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idololivine · 11 days

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one thing I want to know about you: what are your thoughts on the role of religion in Olivine's character arc?

omfg. I've written so much about it scattered across a ton of untagged analysis posts... let me see how many of my past thoughts I remember off the top of my head

so, let's first break this down into broad strokes:

there's the tropes of religious (Christian coded) characters in BL and hentai and how Olivine compares to those standard tropes

there's how religion shaped Olivine's upbringing and trauma

there's how religion continues to shape Olivine's healing and how he's examining what about faith and religion does and doesn't work for him

in general, Christian coded characters in BL and hentai follow a certain template. it's typically a corrupt nun/priest who looks the part but disregards actual faith in favor of debauchery, or it's a devout nun/priest who learns the pleasures of sex (consensually or otherwise) and stops being faithful, or it's a religion that is aesthetically Christian but the entire church is horny as fuck. the first two essentially posit sexuality and (Christian) faith as incompatible, while the third one just sidesteps the entire issue.

Olivine takes a fourth route: his narrative is about grappling with reconciling his sexuality with his faith. his church is anti-sex... but does that mean his faith has to be too? what is the relationship between organized religion and personal faith?

we see a little bit of this in Idol Fest's main story; part of the conflict is that the church is officially anti-idols, but then Olivine and Eiden discover that a lot of clergypeople are secretly Tidal Wave fans. when Olivine suggests holding the Idol Fest finals in front of the temple of water, the top officials at the church acquiesce surprisingly quickly. the church is hypocritical, and Olivine is not the only member who's been hiding desires that go against official church policy. when faced with this realization, Olivine's answer is this: then we change the church to allow us to be freer. our current doctrine need not bind us forever.

for his personal upbringing, I think it's interesting to compare Olivine's behavior to his siblings', and infer the differences between how they were raised from there. we see brief glimpses of his brother and sister in his Zest for Life and Fanciful Cappriccio rooms, and I think that his siblings seem... really carefree? they're mischievous in the way little kids often are, and I just can't imagine Olivine ever being allowed to act like that as a kid.

there's almost no chance Olivine's siblings weren't also raised religious, so we can reasonably infer that although religion had a huge influence on how Olivine was raised, it wasn't the sole reason. in fact, Olivine says in chapter 4 that his parents raised him so strictly was... because of his gemstone. more specifically:

Olivine My parents told me that my innate special powers come from the Grand Sorcerer of legend. This gemstone in my abdomen is proof of that. So, in order to show my gratitude to the God of Klein for this gift, I must devote my life... to the temple.

which I find interesting, because... it's less that the religion is inherently abusive, and more that the religion was used as an excuse to abuse him. if it wasn't religion it would've been something else. that doesn't at all absolve the church nor its doctrine, but it's a little bit more nuance to an already nuanced narrative about religious trauma, and it gives more insight into why Olivine is trying so hard to reconcile with his faith instead of throwing it all away. it was used to hurt him, but it doesn't have to be hurtful forever.

there's also how Olivine attributes elements of his path towards healing to the God of Klein. another quote from chapter 4:

Olivine As a disciple of the lord, I'm always happy to help those in need. Even our chance meeting and the events that followed - I'm sure it all happened by the guidance of the God of Klein. Eiden Your faith really is super strong! Olivine My soul has been saved. There's no reason not to have the utmost faith in the lord. Wouldn't you agree, Eiden?

it's interesting, also, that it's Eiden's actions that ultimately reaffirm Olivine's faith. if you want to be poetic about it, Eiden is Olivine's redemption.

it's not that Olivine never doubts. smearing monster cum on the gemstone altar in the hopes of destroying the temple is, uh, pretty doubtful. but there's something touching about Olivine getting the space to doubt and question and still deciding that he believes, on his own terms, in his own way. faith that has been questioned and reaffirmed is stronger than faith that is never questioned.

there's other stuff that I haven't covered because, look, I chose the subject I'm currently studying explicitly because I can't write essays for shit. but there's also interesting stuff in Olivine's belief that everyone deserves the chance to repent, the way Klein nobility performs religion without believing in faith (see: Classy Affairs, Festive Glimmer), and the absolute clusterfuck that happens in Chimes of Darkness.

#my posts #asks #murdertramp25 #nu carnival olivine #nu carnival #religious trauma cw

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ojibwa · 1 year

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#i get so nervous posting my writing abt historical trauma on here lol #words #spilled words #spilled thoughts #prose #mine #religious themes cw #religious trauma cw

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carnivorousyandeere · 4 months

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A cold, bright, sterile, uniform, unfeeling version of Heaven. The piercing light and constant fluorescent hum of halos grating against your all-too human nerves like sandpaper to your skin, like nails on a chalkboard to your ears. You had not been made holy, not been purified like other humans before being brought up on high. Your angelic captors seemed… not delighted, for singing and dancing were reserved only for the highest occasions, and such strong emotion was absent from the suprahuman beings. Satisfied, maybe. Maybe they were satisfied at watching you struggle in all your imperfection. A lowly being of flesh and blood trying and failing to excise your sins— no, pieces of yourself— to emulate the perfection they so naturally exuded. Self-flagellation, asceticism, starvation of the highest order. You felt your own existence as a stain upon the whitewashed walls of Heaven. They spoke of all-consuming love (as much as telepathic images burned into the back of your mind can be considered “speech”). Surely, you felt consumed by their “love.”

#inhuman love #yandere angel #yandere angels #my thoughts #yandere #yandere oc #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere cw #unreality cw #blasphemy #cw kidnapping #religious trauma cw #self-hatred cw

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grislyintentions · 18 days

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[X] @chasersglow : Himeko is staying far away from Yaoshi actually-

A pamphlet drifts with the wind. Visions of hands reaching out in supplication. Sermons delivered in hymns and songs. [A nightmare]

[Embrace the Teachings of Yaoshi with Love.

Benevolent and Untainted, the Thousand-Handed Merciful Medicus bestowed upon the living worlds their truth. Of which could rid the planet of all suffering and disease. It is only by sincerely reciting the teachings of this benevolent Aeon, entrusting them with our time and spirits, that lowly mortals can eradicate disasters and receive true enlightenment.]

#chasersglow #religious propaganda tw #religious trauma cw #[enjoy my labour of love lMAO it was a bich and a half to compose ]

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tommyssupercoolblog · 1 month

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

(this is me and Seán BTW)

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

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

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Person A: "Sorry I keep apologizing"

Person B: "you're fine!"

Person A: "yeah, thanks, sorry."

Person B: "??"

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

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

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

Person B: "nope!"

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

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

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aro-culture-is · 1 year

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TW: Religious trauma

Aro (raised in purist culture) culture is forever feeling dirty or sinful for preferring sex without romance and believing fwb is the ideal relationship

#Anonymous #aro culture is #aro #aromantic #actually aro #actually aromantic #ask #mod phoenix #sex negativity cw #purity culture cw #religious trauma cw #alloarophobia cw

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salembutnotthecat · 4 months

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part 1 is here

here is part 2

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

There were fragments of things.

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

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

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

He felt a hand on his face.

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

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

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

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

It’s Marina. He knows her voice.

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

He opened his eyes, looking at her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Novak blinked, attempting to make sense of his surroundings.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Marina hesitated.

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

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

“What kind of tests?” Novak asked.

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

“What kind of issues?” Novak asked.

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

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

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

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

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

His breathing is hard, but the nausea passes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Novak nodded. Marina squeezed Novak's hand.

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

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

Marina was safe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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thewikiplayer · 5 months

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NEW STORY IDEA. i don't have an actual name for the story yet there's religious themes and digital horror :o)

#religious themes cw #religious trauma cw #oc: sparky del rosario #oc: faith del rosario #oc: mariah del rosario #love these silly guys #they rotate in my head often but i don't really actively work on their story i just kinda ball

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yardsards · 1 year

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i think one of the most evil aspects of fundamentalist evangelical christianity is how it (and the general culture of those who follow it) encourages parents to treat children

first off, it treats having children as something EVERYONE should do, regardless of if they actually want and are capable of raising said children. in more extreme cases you get shit like the quiverfull movement, wherein couples are encouraged to have as many children as physically possible

and then, those children are referred to like they're their parents possessions, like they are just objects their parents were "gifted" with by god. they're not treated like their own human beings.

AND a core tenet of their religion is that humans are born inherently sinful. they think newborns, who can't even fully control their bodily functions yet, are automatically full of sin. an infant's crying for its basic needs to be met is seen as a sign of their inherent selfishness

a parents' main goal is supposed to be to "purify" that child's soul by any means necessary, the child's actual wellbeing is secondary to "saving their soul"

and, of course, free thought is discouraged in favour of obedience. they believe in a hierarchy: child < wife < husband < god. if you are to disobey the one above you, then you are considered to be disobeying god himself- even if the thing your parent or husband is commanding you not to do is not a sin in of itself. "honor thy father and thy mother"

and again, parents are taught that the best trait for a child to have is *obedience*. obedient to their parents and obedient to the church and scripture

parents are taught to force that obedience by corporal punishment. physical abuse (and yes. "spanking" is abuse. if you disagree then, well, i'm sorry that someone convinced you that raising a hand against someone so much smaller and weaker than you is anything short of abusive) is ENCOURAGED

in fact, if you DON'T hit your kids, you are seen as A BAD PARENT, who is failing to properly "train" their child, and who is dooming their child to a life of wickedness, sin, and suffering ("he who spares the rod hates his son, but he who loves him is careful to discipline him." or, put more simply, "spare the rod spoil the child")

parents are told to ignore their own despair and revulsion towards the idea of harming their child, and to hit them anyway. hit the kid and ignore the voice in your head that says hitting kids is wrong. remind yourself that this is for the child's own good. remind yourself that this is god's will.

you're also supposed to remind the child that you are hurting them for their own good, because god commands it. teach them that people hurting them is a good thing.

and many suggest that after you beat them, give your child comfort (comfort from the distress caused by being beaten by you, who is supposed to protect them from harm) and to give them affection (to drive home the point that hurting them is how you show love). which, if you know about the cycle of abusive relationships (tension, violent incident, reconciliation, calm) then you can see how this is pretty much a mirror image of that

it's fucking evil

look up the book "to train up a child" if you want to see this taken to the extreme. even many fundamentalists thing the methodology is too extreme, but they generally agree with the ideology/principles behind it

#eliot posts #exvangelical #abuse cw #christianity cw #religious trauma cw #my parents weren't even that religious compared to some others i knew #but they had thoroughly absorbed the abusive ideologies peddled by that specific belief system #i was only beaten a dozen or so times that i can remember #my sister had it way worse #but even still. it fucked me up #wooden spoons still make me uncomfortable tbh (i also got the belt or the hands but the spoons were the worst and most common)#i still get a little bit afraid that people are gonna hit me when they're really mad at me and i shut down #sidenote: even outside of religion‚ beating children is extremely accepted in rural appalachian culture #and there's just. a lot to disentangle with that #i'd read some pretty good pieces about like. unlearning abusive ideals that were normalized in your culture #whilst not like. fully rejecting or belittling every part of your culture even the good or harmless stuff #though most of those were written by people of colour so not a 100% overlap with my situation #cuz y'know. we don't have racism against us just for being ''rednecks'' or whatever #but we do have our own smaller cultures that have formed outside the mainstream because of geographic isolation and bc poverty #but it's not the exact same situation #SIDENOTE my parents never rlly did the comforting me after beating me thing and were very blatantly beating me out of anger #so i kinda benefited there cuz there wasn't that level of manipulation so i realized it was wrong of them pretty early on #i didn't know it was abuse but i knew it was cruel

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wolfiemcwolferson · 11 months

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another fic I’ll never write

in honor of Carlando doing *waves hands* - have a fic I’ll never write. (though I’m not gonna lie, typing all this out...I was like...okay, maybe I could, but then I was like. No. Trauma.) CW for religious trauma

I’ll never be able to write this fic because it’s...heavily based on my own experiences in fundamental Christianity and I don’t think I can go there, ya know? Some world building stuff under the cut before we get to fic, but it’s uh...a lot.

So, to understand this world, you need to understand that there is a way things are done. Men lead the home. They are expected to get a good job and marry a good woman and they have as many kids as they can because children are a blessing from God and women don’t work. They don’t lead any sort of worship or hold leadership in the church, BUT what they can do, is teach children. Any deviation from any of the expectations is frowned upon. Someone raised as a woman in this world, I was expected to get engaged before I graduated high school, married that summer or the summer after. College absolutely optional. I say this because the men get more leeway. Men normally don’t have to get married until 25 (yeah, do the math there), because they’re expected to have a career and be able to “provide” immediately upon entering into a marriage. It’s genuinely all...fucked. So, when I say that I grew up in a cult, I actually mean I grew up in a cult.

Okay, now to fic stuff.

The whole thing opens with Lando - the minister’s son who is leading the congregation in song. We learn that he’s graduating high school soon and this is a special service where you “move up”. Essentially, you are grouped by age and the younger people in the group are “mentored” by the oldest members of the age group for a year or two and Lando is moving into the “young adult” group. Of course, he gets paired with Carlos - which he has a bit of an internal panic about because he knows what his dad is doing. Lando is too feminine. He is going to study music at university and he prefers to play with the kids and he’s never dated and it’s all because he’s really absolutely gay and he’s terrified because he cannot ever be gay. So, he knows that his dad paired him with Carlos because Carlos is good. Carlos is getting an Engineering degree and he doesn’t date because he’s ‘waiting for God’s perfect plan’ and he is masculine and perfect and Lando is a little bit in love with him - has been for years. How could he not be. The two of them go to lunch and Carlos is being so so so kind. He’s talking to Lando about how they’ll both be commuting to the university a couple of towns over and he’s asking Lando if he’s registered for his classes and when they are. “Perhaps we could get lunch together some there, yes?” And it’s all very perfect. And Lando has never let himself look at him at Carlos for too long, but he’s watching him now and it’s mesmerizing. Carlos is kind and he listens to Lando when he speaks and he doesn’t say anything shitty to him when they talk about how Lando wants to be a music teacher and he’s just...so much different than Lando expected him to be, but in the best way. Lando goes home that night after he and Carlos exchange numbers and they make tentative plans to go do this local mission together at a nursing home and Lando lays in bed that night and he wonders how he will spend the rest of his life living a lie.

And then it’s just Lando allowing himself to languish in Carlos’ attention for the long summer. They go to repaint the outside of the nursing home for a whole week and Carlos never once asks him why he doesn’t date or what he’s waiting for in someone he will marry and he sometimes says things that make Lando pause for a long long moment and Lando has the weirdest summer where he spirals deeper into his crush and more miserable than he ever has been.

The fall semester starts and it’s awful. It’s boring. It’s all theory and history class, but there’s this really funny guy in all his theory classes that plays the piano better than Lando could ever dream of and he’s so comfortably gay that it rocks Lando’s world. He just gets to be gay and he’s happy and he tells Lando about all the boys that chase him and Lando doesn’t know what’s real anymore because he’s also having lunch with Carlos once a week on campus and Carlos seems...different here. He’s lighter and he greets everyone and he seems to be so popular and he laughs differently and it’s Lando’s first proper taste of the world outside.

Until. Until Lando and Charles are having lunch together after their history class gets cancelled and the run into Carlos and Carlos is...an ass. He will barely look at Charles. He doesn’t speak more than one word to him and Lando is devastated because it confirms everything for him. Carlos hates Charles because Charles is gay and he doesn’t pretend otherwise and this man that Lando has been building up to be someone that is good is just a reminder of his cage. He is furious and when the three of them part ways after lunch, Lando follows him. “HEY!” he shouts when Carlos is nearly to his car, tears leaking from his eyes already, “I know, but I believed you were different.” “Lando,” Carlos says, trying to snag his wrist. “Please -” Lando shoves at him a little bit. “You can hate him, but he’s just like me.” And now Carlos is furious. “Get in the car, Lando.” “I have -” “Get in the car.” Lando gets in the car and Carlos drives and drives and drives and tells Lando to call his dad and tell him that he and Carlos are going to bible study here tonight and they end up at a lake and Carlos stops his car and says, “You are 19 and I am not and I cannot do this with you.” “Do what?” And instead of answering, Carlos kisses him.

That’s where this fic gets kind of fuzzy for me.

Carlos and Lando have a mad mad descent into discovering each other. Carlos reveals that he’s waiting to escape. He wasn’t raised in this. After his mother passed away, his dad found religion and that’s how he ended up here, but he has an aunt in Chicago and after he finishes his dual BS/MS degree in the spring, he’s going to leave. He knows he’s gay. He’s always known he’s gay. Lando tells him about how he can’t imagine how he will go back to his life - how he will marry someone - how he will live this life forever.

Carlos is leaving in May, you know? they both know. At some point, in the bed of Lando’s father’s pick-up truck, Carlos asks Lando to go with him. “We can run. I will get a very good job and you can finish school. And we will be happy. We can make friends and live in a tiny apartment and I will buy you an upright piano with my second paycheck. We can run.” And Lando says no.

Lando says no and Carlos smooths his hair back and kisses him anyway and tells him that it’s okay, they still have time.

Lando doesn’t go though. Carlos tells him the night before he leaves that he loves Lando and Lando tells him that he’s been in love with him maybe since he was 14 and the next morning when Lando wakes up, he knows that Carlos is already driving north.

It rocks the community. Carlos leaving rocks the community because he was...perfect. He was perfect and he left and Lando’s father comes down on him hard because they were close.

Lando loses all autonomy at this point. He has to go to class and home. He gets a girlfriend. He is doing it all and for two years, it’s enough but he never stops remembering the way he felt when Carlos touched him and he never stops remembering the way Carlos had asked him to run and he never stops remembering what it felt like to be himself.

So when he and Charles start their last year of school, Charles says to him very simply, “You know that you can live in my apartment? I will not charge you rent and then afterwards? After May? When we are done? You can live wherever I live. Because I think if I leave you here, you will wither away.”

Lando doesn’t take him up on that offer, but when April rolls around and Lando has an offer from the local high school to be their associate band teacher, he shows up on Charles’ doorstep with four suitcases and a cracked leather bible and Charles shows him the apartment he found for them in Chicago and Lando stops breathing for a full minute.

And this is where things get even fuzzier.

Lando doesn’t have a family anymore because you get ex-communicated by these people when you leave. So, he leaves and he follows Charles to Chicago and Lando teaches piano lessons to a string of really awful rich kids and he plays guitar with Charles on the weekend and he finds this weird little group for ex-fundie kids and they listen to Semler songs and cry about them together.

Two years after he moves to Chicago, he moves into his own place - roommate free. He starts a new job at a fancy private school and he doesn’t really do the ex-fundie group anymore, but he’s friends with all of them still and he goes to their queer weddings and he is so happy. He dates. He finds out that he really loves dancing. He figures out what kind of person he is.

And so...when he walks into a coffee shop four blocks from the fancy ass private school that he just got a job in and he sees Carlos Sainz sitting in the corner, he doesn’t hesitate to walk up to him and stand in the light and smile at him. “Hello,” he says, smiling about the way Carlos’ eyes go impossibly wider before he stands up and hugs him.

Okay, don’t shout.

I would leave it open ended. Very ambiguous. They smile at each other and Carlos asks him to dinner and that’s that. That’s the end of the fic.

Of course, I have my own thoughts about their ending, but I’d love to hear yours.

#carlando #never fic #religious trauma cw #I have to go into hiding right now because Sol is coming at me with discord murder frog emojis

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