/them pronouns, and as someone who prefers it when people refer to me with they/them online and partially irl, it makes me want to sob. He makes me feel like I’m pressured to shave. He doesn’t let me have headphones or my tablet at the table because he wants to “have a family dinner / lunch”. I wish you weren’t my dad sometimes. Because I don’t like you.

I feel like I’m too emotional. I cry too easily. I get angry too easily. And it doesn’t make it easier that I pressure myself. I pressure myself to get stuff done sometimes. I hate this. I hate my brain. Why must I do this to myself. And the only way I can relieve this hatred and sadness is either keeping it to myself or talking to people online about it.

I hate this. And I’m starting to hate me.

#vent #/neg #rant #negative rant #homophobia tw #homophobia mention #homophobia mention tw #transphobia tw #transphobia mention #transphobia mention tw #tw religious trauma #religious trauma tw #religious trauma #<- just in case. I don’t know if I’d consider it trauma but I wanted to add this. #tw toxic Christianity #toxic Christianity #toxic Christianity tw #tw homophobia #tw homophobia mention #tw transphobia #tw transphobia mention

[recoverr]

religious trauma is like. having (1) remotely human thought and thinking you're going to hell for it. for all of it. for no reason, you're just going to hell and then going #facts #bible #guilt

#religious trauma #cptsd #mental health #religious trauma tw #religious abuse #tw religion #tw religious trauma

[crownquill]

X / X / X / X

#UHHHHGGGGHHHG GG GAHAHJA??@ #having some THOUGHTS. and FEELINGS. about christianity today everyone #web weaving #web weavings #religious trauma tw #religion #parallels #12:rant

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

(TW: family conflict, religious trauma implied)

August 11th, 1992

I woke up to Sarah screaming tonight.

My lungs hurt for a reason I didn’t remember, but I could barely even choke out a cough before I ran out of my room to check on her. She was curled up by her bed, sobbing and hugging her stuffed rabbit close to her as she stared at the window. She looked horrified, and wouldn’t even look at me when I tried to ask her what happened. She only told me about how “something was outside her window”, broken up by sobs and cries for mom to help her.

When Mom and Dad eventually left their room to see what was going on, they stared at me as if I was the one that scared her. The reason she was crying. Or at least Dad looked at me like that. Mom was more focused on helping me stop Sarah’s crying to pay much attention to me. Though when I looked up at Dad, he looked almost furious with me. Then he went on a rant about how I’ve been scaring Sarah with my own delusions. Are you fucking kidding me? First you throw out all of my things cause you thought horror movies were rotting my brain with “satanic imagery” and now you’re saying that I’m scaring my own sister? I don’t get it. I don’t understand. I get I wasn’t the son you wanted, can you let it go already?

I’m going to Cesar’s tonight. I can’t stay here right now, I just can’t. I can hear them downstairs talking about it. I’ll wait until they’re done to leave, when they go to bed.

I hate not feeling at home in my own house anymore.

#mandela catalogue #tmc home sweet home au #hsh mark #hsh sarah #Arthur Heathcliff (tmc) #Leah Heathcliff (tmc) #religious trauma tw #shmorp writes sometimes #unreality #I don't understand. everythings so confusing now. #Why would she see something out her window when we sleep on the second floor? #ooc: H. Hey guys uh. new fic incoming. at some point it's in the works still but stay tuned

[shoechoe]

oh my god ok. i like to think that not only was diavolo raised in a church but the church was abusive as hell and they continued to call him diavolo because they viewed him as an abomination, devilspawn. i think he tried so so hard to be a good catholic boy when he was young but it never worked because no matter what he did the church hated him and abused him and he thought well! maybe god doesn't love me, maybe theyre right, and as he grew older he decided to go with that, to run with the evil because it's all he knew. then there's doppio, who as an alter really holds all the hope to be good and listen and obey.

does this make sense . this doesnt make sense does ir

That makes tons of sense. Actually, I've always had a pretty similar idea. His birth was definitely unnatural in a way that could be interpreted as "demonic" by a church, and an abusive priest especially could use that as a way of labelling a child as "cursed" or an "abomination" and abusing him for it no matter what he did. After all, why else would his legal name just be "Devil" if he was raised by a priest? That could absolutely cause a lot of childhood trauma and make a kid feel dehumanized, trapped, and destined to become evil- so Diavolo ended up becoming just that, fulfilling the church's self-forged prophecy.

Doppio would be interesting as the alter that holds the hope to be good and obedient, because he really twists that idea of "goodness", right? He does listen and obey Diavolo without question and receives praise by him for it, but he receives that praise by working for the Mafia and helping Diavolo to hunt down and kill his daughter. Ironically, him obeying Diavolo is actually his source of evil. That would parallel religious abuse really well, because an abusive church teaches you to mindlessly obey a harmful doctrine, just like Doppio is made to cause harm by working for the mafia. That'd work really well.

#religious trauma tw #shoe talks a lot #asks #mutuals (epic) #diavolo jjba #doppio jjba #headcanons