#tw religious trauma

[moncherellie]

𓆩⚝˚‧no room for the holy spirit ♱꙳˚₊‧

a/n: finally it's here! been screaming into the void abt this one for... ever. a thousand thank yous to @thirsting-over-women who proofread this for me :>> my savior actually. if the religious themes offend you (whether you are religious or have trauma) i encourage you not to read, maybe check out my other works instead :D

content/warnings: 4,500 words, preachers daughter!ellie x fem!reader, nsfw, reader wears a skirt, semipublic/car sex, fingering, oral (r receiving), reader's first wlw experience, sexual awakening?, religious motif, christian themes, mild religious guilt throughout, mentions of religious homophobia, internalized homophobia, ellie smokes a lil, she's a bit mean, fuckin in a church parking lot

The pressures of being a teenage girl were hard enough without the pressures of being a gay teenage girl. Being a gay teenage girl was hard enough without the pressures of being the daughter of a fucking preacher. Ellie had never really bought into the whole 'organized religion' thing, ever the skeptic. Even as a puny 8-year-old, she asked why she had to wake up early every Sunday for something she didn't even like doing. Her attitude didn't change much after that, but her parents got stricter and stricter in an attempt to control her sacrilege. She didn't spend much time with her family, instead seeking familial bonds at school, especially with her mechanics teacher, Mr. Miller. But, you know what they say:

Strict parents raise sneaky children.

And it's true. If Ellie's dad knew what she was doing outside the holy walls of the ministry, he'd have an aneurysm and have her exorcised. But, she always thought, what he doesn't know won't hurt him.

You were the opposite. Raised the same as Ellie, you took to religion and fully participated, though mostly out of obligation. Just go every week for an hour and your family will leave you alone. This tactic, for the most part, worked. Your traditional family had their rough moments, specifically when they mocked the outfits you'd wanted to wear to service and called you some... unsavory names. But if you could avoid any similar incident, any clash with authority, you were taking the holy road.

On the outside, you were the purest of people. There was never a bad or dirty thought in your mind. You were a pillar of the community, someone that parents pointed out to their kids. "Be like them," they'd say. Your parents were proud, so you should've been proud. Should've.

You and Ellie had grown up quite close due to being in similar social groups and seeing each other every week at service. Since then, you'd grown apart as you took different paths in life, though you still felt a sense of commitment toward her; So when she cursed out her father in front of the clergy, your eyes widened.

"You fucking dick! You don't know shit about anything! You use all this- this... bullshit- as a crutch so you don't have to own up to your own baggage!"

As she stormed out, you silently move from your spot in the choir, doe eyes shining in the bath of stained glass light, and shuffle up to the front of the room.

"Father, if I may, I would like to go check on your daughter." You're a model fixture, a saint.

"Of course, my child. I hope someday she'll be more like you. I pray that-" You shuffle off again, not wanting to hear about how he wishes his daughter was different. He really wishes his child hid who she was, you think bitterly. You admired Ellie's rebellion, though you'd never say it, and you wished you were as strong as her.

You walk away from the church to the little park you and Ellie used to go to. Your memories flood with nostalgia for simpler times, and you smile to yourself, pleasantly strolling through the large trees and foliage and looking for the rough girl. You find her crouching against a tree, squatting with her head between her legs.

Is she crying?

"... Ellie? Are you alright?" You whisper, not wanting to startle her.

You notice Ellie tense up before quickly standing up and whipping around to face you, a hand behind her back. "Oh! It's... you. Hey. Aren't you s'posed to be inside?"

"Yeah, but I just wanted to check on you. That was intense in there."

"Mhm, I'm good. Just needed some, ah, fresh air. Y'know?" She sounds a little too jolly, weirdly chipper. It's suspicious.

"Uh-huh," you say, unconvinced. "Whatcha got there?" You point to whatever she's trying to conceal.

She knows she's been caught. Her attitude suddenly shifts from faux-innocence to her usual snarky persona as she rolls her eyes, leaning against the tree and revealing what she had. She brings her hand up to her lips. "Nothing."

"Ellie!" You shriek. "You can't do that! Where'd you even get a cigarette?"

She laughs as if you'd said the funniest thing imaginable. "You think this is a cigarette? Are you stupid? No offense. But are you stupid?"

You scoff. "No! I mean, you're smoking it. What else am I supposed to guess?"

"A blunt, idiot. Kush. Mary Jane. Weed. Ma-ri-jua-na." She spells out for you like you're a toddler.

You cross your arms defensively. "Okay, I know what weed is, smart guy. You still shouldn't have it. Where's it from?"

"Stole it. I just wanted to see why people liked it so much. They say it relieves stress, and I think yes." Ellie grins lazily, eyes lidded. "I got another. You want?"

The answer to your question only makes you freak out more. "No! And you stole?! You stole? Oh my goodness, Ellie, you're gonna get us thrown in jail or something!"

Ellie wordlessly watches your breakdown, eyes red and amused, the corner of her mouth turned up. "Relax, man, it's barely illegal. Who's calling the cops for a single gram? Don't be lame like that."

"Lame?" You scoff. "Are you a first grader? Ellie, it's against the law, you could go to prison. And it's not juvie anymore, you're gonna go to real jail!" Your hands flail around wildly as you explain the repercussions of her actions.

"Jail..." She rolls her eyes.

"Yes, jail! That's kinda what happens when you steal something, Ellie!" The high-pitched, prissy tone with which you said her name was starting to annoy her, but the way you looked when flustered was intriguing. Maybe in another context, she'd enjoy hearing her name fall from your lips.

Ellie takes another hit, looking up at you. She tilts her head, asking if you're being serious. "Jail? Over a single blunt? Who cares that much?"

You gasp when you realize: "I'm an accomplice!"

"You're not an accessory just because you're here." She chuckles as the wind blows past and carries her smoke near your head as you duck dramatically and swat away the smoke. She looks at you for a moment, slightly smiling. Her green eyes meet yours briefly before turning her attention back to the joint.

"Why are you using it anyway? It smells rancid."

"Already told you. I wanna know why people do it. It relieves stress and I'm plenty stressed. Plus, I look dope as shit with it, right?" Ellie leans against the tree, and a small part of you wants to say yeah, you do. "You should try it. Maybe get that stick out of your ass."

"You're gonna get addicted."

"God, it's just this once. What are you gonna do, tell my dad?" She chuckles to herself, taking a long drag.

She checks you out, head to toe, examining the flowy fabrics and neat hair and the Mary Jane shoes that drive her crazy. Who wears those? Her gaze returns to meet yours, and she looks utterly dumbfounded by you. Your eyebrows furrow as you see how her expression changes. "What's that look for?"

She shrugs nonchalantly. "I dunno. You're just so robotic. It's like you never think about stepping the teensiest bit out of line. It's creepy. You've never had an independent thought in your life. Have you ever done anything even remotely rebellious?"

You make a noise that seems to say Well why would I? "No! Of course not! And you shouldn't either, I mean look at your dad, he's-"

Her voice raises, a tone you've never heard and don't care to hear again. "-My father? You mean the preacher?" She mocks. "What about him? You don't know anything about my father." Ellie's look hardens, eyes steely and mouth pursed into a thin line. It's a look you've seen maybe twice before, both in much more tense situations. Her voice says that you can't change her mind. You don't care to try. Whatever she's referencing, you believe her.

"Okay. Okay... sorry." You say gently, losing the defensive energy you'd held a moment ago. Ellie sighs and takes an irritated puff. To relax, you think.

"And you always apologize. It's so weird. You need to loosen up a bit." Another long, somehow sarcastic hit. "What's the worst thing you've *ever* done?"

An embarrassing, very private thought crosses your mind. You obviously can't tell her what you think about at night- you're barely able to admit to yourself that you have such impure thoughts. Instead, you shake your head. "Can't- I can't think of anything."

You watch her forest green eyes roll up, then down. It's a very familiar expression on her. "Thought so." She grins up at you, and you look away into the treeline nervously. "Do you wanna try something fun?"

"Is it... illegal?"

"No. Don't worry about that." She motions for you to come closer, so you take a tentative step forward, eyeing her like a wild animal. She hates the way you look at her, making her feel alien. Just because she lives authentically. It makes her want to ruin you, to have you stoop down to her level. Then maybe you won't look at her as if she were extraterrestrial.

You need an attitude adjustment, you need to chill the fuck out, you needed to get fucked, and hard. Ellie thinks she can help you with that.

She grins that toothy smirk as she watches you step closer, taking a puff and placing the blunt between her slender fingers. She doesn't miss the way your eyes trail the two long fingers that hold it. You wonder if she's doing this on purpose.

Ellie backs you up against a tree, and you recognize is as the same old oak that you would climb with her as kids. The branches and bark have left scars on you that Ellie helped you heal. She wonders how they look now.

Your back hits the trunk with an unceremonious thump, and you startle. Ellie keeps walking toward you, now getting uncomfortably close. "Uh- so what are we..." You trail off, thinking she'll explain what she's doing right in your face. She doesn't.

Her arm raises, trapping you between the tree and her body as she studies you. It makes you want to crawl out of your skin, but feels incredibly electric at the same time- it's a sensation you've only felt around her, though you don't know why. She takes another hit and you nervously look away.

She tilts your jaw back to look at her. You have to face her pretty green eyes, unwavering as she stares you down, while you sneak glances just to check if she's still there. Your breath speeds up when she leans closer.

Ellie puts her stupid pink slightly chapped adorable smiling lips near the base of your neck.

"What are you doing?" You say breathlessly. You swear that you feel her ghosting over your skin, so close, yet not as close as you want her. Maybe if you lean in...

Before you can, she breathes out her smoke, lightly trailing her lips down your neck. Her tongue comes out to prod at the skin, tasting you. You whine. The smoke envelops the two of you, and your nose crinkles at the foul smell. You look down to chastise her but she's already looking at you with those eyes and that cheeky look. No matter what you say next to defend yourself, you know you're caught, that Ellie knows she's affected you. It's in your eyes, the way you've seized up so tightly, how you look at her like you can't wait to see what she does next.

She presses a chaste kiss on your collarbone and you crane your neck upward. You're not sure if you're trying to get away or if you're giving her more access. She pulls away and you find yourself leaning forward to try to get her back on you.

"Is that the most rebellious thing you've ever done?" She chuckles, taking another drag and blowing it over you, bathing you in the white haze. "You like being treated like that, huh?"

You shiver. "I don't get it," you say dumbly. You've never been this confused.

"What don't you get? I just think it's fun to make you squirm." She thinks you've had enough and blows her next exhale away from you. "I wanna corrupt you, sweetheart." It sounds derogatory coming from her but you find that you don't mind the tone. The spot Ellie had made contact with feels as if it's burning. You crave for that feeling all over your body.

You stammer over your words, pathetically unable to spit out any sort of coherent reaction to her. Any reaction would be better to tripping over your words. Fed up with trying to sound like a person, you decide to stop talking.

"You enjoyed that huh? Admit it." She inhales and repeats her action. "Makes you feel hot inside."

"What? No- no, are you insane?" The sane part of you is telling you that you shouldn't be doing this, especially not with Ellie fucking Williams of all people. She's everything you aren't- she's rude and snarky and devilish... and tall and strong and hot. Oh shit! The batshit insane part of you is slowly melting the angel on your shoulder, and you can basically see the little devil cackling as you feel yourself straying further from the good girl persona you'd cultivated. You feel your heartbeat in your pants.

Ellie begins to kiss down your neck, sucking and licking at your jaw and collarbone. This time, you're acutely aware that you're actively giving her access to do as she pleases with you. "Maybe I'm insane, but I can tell. You did like it. And if you deny, I'll do it again until you tell the truth."

"Well I didn't, so you can forget about-"

She places her thumb on your lower lip as you start your tirade, effectively shutting you up. "Too late." Ellie leans in and before you know it, her lips are on yours. Her arm snakes around the back of your waist and pulls you as close to her as you've ever been. That warm feeling flushes down your body, leaving chills across your skin. More. All you can think is that you want more. Your hands come up to grip her shoulders, you almost want to push her away, but you find yourself pulling her closer and closer. No room for the Holy Spirit.

Ellie pulls away, smugly looking down at you. "Told you you liked it."

"I didn't say that." You were being a contrarian on purpose at this point. Anything to keep Ellie treating you like this- you wanted to prolong this moment for however long you could. She hoists you up, bringing you out of the park and into the back of the parking lot. She throws you into the backseat of her beaten pickup and crawls atop you with darkened eyes.

You squeal in surprise. "El-lie!"

She continues to kiss you, making you wetter by the second. The heat pooling in your panties is so fucking embarrassing, but you find that you don't care how humiliating this is. You just want more.

"Els, what if someone sees?"

She scoffs as if the idea is preposterous; as if the prospect of getting caught is impossible. "Nobody can see us, and they won't leave until later. Don't stress about it." Ellie bites her lip and it makes your body get hot flushes. "I can do whatever I want to you. But you know what? I think you'd let me. Is that right?"

"...Maybe." Read: Yes, yes, anything! She leans down, placing her hand on the back of your neck and pulling your head closer up towards her. Her hand forces your legs apart further to allow her access. The way she lays on your inner thighs, atop your clothed core, makes you feel lightheaded. You love the way she manhandles you, and it's exactly how you thought she'd be. Every time she adjusts her position, your clit rubs against her and sends jolts of electricity up your body.

"I knew it. You're not as perfect as you try to be. You're dirty."

You want to deny it, you really do, but the evidence is clear. You're disheveled under her, lips swollen from hers, and she's pulling your panties to your ankles and shoving them in her jacket pocket, yet you're ashamed to say that you don't feel an ounce of guilt over it.

Despite how excited you are for whatever is about to happen, you're still incredibly nervous. This is the most physically vulnerable you've ever been with another person, and the fact that you're completely bare under your skirt makes your stomach flip.

Your face must betray your emotions because Ellie momentarily softens. She pulls her hands away from your hips and cups your face, peppering kisses across your cheeks and up to your forehead, making you laugh lightly. "You alright? We can stop."

"No... please don't." Her face lights up.

"Sorry, say that again?" You roll your eyes and she chuckles. "I knew you were like this. Not so pure now, huh?"

"Guess not."

"So you admit it?"

"...Fine. Yes."

Ellie sighs in relief as if her thirst were quenched- that's what she's been wanting to hear from you forever. She could see it in the way you snuck glances at her during mass, finding your wandering, hungry eyes from across the room. She could feel it in the way your hand lingered on her a little too long to be friendly, your touch suspiciously light, like if you touched her any harder you'd start to tremor.

But now, there's no semblance of the timid person you'd been. When Ellie pulls away, your hand comes up to the back of her neck to pull her back in. You're insatiable, and Ellie fucking loves it. She tugs at the bottom of your sweater. "Pull that fucking thing off. Show me those pretty tits." Her breath becomes heavy as you oblige and become needier. "Did you know you were this easy?" She teases.

"What? I'm- I'm not." Everything she says feels designed to evoke the biggest reaction from you. She keeps you on your toes, never letting you get too comfortable. How exciting.

"So it's just for me then?" You don't answer, and it excites Ellie to know that she's right. This reaction is purely for her. Nobody else has seen you like this, and she's grateful to be the one who gets to corrupt you. It really didn't take much effort. "You're so easy to control."

Her hands drift back to your thighs, sliding under your skirt, her lips press to your jawline. Hot breath trails along your neck, down further to your collarbone. Her fingers slide over your inner thighs, sensitive skin rippling as she applies light pressure, testing how reactive you are. You twitch, unwittingly opening your legs more and giving Ellie more access. "You look good like this, though."

Ellie's fingers dig into you, grasping the flesh of your ass and moaning softly into your ear. Her thumbs are on either side of where you desperately need her, and your hips buck up into her, seeking her touch. "Knew you had a nice ass, too."

"Shut up." You mumble.

"Why would I? You like it when I say things like that, don't you? You wouldn't be this drenched if you didn't." She swipes the pad of her thumb over your clit and applies delicious pressure. You nearly cum on the spot.

Is this what you've been missing? This pleasure, this euphoria? Ellie grins at your reaction, drinking in your desperation for her like a succubus. "Aw, sensitive little pussy. Haven't you touched yourself like this before?"

You had, a few times, actually, but it never went this far, deep-rooted guilt gnashing in your stomach and ending the moment before you'd been able to finish. After admitting this, she coos at you. "Poor baby." Her tone is so condescending, but it makes you clench around the tip of her fingers.

She slides the first knuckle of two fingers past your entrance, pumping them in and out painfully slowly. "Ellie, you prick. Come on." She continues her ministrations, gently stroking your entrance, never giving you enough to feel remotely satisfied. She uses this time to take in your disheveled, sweaty appearance. Your cute tits bounce as you shift uncomfortably, waiting for Ellie to please you. A bead of sweat rolls down and she can't help but bring her mouth up to lick at it as it slides over your nipple. Her mouth attaches to you and you sigh, holding her closer by her hair. She grins up at you, making eye contact through her lashes. You can see the tip of her tongue poking out, wetting your bud as the cool air nips at you, making you all the more sensitive. Even now, Ellie still hasn't stopped her teasing below.

"Can't call me a prick then beg for me to fuck you. 's not how it works, pretty girl."

"Then what do you want?" You whine.

Ellie can feel your clit flutter and pulse as she moves. "Fuck, you're so desperate for me, aren't you? I want you to tell me how bad y' want me."

"I- I d-" You begin to protest, being cut off with a squeal as Ellie licks a sloppy stripe up your pussy, finally tasting you.

"Don't bullshit me. If I'm gonna fuck you, I needja to be a little more honest with me. I see how you look at me. You been trying to push some thoughts down, huh?"

It was so humiliating how well she could read you. Whenever her tongue came out of her mouth to take communion, your eyes would be trained on the muscle, breath hitching as she would wink at you. Without fail, you would trail your gaze up her body when Ellie walked in with a suit, her way of dressing nicely for service. Always, always, she could feel the heat radiating off your body as she pulled you closer, not taking her eyes off the pastor speaking.

Your thoughts were impure, sinful, and how embarrassing that Ellie knew. You believed you were hiding it well- obviously not.

"Yeah. Maybe."

Ellie's big hands wrap around your thighs, fingers landing on the sensitive skin near your pussy. She looks up at you and you can feel her hot breath on your clit. It takes everything in Ellie to not eat you out immediately, but your embarrassment is too tempting to pass up.

"Tell me about it. You try to fuck yourself thinkin' of me?"

"I do. I- I tried to, at least. Doesn't work."

"Why not, babe? You're so responsive right now." Her fingers find their place back at your entrance, pushing in as you speak.

"I- oh, shit-" You gasp.

Ellie grins. "Talk to me."

"My fingers aren't good enough."

"Ah," she says, "and mine are?" She knows the answer.

"So good."

Ellie likes that she's made you desperate enough that you've abandoned your pride. She enjoys the flush on your face as you shamelessly admit your secrets to her, the good-girl persona a figment of the past.

She's so busy staring up at how your face contorts in pleasure that she doesn't realize that she hasn't moved her fingers in a hot minute. The teasing is torturous for you.

"Ellie," she hears you whine, "Please!" You rut your hips against her fingers and she feels lightheaded. Jesus fucking Christ.

"Sorry, pretty girl. Got distracted." She smirks. "I'll give you what you want now." Ellie finally moves her fingers, curling them in and out slowly. You groan again and she laughs. "Okay, okay! Sorry." Her face darkens and she bites her lip. "You want me to fuck you? Alright, I'll fuck you."

Ellie's fingers begin to pump inside you, hitting all the spots that make you jump and squirm, and you're sure the rusted heap of a car you're in is about to fall off its chassis. She's going so fast and hard that you're immediately overwhelmed and you don't know where to put your hands. In the span of a minute, they cup your face, a forearm slings over your eyes, and you throw your arms up against the window. Finally, you settle on cupping your cheeks, fingers slit open so you can peer down at Ellie's focus on you.

Her eyes haven't left your pussy since she started. She's absolutely mesmerized by how fucking wet you are, how you seem to suck her fingers back in as she tries to pull out and your body betrays how desperately you want her. Ellie's mouth is slightly agape and she can't help when her tongue flickers out to lick curiously at your clit, wanting to taste you again.

"Fu- fuck!" You yelp, bucking your hips up into her face. Ellie snorts as she watches how you squirm. You can feel something building and though you have an idea of what it is, it's building fast and slightly scaring you. "Wait, Els, hold on a second, something- ah- I think- I think I'm-"

You're nervous about how it creeps up on you so suddenly but you find there isn't time to be self-conscious about it because you cum, and you wonder why God could possibly think that doing this is a sin. How could it be a sin if it felt so right?

You don't know what sound you made or how your face looks, but by the way Ellie looks up at you, it must've been something. Her eyes flicker back down to how your clit pulses as you finish, leaking cum onto her fingers and trailing down her hand. You know what she's fucking thinking because you always do. Before you can form a sentence, she's licking up your cum like it's the best meal she's tasted.

You shudder violently. "Ellie, holy fuck, stop, I'm still sensitive! Oh m- Ellie, come on!" Only when you push her face up does she stop, giving you the cheekiest grin.

You roll your eyes and throw your head back against the car door, panting. The dull ache in your thighs is apparent when you attempt to sit, pulling your panties up and cringing at how your cum pools on them.

Ellie still hasn't said anything. You glance over at her, wondering how she feels about whatever just happened. She's looking down, grey hoodie still pulled up to her elbows, staring at the fingers she'd just fucked you with. She glances up at you, a shit-eating grin spreading across her face. 

“That was hot.” Her hand rubs up and down your thigh, a kind of comfort you’d never received from her. It wasn’t unwelcome.

You don’t quite know how to feel. There are twinges of guilt gnawing at your stomach, that religious guilt creeping in. Had you done something wrong? 

But at the same time, there was a warmth in Ellie’s gaze that made you feel like maybe, it was all worth it. Was it unholy? Almost definitely. But this awakening couldn’t be all bad if she kept looking at you with those soft, fond eyes.

my masterlist...

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x reader smut #tlou2 x reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams smut #fem reader #moncherellie writing #ellie williams oneshot #tw religion #tw religious trauma #tw #ellie williams

[asoftepiloguemylove]

GOD LOVES YOU, BUT NOT ENOUGH TO SAVE YOU // GOD AND SUFFERING

Andrew Joseph White Hell Followed With Us // Elizabeth Lindsey Rogers Questions About the Father // Brittany Broski Why I Left the Christian Church // Clarice Lispector (tr. Katrina Dodson) "The Departure of the Train," The Complete Stories // @/katabasiss // "Shiizakana," Hannibal (2013-2015) dir. Michael Rymer // Xooang Choi // Ocean Vuong "Prayer for the Newly Damned," Night Sky with Exit Wounds // The Vaccines Wetsuit // Mitski I'm Your Man // Fall Out Boy Just One Yesterday // Hélène Cixous Readings: The Poetics of Blanchot, Joyce, Kafka, Kleist, Lispector, and Tsvetaeva

#i want to believe in something but i don't know how #tw religious trauma #on god #poetry parallels #poetry compilation #web weave #web weaving #andrew joseph white #elizabeth lindsey rogers #brittany broski #clarice lispector #hannibal #will graham #xooang choi #ocean vuong #the vaccines #mitski #fall out boy #fob #helene cixous #on self #on loneliness #on heartbreak #writing #poem #spilled poetry #words #spilled thoughts #poetry #dark academia poetry

[nobetafortomorrowedie]

It really bothers me when people describe the way I grew up as "sheltered" when in reality I was not being sheltered or protected. I was intentionally confused. I was kept in the dark. My reality was being controlled.

#exmo #mormonism #exmormon #tw religious trauma #anti mormonism #ex mormon #anti mormon #apostake #ex christian #ex religious #my mother would fight tooth and nail to claim that she is a better mother than most #but the things she did and did not do for us is SHOCKING #for people who actually had good mothers at least

[aphidclan-clangen]

#clangen #wc clangen #wc #warrior cats #art #my art #aphidlore #tw horror #tw eye horror #tw mouth horror #tw religious trauma #tw religious abuse #tw eyestrain

[byebyassociation]

Analysis explaining why Daan can be inferred as a survivor of sexual violence, particularly in childhood through the Bunnymasks.

Text version below cut

“But it’s never stated Daan is a csa survivor”

Daan’s parents raised him in the Bunnymask sect of Sylvian’s cult. This sect is one of the few religious communions we’ve seen ingame.

It’s a massive orgy.

His parents traveled around to attend these orgies and neglected Daan

“Since you were a toddler, you had been travelling around the Europa with your parents. Your parents were devout followers of the older god of fertility and creation, Sylvian. Because of the nature of Sylvian's cult, in each new town you'd witness your parents putting on their rabbit masks and heading to the meadows naked with all the other cult members. You hated this life. Your parents would be more concerned on the matters of religion than you.” 

Which would be the end of it if not for this line

“To make it worse, they even tried to pass on the healing gift of Sylvian to you.”

Daan does not learn healing whispers at this point in time. He does not learn loving whispers either. Both are spells which restore the body’s health. He doesn’t learn anything from this, in fact. This is not something that can be used in a playthrough nor even further elaborated on in flavor dialogue.

In the original Fear and Hunger when you encounter the Bunnymask cult you are able to join in their activities. This gives your party a full mind and body heal. Unfortunately this is likely what Daan learned in his youth.

Daan was sexually trafficked through his faith while under the age of 13.

“You were 13 years of age and alone in the Kingdom of Rondon. You had to do something for living...”

Pickpocket Route

“You weren't cut out to be a street thug, so you had to rely on the only skills you had for the money... The healing gift of Sylvian. You ended up starting a street praction of medical care where you'd heal people of all social classes. You soon became surprisingly adept with the healing gift of Sylvian.”

And sadly escaped this sex cult by further being exploited through underage sex work, here is where he learned formal Sylvian spells

“You learned Healing Whispers and your affinity with Sylvian grew!”

Honest Work Route

“A butler of a local aristocrat took you under his wing as an apprentice. You started working for the Baron Eihner Von Dutch.”

Or offering sexual knowledge to an older man in exchange for an education, a deal called a ‘proposition’ by an older Daan.

“He taught you about the modern medical practices in exchange for your knowledge on the older god Sylvian.”

Note: Eihner being a predator of some kind is a heavily contentious theory as it hinges on his behavior as a sulfer cultist. However it is pretty fucking weird tm to be having a kid talk about sylvian, goddess of fertility, sex and lust in exchange for some sort of education

This is not all, just the instances and implications that immediately come to mind.

#fear and hunger #daan #daan fear and hunger #character analysis #f&h #tw abuse #tw sa #tw cult #tw rap3 #tw csa #f&h termina #daan termina #fear and hunger termina #funger #tw religious trauma

[gendynooch]

I used to volunteer for a Christian homeless outreach program. Giving out food donations, gently used clothes, prepping and giving out hot meals, such and such. The leader would also preach to the people waiting in lines for their next meal, before they were allowed to get it. Some people would come later when the sermons were basically over. And, I remember him essentially shaming them for it, bc how could you just come for your physical nourishment and not your spiritual nourishment?

That’s manipulation. That’s guilt tripping. No one should be forced to listen to your drawn out babble about God when they and their children are starving.

#tw religion #tw religious trauma #tw religious guilt #religious trauma #exvangelical #ex christian

[vidavalor]

Wrong Boy

What Bildad the Shuite, Mr. Dalrymple and Warlock's birthday party can tell us about what's going on in the 2.06 Final 15. Another post in a series about how "The Metatron" with Aziraphale at the end of S2 is actually Satan.

Warlock Dowling. The kid Crowley and Aziraphale took care of for a few years, believing him to be The Antichrist. Not actually The Antichrist. The wrong boy.

Warlock's 11th Birthday Party. The reason why Crowley and Aziraphale were there was to try again to stop Armageddon. Hell was supposed to show up at the party. The Devil was sending a gift to his son-- a dog. The Hell Hound. The gift, once accepted by The Antichrist, was supposed to signal the start of Armageddon.

Crowley and Aziraphale were undercover at the party in an effort to stop Warlock from encountering and naming The Hell Hound and starting the end times as a result... but The Hell Hound was late. The moment that results in them realizing they got it all wrong starts out with dialogue that is referenced again in S2-- in relation to The Meeting Ball.

Aziraphale followed Crowley out to The Bentley, mortified by having put on a terrible magic show in front of Crowley. Crowley, though, was gentle and caring in his reply. He tried to reassure Aziraphale and gas him up a bit.

Aziraphale: "That was all a bit of a disaster, I'm afraid."

Crowley: "Nonsense. You gave them a party to remember. Last one they'll ever have, mind..."

As they're sitting in The Bentley and after communicating with Hell during this scene via the radio, they realize that they fucked it up. The kid they thought was the spawn of The Devil is not actually that. Warlock is not The Antichrist. They had the wrong boy this whole time.

Nonsense. The meaning of "balderdash" and "piffle"-- the words spoken by "The Metatron" when he first arrives in 2.06. The first word of what Crowley said to Aziraphale in the "wrong boy" scene.

The gift for the "son". The Hell Hound. The Coffee.

A disaster termed "a night to remember": The Titanic.

The Titanic. Big ship, first of its kind. Hit iceberg. Was thought to be unsinkable. Turns out, it could very much sink. Angels can be tempted. They can sink-- can fall-- to the bottom of the ocean floor. Aziraphale falling is "The Titanic" of his story and the story overall.

If Warlock's birthday party = The Meeting Ball, then Crowley and Aziraphale have the "wrong boy" once again at the end of S2.

Instead of Warlock being mistaken for The Devil's son, "The Metatron" is really The Devil... who appears in the form of the closest thing Aziraphale has to a father-- The Metatron.

"My Heart Will Go On." Theme song from the film 'Titanic' and on Aziraphale's playlist for S2. Uh oh...

Then, there's this:

"It will be a night to remember!" Aziraphale, describing his then-upcoming Meeting Ball in an episode-ending bit of important dialogue while pointing Upwards, foreshadowing both Crowley going Up and Aziraphale's "going Up to get Down" that happens at the end of this Titanic hitting the iceberg. Crowley will actually wind up trying to keep most of the partygoers from not remembering as much of the events of this party as possible... ironically, since Aziraphale says "a night to remember" to Crowley in reference to the kind thing Crowley said to him about the kids being happy to remember Warlock's birthday party.

The next morning, Crowley will use dialogue that references Warlock's birthday party again... either consciously or unconsciously. Either way, it's a dialogue reference to it for us to notice... and it makes sense that Warlock's party would fit into 2.06's Final 15 here because the dialogue we're talking about is from a scene that's actually after the party... and this is all taking place after, well, a party.

The dialogue shows up here:

Crowley: "Oh, I know you. Last time I saw you, you were a giant, floating head, mind."

Welcome to the only other scene in the series in which Crowley has used "mind" at the end of a sentence but for the casual time he did post-Warlock's birthday party. It's calling our attention to the late Hell Hound not arriving at that party... in the moment that "The Metatron" has just arrived here, in the aftermath of the mirrored party.

The Devil himself is here this time.

It might also be worth noting that when Crowley and Aziraphale figure out that Warlock is the wrong boy, it's because of Crowley having just spoken to Hell via the radio in The Bentley... which is also how Satan attacked Crowley in 1.01. Those two scenes are then tied together and both of them are in play in 2.06.

The show also takes pains to call the meeting a "party" several times. Besides Aziraphale saying "we're having a ball", the character who is of The Devil and whose actions let The Devil Himself into the bookshop-- Shax-- twice refers to what's going on as "a party." When she arrives: "how sweet-- they're having a party" and, later, she corrects Mr. Brown of Brown's World of Carpets when he says that what is going on is a meeting. She tells him that it's not a meeting because they were "dancing." That it's a party is referenced several times, further drawing correlation between the climax of S2 and Warlock's 11th Birthday Party.

Crowley-- a demon-- is called upon by "The Metatron" to identify him to everyone else after every single other being in the room fails to recognize him. Every single other being in the room besides Crowley is an angel and *all* of them fail to recognize this being as The Metatron. Every one of them. How can five angels fail to recognize the leader of Heaven? Maybe because that's not actually the leader of Heaven? Maybe because The Devil had to get someone he can control-- and we've seen that he can control Crowley in 1.01-- to tell everyone else that he's The Metatron... which is exactly what happens in this scene?

Crowley identifies the being in such a way that the other angels see him as The Metatron. No one questions him. Rather hilariously, since angels who don't like Crowley are in the room, everyone just believes him and takes what he says at face value. This includes Michael, who has now done this twice-- they also did this during the Job minisode, which we'll look at in a moment.

Michael (gloriously bitchy, asking THE question): "And who are you?"

The context clues suggesting this being's fake identity that led everyone to believe it after its reveal were planted by "The Metatron" upon his arrival... and that's familiar, too. We've seen that one before... Crowley did it earlier in the season.

Remember where we saw that and another significant who are you? one before?

Here, with Sitis:

Crowley gives Sitis suggestion as to who he will appear to be to her, even if they've never met before. Who is he? He's "an old friend, here to offer some comfort." Sitis is having A Day over here and is somewhat resistant at first to influence and she's never met this being before so she naturally has this question:

She's paralleling Michael in 2.06 here. All who are you and why are you interrupting me? I'm a bit busy over here... and what did Crowley say?

"You tell me." Crowley gave her the answer he wanted and when Sitis was resistant and Crowley needed to get to the kids to save them, he influenced her so she'd help him get to who he wanted instead of standing in his way. Crowley seeks to protect the kids, obviously. He has the opposite motivation of Satan in 2.06 but the methods are the same.

Sitis falls under Crowley's suggestion at "you tell me"-- she responds normally-enough but there's enough of her reaction at the start that shows that her mind is being influenced. She gets a little quiet, her eyes widen, she's staring for a brief moment... kinda like Crowley in the chair before he speaks in after "The Metatron"'s arrival in 2.06. Crowley was in Sitis' mind and made her say back to him what he'd told her to say:

"Bildad" quite literally means "old friend" so Sitis basically regurgitates Crowley's "just an old friend" by translating it into a name in her mind. Crowley's "sure" is comedic but this is also an example of Crowley using magical influence over someone-- one of two that happens in S2. In both times, Crowley's use of it is benign in overall intent but it's still not really with the full awareness of the person he's using it on.

This kind of power when used by The Devil, though? Yikes...

The second time we see Crowley do this is with Mister Dalrymple. And what did Crowley suggest-- at Aziraphale's request-- that Mister Dalrymple do? So that Aziraphale could have time to try to lure Mister Dalrymple into his way of thinking-- though the opposite wound up being true?

Invite them to stay and have a chat... over a drink.

A chat over a wee tipple of whiskey. That moment has a paralleling friend in 2.06, too...

A chinwag over a large oat milk latte with a dash/hefty jigger of almond syrup...

Now, we're also referencing The Resurrectionist minisode in The Final 15. You know, the one where Crowley is dragged back to Hell in Edinburgh... the same place Aziraphale went to alone during S2. When asked where Aziraphale was during that time by Shax, Crowley replied that Aziraphale was:

Stocktaking. In the basement. On the surface, this is an excuse Crowley gives Shax to explain why she can't see Aziraphale through the window of the shop while Aziraphale is in Edinburgh. Shax clearly doesn't buy it and tracks down Aziraphale in The Bentley on his way back from Scotland. But this is also a metaphor on two different levels.

The first is that Crowley was dragged back to Hell in Edinburgh in 1827 and that Hell is the basement of the whole Heaven/Hell skyscraper office situation. Edinburgh is Hell is "the basement" to Crowley. While Aziraphale was there, he was working on some of his trauma related to 1827-- taking stock of what he had and where he was at in order to move forward. Aziraphale going to Edinburgh actually is Aziraphale metaphorically "stocktaking in the basement"... it's just that it also potentially foreshadows that once Shax actually gets through that door, it's the start of how Aziraphale is going to wind up doing some further stocktaking in the actual basement that is Hell.

Jump back to Sitis for a moment. Why does Sitis say "Shuite"? It's more important than it seems.

We already looked at why she says "Bildad"-- it's because of Crowley's "old friend"-- but why does she say "the Shuite"? It's not what Crowley said this time, so much as what he did-- jumping into her mind.

Remember later when Crowley uses a homophone-- "Shu-ite" and "shoes"-- and cracks this joke:

Crowley says "shoes" and Michael says "the land of Shua" but Bildad is Bildad "the Shuite" because Sitis was trying to say the other word that's a homophone for "shoes" and "Shu-a" here: "shoo."

Was there was a part of Sitis that was aware of Crowley in her mind was telling him to get out, to leave, to go... or was the fact that she had been trying to get Crowley to leave before he influenced her a factor in how she came up with his identity?

It shows that a person under suggestion by a supernatural being in Good Omens is forced to say and do whatever that being is forcing them to say or do but they might have some mild level of resistance where their words are concerned, if they can find a way to do so. Crowley was not exerting a terribly powerful influence over Sitis because he prefers to not do this at all. But The Devil himself is not going to have any such qualms... and we've been shown in 1.01 that when he takes over Crowley, Crowley really can't resist the influence. Still, he might have been trying, since The Devil needed him to speak and it was Aziraphale in the crosshairs.

And, of course, back in 2.06, The Big Damn Villain Music in the score goes insane at this moment here when "The Metatron" looks at Crowley without Aziraphale noticing-- a look that can be interpreted not just as a glare but as instructions. It's what keeps Crowley in the bookshop. It furthers the suggestion that "The Metatron" is magically influencing Crowley and since Crowley's main contribution is to identify him as The Metatron, well... casts some serious doubt over the idea that this is anybody but the one being who can exert that kind of control over Crowley-- Satan.

Now, go back to Crowley and to "...last time I saw you, you were a giant, floating head, mind."

Aziraphale doesn't totally seem to realize it but the events of the previous night letting everyone into the bookshop has, well, let everyone into the bookshop. Aziraphale thinks of the bookshop as a safe haven where Crowley's concerned and, until The Meeting Ball, it was. But Shax allowed in tipped the dominoes and now means that the bookshop is now overrun, all of Hell can get in, and Crowley's no longer safe from Satan while inside the bookshop.

"...giant, floating head, mind" isn't just about Warlock's birthday party.

It's a reference to The Devil taking over Crowley's mind in 1.01.

It's a reference to that for us and, if Crowley is able to resist at all or is trying to on some level, then it's an equivalent to Sitis saying "Shuite" in an attempt to say "shoo"-- it's a word Crowley is choosing sneaking out in the influence that Satan has over him in that moment. He's screaming wrong boy wrong boy wrong boy and he's in my mind beneath the calmer way that Satan is having him identify him to everyone as The Metatron and hoping Aziraphale will get it.

Everyone believes Crowley when he says the being before them all is The Metatron because the reveal of it makes sense with the clues laid out by what "The Metatron" has said upon his arrival. Old British white guy-sounding being? Using old language-- "balderdash", "complete piffle"? Being a smarmy, patronizing dick towards Michael? Yeah, that sounds like The Metatron... enough that everyone doesn't stop to notice what else this being says the moment he has them all convinced. Phrases like "spit spot"... the signature line of the Hell-aligned 'Mary Poppins'... but we'll look at all the 'Mary Poppins' in end of S2 in another meta.

Back to our next bit of dialogue referencing signifying the presence of The Devil in 2.06. That is "go on." Whether this is just a clue to us from the other scene or whether it's also Crowley, trying to resist the influence to try to warn Aziraphale is interpretable but, either way, when Crowley stays put and doesn't seem to notice Aziraphale silently trying to get Crowley to come with him and The Metatron, there's this dialogue:

Crowley: "Go on. Day can't get any weirder."

Weird means strange, unexpected, unnatural... Something's wrong, something's wrong, something's wrong is what Crowley's basically saying. But it's the "go on" that's the real 👀 because of what it references from earlier in the season...

Remember this?

Crowley: "Go on. Have an ox rib."

Yeah, that's a direct dialogue comparison that calls what "The Metatron" is doing with Aziraphale temptation... which means "The Metatron" is The Devil.

Gabriel showed up in S2 and what he could remember was a quote from The Book of Job-- something God said that night Crowley and Aziraphale found her speaking "to Job" (really: to them, but it's unclear if they've figured that out yet.) God warned at the beginning of S2 that Aziraphale needs to remember the Job minisode something fierce for what's to come. He's being tested. He's being tempted. The Devil shows up in 2.06 to tempt him... and it parallels the ox rib scenes by both echoing and inverting it, like the mirror that it is.

Angels actually can be tempted but that's not really what Crowley was doing in Job's cellar. The ox rib scene is actually about consent. Let's look at the start of it.

As the storm started in 2500 B.C., Crowley started pouring wine. He poured two glasses and offered Aziraphale one. Aziraphale did not take it.

Aziraphale did not take it because Aziraphale, at the time, was not interested in wine. He didn't wish to drink. "The Metatron" manipulates Aziraphale's emotions when it comes to the coffee. He preys on Aziraphale's need to be polite and on how afraid Aziraphale is of The Metatron. Aziraphale has never had any such fear of Crowley-- he hilariously was pretty direct about his distaste for wine back in Job's cellar. The Devil gets Aziraphale to take the coffee by manipulating his trauma but Satan's minister Crowley? Back in 2500 BC? He didn't push Aziraphale to drink.

The ox rib scene is actually about choice and consent. It's important to Crowley that Aziraphale feel safe with him. When Aziraphale expresses that he doesn't want to drink and doesn't want to get drunk, Crowley is fine with that and offers food instead, pointing out that you can't get drunk on food. He's a little mischievous and dry when replying that "angels can't be tempted" to Aziraphale's question of whether or not Crowley was trying to tempt him but it's because he's actually not. He's trying to have a little date with the angel, not get him to fall to Hell. He likes him. He's amused that Aziraphale is finding the offers of food and drink to be tempting-- that he's into it and wants to give something a try. There's no manipulation, just the offer of it.

It's Aziraphale's own choice to try the ox rib. He chooses to take it.

He chooses to try something new and see things a little differently and spend some time with Crowley. It's a healthy choice. It's the polar opposite of the choice Aziraphale makes when The Devil offers him the one thing he wants: a way within his control to be with Crowley forever.

The conversations at Marguerite's that Aziraphale has in S2 are interconnected. He sits at a table there separately twice-- once with Crowley and once with The Devil. Again, Crowley offers Aziraphale a glass of wine-- this time now thousands of years after Aziraphale rejected the first offer of one. Aziraphale drinks now. He and Crowley have shared a thousand bottles of wine since.

They never get to food. Aziraphale doesn't actually eat in the present at all in S2. (Which is the whole damn problem lol.) Doesn't have an eccles cake. Doesn't dine at The Ritz. No vol-au-vents at The Meeting Ball. And, at Marguerite's, he doesn't have a glass of wine and a little late lunch with Crowley. He has one sip of tea in the present for the entirety of S2 before That Damn Coffee-- to try to teach Muriel to do what Aziraphale has actually been rejecting while being in his Heavenly feelings during S2. The healthy choice is actually some food, a glass of wine, and Crowley... not a trauma-loaded coffee from The Devil.

Crowley and Aziraphale joke about temptation where each other is concerned and it's off of the scene in Job's cellar. We've seen it in Rome in 41 AD and we've seen it in the S1 finale in 2019. This is what temptation between them looks like:

They can poke fun at the idea of it because their relationship is built on the idea that they see each other as individual people who make individual choices and that Heaven and Hell don't own them. They own themselves and they choose to share themselves with one another. It's the opposite of the manipulation of temptation, which is why it both parallels how Aziraphale falls prey to The Devil-- by how he does being the opposite of what he has with Crowley-- and why it's over Crowley that Aziraphale falls in the first place... not because loving him is "bad"... for the exact opposite of that. Because loving him is good and it's not loving him to try to find a solution to their problems by saying that the people who have harmed the two of them should come first. That's the point-- no nightingales.

Aziraphale doesn't want power. He doesn't want to run Heaven-- he rejected that first attempt to tempt him by The Devil. He doesn't want to go back. He wants to stay on Earth and live his life with Crowley and he wants so much to never be apart from Crowley. The two things that Aziraphale wants most in the world are both related to Crowley-- he wants to be with him forever and he wants Heaven to admit that they fucked up and that Crowley is good.

Aziraphale already knows Crowley is good. He loves him as he is. He's just furious at Heaven and at The Metatron for what they've done to the being he loves and he's incensed at God for allowing it. Aziraphale has been an angel this whole time and, in his mind, he's been powerless to do anything to fix this. He can't stop Crowley's pain over falling-- over the fact that he still feels like he's unforgivable in the eyes of God. He can't stop him from being hurt by Hell. And Aziraphale has had that rage on simmer for 6,000 years.

His every "I forgive you" is an attempt at, since he's an angel of Heaven, trying to give Crowley what he needs and can't get from Heaven... and Crowley knows it is but he hates it because what he truly wants and needs is just Aziraphale himself. Aziraphale's love is enough.

All Aziraphale wants is for Heaven to admit they fucked up because he thinks forgiveness from God will help Crowley. He thinks it will make this better:

If Crowley were an angel again, would that stop the pain that Aziraphale can't stop? Aziraphale wonders if it might. Because he can't stop it. He's tried. He's not enough. It's a lot of pain to watch the being you love still suffer and try to do what you can to make it stop but to not be enough-- Crowley and Aziraphale both know what that feels like.

The solution is not to run away and it's not to go to Heaven. It's to just make like Gabriel and Beez and choose to live their lives together. If enough people say "nah" to Armageddon, there's no Armageddon. You can't have a war without war. Aziraphale doesn't understand that at the end of S2 yet, though, so when The Devil shows up in the form of the abusive dad who never loved him and basically says:

You know, you were right-- we need people like you. The way you live isn't a sin. I made a mistake. You could come back to Heaven and show us how to be better-- how to do things your way. You could bring your husband. We can all be a family. He can be an angel again and you'll never again have to worry that you'll lose him. You can be together forever...

This is all Aziraphale has ever wanted. The angel who was losing his mind hosting a party for the first time the night before-- one where his human friends and Gabriel mingled together and where everyone knew Crowley was his and they got to dance together like everyone else-- well, that angel is tempted as all fuck.

He falls for (falls in love with) Crowley and he falls (falls from Heaven) for Crowley.

It started, in part, with an arrival at the door. Not "The Metatron"'s arrival. Bildad's much happier, paralleling one:

This is also a note to us: remember him-- Bildad the Shuite. It's important that we do if we want to understand what comes later when a group of people, some of them angels, can't recognize who just came through the door... for the second scene in this season.

Right on cue to ask the Big Damn Question in 2500 B.C. was the first arrival at the bookshop door in S2 and the character most representing Aziraphale's inner struggles in S2... and the one who had been sent away for his own good by the point that The Devil arrives in 2.06...

Gabriel, asking THAT question: "Aziraphale, who is this?"

Aziraphale:

He. Says. He. Is. God told Aziraphale to remember this but he seems to have forgotten that he and Crowley cloaked Crowley's real identity for greater good purposes but the opposite of that could just as easily happen. He didn't really listen to the messenger God sent him-- Gabriel, whose name literally means "messenger"-- when he told Aziraphale to remember Job and so Aziraphale didn't recognize The Devil when he, like Bildad before him, came through the door.

In a sweet way, it's because he so loves Crowley that he doesn't really see him as demonic and so couldn't make a connection between Bildad and "The Metatron."

The Body Swap. Crowley and Aziraphale each pretending to be one another to survive the end of S1. They fooled everyone around them by looking like someone they, technically, are not. In both cases, they were forced into suicide by Heaven/Hell-- by getting into a bath of holy water and by stepping into flames of hellfire-- and survived it because neither of them actually were who they said they were.

Aziraphale's fall parallels the body swap plot as it's a fall of despair.

"We call it 'The Second Coming'." Aziraphale knows who was really at the door in this moment. He knows that there is no Supreme Archangel job, no promises of safety and an eternal life with Crowley. There never was. He made the wrong choice. He let his despair rule him and now the fall he thought was coming in 2500 B.C. is actually here.

Upon realizing that he's been fooled-- has played himself for a sucker, as is the case with negative thought cycles-- Aziraphale steps into the elevator.

S1-- they save each other from being killed by Heaven and Hell in methods that look like forcing them to kill themselves.

S2-- Aziraphale effectively tries to kill himself by getting into the elevator, now knowing who it is who is holding open the door.

He knows the likelihood of his memories being erased is high, which makes choosing to get into the elevator a form of suicide.

Banana, fish, gorilla, shoelace, with a dash of nutmeg. Aziraphale's mantra. His magic words. In the bookshop attack and through the end of S2, though... a banana peel thrown at Maggie. Shax referencing "the sushi." Only the banana and the fish are here.

The Bananafish. A short story by J.D. Salinger about PTSD, trauma and suicide. After some short interactions with a girl representing a daughter-like figure to the main character (Maggie, in Good Omens, who kicks off Aziraphale's S2 plot and provides his motivations throughout)-- the seemingly-fine man who is actually a traumatized war veteran suffering from PTSD suddenly and quickly succumbs to the pain he carries around and the cycle of negative thoughts he suffers and shoots himself dead.

#ineffable husbands #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #good omens meta #aziracrow #good omens 2 #good omens theory #tw ptsd #tw suicide #tw trauma #tw religious trauma

[ellevandersneed]

I'm So Tormented And 24 Years Old | 9.9.23

#my art #my oc #tw blood #tw religious imagery #tw religious trauma #i should get back to learning music so i can make something to go along w/ this

[iridiss]

I want a (non-canon compliant) Narinder whose gentle.

I want a Narinder who was once a kitten, newly crowned immortal, under Shamura’s careful mentorship. Who grew up the hard way, who learned you have to be rough, loud, mean, manipulative, and maniacal, you have to be bloody and violent and cruel, in order to survive in this world. In order to survive against Leshy and Heket’s brutality and Kallamar’s back-handed cunning. He learned from a family cruel and cold that love was a fool’s game, that sentiment was insignificant, that caring was weakness. So he scoffed at caring for anybody at all and learned how to break and toy with people as if they were dolls, made only for his own consumption and desire. That’s what his siblings told him, that’s what Shamura told him, that’s what his subjects and the fight to survive told him.

But he never saw his toys fit for anything more than the most necessary use, he never let them come any closer than professional arms-reach business, and he made sure to throw them away the second they were no longer strictly necessary. And he hated the cruelty of his siblings. He hated how they treated him, he hated how they made him fight for his fair share. And then he kept rebelling against the doctrine of the Old Faith. He would take the cruel, old, traditional rules of how one was supposed to act, and he would take them more as loose suggestions than anything severely concrete that you had to live by. He would start making up his own rules, or ignoring other rules that he simply didn’t like or deemed “inconvenient.”

He quickly became the black sheep of the “family.”

And then the Gods of The Old Faith betrayed him. And everything he was ever taught became a horrible lie. Everything became unjust. Everything turned into a false, corrupted kingdom that had to be torn down, that he could fix, that he could replace with something better. He tore it all down, violently lashing out against the family he had trusted, the family he had followed to the end of the road at his own expense, tearing them apart with his own two hands, because the scars he bore over the years became far too fucking loud to bear. Because everything had been a lie all along. Everything had been wrong, this whole damn time.

And they killed him for it. He screamed so loud about their lies that they simply had to smother the sound. They murdered their own brother—if he was ever a real “brother” to them at all, or nothing more than another religious heir to a crooked throne.

He was a God turned exiled heretic.

So he’d make his own fucking kingdom instead. He would undo everything, and start anew, following the doctrine he always knew was better. What he thought was superior. But problem is, it’s not that easy to shake off the entirety of one’s religious upbringing overnight. He was still clinging on. He would scream and shout about the incongruities and arrogance of The Old Faith all damn day—but then he’d keep Aym and Baal, a gift from his old mentor and oldest sibling, close to his side. He would call them fools and tyrants and wretched liars, but he’d remember the Darkwood flowers with a fondness, yearning to stand in his brother’s flower fields again someday. He would stay in the Lamb’s cult, when he could easily become a constant dissenter and leave like any other follower, when he could attack them, maybe even kill them, at any given moment. He doesn’t. He stays. He clings on to the fondness. He never fully let go of that old sentimental feeling.

I want a Narinder who doesn’t understand what love looks like, because the closest thing he’d ever known to true, honest love growing up was the scraps he’d receive from a withdrawn and uncertain Shamura. Those rare moments where Shamura was kind, warm, gentle, full of love, when he’d listen to the lullabies and the poems that they would weave to put him to sleep, when he’d be wrapped up in the blankets of their webs and their nests. When they would give him gifts.

When they gave him their final gift.

He doesn’t understand love. He was trained to view it as weakness. He still feels deeply, severely insecure about showing said weakness, he doesn’t want to face the severe and violent consequences of welcoming it. There’s a part in him deep down that understands devotion, that already internally understands what real trust, respect, loyalty, and integrity looks like. But it’s buried deep, under layers upon layers of indoctrination, manipulation, fear, insecurity, doubt, ungodly amounts of pain, and rage. He has enough of a natural moral compass to be able to tell when someone’s entire belief system is flawed or fucked up, and he has enough justice in him to want to tear the entire damn world apart from the ground up. Even if it’s just in the name of avenging the kitten in him that was forced to die all those centuries ago.

He isn’t aware of it. He doesn’t understand what’s going on inside of him. He’s never even taken an introspective glance at himself and why he feels everything that he does, he’s never even asked himself why everything hurts so much beyond the simple “my siblings betrayed me, therefore they all must die as they killed me” surface level. Frankly he’s too scared to look, so he pushed it all away and easily leans on the grinning, devilish, mean mask he always depended on before.

Then I want a Lamb that’s everything he ever needed. Literally, yes, as the vessel prophesied to save him, but also emotionally.

The Lamb had everything taken away from them by The Old Faith. They were killed and thrown away to Narinder’s feet like a broken toy. They want to destroy the doctrine of the Old Faith, they want to rip the world apart from the ground up and completely start anew. They share Narinder’s moral core, his drive for justice, his drive for revenge.

But they also learn, through their own cult, how to rule with love and mercy. They save and spare each follower individually, they marry their own followers, they cook for them, clean for them, house them, decorate for them, they love their followers. They learn that there is value and strength in utilizing the “sentiment and care” that the Bishops deemed as weakness. Literally: one of the best and most overpowered mechanics of the game is building your friendship level with your followers. You can’t live without them. You are their servant as much as they are one to you.

And when Narinder demonstrates his upbringing at its fullest by betraying Lamb and throwing them away like they were nothing more than a toy—The Lamb spares him, too.

I want to express to you how much that means, especially to him. I mean, hell, Narinder wasn’t spared by his own family. But instead, this tool, now proven Almighty God, gave him a level of grace that he wasn’t even allowed to fathom before. There couldn’t be a stronger, faster way to take a wake-up-sledgehammer to someone’s childhood manipulation. The Lamb was sent to destroy every last trace of the Old Faith, and I don’t think Narinder ever considered the extent of what that entailed.

He’d been lied to his entire childhood, being told that heart was weakness, that kindness would be his downfall, that sentiment was heresy. And yet here was a God besting him and every other deity/bishop in the land, and still cleaning up their servants’ shit with a broom. And I like to think that Narinder would undergo a massive change during his time in the cult.

He’d start off hostile and vicious and mean, because he’s still convinced that the Lamb betrayed him and “betrayal” is kind of a very emotionally heated topic for the guy right now. Even if the Lamb actually did the opposite of what his siblings did to him. He’s also terrified, confused, lost, and he certainly doesn’t trust any of the flowery, overly friendly mortals getting all touchy-feely with him.

But maybe he starts to show a little more wistfulness and nostalgia through his side-quests, maybe he’s trying to gauge how trustworthy the Lamb is by asking them to bring him special items from his childhood, and when they follow suit, he dips his toe in the water and shows just a little bit more of his heart, a tiny, itty bitty fragment. And then they don’t hurt him for it. They treat him with the same kindness they give to all of their followers.

And over time, he starts to see that the Lamb’s dominion is one of safety. All of their safety had been violently torn from them in the hunt for the last lamb, so now they do everything in their power to make their cult a home. And they welcome Narinder into that home, and Narinder is safe, and he’s loved, and he’s taken care of, and he’s respected, and he becomes one with the community. The Lamb is able to rule like this and still keep their power. And actually, their power is tripled by their bond with their people! Their kindness literally becomes a strength, and Narinder has never seen anything like it before, but they pull it off! In fact, the Lamb literally defied and beat Narinder into the ground because they weren’t willing to give up their home and their people.

I think he’d come to see The Lamb very differently over time. He’d go from seeing them only as an insignificant weapon for someone else’s use (possibly projecting a lot onto them), to bring in total awe of them, to learning that they’re trustworthy and safe, to seeing them as an equal.

I think they’d be two halves of the same whole. They understand each other in ways that no one else ever will. They’re the Gods of Death, past and future, they belong to the same power. They sit on this throne together. They teach each other everything they ever needed. They’re immortals together. Lamb once served Narinder in total devotion, then Narinder served Lamb in total devotion, and now they’re equals in every conceivable way. They have literally trusted each other with their lives. They were forged in very similar religious trauma and bloodshed, they were there at each other’s darkest time, working as a team. They’re vengeance-bonded. They saved each other. They spared each other, gave the other a second chance. They made each other better. Bonded in blood, divine vows, death, and resurrection. They are THE POWER TEAM.

As their bond grows, Narinder would end up letting his repressed soft side shine through. I can see him allowing himself to be kind for the first time, learning to recognize that not only is it safe for him to care here, it’s fully embraced and encouraged. The Lamb will punish him if he’s too mean to one of their followers. He can be gentle here, he can let his guard down and unwind. So he does, and he becomes a whole new cat. The Lamb eventually trusts him with leadership positions in the cult, until they’re ruling side by side, as they should. Narinder moves on from any desperate reach for power, because he’s secure enough in himself to know he doesn’t need to fight for it anymore. He would fight and die for Lamb as much as they would fight and die for him. They’ve given him true sanctuary, true family. True devotion.

#Narinder my symbol and my sponge for all religious trauma #tw religious trauma #tw religion #tw religious abuse #they are ‘wow I’m not crazy’ by AJR #true devotion #cult of the lamb #cotl Narinder #cotl lamb #narilamb #but it also works for a platonic or other relationship between them #cotl headcanons #iridiswrites

[maceofpentacles]

this is going to be a controversial take and i don’t know who needs to hear this, but just because you have religious trauma doesn’t mean you have the right to go and demonize everyone from that particular religion.

your trauma is yours and yours alone. you don’t have to “make it everyone’s problem” like how some of y’all put it. trauma is something you try to work through and eventually Get Over. not hold onto for the rest of your days as an excuse to be bitter towards an entire group of people.

sure you can criticize the institution that wronged you but lumping every single person of x faith or y faith together and then proceeding to bash them, shit on them, or overall just be a nasty person towards them is not right.

#personal stuff #this isn’t about anyone here #its directed towards people on tiktok #religious trauma #tw religious trauma #tw: religious trauma

[your-mom-friend]

I think maybe the saddest thing about extremely religious people is that they genuinely believe that you’ll go to hell if you don’t accept their Lord. I mean this mostly about Muslims, I can’t speak much for Christianity

I was raised in a Muslim country. In the schools there all Muslim students had to attend Islamic studies classes, while the non-Muslim students had moral science classes.

Aside from Islamic history and theology, one of the first things that I was taught that really stuck to me, was that people who rejected the word of Allah would be sent to Jahannam (Hell). Those who were ignorant of the True Religion would be spared but anyone who had heard the Truth of Allah and didn’t accept it? They would go to hell. My teacher even said that in this day and age, with access to the internet, no one has the excuse of being ignorant now.

It terrified me. What about my friends? My school had Hindus and Christian galore. What about them? They were good people. Were they going to hell? Couldn’t I help them? One of my other Muslim friends actually started sobbing about it. “Rem.. I don’t- I don’t want my friends to go to Hell, Rem”

We were Seven. Years. Old.

No kid deserves that

And as I’ve grown older I’ve only seen more of it. And I feel heartbroken. These are people that truly believe in their faith and within that belief they’re taking the most moral action they are capable of taking. They don’t want people to go to hell. They want people to go to heaven. They are so fearful of their Lord that they’re willing to be the bad guy in this life to see you next to them in Jannah (Heaven). They believe that. With their entire hearts and it crushes me every single time.

I think about it every time my mother talks about modesty. I think about it every time my father reminds me about prayer. Everytime one of the elder relatives reminds us kids to read the Quran.

I think about it every time I remember that I told my sister that I was terrified that one day she wouldn’t keep my sexuality a secret because she believed it would be the morally correct thing to tell my parents and she couldn’t look at me and say that it wouldn’t happen.

And I’m never going to be able to hate them for it, because I’ll know in my heart that they’re doing what they’re doing with the best of intentions even if it fucking kills me and every damn time I think about it it makes me burst into tears

#rem rambles #tw religious mention #tw religious trauma #ex muslim #ex religious #the inherent guilt of existing as a Muslim

[ourstaturestouchtheskies]

Moses Smashing the Tablets of the Law – Rembrandt // The Penitent Mary Magdalene – Carl Fröschl after Francesco Furini // God is a Woman – Rett Madison

#a little ✨ religious trauma ✨ for today #rembrandt #mary magdalene #francesco furini #god is a woman #god is a woman rett madison #pin up daddy #pin up daddy album #pin up daddy rett madison #rett madison #religious trauma #tw religious trauma #catholic guilt #art #art history #lyrics #lyric art

[faithdeans]

who made you stop believing in god? god did.

#hehe i feel normal :) #tw religious trauma #tw religious guilt #worm.edit

[vcnillazelda]

disallowed (p.h)

summary: your heavily christian parents found out about you dating patrick.

tags: toxic christianity, (forced) religious beliefs, religious trauma, (verbal) abuse, child abuse, patrick being kinda sweet, slight solipsism, angst with fluff, fem! reader

i’m not trying to bash christianity whilst writing this. i’m just using the more radical/toxic side of christianity purely for a dumb story on the internet. i’m truly not trying to offend anyone and if i have i’m sorry. much love - vcnillamilk <3

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

“y/n.” your father’s voice called from the dining room. you tense, already halfway up the stairs. “yes?” you respond, voice weak. “come here. we need to discuss something.” his voice was stern, almost disappointed. that’s how you knew you were in trouble. “coming, father.” you turn, walking back down the stairs and into the dining room. your parents were both waiting, with your father sat at the end of the dining table and your timid, god-fearing mother stood slightly off to the side just behind him. you don’t speak, waiting to be addressed as your father stares you down. “we’ve heard through the church that you’ve been seeing someone.”

no…

“oh? is that so?” your voice is strained, you’re already close to crying. your father always saw through your lies. “yes… would you happen to know anything about this topic?” he asks, tilting his head back to stare down his nose at you. “no, father.” you respond, voice mumbling. silence falls over the room like a blanket, only to be interrupted by your father’s palm slamming down upon the tabletop and a shriek from your mother. “don’t lie to me!” your father stands, the chair screeching backwards. “you know god hates when we lie.” your father adds on, pointing to you. “i’m sorry.” you whimper, tears dripping down your cheeks as you look down, already clutching your hands together out of nervousness.

“patrick hockstetter. of all the sweet boys at the church you chose the anti-christ!?” he roars, hands hitting the poor, abused dining table as your mother flinches, clutching the crucifix around her neck. “i’m sorry..!” you shout back, sobbing softly. “you are to never, ever- see that boy again. do i make myself clear?!” your father asks, and you nod shakily. “answer!” you jolt, snivelling pathetically. “yes, father.” you mutter, waiting for any more harsh words to be thrown at you. “i’m disgusted by your actions, y/n. god gave you life, and you’re doing this- this taboo?! i didn’t raise you like this.” the man scolds, as if he were talking to a puppy and not his daughter. “i’m sorry.” you whimper, hands trembling before your shrivelled form. “go. say twice the amount of prayers tonight and hope that god forgives you.” your father waves his hand, dismissing you for the evening.

you turn on your heel, rushing from the room and bee-lining to your bedroom. you would lock the door, but your father had personally unscrewed every single screw with a butter knife to ensure you weren’t ‘sinning’. you had no privacy. you whine, clutching your face desperately to try and stop the tears. you didn’t want to pray, didn’t want to appease god for your supposed ‘misdoings’… but you didn’t want to go to hell..! flopping onto your bed, you curled up into a tight ball- sobbing into your pillow for hours. patrick wouldn’t take this well, even you weren’t taking it well. your breathing slows to soft hitches every now and then as you gaze at the small statuette of holy mary. “what do i do?” you whisper, silently hoping for an answer. no one returned your call.

⋅. ✯ .⋅

patrick was annoyed. vexed. absolutely furious. you had been ignoring him all fucking week. the worst part was, he had no idea why. you two had last been on good terms, you had been smiling with him as he retold a very overly dramatic story about how henry had fallen down some stairs in school one day and sprained his wrist. he had walked you home and you gave him a small kiss on the cheek for his act and his good story telling, no doubt.

patrick had tried everything. cornering you in the cafeteria, slipping notes into your locker, calling your phone that sat upon your bedroom table, he even got victor to approach you to try and get some answers. every time, you turned a blind eye, keeping your eyes downcast and your body rigid. something was clearly wrong with you, but you didn’t talk to him. how dare you not talk to him. patrick swallows his anger, storming away from the gang and towards you. you were carefully slotting your science books into your locker; he knows how you love to keep it organised. snatching your arm, patrick hauls you into an empty classroom, almost feeling bad when your lower back smacks into the teacher’s desk. you stare up at him, eyes mixed in sadness and fear. “i’m so fucking pissed.” he starts with a snarl.

“why the fuck are you ignoring me? at the beginning of this shit you always said to talk about stuff to one another- what the fuck is this?!” patrick demands, gesturing wildly with his hands. you were trapped. patrick was blocking the only exit, you had nowhere to turn to. “i can’t..” you whisper, attempting to slip past patrick, but he blocks the door with his arm. “can’t what? huh? you finally come to your senses that not everyone in derry is a god-loving prick like your family? you gonna go date someone from that shitty fucking church you go to? here’s some news princess; i am your fucking god.” patrick rants, and you shake your head. “no.. patrick you don’t understand. i can’t see you anymore.” you whisper, as if someone could overhear you.

patrick furrows his brows in confusion. “what do you mean?” he responds, and you sigh; unsure what to do with your hands. “my father- he’s not allowing me to see you anymore. i’m sorry.” you mutter, avoiding all eye contact. patrick completely softens. all his internal anxiety and stress venting from his body. so it wasn’t him, it was your family. he should of known! “babe, don’t listen to them.” patrick sighs, rolling his eyes a little as he tugs you to his chest, wrapping his slender arms around you. you both needed that hug. your hands clutch the back of his shirt as you slowly start to cry, your face buried into his shoulder. patrick let’s you weep in silence, his chin resting upon your head as he listens to you. your soft apologies eventually reach his ears, and patrick scoffs. “don’t start that shit. your dad’s a dick and your mom’s too scared to leave him.” patrick states, and you exhale shakily. “i mean, seriously.. how that guy managed to get through high school amazes me. he’s definitely got some complex.” the way patrick talks about your awful father makes you laugh a little. “yeah.. maybe.”

patrick smiles, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “stop listening to them. you should listen to me instead.” he mutters to you, and you nod a little. “yeah… i should’ve spoken to you instead of hiding. i’m sorry.” you respond, hands gently grasping his neck as he kisses you again. “it’s alright.” patrick shrugs, much to your surprise. “you’re not mad?” you ask softly, and he shakes his head. “nah. i mean, i was at first- but not i know it’s your parents it’s fine. we don’t have to listen to them, baby. you can screw whoever you want.” his voice is teasing at the end, and you giggle softly; kissing him again. patrick tightens his slender hands around your hips, and he doesn’t intend on letting go any time soon.

#patrick hocksetter x reader #patrick hockstetter #bowers gang #it 2017 x reader #it 2017 #tw religious trauma #// 🍨 vcnillazelda #// 🍨 it (2017)

[theoi-crow]

TW: religious trauma, threat mention, weapons mention, child neglect, homophobia, abuse, coercion and religious PTSD.

Why fearing a deity keeps me from developing a genuine relationship with that same deity.

I grew up Catholic and one of the first things my mother taught me was the concept of Heaven and Hell. Essentially after death one gets judged based on the actions they took while they were still living and is either rewarded with heaven or punished with hell. It was a simple concept to understand but it brought up a question that ultimately made me leave the religion.

Do I genuinely love God or am I afraid of his wrath? (Like a held hostage who is coerced into choosing options that won't upset my captor out of fear of his retaliation)

Even the reward of eternal bliss felt like it was designed to lessen the threat of eternal damnation as a consolation prize for all those years of panic attacks and anxiety over the thought of being sent to Hell. I always hoped for a third milder option that allowed me the freedom to develop a genuine relationship with God without said god having to rely on coercion. I wanted to experience an honest relationship without a weapon pressed against my back in case I made the wrong move or asked the wrong question.

Due to this looming threat, the relationship I had with God felt transactional and lacked genuine affection because I knew God's love for me was conditional and depended on me following arbitrary rules from a book written by a lot of different people (each author having their own agenda different from the rest so they were constantly contradicting each other because the different entries were written in different time periods and places with vastly different political movements specific to their locations and situations but were combined together, like a mass Tumblr post with over 50 blogs that don't all agree on what the rules should be).

The many rules always made me feel like Alice playing a game with the Queen of Hearts with rules that were unclear and no one was interested in explaining them to me until I did something they didn't like and were able to find something in the book that condemned me for it.

Having to adhere to these rules in order for me to be rewarded and not punished felt like a relationship between a gay child and homophobic parents that expected said child to act a certain way. If that child obeyed, they were rewarded with affection and approval, but if said child didn't, they were kicked out and forced to fend for themselves against a world that wasn't built to protect and help gay children. Being Christian felt like I had a leash around my neck being held by an entity that constantly told me he loved me, so long as I did what I was told.

I didn't think it was possible to love a deity without fearing them until I met my gods.

According to the ancient Greeks: Once a human dies they go to Hades. Unless they make some kind of undeniable mark in the world everyone goes to Hades.

If you were a famous and exceptional human that changed the world in a positive way you'd go to Elysium but you purposefully had to do something so extraordinary your legacy and name became well known because according to the Elysium wiki, in the beginning "only mortals related to the gods and other heroes could be admitted past the river Styx. Later, the conception of who could enter was expanded to include those chosen by the gods, the righteous, and the heroic." (LINK) The ancient Greeks believed the gods were in charge of giving people fame because those who were famous were often related to the gods (for example: people believed Pythagoras (the one that the Pythagorean theorem is named after) was either the son of Apollo, or Apollo himself: (LINK)

Tartarus is strictly for gods and humans can't go there but the worst humans are still punished by Hades as shown in the myths of Sisyphus (LINK) and Tantalus (LINK) but you have to royally eff up. You have to do it on purpose like enacting laws that target vulnerable people (both Sisyphus and Tantalus were kings and politically involved) or commiting mass genocide as examples of the severity I'm talking about. These are crimes against humanity you cannot accidentally do, they involve terrible deeds that are premeditated with the intent of destroying the lives of innocent people.

But if my main problem is the concept of Heaven/Hell, why am I bringing up Elysium, Hades and Tartarus, concepts that influenced how Heaven and Hell work? (LINK)

Because unless you choose to dedicate your life, time and energy and become famous for making an undeniable mark in history (an effort that isn't just you doing normal good deeds or making mistakes you later regret but actually dedicating your life and becoming well known for your efforts like activist Greta Thunberg, or purposefully hurting innocent people like serial killer Ted Bundy) everyone else goes to Hades and I love that because when I work with my gods I may not get automatic access to Elysium but there is no threat of eternal punishment either.

Which means I interact with my gods because I want to!

Not because I'll be rewarded or punished but because I want to interact with them and develop a genuine connection with them! There's no condition of me needing to convert others, in fact I don't even have to tell people I believe in them! (the gods understand the world can be a dangerous place for their followers due to the many religious wars and religious politicians in power).

I'm not required to talk about them! I'm not even required to keep this blog but I do it because I genuinely love them and I love talking about them! I've even changed majors mid semester in order to dedicate my life to learning about them. I'm studying to become an archeologist who specializes in the ancient Greek religion in order to make that information more accessible to Hellenic Polytheists and anyone else interested in the gods. I don't do it so the gods will reward me because I don't need them to, they will be just as happy if I delete this blog, quit my career and go about my day living my life. I do it because I love learning about the gods and I want to share the information I learned in case it helps those that are interested learn more about their gods too!

I've even made it my mission on Tumblr to share what I've learned about the gods to hopefully help others connect with their gods more easily especially for those who are having trouble connecting with them. And this was all unprompted. The gods literally had nothing to do with this. It was my own choice because there is a specific god I sometimes have trouble connecting with due to varying factors and it makes me feel awful when I can't connect with him, especially when I need his guidance the most so I want to help others avoid experiencing that feeling by letting them know they're not alone and helping them figure out what's blocking their connection because it can be a miserable experience.

My favorite part about a lack of reward and punishment is having the confidence to say I seek the gods because I want to seek the gods.

I walk with the gods because I want to walk with the gods. This is my will, my choice, and mine alone. No one is forcing me to do it and there isn't some big prize at the end if I do, I can stop anytime I want and nothing will happen. I have made an independent choice to seek the gods, meet them and got to know them and I can genuinely say I love them more than I ever thought was possible. I do.

I love my gods.

#greek gods #hellenic polytheism #helpol #pagan #personal #greek mythology #greek pantheon #religious trauma #tw religious trauma #tw childhood trauma #tw child abuse #tw threats #long post

[disfrutalakia]

I imagine that Bagi is not at all religious, she never really had time to think about it and can hardly bring herself to care about a god she is not even sure exists.

While Tina in contrast, is deeply religious and kneels in church praying for hours for salvation until her knees start to bleed, she believes that the blood is the only way for her to receive salvation. Tina knows god is real and desperately wants god to forgive her for any sins she has committed, to forgive her for existing as a demon.

#tw religious themes #tw religious trauma #qsmp #qsmp tina #qsmp bagi #sorry I have specifically them and their relationship to religion on my mind