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beguines · 3 years

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Hearing news of this appearance, Thomas insists on seeing the risen Jesus for himself: "Unless I see and touch, I will not believe." Jesus appears again, a week after his first appearance, and he enters the same way—coming through the walls. While the means of his appearance arrests our attention, it can take away from the status of the disciples. They are still inside the room. Thomas is with them the second time, and Jesus repeats the words of peace before addressing Thomas directly. Thomas' earlier request is forceful, even violent, as he declares the terms of his believing. He must repenetrate the wounds of the crucified. The physicality of this request suggests that Jesus' wounds will be reopened with the thrust of Thomas' finger. He does not want to just see—he wants to put his finger into the side. He insists on access to the body and, at some level, to command what is taking place. He wants the encounter on his own terms. It is how he knows to approach what is unfamiliar to him.

Jesus returns to the disciples and invites Thomas to come closer and to plunge his hand in the wounds: "Put your finger here and see my hands." Jesus appears to satisfy Thomas' demands by inviting him not just to touch the wounds but to reach his hand into them. Jesus takes Thomas' request even further. Do not just put your finger into my side. Plunge your hand into it.

And Jesus repeats Thomas' request, as if to confront Thomas with his own words. Instead of fulfilling Thomas' request, his invitation reveals Thomas' insidious logic. In John Calvin's reading, the wounds are simply a vehicle to lead Thomas to belief. But here, the wounds of history are returning on this marked body, and that history is brought forward in such a way that believing is inextricably linked to engaging those wounds. The force of Thomas' request is not affirmed. Instead, it is opened up to him. He is confronted with what he is capable of, what harms he has done.

Shelly Rambo, Resurrecting Wounds: Living in the Afterlife of Trauma

#shelly rambo #resurrecting wounds #trauma theology #theology #wounds #favorite

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burntpastel · 4 years

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parallels

(On AO3)

Summary: similarities and differences between tomura's previous and current homes

Tags: Recovery, Flashbacks, Past Sexual Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Cuddling, Parental Aizawa, All For One's Bad Parenting, Aizawa Adopts Tomura, Drabble

Notes: cw csa, underage, dub/noncon

18+ only, explicit, grapefruit, etc.

Sensei knows he's busy. It doesn't stop him from threading his fingers through Tomura's hair, catching on the tangles, stroking his scalp down to the back of his neck, causing apprehension excitement to pool in his stomach.

Tomura glances at the clock, makes note of the time and resolves to let this be his last match. Despite his best efforts, it draws on a little long--a frankly ridiculous period of overtime, actually. Eraserhead doesn't seem to mind, taking a place next to him on the couch and joining in on Tomura's bafflement until it finally ends.

"Sensei," Tomura starts, heart abruptly slamming in his chest as he tries not to lose his voice, "I can't pause this one."

"Then don't," he replies simply. The fingers in his hair tighten, pulling Tomura's head back. He tries to watch the screen out of the corner of his eye as his cheek is smushed up against the seam of his sensei's slacks, the button jamming against his eye unpleasantly. He doesn't want to die; his team just barely refrained from kicking him off the server based on his squeaky voice alone. He wants to prove he's good enough.

Tomura turns his back to Eraser. He's gentle as his fingers glide through Tomura's hair, brushing back each strand and pulling it into a ponytail. He feels vulnerable as the waves framing his face are pulled back, exposing every little scar and imperfection--yet he knows that when he turns around, he'll only be met with warmth--eyes full of affection just above scars and scruff of his own.

Tomura's heart lurches as the screen goes red, the body of his character flopping uselessly onto the ground while his team bemoans the loss with little surprise.

"Ah, you died, hm? Better luck next time." Sensei pets his head.

Tomura tosses his earbuds away, shifting around until he's crouched between his sensei's knees, even though he knows he's going to respawn in just a few seconds. He keeps his eyes on the fold of his pants until sensei hooks his finger underneath Tomura's jaw, forcing him to meet his eyes.

Sensei's face always looks a little meaner than his voice sounds. He runs his thumb over Tomura's lips, lingering on the scar that intersects them, while his eyes scan his face with scrutiny.

Tomura feels the slightest bit of dread at the items in Eraser's lap, if only because applying them is a foreign experience and he's worried about having wet stuff on his skin. Yet, he leans forward quite eagerly, silently giving Eraser permission to begin. His eyes fall shut as Eraser's hand cradles his jaw, supporting Tomura's head while he dabs a wet cotton ball over his face with an amount of gentleness Tomura still finds himself surprised by.

He thinks he's probably too old to be letting someone else do this for him, but Eraserhead doesn't seem to mind, even once it's time to spread a waxy paste over his lips. An increasingly familiar warmth pools in Tomura's heart at his care as Eraser runs a fingertip across his cracked skin.

They both know he never received such doting as a kid, anyway; they're just playing catch-up.

Tomura's jaw is stretched painfully wide and he cannot breathe, but sensei is petting him and singing praises about how good he's doing. It's a nice change of pace from being reminded of how he failed, how he needs to try harder, think smarter, care less--so he stays put, letting the aching in his face fuel the overbearing warmth lighting his chest, until sensei pulls him back by his hair. Tomura tries to breathe around thick strands of saliva in the back of his throat--unsuccessfully--before he's pushed back down by a hand that's bigger than his head. Tears well in his eyes as his throat is repenetrated, but the praise is back, so he nestles against the crook of his sensei's thigh and shivers with agony pure joy.

"There. That wasn't too bad, was it? Hopefully it'll make your skin start feeling a little better."

"Yeah," Tomura hums absentmindedly in response, still leaning forward, watching through half-lidded eyes while Eraser wipes the product off of his hands. He smiles warmly at him when he turns back to see Tomura waiting patiently for more touches. He cradles his jaw in both hands, tilting Tomura's head forward to plant a kiss to the top of his head, and regards him fondly as he draws back.

Tomura curls all but two of his fingers into his palm, so tightly that they bite into his skin while he wraps his index finger and thumb around his sensei, calling upon every method he knows to remain mindful of his own quirk. He hates when sensei makes him use his hands, especially now that his limbs have recently decided to become gangly and awkward to control--he's terrified of making him disappear. He looks at his hands touching his sensei, how they're getting large enough to resemble the ones that so often adorn his body, thinking of just how they became that way. He presses his nails harder into his palm, as though the only way to keep himself from hurting his sensei is to bury his fingertips inside his own flesh.

Tomura sighs as Eraserhead strokes his thumbs over the drier part of his jaw. He reaches up to place his gloved hands over Eraser's, holding them closer as he nuzzles into the touch and his eyes slip shut.

"Hey," Eraser chides softly, making no effort to pull away, "you're going to mess up the lotion."

Sensei's tongue is in his mouth. Tomura feels special. He leans deeper and deeper into the kiss as his sensei licks away the traces of himself, fists buried safely against his lap. His blood buzzes in his veins, tears of a different kind pooling behind his eyelids--of love so deep and overwhelming that his body cannot contain it even with his recent growth spurts.

It ends too soon. Sensei pulls away, running his hand over Tomura's back, and Tomura's chest aches with the loss. He leans forward, pleading for more, but he knows they're done. Soon sensei will slip away into the shadows again, and his only interactions with Tomura will be comments on his performance and directions given through a computer screen.

So Tomura relents, instead glancing over his shoulder at the T.V. to check the time left in the match, only to see the title screen along with a notification that he's been kicked from the server due to an unanimous vote from his team.

"Why don't you sit in my lap, and I'll hold you while you play?" Eraser offers, seeing that Tomura isn't ready to part from him anytime soon. "That way it won't wipe off."

So Tomura sits between Eraser's legs and lays back against his chest, while his arms wrap snugly around Tomura's middle. He watches his matches over his shoulder though Tomura is certain he doesn't follow what's happening on the screen, giving him reassuring squeezes any time he complains about how a game is going, and Tomura relaxes into him during loading screens.

Eraser grouses about dinner half an hour in advance, asks him what he wants, and when they untangle so that he can get started on it, Tomura doesn't feel afraid.

He'll only be in the next room over.

#tomura shigaraki #shouta aizawa #bnha #alltomura #dadzawa #my writing #long post #csa ///#grapefruit

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