It had been well over a decade since Janus had believed in God. Twelve years, in fact, since he had so much as prayed, let alone truly believed and relied on the existence of some omnipotent bastard in the sky - and yet he was all-too-willing to make an exception so he could have someone to blame for his current situation.
If anyone asked, he did not like Logan Oliveira. He was arrogant, and domineering, and stuffy, and controlling, and boring- Janus could go on and on about why he and Oliveira were always at odds. Hell, he could make an alphabetized list, if he truly wanted to. There was something about the way Logan acted like he knew everything, all the time, that made Janus’ blood boil, made him want to argue back day and night until he got the final word in, made him want to grab that stupid tie and pull him close until he was near enough to see any fractal of humility in those dark eyes. If anyone asked, they were rivals - nemeses, even - plain and simple.
And Janus was going to kill God for making Oliveira so goddamn attractive despite it.
In general, it was a vice Janus could tolerate - he could function just fine on the daily, when Logan was dressed like a tenured English professor on a trip to some history museum on the particularly pretentious side of London, with his tortoiseshell glasses and tweed waistcoats and that stupid satchel. In general, Logan was put together, and Janus could deal with the fact that he was, admittedly, an… aesthetically pleasing person, to say the least. But Oliveira was a prick, and a prick to Janus specifically, and he was anything but put together today.
When Janus had finally arrived at their table in the library, reluctantly ready for another day of cramming for the one million finals he had in the coming week, he found his usual study partner (study… rival?) with his head down on the table, an array of textbooks and journals fanned out around him like he was the exhausted center of the universe’s most mind-numbingly dogmatic solar system. It took until Janus set down his bag across the table for Logan to finally look up, but when he did, Janus’ brain skidded to a halt.
The first thing he managed to process was the fact that Logan was not wearing his glasses - they were pushed up onto his head, where a few stray curls fell past the frames, and his eyes were, for once, on full, unobstructed display. Janus had seen those eyes up close a fair few times, but as he stared at them now, he couldn’t help but notice how dark they truly were, a warm brown so deep and rich it seemed to blend in with the black his pupils. It wasn’t as if he’d never seen dark eyes before - Roman and Remus had dark eyes, even - but there was something encapsulating about Logan’s, something enchanting in their depth. He thought of all the times he’d underestimated how piercing dark eyes could be before he’d met Logan; he thought of all the times he’d been just inches from those eyes since then, seen them narrowed or widened or glinting with something only Janus was privy to.
Those eyes were tired now, Janus noticed, but framed by dark eyelashes and dark brows and dark curls, under the gloom of the rainclouds through the sunroof, the tiredness seemed a dark cloud in his gaze to match.
From across the table, Janus could just make out the dusting of freckles across Logan’s nose and cheekbones next - they were light, but still, Janus wondered how he’d never noticed them before, with as many times as he’d no doubt been close enough to count them. (All this time Logan had called him Freckles with that maddening smile, crooked and smug and infuriatingly taunting, and he could have shot it right back?)
But the thing that Janus’ gaze lingered on, the kicker that made Logan Oliveira a stupid, stupidly beautiful prick, was that godforsaken collar.
He was used to button downs on Logan - he wore them with nearly every outfit, under a jacket or vest or sweater, almost always with some tie or another. What Janus was not used to was the shirt on its own, and what he was certainly not used to was the first two buttons being undone, as if Logan had just pulled something on without even bothering to finish fastening to the collar. Janus quite suddenly understood, on some level, the feverish sensibilities of the historical, because the sight of Logan’s faintly freckled collarbones nearly made his heart stop.
“Something wrong, Peters?” Logan said at last, his voice gravelly like he’d just woken up, and Janus had to stop himself from holding the chair for stability.
“Of course not,” he lied. Logan raised an eyebrow as Janus finally sat down, but Janus just set to rooting through his bag for his notebook, because if he didn’t avoid that gaze, Lord knows what he’d do.
Curls astray, eyes tired, tie and buttons undone - Logan Oliveira looked a mess, and Janus had never wanted to kiss him more.
God really was a bastard.
You know, I know how tumblr feels about religion but for me I HAVE to believe in a higher power. That all of these evil bastards will get what’s coming to them somehow. Otherwise looking at all this evil and thinking nothing happens would crush me.
It’s important that people are aware of asexuals, it’s more important that people are accepting of asexuals.
I wouldn’t have had to get berated by my religious mother for years about wanting to build relationships on romantic attraction rather than sexual attraction. I could have lived most of my traumatizing younger teenage years without that particular trauma. I would be able to imagine myself as married someday, without the sentiment that ‘anyone I’d ever love would cheat on me if I didn’t fuck them’ that my mother repeated. Imagine being able to see yourself happily married, imagine not breaking down on the phone with your first boyfriend, crying about how scared of marriage you are.
I wouldn’t have had to endure jokes constantly cracked about my identity when I shakily came out to people who would only later bully me into being suicidal for years.
I wouldn’t have had to go online to find little to no information about people like me, but even worse strangers invalidating my experiences and telling me that someday I’ll want sex. I shouldn’t have to dig through people making prying predictions about my future sex life just to see shreds of positivity. It’s degrading.
I someday want a life where I can bring up being asexual as a part of my identity I’m confident with, I won’t have to mumble it around other LGBTQ+ friends hoping they don’t treat me differently if they can hear me. Maybe I won’t have to feel bad or guilty about wearing my sexuality on my sleeve like gay guys and lesbians can do with such ease. Maybe someday I’ll see an asexual character who matches my experiences.
Someday I hope to not be resentful of the asexual flag, I won’t have to exclusively associate it with posts telling me how I was better off just pretending I identified differently to save myself the harassment, or even more demoralizing, that I shouldn’t even be allowed in the LGBTQ+ community, that my experiences and trauma didn’t matter because of my sexuality.
Is this all too much to ask for?
Its 11:44 Im writing a prayer to God for religion class that was due last friday while listening to an hour video about addison cain so that i dont loss track of time and stay up until 3 am like i have been for the past 2 weeks !!
I live in blissful ignorance of what my religion is and that’s okay i want to enjoy my yearly go to the big temple gathering area they’re throwing candy and people are scooping handfuls off the floor into bags they bought epecifically for this and this alone
as a PIMO exmo who’s part indigenous i’m starting to wonder if l*manite should be considered a slur,,,,,,,,,,,
Please don’t take me seriously, I don’t know my own religion well enough to hate it and all i know is fold paper and f i r e
I was going to make a religious shitpost but then i realised that’d be offensive but also not really
Holy shit my fucking congregation is NOT talking about oppression right now when refusing to agree with BLM and also is openly homophobic shut the fuck up
Until yesterday I didn’t think there were things that “triggered” me (on quotes because it’s probably not the word, I mean, I don’t really feel like I should be using it) like I don’t have blocked any tags except for one thing but it’s not anything of the big stuff, just a phobia.
But yesterday I had to watch a movie my aunt convinced my mom to watch and… sigh. The level and amount of religious propaganda it has, it just blew my mind. And it’s funny because maybe years ago I wouldn’t have think that, because I’m almost sure christians and catholics (like, more strict ones) would not like this movie but wow, it’s just wow.
At the end we were like… is this a cult horror film? I feel like I’m not exaggerating when I say this movie might have inspired Midsommar. You could tell this movie was the director’s audition for a horror movie. I just searched his name up and his previous work was actually a psychological thriller and, boy, you can tell that’s where his passion is at.
I’m about to come out as trans to my religious parents, wish me luck.
I wonder if it’s a Christian intelligentsia thing to be so obsessed with aestheticized suffering.
@oflegends ❛ how many more people need to die before you’re satisfied ? ❜ (Sofia for Fyodor !!!)
✰ – accepting
Before he was satisfied? What a strange choice of words to use to describe his acts of mercy. Pitiful and sick creatures deserved to be put to rest, allowing them to continue suffering was cruel and unnecessary. Satisfaction had nothing to do with it. It had no place. He was carrying out the divine will of God — doing those who suffered a great favor. So how many more had to die? As many that were suffering…
Blood-violet eyes cold as cast iron shift to look in Sofia’s direction. The eyes were said to be the windows to the soul… and yet, the man before her seemed to lack any inkling of such a thing.
“I think there is a misunderstanding, Sofia…” cold and pale fingers interlock. A quiet and calm frown graces thin lips, but after a few moments the most subtle smile tugs at the corners.
“When an animal is sick… what do you do?” an honest question, as morbid as it was, “You put it down so it no longer suffers. That is simply what I am doing. In a Godless world, I shall offer mercy to those who are in need of it.”
How it wounded him that Sofia didn’t see it that way. Instead, it was as if he were a blood-lusting monster who wanted nothing more than to feast upon those he offered the great silence to. Was a God truly seen as so barbaric?
my fingers are inherently sinful as they pull my flesh, render me skin from bone. there is no way to scrub the dirt and grime from me, no beautiful eden waters for me to bathe in for I would only destroy it in my search for validation. I am dirty. I am unforgivable. I am a liar and a cheat. I am sinful and I will rot within the dirt with no one to mourn me.
Fun part of being at a Christian College!
Someone etched the letters WAP onto the dorm room elevator and the school repainted the entire thing and threatened to shut it down for the rest of the semester if it happened again. I’m pretty sure that’s not legal but what can you do?