#and i hate what the church has done and continues to do

[skin-slave]

Piss Christ is just to make conservatives mad. It's not that deep lmao

I get it, anon. I truly do. When I was a kid, it was included in so many sermons. It was held up as an example of the disrespect of the secular world and of "degenerate art." (I don't recall how it was phrased, but there were literal burnings during my attendance. Call a spade a spade.) And I loved it. I loved how much they hated it. I wanted to see their power crack, to be free of their control. And to hurt them back, bc sometimes the wounded lash out.

But I was wrong. Does it have that effect? Of course. Is that the point of the piece? No. The artist created it from a place of belief. It was intended to be Christian art.

It asks questions that are worth asking.

Is that small, mass-produced plastic crucifix a holy object? It's a piece of plastic, shaped and dyed overseas by ppl who were likely not believers. Does that matter? At what point between assembly line and bookstore shelf does it become more than a piece of plastic?

Is it the image it's formed into? How much authority does that give it? Has the image been elevated to something near (if not directly) idolatry? Is it as important as faith? Is it more important?

Is that what faith is? A little plastic crucifix to put on the wall? Something with a price tag? Something simple and easy? Something to set this particular household, this family, apart from the heathens next door?

Is it an expression, or a performance? Do we know the difference?

Why is this little plastic crucifix something to be protected, while children eat cross-shaped chocolates at Easter? While you throw forgotten drawings of the crosses on the hill into the trash when Sunday school is over? While we print it on t-shirts to wear to Wal-Mart, on bumper stickers to fade and peel off? On tracts to be crumpled in pockets and dropped on the ground? What makes the treatment of this image, in this situation, different from the way it's treated by other believers?

Was Jesus' physical body also holy? Are you prepared to think of him as a man who picked food from between his teeth, and pissed, and got BO and morning wood? Is being in a body so shameful that you can't accept his body as it was? Is the idea of perfection so important that rejecting him as a man is justified? Is that what faith is?

How many believers have insisted that they would kneel at the cross? Would they, really? Could a person who can't handle a photograph stand to kneel in the mud made from his sweat, blood and piss? Could a person who collects sterile plastic crucifixes stomach the smell? Could a modern believer watch a man die, screaming blasphemy while speedrunning the stages of grief?

Are those ppl - the dirty and ugly and needy and angry and dying and blasphemous - "the least of these"? If not them, then who? If not them, then why?

How many, who would right now be claiming that their faith is strong enough to do that, have no idea wtf they're promising? How many pay a nurse to bathe their elderly parents? How many cross the street to avoid ppl who haven't bathed in a while? How many look down on ppl who sweat for a living, who do the unglamorous work, who can never quite get the smell of diesel or fryer oil off of their hands? How many expect others to cover up scars, birthmarks, deformities, disabilities and illnesses? How many are impatient with those who need help, who are living inside of their pain, who blame god?

The piece is uncomfortable bc it juxtaposes something clean and convenient with something gross and messy. It's uncomfortable, so ppl sent the artist death threats. It's uncomfortable, so ppl committed vandalism in museums. It's uncomfortable, so ppl printed off copies of it to burn in effigy.

Is that what faith is?

[pettyprocrastination]

More security guard!simon thoughts.

He has to wear formal wear at work now. Which he hates- the man always feels constricted by a suit and tie in a way that will never be satiated no matter how much he adjusts his cuffs and the line of poor silk wrapped around his neck.

"For the love of Christ can you stop fidgeting? You're like a fucking child in church clothes." You peer over your laptop with narrowed eyes, letting your gaze focus on the way the fabric stretches over his muscles, buttons almost straining over his chest.

He says nothing. As usual.

"Maybe you wouldn't be so twitchy if you actually wore clothes that fit. You get paid enough to be able to afford a proper tailor.” 

His eyes snap up to your own and you can feel his scowl underneath that stupid mask and can’t find the smile that it brings to your face. Annoying your obliged shadow has become one of the few joys in your day. 

“Don’t need new clothes.” 

“Yeah sure, tell that to the button that’s fighting for its life right now. If that thing flies off and takes my eye out, I’ll sue.” 

“I’m sure you have a lawyer on retainer.” “Several actually. Along with a very talented tailor who has done beautiful work for the past three weddings I’ve had to attend.” 

“All for your father?” 

“And each blushing bride-that-was-once-to-be that still feels the need to send me a christmas card.” 

Simon feels his phone vibrate in the pocket of his slacks. Before he has a chance to reach for it- you confirm his curiosity. 

“You have a meeting with him Saturday morning, he’ll do your measurements and then have your clothes ready for you on monday. I’ve sent the address to you and I expect the next time you come into my office, you’ll look like a normal human being and not a weightlifter stuffed into his old communion suit.” The chair creaks under his weight as he leans forward, eyes narrowing into slits as yours don’t bother looking up from your computer screen as you continue to read whatever fucking proposal you’ve been glued to all morning.

“You know-” He rasps. “I work for your father. Not for you, don’t forget that.” 

Your gaze flicks up to find his own and he’s taken aback by the thin smile that stretches over your face and the smug twinkle in your eye that makes him realize perhaps the two are one in the same. 

“The appointment is 9 a.m, Riley. I’m sure your time in the military has made you quite the early riser.” 

Simon has learned you have an interesting way of always getting what you want, even if you end up hating it in the end. 

Which is how he finds himself standing before a wrinkled old man taking his inseam at 9:30 in the fucking morning- telling him that he should stick to muted colors for his ties from now on. Something like burgundy and dark greens because “she says it’s a complementary color for your eyes and I’m inclined to agree.”

[myfictionaldreams]

Day 31: Religious Play - Eddie Munson

Summary: You were unsure as to what you'd done to offend the new priest. What's worse is that your mom had invited him over for dinner, where you find him going through your bedside drawer, revealing all of your well-kept secrets.

Before reading: This is (obviously) going to refer significantly to religious practices. I, myself, am not Catholic, so any religious information in this fic is purely from Google and may be incorrect. Additionally, if religion is something that you would potentially find triggering, please do not read. You are in charge of your own media consumption, so read the tags/warnings carefully.

Tags/Warnings: 18+ readers only, smut, dubious content, bad family dynamics, manipulation, religious play, priest kink, sexual coercion, blackmail, mentions of public sexual activities, power play, the act of purifying, deepthroat, begging, non-consensual creampie, rough sex, degrading

masterlist 📚 

kinktober masterlist😈 

AO3 Link 

“Your mom has invited Father Munson over for dinner, by the way, so make sure you’re wearing your Sunday best”. Sitting up further from where you’d been lying on your bed, you turned towards your Dad in the doorway, frowning in confusion at his sentence, the beginnings of anxiety creeping into the centre of your chest.

“Fath-Father Munson? Why would she do that?” Internally cringing at your noticeable stutter, you stood abruptly from the bed, wiping your sweating palms down your jean legs.

“How should I know? You know what she’s like when she gets into these schemes and wanting to kiss the community’s arse. Just make sure you’re more dressed up than what you are now”. Before you could continue the conversation, your frustrated dad walked away, closing your door behind him.

Releasing a long, slow breath, you tried to take a minute not to panic. Your mom was definitely trying to scheme something like your dad mentioned; however, usually, it would be with the sheriff or someone from the council so that she could become friends and find out the latest gossip throughout Hawkins. This made it even more nerve-wracking that she was trying to do this with the priest with whom you had a strained relationship.

Rushing to your wardrobe, you tried to find the most suitable outfit you were saving for a church. A simple light blue dress that ended below the knees, matched with socks, but no point wearing shoes when you were staying in your home. Nervously, you began to dress and prepare for his arrival, hating that it had to be him, of all people.

There was something about him that had your heart beating so hard you were sure your rib cage would crack. The priest was still relatively new to the parish and had been a welcome sight. Considerably younger than the feeble, frail previous priest, Father Munson came to the church with new hope and enthusiasm. His sermons would easily capture the attention of the crowds, which in turn caused more people to attend than ever before.

A large portion of the crowd came to check out his handsome looks. There wasn’t just the age difference compared to the old priest; Father Munson seemed to be the complete opposite of every priest who had ever lived in Hawkins. Curly long hair that would occasionally be tied loosely at the base of his neck, roguish good looks to match the gorgeous caramel eyes that could lure you in with a simple gaze. There was no denying many people's attraction to him, especially yours. For many quiet moments alone, you had fantasised about the priest, even if this was considerably frowned upon as he had sworn his life to the church.

It didn’t help matters that he seemed to act differently with you. With blessing, his hands would linger on your skin, eyes blazing into yours during preaches. You weren’t sure what it was, but he treated you so much differently than others, which made you nervous to be with him, and now he was coming to your home.

A couple of hours later, you were ready for the ground to open up, and you fell into the depths of hell. Father Munson had arrived, wearing his usual dog collar and black jacket outfit that he seems to wear most days, his hair curling over his shoulders and down his back, the fringe naturally laying softly on his forehead. You greeted him with your usual smile and politeness, and there was no denying the glaze over his brown eyes as they wandered over your outfit and to your toes, linger there for a moment too long.

Thankfully, your mother swooped in and began to pester the priest, asking how his day was and over-complimenting to the point your dad was cringing from across the room. Luckily for him, your mom was the home cook and needed to return to the kitchen to prepare the rest of dinner so he could excuse himself, saying he would help her. You knew he wouldn't, and unluckily for you, that meant you were stuck in the living room with just you, the priest and the deafening silence.

“Is this you?” his deep voice had you jumping and gripping your chest as you turned to look at what he was referring to. To your displeasure, he was inspecting the family pictures on the wall, precisely the picture frame that showed you as a child, sitting on a park bench with a cheesy grin.

“Yes, I was five and-” You were beginning to explain the origin of the picture, but he swiftly cut you off, clearly using the picture just as an opener to start his teasing and torment.

“What happened to her?”

“What do you mean, father?” your voice remained neutral, but everything inside of you knew he was baiting you into something.

“This sweet girl in the picture, so innocent and loving. What happened to her? What happened to you? To become the way you are now”. Those soft brown eyes then turn back to you, but you’re quickly looking away to stare at your socks, feeling uneasy under the intensity of his words.

This was always what he would ask and refer to—talking as if you were some impure, degenerate human being when you were anything but that. Well, that was somewhat of a lie. To everyone in Hawkins, you were the loving daughter with plenty of friends, achieved good grades whilst at school and now working in the library to earn a living.  They did not need to know about your activities when out of town, specifically going to watch the rock concerts where alcohol was freely passed between fans, which lowered the inhibitions of the drinkers.

Yes, you’d been promiscuous with a few fellow rockers, but you always made sure to pray for your sins the following night, blaming the intoxication for your actions. However, no one knew of this version of your life as you made sure to drive to a town far enough away that no one you knew could accidentally see you leaving a venue or a motel in the morning.

Looking back up to the priest, you tried to appear confused, “I don’t know what you mean, father? The girl you see in those photos is standing in this very room. Nothing has changed except my age”.

“Hmm, I’m not too sure about that. Nevertheless, I will continue to ask for forgiveness for your sins on your behalf. Otherwise, there would be no hope for someone like you”, he casually remarked with a simple wave of his hand over his shoulder, displaying the collection of silver rings that adorned his fingers.

“Thank you for praying for me, Father, but I don’t believe I need your assistance with-” you began to retaliate, but your parents returning to the room had your mouth slamming shut.

“Dinner’s ready! If you’d like to come through, Father”, your Mom beamed with pride, directing the holy man to the other room where she seated him opposite your chair.

Thankfully, your mom could talk for all of Hawkins and speak at Father Munson rather than allow him to talk. You could keep your head ducked low and push the food around your plate until your parents asked you to tidy the dirty dishes in the kitchen. Even after this, you were forced to listen to the three of them talk about the church and how tainted Hawkins had become in recent years, needing a strong religious figure to lead them to the light.

“Are you sure there isn’t anything we could offer you to drink, Father?” your Mom requested for the fifth time as her glass had been drained of wine again.

The priest shook his head, the curls bouncing around his emotionless face, “No, thank you, ma’am. But, I would appreciate it if you could point me in the direction of your toilet if you wouldn’t mind”.

“Oh, of course! It’s just at the top of the stairs and the second door on the right”.

You watched him stand, straighten his jacket, and walk up the stairs, which were in your eye line. However, once at the top of the stairs, he looked back down at you, the beginnings of a smirk on his lips as he turned left instead of right, which incidentally led him straight towards your bedroom.

Standing so quickly that it caused both of your parents to startle in their seats, you quickly stammered an excuse to run up the stairs, “I think I forgot to close my window! I’ll be back in a moment”.

Your parents grumbled insults under their breath towards your rudeness. Still, you ignored them entirely, climbing the stairs two at a time to race towards your bedroom and hoping to God that the priest had made a simple mistake and just needed clarification of the direction of the bathroom.

As you arrived on the landing, you stared towards your now-closed bedroom door, which had once been open. Opening it with as much urgency as you could muster, you found, to your horror that the priest had entered your safe space and was currently rifling through the secret belongings of your bedside drawer that you swore had been locked before.

“What are you doing?! Those are my private belongings-!” you began, trying to whisper but remaining firm with your questioning as your hands trembled at your side as you knew just the sort of things that were hidden in the bedside draw.

“Do you know what this is?” he asked, sounding as casual as ever but didn’t match the fierce anger swirling in those usually welcoming chestnut-coloured eyes. Your heart momentarily stopped beating in your chest as he held up a small silver device that could be mistaken for lipstick but was undoubtedly anything but something used for cosmetics.

“It’s my lipstick, and I really don’t appreciate you going through my stuff, Father. If we may return to the dinner-” You tried to sound as calm and confident as possible, but once more, he interrupted your attempts to move him out of your bedroom.

“You and I both know that this is not a lipstick. Do you know how to use it properly?” Your entire body burned with embarrassment as your shoulders rolled back, and you held your head high, deciding you wouldn’t answer his question, but his response only made you want to melt into the floor more. “Clearly not by the lack of an answer. Clearly you are being tempted by Satan with some of these behaviours, and ah- it seems your taste in music seems to justify this sort of behaviour”.

Dropping the bullet vibrator back into the draw, the priest lifted a cassette tape of your favourite band, Metallica. You knew of the judgemental and anti-faith stereotypes that came with liking rock and metal music, and yet, you couldn’t help but love the music, having used it as an escape for years. A secret escape at that, having kept it hidden from your parents all these years, which is also why you travelled so far to the concerts to truly be yourself where no one you knew could find you.

“Have you listened to their latest album? Track two is something special”, Father Munson remarked whilst replacing the cassette in its hiding spot. Your mouth was wide with unspoken questions, wanting to splurge out as a thousand thoughts alarmed through your mind.

“You… you listen to Metallica?” you asked in absolute disbelief.

The priest closed the draw slowly, turning to face you ultimately, his eyes lingering on the blue socks on your feet. “What I do outside of the church is none of your concern. But, what you do is mine, especially when I have your parents are so worried about the dark, satanic goings-on that are promoted by this sort of music. I can easily fend off the demon whispering through the lyrics, but you? No, someone like you can be so easily manipulated and tempted by the devil”.

You hadn’t noticed just how close he was until the tips of his shiny leather shoes were touching the tips of your toes. Instinctively, you take a significant step backwards, which, in turn, he follows and steps forward. It’s like a teasing dance until you lose as your back collides with your bedroom wall, and he's leaning his hand against the wall beside your head.

“The devil is not tempting me, and I don’t know why you seem so insistent that I am. I come to church every week, I pray nearly every day, what more do you want from me?” As you speak, you realise just how captivated by his eyes you are, and even though you want to look away, you hold the gaze.

“I want you to believe the things you are saying. I, for one, believe you have already been lured by the demonic forces that can so easily tempt sweet little souls like yours. You need purifying. Need the light to return to your soul or risk being damned forever”. As he spoke, you couldn’t help but glance between his lips and eyes, something he, too, noticed as his thumb and forefinger roughly grabbed the tip of your chin, forcing your face up so you were looking up at the ceiling.

You were sure he would be able to hear your heartbeat with how violently it was pounding in your chest as his face dipped so close to your ear that his hair stroked the soft skin of your cheek. “Want to know why I know the depths of evil have already tainted you? Imagine my surprise as I’m watching one of my favourite bands, and who do I see in the middle of the crowd? I see the innocent librarian, wearing next to nothing and some random man’s tongue in her mouth and fingers in her underwear. Does that ring any bells for you, Sweetheart?”

It did. It had been several months ago, and you were considerably drunk and speaking to this stranger for hours whilst waiting in queue for the concert. You were never one for public indecency, but you were going to blame the alcohol for the fact that he’d fingered you in the middle of the crowd, and after the show, you returned with him to his motel for more erotic adventures.

You felt sick to your stomach and had no idea what to say. Of course, you could deny it, but it seemed a useless task if this had been what was fueling his pestering for all of these months. Furthermore, all you could think about were your parents downstairs and just how much you were at the mercy of the priest in front of you.

“Not so quick to retort now, are you, angel?”

“Please, don’t tell my parents. They hate me enough without knowing this side of my life”. It was hard to plead for something so desperately when you were still left staring at the ceiling, entirely at the mercy of the priest pressed up against you.

There was a moment of pause where images and scenarios of all the potential repercussions flashed through your mind. Your parents kick you out, are a thorough shouting at, and probably lose your jobs due to the rumours and whispers that would spread throughout Hawkins. With no job and nowhere to live, you’ll be on the streets with no food or water and your entire world crumbling around you.

Before any further begging could be done, the grip on your chin was released, and the priest was stepping away from you. More specifically, he was stepping away from your door and towards the stairs that led directly to your parents.

“Stop!” you whispered urgently, trying to grab onto his arm to pull him back, but he was already halfway down the stairs and in the eye-line of your parents, who stopped their conversation to greet their guests with fake smiles.

You nearly slipped on the bottom step as you ran down behind the long-haired priest, trying to think of a way to interrupt whatever he had to say, but your mind was utterly blank of thoughts.

Instead,d you had to stand in horror as you watched his mouth open, “I’m sorry to cut this night short, but I’ve realised that I need to rush back to the church. I had thought the groundsman had been working today to lock the building, but it’s just occurred to me that he’s on holiday, so I must get back to lock up. Unfortunately, the church is quite big so it will take me a bit of time, and your lovely daughter here has offered to help me; I hope you don’t mind. I will drive her safely home once the church is safely locked”.

“Oh? Now… you have to leave now?” your mom questioned uncertainly, glancing between her freshly iced cake left uneaten in the middle of the dinner table.

“What my wife means is that, of course, that is no issue at all. I’m glad my daughter has decided to be helpful in some way. You’re welcome back here any time, Father”, your dad explained, giving a pointed look to his wife before standing and shaking Father Munson’s hand.

This was how you ended up in the passenger seat of the man’s van, your fingers gripping the edge of the seat in desperation. You weren’t sure what was worse. Knowing he didn’t tell your parents now and could at any point in the future or that you were now alone with him with a blatant lie about the church needing locking.

One small part of your internal monologue was jumping for joy, attempting to take in every unique detail you hadn’t noticed before from the man. The van smelled of cigarette smoke, a habit he must have kept secret as you were reasonably sure he wasn’t supposed to indulge in habits such as this to remain a good role model for the community. Surprisingly, he also had a Judas Priest tape playing quietly, his ringed fingers tapping with the rhythm of the guitar. This was only surprising as he wasn’t even attempting to hide his love for the metal band, which gave you one bargaining chip if he ever decided to blackmail you with informing your parents.

“Thank you for not telling my parents. I was worried for a second that you were going too”.

Father Munson glanced over at where you were still clutching to your seat as if it were your lifeline. Even though you weren’t facing him directly, out of the corner of your eyeline, you watched his eyes drop to the bare skin of your shins.

“Who says I won’t be telling them? I just thought it would be easier to be in a holier place, in private, where we could both pray for your sins… extensively”. 

This did nothing to ease your anxiety and embarrassment. Was he expecting you to kneel at the front of the church and beg god to forgive you for the seedy acts you’d done in secret?

Thankfully, the drive was swift enough that you couldn’t dwell on these thoughts. The surrounding area of the church was coated in darkness as the moon was covered by low-lying clouds, which gave the site an even more haunted feeling than usual. Due to this, you regretfully had to stay close to the priest, rushing to get to the double doors of the silent church.

Once inside, you remained at his elbow as he began to turn on the few lights hanging on the wall, illuminating the rows of pews and alter.

“What would you do to be forgiven by God? By me?” You blink, unsure if he was referring to himself as a god or just as the one to allow forgiveness to be given on behalf of the church.

“I’d do anything”.

“Then kneel before the cross, and we will start with the body of Christ”. 

Every Sunday, you completed the action asked. To kneel in front of the cross hanging above the altar as the Priest placed a wafer of bread onto your tongue, followed by a sip of wine. However, doing it now with only Father Munson to witness it felt demeaning. Furthermore, the priest didn’t help with how he placed the wafer onto the flat of your tongue, his thumb pressing firmly so that saliva filled your mouth at the pressure. Next came the wine, which he tilted your head back by pushing your chin so you were staring at the ceiling.

Your mouth was open as he tipped the watered-down wine in, except a single drop slipped past your lips, dribbling down your chin, only to be captured by his thumb and pressed back onto your mouth, where you obediently sucked it clean. You nearly choked on the liquid as the realisation as to what you’d done, and your body unforgivingly began to warm, not from embarrassment but a desire pooling deep within your centre.

Averting your eyes to stare at the floor, you continued to him say the Lord's prayer, which you recounted under your breath, attempting to steer your thoughts away from the damping of your underwear.

“Amen”, his strong voice resonated around the empty church as you repeated the words with a dip of your head. “I don’t think it’s enough just to have the blood and body of Christ inside of you. The actions you have been a part of across the country, the dark music you listen to, I think you need more thorough purifying”.

“Please, Father. I’ll do anything”, you insist whilst remaining on your knees and looking up at him with wide eyes. Even though you were still frightened of the repercussions, your body responded treacherously. “I want you to purify me from my demons, Father”.

The handsome face standing above you tilted, his eyes shadowed now behind his long hair. “When people look at me, they see me as the spokesperson for God and the practices of this church. I am a symbol of everything holy. Some would say that there is nothing more pure than me, leading the way for others to become accepted by God”.

You weren’t sure if it was your hopes and the disconcerting pulse between your legs, but you could have sworn there was an undertone to his words. Carefully, you picked your following words, “If it is you, Father, that I need to rid of these demonic entities, then I will gladly proceed with whatever you deem is necessary”.

“These erotic acts that you have been divulging in, forgetting your faith and allowing the words of the devil to stain your body. The only way to flush these demons out is by replacing them with pure ones, by a holy being. If you want to make God happy and earn his forgiveness, you must earn these rewards. Do you understand what it is that I am saying to you?”

You swallow the thick glob of saliva, continuing to hold his eye contact, ignoring the uncomfortable ache in your knees. As you nodded in understanding, you verbalised, “Yes, Father, I understand”.

Without missing a second, he ordered sternly, “Undo my belt”.

Your fingers lifted to his black leather belt and began to unbuckle it, not wanting to overthink the actions you were doing, even though the bulge in front of you made it evident of his intentions. He held the power of your life and religion in his hands; if he wanted you to pray until the early morning hours, you would. Of course, you knew the manipulation, blackmail and coercion he was currently holding above your head was wrong in every sense of the word. Still, the broken part of you that enjoyed being fingered in the middle of a busy crowd was more than ready to please the priest in any way he deemed necessary.

With his belt now unbuckled and opened, you waited patiently for your following instructions. “Let’s start with ensuring your mouth is purified and cleaned of sins first. What do you think, Sweetheart?”

“Yes, Father”, you replied whilst fixing your stare on his crotch. Carefully, you nimby unbutton and pull down the zipper to his slacks, opening the gap. Reaching inside his stripped boxers, you were able to wrap your fingers around his hard length, surprised to find him thicker than you’d anticipated. Releasing his length from the confines of his clothes, you admired the firmness of the shaft and the way it throbbed as you squeezed him gently.

“Please cleanse me, Father”, you whisper up at him before licking the deep maroon tip of his cock. The priest didn’t so much as sigh at the touch, but the length did harden slightly as you began to leave open-mouth kisses up and down the shaft. 

“Enough. Open your mouth, stick your tongue out”. You did as instructed, sitting back on your heels to await his next move, but it seemed he had other ideas as he placed one hand on the back of your head, and the other supported his cock at the base. Stepping forward, he directed his cock into your mouth, sliding it against your tongue until he was hitting the back of your throat.

You were only just able to suck in a deep breath before he was pushing further in, your eyes filling with tears at the stimulation that was too much, but you wanted to impress him, so you attempted to relax the muscles of your throat. Finally, this earned you a satisfied grunt as the priest watched his dick disappear into your mouth.

Father Munson then proceeded to fuck your throat with the pressure from his hand on the back of your head, keeping you in place and entirely at his mercy. Saliva was soon dripping down your chin, but the sloppiness of it all only made him more frantic and harder with his thrusts. You weren’t able to take his entire length before you were gagging and pushing on his thighs to allow you a moment to breathe through your nose.

Suddenly, he was yanking back your head, pulling himself entirely out of your mouth, “I don’t think it would be as beneficial to allow the purification to happen down your throat. Come here”. With his hands now held out for you to hold, you did so tightly, grasping the rings and allowing them to cool the heated skin of your palm.

Your legs struggled to hold up any of your weight from being on your knees for such a long time, so the priest had to carry you over to the alter practically and have you lying face first over the table. Sighing at the contact and now having to worry about keeping yourself upright anymore, you looked over your shoulder to Father Munson, who was admiring the back of your legs.

Wishing for the wait to be over, needing the fire in your belly to be eased in some way, you wiggled your hips invitingly. “Please, Father Munson, I need you to help me. I want to be cleaned by God’s touch”.

You could have sworn that the man growled under his breath as he lifted your skirt. The apples of your cheeks warmed as he didn’t even pull down your underwear completely; he simply moved it to the side. You could only gasp at the coolness of the air touching your soaked pussy.

A subtle kick to the insides of your feet had you widening your stance so the priest could move in closer between your legs. You watched over your shoulder as he dipped his height slightly, and then you could feel the firmness of his length pressing against your folds, swiping up and down, trying to find its home and then nudging into your hole.

You raised onto your tip toes as the pressure intensified, your hole stretching enough that a dull ache formed in the gummy walls. Your eyes closed as well, thoughts zoning onto the cock now penetrating your body. He was entirely overwhelming, yet you never wanted that sensation to end, as scandalous and against the rules as this was.

“Good girl, let me in, that’s it”, he praised, watching your pussy take inch after inch of his cock. You whimpered at the praise and intrusion, and when you reached behind to try and keep him from entering anymore as you needed a moment to adjust, he grabbed onto your hand and held it to your lower back and thrust in the remainder of the way.

“God!” you shouted out with spite.

Father Munson chuckled, his hand squeezing yours, “That’s exactly right. God. He’s here to ensure you’re thoroughly cleansed, Sweetheart”.

Your entire body shivered as he began to ease out, your cunt shrinking back to its original size before stretching once more as he thrust in. It seemed the priest wouldn’t wait, needing to do his work thoroughly and deeply.

His thrusts had your body rocking back and forth on the stone altar. The obscenity of your cries echoing around the silent church only made this entire situation feel more intense for you. What’s worse is that when you finally opened your eyes, you were forced to gaze up at the statue of Jesus on the cross, watching the entire scene unfold.

“That’s right, they’re all watching. Making sure all the demons have escaped your body. That you now truly belong to the church. No song or man will ever lure you to the devil. Only God and I have permission to have your soul and body. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Father”, you cried out around the deep moans of pleasure. Even though you were trembling, it was like nothing you’d ever experienced. Other than the watered-down wine, there wasn’t a drop of alcohol in your system. It felt incredibly taboo to be fucking the priest in the middle of his church, and yet, there you were, begging him not to stop.

The cock that continued to pound into your cunt expertly stroked every beautiful spot that had you verging on the edge of an orgasm. Tingles deep in your belly and running down your thighs to the tips of your toes. You were so close that you were almost unaware that the priest was near to his orgasm. Almost. You had nearly fallen so far into the fantasy that you’d momentarily forgotten what his main goal was. To penetrate you with his pure seed to rid your body of the demons.

“Wait, you can’t cum inside of me”, you urgently say, looking over your shoulder towards the man who now had wildly unkept hair and a blush rosing the skin of his neck that you could see.

“How did you expect to have God’s forgiveness if you can’t have my pure seed soaking you from the inside?” You were too far gone to care about the repercussions as you came with violent squeezes of your pussy around his cock. The tightness with which you squeezed him only helped to milk him for every single drop of cum that came flooding into the deepness of your cunt.

Still reeling over the high that was easing through your system, you were only half aware of the priest grunting the Lord's pray as his thrusts came to a stop. A heavy hand on your hip kept you pressed against the stone altar as he pulled out and replaced your panties into the correct position.

“You must keep this inside of you tonight for the full potential of the Lord's work to unravel. Understand, Sweetheart?”

“Yes, Father”.

[sophieinwonderland]

Reminder That System Medicalism is a Religion: Exhibit A, @theinfernalcollective

This is pretty typical sysmed rhetoric.

And in typical sysmed fashion, has no sources to back it up whatsoever! As always, sysmeds rely on an argument by assertion. Facts just aren't on their side.

Never have been, never will be.

So they give a couple sources.

First is the DSM which doesn't say trauma is needed in all cases of DID, only that it's associated with trauma. It makes no such claim for OSDD-1 being associated with trauma at all. And on top of that, doesn't even mention the word system. Which is pretty big since most endogenic systems don't have a dissociative disorder and don't claim to.

Basically, it's a nothing source that doesn't back up what they claim it does.

As for Dr Candy Fox...

There's no evidence she actually said this.

And she has yet to respond to the message I sent her website. (Because yes, I did send her a message on her site to see if she actually agreed with this.)

But based on the context, it seems pretty obvious she would have been talking about dissociative identity disorder, not "being a system."

Now, before going any further into this conversation, let's take a step back and remember The Infernal Collective asking the anon to name a single psychiatrist, obviously expecting they wouldn't be able to.

How did THAT go?

Oh right, it's how it always goes when you meet a sysmeds' goalposts!

Did you expect anything different?

"This psychiatrist saying you can be plural without trauma doesn't count because he's talking about transgender people."

"And also the screenshots of his peer-reviewed book that was published by the American Psychiatric Association are posted on a site I don't like."

So when linked to an email from a dissociative expert, someone with 40 years of experience treating dissociative identity disorder, they again retreat to just... not liking the website the image is posted on?

And again, their source for Dr. Candy Fox was just something they allegedly heard in person during evaluationMeanwhile this is an actual email, with one of the foremost DID experts in the world!

Also, for the love of the gods, Transgender Mental Health does NOT say "transgender make plurality." Actually read the thing!!!

But hey, now that I'm done with that particular conversation and got what I need to make my point, I'll confess! All these anons were me!

Reminder, again, their source was "my doctor said it, trust me bro!"

And while I only named a couple doctors over the course of that conversation, I could have dropped so many more!

The fact is, it's not hard to look at a link and read the screenshots therein. Here, I'll even post the pics!

And in case you're thinking that they just trust Dr. Candy Fox's opinion so much and hold her in such high regard...

Nope.

But then...

WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU BASING YOUR BELIEFS ON?

Because it's not psychiatry. You can't cite a single doctor anywhere who has said you can't be a system without trauma!

System Medicalism is a Religion!

Sysmeds, like transmeds, do not base their bigotry in science or rationality. They do not follow the opinions of experts.

It's a religion to them! The Church of the Holy Trauma believes that Trauma and only Trauma has the might to bestow plurality upon the few chosen. And their faith is so unshakable because they've been told this by random uneducated nobodies on the internet, and it just feels true.

And because their FAITH in this idea is so strong, no amount of studies will change their mind. No amount of doctors coming forward to support endogenic systems. No amount of literal brain scans will convince them endogenic systems are real. As the saying goes, you can't reason someone outs of a position they didn't reason themselves into in the first place.

In the end, sysmeds continue to be an anti-science hate group with a religious devotion to their ideology of hate.

And this whole disaster is just another example of that.

[thrashkink-coven]

Hi! I saw your post about the appropriation of religious imagery by extremest hate groups (a good post, I share your feelings of frustration) at the end you made a vague statement about the satanic temple and was wondering if you could elaborate on what happened there? They are a group I admittedly only have passing knowledge of, but what I have seen has usually been pro LGBTQ advocacy or similar things. Not that I don't believe you- I don't really interact with large institutions because they tend to become inevitably corrupt and have inherent gatekeeping, but I was wondering if you wouldn't mind explaining what exactly or which extremist propaganda they have been aligning with recently? Or is it just because they are generally anti-theistic?

(I have, in fact, been almost literally living under a rock the past few years so I apologize if the answer is something obvious, but I couldn't seem to find anything with cursory searches so thought asking someone in the community would be a better source)

I couldn’t even begin to outline all of the terrible shit the leaders and founders of The Satanic Temple have done over the years. They are a group of alt white scammers using progressive ideology and leftist sympathy to fill their pockets. They use their image to pray on young women at sex parties and employ real cult tactics to isolate and abuse them. They are a company comprised of sexual abusers, manipulators, and fascists parading the name of Satan to manipulate actual Satanists and Luciferians into giving them money, despite never showing any real respect to those philosophies or religions. We all already know they’re not theistic satanists and they don’t really worship Satan, but they also have absolutely no relationship with Satanism or Luciferian gnosis. You cannot be a Luciferian or a Satanist and be friends with Nazis. Idgaf call me a gatekeeper. They just like to use the image of Satan for publicity stunts to ruffle the feathers of a few Christians. They do not embody the Luciferian spirit or the values of Satanism.

I have a deep hatred in my soul for Douglas Mesner and how much damage he has done to the image of Luciferianism and Satanism, not to mention the real world damage they have done to abortion advocacy groups. The strategic moves of opposing institutions that oppose LGBT rights has actually given a bad name to good faith organizations who already have enough negative stigma around them. Abortion advocacy groups don’t need the narrative that they’re sacrificing babies to Satan by being supported by the Temple of Satan on top of all the backlash they already receive by Christo-fascists.

They DO NOT use the money donated for abortion advocacy to help young mothers or to fight real cases of human rights abuse, they have never actually helped a real woman obtain healthcare. The leader himself openly admitted to taking money donated to the Satanic Temple to pay his personal bills.

Asides from the plethora of real accusations of sexual assault and violence against female members of the church itself, the leader Douglas Mesner has actively supported abusers and suppressed victims from WITHIN THE CHURCH!! (kicking them out, harassing them, threatening them lawsuits etc) from obtaining justice. They have never made any actual strides in the fight towards liberation and have actively supported real fascists for years now. Douglas Mesner has advocated for eugenics and made horrible anti semitic and racist comments in the past and continues to support alt right nationalists who actively spread hateful rhetoric. The lie they promote of wanting to protect women’s and LGBT rights is a well crafted marketing scheme to give them a good image while they abuse and manipulate their own members behind the scenes.

This is a fantastic video essay that dives deep into the history of the members and their controversies:

Genuinely, from the bottom of my heart,

FUCK THE SATANIC TEMPLE

There are of course members who are great people who truly take the philosophy to heart, who have seriously fought for liberation and have sadly had their empathy hijacked. But I don’t like cops and I don’t like people who support Douglas Mesner and his band of freaks. They cannot be trusted and they have done far more harm than good. Actions speak louder than words.

[thedivineden]

Bible Study

pairing: tomura shigaraki x reader

Genre: smut

Tags: Fem!, Dubcon, religious themes, manipulation, sexual themes, age gap, no quirk, breeding, unprotected sex, dumbification

“No one can serve two masters, for either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to the one and despise the other.” Matthew 6:24

“Our Father, Who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name; Thy kingdom come; Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” Over and over, you could hear the man in your ear. Whispers of the Lord’s Prayer embedded on your brain, you must think of something else, anything else. “Give us this day our daily bread; and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us” you could hardly contain yourself as you opened your eyes, the from the stained glass windows seem to illuminate the indiscernible halo perched on his head. “and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.” He had you hooked, “Amen.”.

“Amen.”

You could hardly contain your excitement as you marched out the door towards your parents. Your session with Minister Shigaraki had you on cloud nine. Even if you couldn’t interact with him for more than 10 seconds before someone else is running up to him, being in his presence is a blessing. Despite the initial annoyance, you understand the effect he has on the congregation. Not only is he incredibly handsome, but his words have a way of touching people.

“Come on sweetheart, we need to get home. We can’t be late to dinner.” responding with a quiet yes ma’am you trail behind you family. Shuffling down the corridor and out the door you could feel the July heat swell around you. Even with the barge of people you still manage to catch a familiar smell of spice and soft sage. He’s nearby. Whipping your head around you see priest shigaraki a few feet behind you with that dazzling smile plastered on his face.

His movements are so smooth, the way he weaves through the crowd halts you. It felt like time was moving slow, In a few strides he was in front of you, smiling from eye to ear. It didn’t matter what it was, you were always available to talk to Father Tomura. In a few strides he was in front of you. It felt like time stopped for you two, there was an undeniable connection and you know he felt it too.

“I’m glad I caught you, it seems like you leave something every Sunday. It’s almost a routine” he says with a light chuckle, you knew he would come running after you. He’s the reason this doltish crush continues. If he allows it, then the lord is truly on your side. “Apologies minister, I am rather forgetful.” Laying your hand upon the scarf you brush his hand lightly pulling away. “I do have a rather important matter to discuss with you. Can you meet me in my office after Tuesday night bible study.” Immediately a smile stretches across your face replying with a sheepish yes, “I knew I could count on you, have a blessed darling and stay out of trouble!” The moment he turns from you the world seems dull.

Sunday dinner came and went as normal, it was nice to spend time with family but draining when it comes to your older cousins. They made it very evident that the Priest is only reason to attend church. “I bet you he’s never even fucked someone before, he screams virgin.” Your cousin jasmine says passing the phone to your cousin Brianna. “ No girl, he’s definitely fucked before. You should see what he looks like under the robe.”

That statement alone makes you ears hot. How the fuck does she know what he looks like under his robe. As if she knew you were looking at her, she whipped around to face you smirking. “What’s wrong cuz? Got something you want to ask?” Flustered wasn’t even the word for you right now, you wanted to know. “H-How do you know what he looks like under his robe?” Without another word, jasmine is closing her room door turning the lock. “You have to promise to keep this a secret, we didn’t know he was getting undressed.” They were watching him get undressed?

Would God punish you for this? The pure terror you felt is all the conformation you need but the heat swelling below beckoned for more. “I only want to see because I don’t believe you.” Eyes rolling jasmine pulls out her phone, scrolling through her photos she throws her phone across the room at you. Landing next to you is a photo of the man himself.

Minister Tomura in the back room of the church, cerulean hair pulled back with his robe draped around his waist revealing his large carven chest. Your eyes were glued to the screen. Looking up at your cousin, cheek hot, you ask “can you send this to me?” Giggles and laughs erupt from the two as your throw the phone back to her.

The moment you arrived home you set to finish your chores and participate in night prayer. “Sweetie, can you lead the prayer tonight?” A feeling of shame seem to wave over you and disappear once the intercession began. “Now I lay me down to sleep” you can hear a voice in the back of your head. “I pray the Lord my soul to keep” maybe it’s a spirit trying to send a message. “Watch and guard me through the night” the voice whispering how they will watch over you fills you with warmth. “And wake me with the morning light.” Implicitly wishing father tomura would bless you with his presence, the image of his rope hanging off his waist fresh in your mind. “Father, you know my worries and care for my troubles.” Opening your eyes you can see your mother in front of you, eyes closed reciting the word unaware of your sickly desires.“So I give these heavy concerns to you, Amen.”

“Amen. Thank you sweetie, I love you. Goodnight”

Your night was far from over. It seems as if your knees are bolted to the floor, your ill feeling can only compare to shame and guilt. What would mother say if she knew I was calling out to our pastor instead of the lord. When you heard a ding come from your phone all shame null in your mind, you knew what it was and your mind was racing.

Getting up from the floor you close your bedroom door triple checking the lock before running over to your desk. Phone in hand you make your way over to your bed climbing under the covers. Your heart is racing the sound of it thumping in your ears.

Opening your cousin message eyes landing on the fatal image you saw earlier. Just the thought of him made you immoral, sinful thoughts plague your mind asking the lord for forgiveness before you’re rolling up your nightgown. You swear you can smell spice and sage as you trace shallow small circles around your clit. God, please forgive me.

What would he think if he saw you like this? Your finger speed up whimpering for the man craving for release. Chest heaving you can imagine him over you, praising you, fondling you. The thought of it all sends you over an intense orgasm strikes through you. Sitting up in your bed throwing your legs to the side you slide down to the floor on your knees and pray for your transgression.

Waking up on Monday morning was dreadful for you. Your body felt heavy and your mind is racing, thoughts of last nights dallying has you shaking you head. I need to get it together. Minister Tomura was a background thought as you went to class. Your day is as normal as it can be taking your exams, thinking about priest tomura, attending office hours with your professors, masturbating in the bathroom to his picture again, volunteering at the homeless shelter, and begging god for forgiveness in your driveway.

Mentally you were falling apart. Laying back in the seat you recount your day. The photo of your very own priest has plagued your mind. You were beyond forgiveness, there is no way you’ll be able to look him in the eye on Sunday. He would call you a pervert. What if your mother found out? The buzzing in your ears seems to increase with every thought. Your chest felt tight breathing becoming ragged and shallow. How could you be so disgusting?

Before you have a chance to spiral again a knock on your window startles you. Reclining your seat forward you see an all familiar cerulean head of hair. The universe seems to be playing a practical joke on you, why would your pastor be in your driveway. “Why are you sitting in the car?” Nope, this is definitely him, and you could hardly stop the disgusting abstractions from popping up. Punishment is due soon for you.

After having a short and awkward conversation with Minister Tomura in the driveway, you both made your way through the front door and towards the dining room. You didn’t even have a chance to ask what he was doing here. What if he knows about the picture? “Oh! Minister! I’m so glad you were able to stop by! Go wash up sweetie, dinner is almost ready.”

Palms sweaty you head up the stairs to your room. Your stomach has a mix of butterflies and ill. After freshening up you put on some comfortable clothes and head downstairs. your ears were practically on fire trying to hear the conversation from the steps. Rounding around the corner met with the eyes of your mother, father, and pastor seated at the dining table. “Hope the party didn’t start without me” letting out a nervous chuckle you take a seat next to Tomura.

The smell of spice and sage dance at the tip of you nose, his smell is intoxicating sitting so close to him makes you want to pounce. Who cares if your parents see. You’d suffer through the embarrassment if it means you can having him buried inside of you. “Did you hear your mother?” snapped out of your daze your eyes dart across the table. “Aah apologies Minister, my child has a tendency to daydream.” you can hear a small chuckle come from the man. It sent chills down your spine.

“This is the first time I’ve seen her like this. She’s so vocal in study, I don’t know what I would do without her.” in that moment you felt like your heart would jump out your chest. There is no way Father Tomura hand is resting on your thigh. You immediately put your hand on top of his offering a small smile. This is the best night ever. Once dinner is over you start clearing the table retreating to the kitchen placing the plates and pots into the soapy water.

The sound of the clanging pots drowns out the sound of your parents and guest laughing. You didn’t even notice a presence behind you until you felt hands on your shoulders. Tilting your head up you’re greeted with a toothy smile. “H-Hello Minister, is there anything you need?” disappointment crashed on you when his hand left your shoulder. “I just wanted to know if you need any help? It would be rude of me not to help my favorite congregant.” You were his favorite? It fell so smooth out of his mouth it made your knees weak

“Of course Father, I would never deny your help. You’re a good man.” You can hardly think straight. Why is he so silent? What if he thinks you’re gross or trying to hit on him? You can feel his slender finger under your chin lifting your head up to meet his eyes. “You think I’m a good man?” small shocks flow through your body, you were hot under his touch. “I do! I think you’re a good man. I’ve seen how you connect with people it’s like you get them not only physically but spiritually an-“ his lips on yours send you into overdrive.

“Thank you for your hospitality and the lovely dinner. I’ll see you at tomorrow night bible study?” turning to you, offering him a small nod, he wishes you and your family a good night. Heading to your room you close and lock the door. You can still feel his lips on yours, you would give everything to him if he asked. Tuesday morning came faster than you thought soon you were out the bed and on your way to work. Tomura being the first and only thing on your mind. Was he thinking about you too? Of course not. He has better things to worry about than some kiss.

It wasn’t just some kiss to you, thoughts about how soft his lips were and how your tongues dances with each other. Recalling how his hand slid around your waist holding the small of your back. His finger no longer under your chin but sliding through your braids. You were on cloud nine. How could he not feel the spark between you two, you belong together. Once you arrived at work your mind shifts between holding meetings and filling complaints out you had no time for distractions.

Only when your workload is complete and you’re in the car the excitement hits you. You have to know what the kiss meant. Your unwavering devotion and desire for him expands beyond the holy gates. He’s all you can dream of, who you touch yourself to — he is truly deserving of worship and praise. Upon arriving to the church you sat in the parking lot for ten minutes asking and pleading with God to lead you on the right path to guide you with strength and compassion.

The horde of teens and kids comes into view once you lift your head up, you were going to need to head in at some point. Exiting the car you make your way to the double oak doors, the moment you step in you notice the empty pews making your way to the back room.

Past the open doorway you have a clear view of an angel. Everything about him is heaven sent, from his slender jawline to his scarred lips. Every inch of him is perfect. “Good evening Minister” it’s so sweet and natural in your mouth your excitement dissipates the moment he opens his mouth. “We’re holding independent group sessions, you have your own. Good luck.” he didn’t even give you a chance to respond leaving you stunned as he sits at the opposite end of the room.

He avoided you the whole night, it felt like your heart was shattering. It’s infuriating. You actually thought he would be interested in you? Now you’re watching him laugh with members of the church. The quicker you can leave the better. Making your way out you exchange pleasantries with familiar faces. Standing right by the door is tomura, greeting him with a smile you ask “Is there something I can help you with father?”

“I hope you’re not leaving we having had our discussion yet.” his unwavering smile made you feel delicate, you didn’t even notice how he stepped forward backing you away from the door. All you want is for him to hold you in his arms and never let go. “No, I was just stepping out for some fresh air.” with a reassuring smile he steps aside holding the door open for you. “Head into my office when you get back, I’ll be done soon.” softly nodding you make your way outside.

Your mind is reeling the only thing that keeps you sane is praying. ‘Heavenly Father, thank You for Your great faithfulness in my life. I choose to flee from lust, because I know You will empower me to follow righteousness, faith, love, and peace with all who call on you out of a pure heart. Amen.’ once your mind is at peace you head inside gunning for the ministers’ office.

You hear the large double doors slam shut and lock the sound of his footsteps down the corridor. The hair on the back of your neck is raising your hands bunching the ends of your dress out of nervousness. Once the door opens he’s apologizing “I’m sorry I kept you waiting.” Taking a seat in the leather brown chair his arms immediately crossover his chest. “What we did last night was inappropriate. I have to apologize for my transgression” your heart is thumping so hard, if you don’t say something now you’re going to lose him.

“I have a confession father.” lifting his head up to look at you made you neurotic, “I-I haven’t thought about anything else since last night, if I must be frank, I think about you a lot even in the most shameless ways.”. Eyes bouncing between the floor and his gaze, his expression is unreadable a sigh leaving his lips he says “Confess your sins child and I can set you free.” Patting his lap you get out of you seat circling around the amber desk swiveling the massive chair around you find purchase on his thighs. You can feel his slender fingers snaking around your waist palming at your sides breath hot on your ear he whispers “what thoughts have been tormenting your pretty little head?”

All confidence went out the window the moment he spoke those words into your ear, “It’s too embarrassing to say, I don’t want you to think less of me.” The grip he had around your waist tightened “my sweet flower, I could never think ill of you.” planting a kiss behind your ear you body involuntary jolts forward. The friction between his pants and your cotton panties made you melt. God has answered your prayers.

“I touch myself whenever I think about you.” No words left his mouth he only hummed bouncing you on his thigh. Small whines escape you lips, your bodies were so close. He sighed at your naivety “Is that all, those th-“. “Even now as I sit here I can only think about your touch.” your mind is blank the only thing you can focus on is grinding. release is your only concern. The grip he had around your waist tightened halting your climax.

Tears fall from your eyes “I’m so sorry father, I-I didn’t mean to!” overwhelmed with shame and arousal trying to squirm out of his grip. “Don’t be disobedient. Let me take care of you, get rid of impure thoughts” picking you up bridal style he sits you down on his desk. “Lay back for me sweetheart” obeying his command you lay back on the desk holding the end of your dress over your panties.

A low chuckle follows this action your hand jerked away from your dress. “Don’t get shy on me sweetheart. You were just riding my thigh, confessing your sins. You feel no shame.” His words were harsh, but he only spoke the truth. Father Tomura is never wrong. His words were harsh but you knew he would never steer you wrong. “Be a good girl and I’ll make sure these thoughts go away.” standing in between your thighs you can feel his hands sliding up your legs.

Slowly he trailed caressing and massaging every inch of you. His touch is so soft and soothing the butterflies in your stomach, it made you feel loved. Working his way up your panties sliding your underwear off. You don’t see him bundle them up in his pocket as he brings your legs to his shoulders. Tomura bent down swiping his tongue through your slit without warning. Your thighs snapped around his head — your hands attempt to push him off, as the grip he had around your legs tightened he forces your legs open.

“Tomura~ please.” your pleas were null to him. “It’s Father Tomura, if you can’t get it right you won’t get anything at all.” pouting you relax your legs allowing him to dive in between you legs. He was gentle and reassuring at first. Tracing small circle on your clit teasing your hole with his tongue. Whimpers and prayers fall off your tongue fingers tangled in his hair. Tomura could hardly contain himself sucking and pulling at your clit. Tomura wants to see how far you can go, how much he can make you cum.

You were so sensitive, his actions were beyond making you cum. He wants to feel you around his dick moaning and screaming his name. Deciding to speed up the process his finger ghost over your hole trying to get his fingers wet with your slick before easing his fingers into your sopping cunt. His eyes are zoomed on you — he’s watching the way you grab the desk, the spit spilling out the corner of your mouth “Ahh~ Tomura, slow down.”. Completely disregarding your request he continued to pump his finger curling them to hit your sweet spots.

The pressure in you stomach is unbearable you were practically begging him to slow down. Just looking at you made hard. He wants to fuck you into the table, tears rising in your eyes he takes this moment to slide is fingers out and unlatch from your clit. Eyes wide you try to make an escape before he slaps your clit hard. “No! Please!!” all of your tension and shame is washed away letting the pleasure surge through you. You were soaking, wetting the minister and his robe pathetically covering your face with your arms.

The best part about this is he has full view of your cunt clenching around nothing.You’re practically begging for it. Untying his robe let’s it fall to his ankles pulling you to the edge of the desk. His juice soaked hand came up to you face slightly caressing it as he teases your entrance with his tip. His movements were so smooth — one moment he’s leaning down to place a kiss on your forehead, next he’s bullying your cunt with his cock. “Repeat after me, Lord, forgive me for I have sinned before you. Wash away my sin, purify me, and help me to turn from this sin.”

Your eyelids were heavy you reaching for something maybe some solace from his dick kissing you cervix. Eyes fluttering open you can see the furrow of his, the stern look he is giving you reminds you that silence wasn’t an option. His hand rose again coming down on your clit with force. A squeal erupts from you as your hips jolt forward, breathlessly you recite the prayer “Lord, f-forgive me for I have sinned before you. Aah~ wash away my sin, purify me, and help me to turn from this sin.”. The way your cunt is convulsing around his dick makes him feel invincible. The sounds you’re making alone sends him over. He’s only focused on release.

His dick jumped at the thought of desperate inexperienced girls opening their legs for him. You were the perfect vision of sin. “Father Tomura~ I can’t hand-“ you words cut off by his lips smashing onto yours. “Just push a little hard for me sweetheart, I know you can do it. Look at how easy you’re taking me right now” you response were incoherent and thats exactly how he wants you. His groans made the tensity in your womb crack. You wrap your arms around his shoulder and tighten your legs around his waist.

His kisses and stormed become messy and deep, it felt his smell is suffocating you. He wants to absorb everything you have. Feeling the way your cunt is fluttering and gushing around him it’s begging to be filled and defiled. “You’re such a good girl, I’m going give you a reward. A present from god.” Burying his head in the crook of your neck satisfaction is all you felt. Your orgasm takes a new form within you, nails digging into his back your hips are fucking into him chasing, pleading for relief.

His pace is brutal the thought of filling your lewd cunt made his mouth water. Drool coaxing the side of your neck a low growl causing your body to shake “cum f’me sweetheart~”. Fireworks exploded through your body, you can hardly formulate words as squirt cover both your abdomens. The corners of your eyes succumb to darkness as Father Tomura restlessly pounds into you. His teeth engrave your neck, praises and apologies fall off his tongue, “M’gonna fill you up. You’re such a good girl, squeezing my dick like this. M’gonna give you what you want”.

His grip is shaky the twitch of his dick is evident, he’s hooked your legs around his arms deepening the position. Tomura felt pure bliss being buried in you, his mind was hazy, the once relentless pace faltering as he fills you up. The only sounds in the room were shallow breaths, lifting his head you expecting pure joy across his face. Disgust. “You’re so disappointing. I thought you were better than this.” As he let your legs sliding out of you, he continued his verbal assault. “You seduced a holy man and allow a man who isn’t your husband taint you.”

The room feels cold. You rose quickly reaching out for him catching his arm. “I’m sorry father! I am disappointing! I-I can be better, I can do better! Snatching away from you he rounds his desk sitting in his chair, almost instinctively you were in front of him on your knees. One of his hands gently grasp the side of your face. Wiping the tears from your eyes. “Show me.”.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Am i the asshole for responding in distress and upset after my best friend of six years cut me off??

Now, i know this sounds really cut and dry to begin with, but i promise it’s way more than just the title. That’s why I’m reaching out in confusion here.

About three weeks ago, my best friend of six years asked if i was free in the evening. It’s important to note that at this time there had been no communicated issues between us, I legitimately thought everything was fine. I try to be a very communicative person, so i talk about issues when they come up, and encourage them to do the same.

they showed up on my doorstep at 10:30 at night and asked me to come outside. Assuming we were going to be driving around and hanging out, i grabbed my things and happily skipped out to their car where they were waiting for me, and proceeded to say,

“I don’t know how to put this in a better way than this. I don’t think we work. I don’t want to be friends anymore.”

To say i was completely shell shocked would have been an understatement. I didn’t even know we had issues. We had been inseparable for six years, and even planned to move in together. At first i briefly thought they were joking, but when i realized they weren’t i turned around and walked back inside. I knew it would have been best for me not to continue to conversation in person. They hate being screamed at, and i knew i wasn’t going to be capable of not raising my voice in that moment as they gave me no warning of this situation, and no time to process. So, i simply turned around and went back inside. They texted me a few minutes later saying that they hated it had to be this way, but they needed to grow as a person.

Naturally, i have no issue with needing to personally grow, but i felt i had no understanding of the situation, so i asked them why and why i might have done to bring this on. They said that they constantly feel ashamed around me, and that they couldn’t be themselves around me. I was confused, and quickly let them know that i have always encouraged them to be the person they want to be around me, and to not hide themselves. However, they said they couldn’t.

They said that they make me uncomfortable, and that they scare me. Naturally, as this wasn’t true, i asked them where they got this notion, seeing as i had never said such a thing to them. They said they could tell from my body language, which i found to be ridiculous. I told them it was unfair of them to assume how i feel about them without even asking me, and that if i was upset with them i would have told them. They said,

“You don’t have to say anything.” Your body language says enough.

They than proceeded to say that we were different people, coming from different backgrounds, and that made us incompatible. I asked them what they meant, and they told me

“You have more opportunities than I do, and always will, and you're comfortable with that, again, that is okay.

You can have a decent paying job in a church, spend money on coffee and dirt cheap earrings online, and repress yourself around people you're afraid of, and my experience in the world is entirely different.”

This message completely confused me, as 1.) i don’t believe the opportunities a person has should define them as a person, and i certainly never flaunted mine. I’m in college, yes, and i have a decent paying job… but never have i rubbed that in anyone’s face, in fact i try to do the exact opposite. I felt icky about the way they commented on how i spend my money… as it never effected them, and i didn’t like the light that they were painting me in.

Not to mention, they seemed to be calling attention to the fact that i wasn’t out yet with my family (I’m bisexual.) when they brought up me repressing myself. In the time I’m in right now, this is a non-negotiable for me, as my family is intensely homophobic and would have disowned me if i came out. My ex best friend has always been more radical than me in a lot of view points, and i hate the thought that they may have demonized my fear of my life falling apart around me.

Naturally, after reading this message, i accused them of calling me shallow. They said they weren’t accusing me of anything, but i believe there’s no denying the object accusations and rude phrasing of the message that they had sent.

The conversation went on for some time, with me desperately attempting to understand what was going on, before finally i grew angry.

I told them it was unfair, no matter what their reasoning was, that they handled it this way.

They said it was fine because it was a selfish decision they were making for their own betterment and mental health.

I understand this- but none the less, i feel the way they handled it was wrong.

I told them that they should have given me some warning or time to prepare for this serious conversation, but they claimed that there was no way they could have prepared me for it. I told them it was unfair of them to expect a calm reaction out of me when they literally ripped the rug out from under me and cornered me into a volatile response. They told others that my emotional reaction to all of this was me ‘attempting to manipulate them.’…. I genuinely can’t figure out if this is true or not. I believe manipulation implies i had something to gain… but i didn’t- i just- didn’t understand anything, and i was angry and hurt and i wanted them to know that how they had handled this was wrong.

They told others that my reaction was extremely emotionally immature… and i just- don’t understand anything anymore.

Following they interaction, i went to my two other closest friends. I needed my support system. I was scared and alone. I didn’t try to manipulate the situation into something it wasn’t. I didn’t want that. I wanted objective opinions. I offered the situation in its full, explaining it and showing all the screenshots, asking for opinions and advice.

One of these people happened to be my ex best friends partner…. But they were my best friend as well. We were a trio, always going to each other. This is where the situation gets messy. Maybe i shouldn’t have gone to him- but he was also my best friend… i was equally as close with him as i was my other best friend. I called him in tears, showing him all the screenshots and telling him i didn’t know what to do. I specifically told him he didn’t have to choose sides, and i didn’t want that… but i did express my fear that he would stop being my friend too. I didn’t want him to choose sides, i didn’t care if he remained with my ex best friend. I just didn’t want to lose him too.

He read through the messages, and was so horrified by my ex-best friends behavior that he felt as though he couldn’t trust them anymore. He said it was like seeing a different side of them. I didn’t say or do anything, he came to his own conclusions after looking at the situation, and he even told me he has his own issues with them separately from my situation. I still repeatedly have reminded him that he doesn’t have to make any rash decisions just to defend me, and he says he knows that… but it’s his personal stuff as well. He took a break from my ex-best friend.

As of recent, my ex-best friend has been telling others that i am manipulative, and that i am rallying people against them. They’ve aired out my personal information to others… people i go to school with. Though they didn’t give names, everyone they are talking to knows our friend group very intimately. These people know exactly who they are talking about.

They have told people I’m a narcissist because my parents are too… they’ve said “they feel bad for me” for responding the way i did, because I’m ‘traumatized’, so of course my reactions would be emotionally immature. They’ve accused me of jumping to conclusions… they haven’t given the whole story to these people. They’ve only shown one screenshot towards the end of our argument where i finally snapped and said ‘fuck you’. They showed nothing that lead up to it… only me in my worst moment and not what they said to cause it.

And they’ve accused me of rallying the people around them against them. This is in now way the case… but even if was doing it on accident… (which i don’t think I’m doing.)

It would only be two people… one of which is my close friend and their acquaintance…. It’s almost as if they don’t want me to ask for support to anyone about this… but i feel as though I’ve been made into a terrible villain, even after reaching out a few days later and apologizing for getting so emotional. I told them i never wanted them to feel like they couldn’t be themselves around me, but they never communicated that so how would i have known? Even still… i apologized, but told them it wasn’t fair how they sprung it on me and asked them to maybe try to understand my reaction. They excused that by saying that they only had half a week of preparation… which doesn’t seem fair seeing as i only got 10 seconds.

Too long didn’t read: my best friend showed up at my house at 10:30 at night and dropped me, accused me of things (maybe?? I’m not even sure anymore??) and then accused me of manipulatively rallying people against them when i reached out to my two closest friends for support- when they’ve been doing the exact same thing.

Am i the asshole?

Please be honest here- i don’t need pity. I need truth. I’m lost and confused and I’ve never been more angry and hurt than i am right now and i don’t understand what the fuck is going on-.

What are these acronyms?

[georgiapeach30513]

Down On My Knees, Part 2

Summary: Time to be cleansed

Pairings: Jax Teller X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings:  explicit language, explicit sexual content, sacrilegious, sin, mentions of dub con, mentions of self harm, depictions of mental break, unprotected sex, PIV sex, voyeurism, implied corruption in the church, sinister elements, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 2.8K

Previous

Series Masterlist

You stare out the window of your room, watching as everyone disburses from the service. You’re far enough back from the window, so most won’t notice you. You’re hiding. Even your mother only gives the tiniest glance behind her back. You swear you could see her smirking. Bitch. May she rot in hell.

You hoped that all the saints and angels cast their fiery gaze at her. They never do. It had been weeks of this misery. Five months since that night. Jax was an odd one. He was either getting too close to you, or running away from you. You’d never felt more alone. Running your hand down your bump, you look at your stomach. Not entirely alone anymore.

“Princess,” he is the only one that continues to call you that. He was odd, but that name was such a comfort. You turn to the side, looking at him as your hand runs over the swell of your stomach. “The baby is getting bigger.”

“Isn’t that what happens,” you answer, spinning fully around to walk to him. “What is my personal lesson today?”

“How to clean,” your face falls flat as you look at him. He had to be joking, but he wasn’t. “I need to set something up for,” Jax hated saying his name. Hated the way that his stomach bubbled and rolled just thinking about him coming here to see you. Had even told Jax that the bastard had to go.

“Oh. Him,” you could tell his presence sickened Jax, and you weren’t entirely sure. You were told he was interested. And didn’t care that you or your name was sullied.. “What are we setting up?”

“He wants to have a prayer with you. He’s asked that you set up a special altar,” Jax leads the way down the winding staircase, and you just listen. You aren’t even sure you wanted to leave the church. Well, once you could actually be seen out in public it might not be so bad. This place has become your home. Your own sanctuary. There was a safety in these walls.

“What kind of an altar?” You turn to look towards Jax, and when his icy cold eyes look at you, you have to look away quickly. Missing his grin as he watches you become uncomfortable.

“One to cleanse you. You are no longer pure. I — I’m sorry for being so blunt. He wants you to reclaim your innocence,” he stops in the sanctuary, turning to look at him. That is impossible. What is done, is done.

“I’m not sure I follow, Jax. I was used. I fought, and I failed. I carry my shame in my stomach, but he walks around freely,” Jax shrugs, tilting his head. “What is your worst sin?”

“I’d rather not say,” they never wanted to say. They acted like what happened to you was your fault. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and had no one there to save you. Men could hide their sins, while women carried the sins of man around in their stomach. “I can show you how I paid for them. Would you want to see,” you give him a single nod, and he starts removing his shirt.

Twisting your body around, you hate the pull of needing to see what Jax was hiding underneath his clothes. It was improper for a lady to see a man is such undress, but your curiosity gets the best of you. Peeking over your shoulder, you gasp as you view the striped scarring on his back. Healed red welts all across his skin. His pain is something you can feel in your own body. “Jax, these weren’t properly tended to.”

He grits his teeth as your dainty fingers rub over the scars. Whispering a silent prayer as you run your fingers over the marred skin. He was even more beautiful like this. Vulnerable. And sexy. “How long ago?”

“Five months,” he grabs his top, leaving the robes laying on the pew, but covers himself with his shirt. His muscles ripples as he pulls the shirt over himself, and you hate it. You would have liked to continue to gaze upon his body like the mystery he was. Only barely, leaving the buttons undone.

“I lost control,” he answers softly. Jax refuses to look at you, remaining his eyesight on the floor.

“How?” It wasn’t so very different than things are now. You were the epitome of lust to him. He was failing his personal test having you there. Everything about you. The way your lips puckered out when you were confused. Or if you had a question you were afraid to ask, your tongue would dart out of your mouth to lick your lips. Your dresses hang on your curves so very differently now. It left nothing to imagination. As they formed to your growing body.

The dresses cling to your skin, and even with your baby growing, he had never seen anything more beautiful. You carried yourself so well despite all that was going on. You kept your anger and hatred under control. Said your prayers. He saw you. He had to peek in on your to see how your were fairing here at the church.

“How did you lose control?” You interrupt his train of thought, and he finally looks up at you.

“I let someone…I — remember our conversations about someone else controlling us?” You nod your head. His eyes drift down your front, watching your chest heave with the deep breaths you are taking. Pretty soon your chest wouldn’t fit in your dresses. You’d have to have new ones, or your tits would be spilling out.

“I have let people control me.”

“Through your thoughts, or is this a political thing? Often people in power can corrupt the good ones. You allow them in, and you can’t say no. The crown has lots of power Jax,” his light up and he nods his head erratically.

“Exactly!” His voice echoes in the sanctuary. He reaches for your hand, and grazes over your bump. He would make any excuse to touch you. “Exactly. These people…”

“My family,” you pull your hand from his, but drag it to your bump. Letting his hand lay flat on it, and Jax’s fingers splay out wide. Moving around your stomach, until he feels a kick. “Look how they controlled me because of this.”

“He’s a miracle,” you look up at Jax, but his eyes are only on your stomach. His other hand presses against the area. Smoothing around, and even dips too low. He wanted to feel every bit of your baby’s home.

“What did you say?” You question, and his eyes go out of focus as he thinks about the future of your baby. He was bred to perfection. Of purity and also the depths of sin. A divine plan was in emotion, and your miracle had set it off.

“Imagine the power. One time, and it took,” his hand gives the baby a little squeeze, reveling in the way the babe reacts to his movements.

“Jax, you’re scaring me.”

“He’s a miracle. This baby could save us all,” you aren’t even sure what that means. How could a baby born into sin save anyone? It had changed and destroyed your life in ways that you couldn’t fully fathom.

“From what?” You didn’t understand. He was talking oddly. “What can the baby save us from?”

“Them,” he looks up at you with wild eyes. “All of them. He’s not a bastard, he’s a miracle. And,” his hand moves too low on your body, cupping your mound, and you step back a moment. “I’m sorry. I’m…” why did you look so beautiful when swollen? Why was it taking everything in him to keep you pushed away?

“How do I cleanse myself?”

“Princess…”

“How do I take a man?” Jax gulps as he stares up at you. “A man took me, but how do I take my own?” You hoped he understood what you were talking about. You didn’t want to fiddle around with some stupid special altar. If you were to be used up, you should at least get to decide who had a part of you. You wanted to cleanse yourself. Not have some man believe that he could take away what was done. It happened, and you wanted that control back.

You bite at your lip before you turn to walk away. “Princess, you haven’t…the altar.”

“I won’t get a choice anyways. It won’t change. You prepare the altar. I’m going back upstairs. If he wants me used, what is another man? What better way than to use a holy man to cleanse me. If it’s not you, maybe there’s another?”

Jax walks over to a box of items before setting them up, just as strategically as he was told to. Laying each item down, and then steps back away from the altar. It would be there, in front of all the saints, and the eyes of God. They would be the witnesses as you are claimed for something even more. Greater than anyone could imagine.

Looking around the church, he takes stock of every statue, even symbolic figure, and has to clench his eyes closed as pain rushes into his head. The slithery voice he’d been pushing out of his mind blares inside of him. It was wrong. He couldn’t take any more.

Cleanse.

That wasn’t how you cleansed someone. You couldn’t change the past.

Cleanse.

He was just as filthy on the inside as you were. The only one innocent was the baby in your belly.

Cleanse!

Like a zombie Jax begins his ascension up the stairs. Mechanical and stiff movements. But instead of heading towards your room, he turns towards his. He wasn’t going to be told what to do. He had to prove himself worthy. He wasn’t some ordinary man. He was…

“Father Jackson,” you smile at him, dabbing a bit of the minty oil behind your ear. Your dress was gone, and you only had your undergarments on. Your belly is even more prominent when it is bare. “Peppermint has made me sick since that night five months ago. But oddly enough, I was told it would help with sickness. It does. The smell is oddly comforting now. I think the baby likes it.”

“What are you doing in here?”

“Did you know you have a perfect view of where it happened?” Your hand rubs over your bump as you look out the window. Giving your baby’s home a few gentle squeezes with your fingers as you turn to look at him. “Cleanse me.”

“How?” Jax knew what you were implying, but you had to ask. He wasn’t going to assume anything.

“I know you want me,” he shakes his head no, but you pick up his hand, placing it on your breast. “I see you looking. Hear you behind me, smelling my hair. The larger my bump becomes, the harder it is for you to look away.”

“In your tragedy there is beauty.”

“Make love to me,” even though Jax shakes his head, his hand cups your breast. Kneading the sensitive area until your pebbled peaks push through the thing cotton. His thumb rubs over your nipple, and he stares intently as it hardens under him. “I’m making this choice on my own. Fuck me.”

His soft touch turns hard as he pinches your nipple. His other hand slaps across your face, and he looks up at you snarling. “That’s what he did. He fucked me. He made sure that I could feel him long after the deed was done. Did it so well, I still feel him five months later. My punishment is the baby growing in my belly. What is yours?”

“You wretched little witch,” he drags you over to his bed. Sitting you on your knees, and he lifts up your skirt. You weren’t going to accuse him of something he wasn’t sure he even did. “You’re…wetter,” he says as his hand runs over your puffy folds. His eyes roll in the back of his head with how wet you are. Receptive. Reactive. Different.

“I want this Father. Cleanse me.”

“This isn’t…this isn’t cleansing.”

“I am telling you that I want you inside of me. This is what I want. I’m giving you what you want. The best way to fight temptation is to just give into it. You shouldn’t fight anything,” your logic was skewed, but your cunt was practically dripping in wait. You give your ass a little wiggle as you stare behind you.

“Please, Father. I’m on my knees, praying and begging that you take what was stolen,” he closes his eyes as he pushes two fingers into your drenched core, and you whimper. Keeping your eyes on him.

“You’re…this is a sin.”

“There are worse sins. This is what we want. I’m telling you, I want this. You have my permission,” you gasp. Jax slowly undoes his pants. Keeping your eyes looking at his member. He was aching. Denying, while you were begging. “No one has to know,” you assure him again. No one would know. You couldn’t become pregnant again.

“Stay on your knees, and beg for our forgiveness,” he chokes out, lining himself up. His voice mewls when he runs his tip through your folds. Squeaking as he pushes himself through, and you seethe. Tightening your muscles up while he continues to push through. Not stopping until he bottoms out.

Jax’s hands hold on tight to your waist before he draws himself completely out. Slamming back in, and your body lurches forward. There was no way this was his first time. He wasn’t holding out. His movements are too smooth. We’re all sinners, but Jax maybe sins more than most. It had to be why he punished himself. Why he made sure that the punishment was deep into his skin and would scar. He’d always carry those sins with him.

His thrusts are quick and hard, stabbing himself deep inside you. His eyes only look at where the two of you connect. Like there was salvation in your pussy. His eyes drift out into the alley way, staring at the spot. That brick is still there, and a mark remains as if your body had seared itself onto the road.

He couldn’t get that night out of his mind. It was like he had multiple views of the events. Watching it. Doing it. Praying over it. Nothing ever aligned. He had lost sleep trying to put the puzzle together. Nothing ever made sense.

“Jax,” your fingers cling to his bedsheets as you look back at him. He is beautiful. A fallen angel. Definitely far from being holy, but the way he touched you. How he made you feel. He wasn’t afraid of you. Didn’t fear being seen with you in your condition, and he loved it.

His hands slide over your tummy, and up your chest, lifting you up, so that your back is flush with his front. His pelvis still slams into you as his lips kiss up your neck. Ending on your mouth, and you slot your lips against his. Tasting the rich tobacco from his cigarettes.

A smell that once repulsed you, but you're claiming it back. His hips may be hard, but his hands over your baby are soft. Sweet even. No matter what happens, this was your choice. You decided this. No one could take it away.

“Forgive me father for I have sinned,” Jax grunts onto your skin as he races for the finish line. His teeth imprint on your shoulder, and he bites down hard causing you to scream out in pain, and also in pleasure. A flash of light from the heavens illuminates your eyes, and his room. An entanglement of sin, and you aren’t sure if you could be cleansed. But this…this was better than any cleansing.

You let him overtake you. Give into the dark side for a moment as you grow weak. Both of you are ignoring anything happening around the cathedral. Living in your own world of sin, but that doesn’t mean that others couldn’t witness it. Could see the two of you giving into lust like your lives depended on it. You didn’t want this to be the last time. You’d gladly follow Jax into the darkness if it meant that you had this taste of the forbidden fruit.

A man looks up from his carriage. The brim of his hat creates a shadow that covers his face. “One. Two,” he counts, smirking as he steps back into the carriage. “Looks like a different ceremony is taking place tonight. Opie, we’ll come back another night.”

“Sir?”

“Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.”

“I understand,” Opie nods to the man before getting back on his seat. “Forgive them father for they have sinned.”

Next

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @sstan-hoe @missusbarnes-rogers @peaches1958 @seitmai @smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989 @floral-recs @theinheriteddutchess @thedreadandthefugitivemind @rainydayandmondays @welp-heregoessomething

[heavensarcher]

*spoilers* SOTE Lore/story Thoughts

I'm not through it all yet - I'm avoiding various parts of this DLC which is, I might add, beating me black and blue - but I do have some lore thoughts.

I don't hate the idea of Miquella being a lil fucked up - it matches with every other member of their family at this point - but I have really enjoyed all the St. Trina stuff! The cross in the fissure saying I abandon here my love then finding the remains of her slumbering in the depths was actually beautiful. This other aspect of them, this part that represented their love and kindness for others - abandoned for their greater plan, praying for you to stop their key aspect

This deepening of charm to bewitch and sleep to eternal sleep of death has done some wild things to their characterisation. I don't know if I vibe with it fully but its certainly changed Miquella from being this kind of do no wrong figure to someone who has always had darker aspects, even if they chose mostly compassion

It puts into question a lot of the relationships we have thought Miquella has had with others (family and otherwise) because now its a little unclear to what extent they wanted to have that relationship or to what extent it was overexaggerated by Miquella for their plans.

This all said it now means the entire Marika/Radagon line is pretty irredeemable in various ways so born it all down I guess

Messmer is a little depressing in a way. Here's a child who did as their Mother told them, only to be locked away in this endless war growing crazier by the moment and becoming beholden to the Abyssal Serpent. His lines when you die, particularly in 2nd phase, tell you this man fully thinks he's damning himself to kill you. Even if he is questioning his Mother's plan, it's only in the way that lets him carry on with the last command he actually heard from her. Her blessing says shes now entirely abandoned this child that destoryed entire civilisations because she asked for it. Its sad as fuck

Rellana is interesting to me because her remembrance states she was a Carian princess that ditched to stick by Messmer's side - seemingly because she knew his path following his Mother would lead him to ruin. I wonder if she followed pre-Radagon betrayal? Like Messmer in his looks felt very Radagon/Renala child to me and boy howdy another one off with the snakes - Rykard clearly had an inspiration. It also solves the mystery of why snakes were so hated before Rykard became snake - they were either tied to Messmer OR the Abyssal Serpent (hi I'd like to know more about this outer god please and thank)

I really like that the hornsent have the ability to chant into existance these powerful forms. Like, together they lift up others of them to demi-god status. The Dancing Lion being this actual piloted beast (a la Chinese lion dances) with 2 priests(?) controlling it, chanted into existance by the Hornsent Grandma is this awesome idea and it was terrifying continuing to summon new elements which scared me :D

Hey who the fuck are those massive tanky bitches everywhere and what's the lore on those lil bastards. Just them and their fucked up dogs. Seemingly very Mohg and the Omens coded? Like some of them have a "leader" with something reminescent of Mohg's trident which implies a connection to the formless mother and they have started like eating each other which seems her vibe.

As a sidenote - Easter Eggs abound which I really enjoy. The fact you can drain the Church District a la DS1, there's an auto crossbow a la gael's, those beast claws are bloodborne, there's a few armour sets that are black knight coded or fume knight coded, the monk moves are very reminiscent of the senpou monks, Gaius is very Gyoubu Oniwa

I didn't really want FINGER LORE but here we are with FINGERLORE THANKS YMIR. So the fingers being born is horrific to me. I did think Ymir had some interesting takes on the fingers being led astray and having come from a mother that was wrong (and then getting dropped on Mother Of Fingers was....horrifying). They in themselves are very bloodborne-y which is neat.

It was always very prominent in the base game, but this continuing narrative of conquest and destruction is still very satisfying to me. (Its very christianity coded oops). I think it was more...hazed over in the base game? Not in a bad way but in a "lot at all this literal gold! we'll plaster it over the blood and bones so you can't see them" kinda way that made it all the more dark. Like for the most part this is a conquest that won so completely there's little left to say otherwise. In the DLC we see the extremes of that war. This is a conquest still on-going. There's blood, ash, bone, and fire everywhere. The entire continent is covered in GRAVESITES. It's this incredibly violent "we haven't had time to rewrite history as the victors yet" and it is entirely narratively satisfying that in this shadow place, all the cracks are showing.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Setting sun and sin

Frollo x nun!reader

warning : obsession, manipulation, blood, murder (nothing graphical), Frollo being a creep, no use of Y/n

Summary : The evening is still young and pairs of eyes have each settled on different bodies. The punishment of heaven and hell falls on someone and the judge throws his claws at the innocent in person unaware that another judge has already condemned him.

info : The start of my little frollo series i hope you like it as much as i did. Every sunday a new chapter there will be five so it will take a while to finish but there will be smut that much i can say ;) Have fun reading and this time committing sin is allowed.

masterlist

Part.2 , Part.3, Part.4, Part.5

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

What is sin if not love? What is love if not sin? Is it not the same as with each new rising that when the sun illuminates this earth created by God, its inhabitants, the people, are also drawn to another day full of sin and drawn to sin by the devil, a monster from the deepest darkness from hell.

But even when the sun lay over the earth and illuminated everything, it shone on the holy buildings, on the churches, monasteries and cathedrals, the cross high above blessed all and the stained glass windows drew lights of hope and figures of salvation.

It was such a place where only the saints and those praying for salvation met. The old archdeacon was a kind man with a pure heart, with compassion for his charges and a man who helped all people no matter where they came from or what they believed in.

But just as there was good in every city, there was always darkness, darkness that remained hidden, darkness in the alleys, in the streets full of filth and poverty. In the streets of thieves and robbers streets in which human abysses lurked.

But this darkness existed even in the highest instance of the city of Paris hidden in a man a man a judge the name everyone knew. But was this really the only thing lurking in the city of Paris that had a second face?

Could there really only be two monsters in Paris? Questions of faith of her own mind, however, she was not affected by his beautiful sun like an infinite light his life his desire to continue at all in this city.

A city full of sinners and hypocrites he was the only authority, even if this went round and round in his head like a mantra. So he couldn't get away from her since she came here from her former clsoter apart from Paris as far as he had access to the papers.

What beauty strayed into my realm that day and you will never leave again came to his mind as he looked at the Notre Dame Cathedral from the window of his abode.

The place where his pain of the past and his light resided, her brightness, her beautiful concealment under the nun's robe, who, to his sorrow, happily faced Quasimodo whenever she saw him.

A fact that pointed him to every sin he knew, every mortal sin he hated and hated she never had…but she was different she was sin itself. A beautiful creature in a city that contained nothing but scum.

But he had to sacrifice himself for all the poor souls, of course, but that was something he was willing to do, ,,How precious of me,” he murmured, turning away with one last look at the church, back to his desk, the dark wood on which were papers of the city's records, the candles flickering as his figure sat down on the upholstered chair and his ringed fingers reached for the quill.

A bright white soft quill dipped in the dark ink before he continued to write the signatures and orders. A task he had been doing for decades and could probably have done it in his sleep, but no. Of course, any other man would have taken a bribe at this point, given up his power and sat back.

But what a disgraceful act this would be, ,,Giving up power is something only the stupid ones do” he spoke his thoughts and didn't have to look at the rings worth a fortune just the tip of his wealth but he would never succumb to a sin of utter excess and immoderation to show off this splendor. Sins were for weak men, for monsters for creatures of their instincts not for him.

The way the ink on the paper had found its way and soaked into the rags like a dagger thrust, a dagger thrust of corruption, a portrait of weakness. No, no, nothing like that would happen to him, he knew that. While the pen continued to run over the paper for some time, his writing did not lose its flourish and he took sporadic sips from his goblet of dark wine.

Time passed and the city was filled with the noisy people trading and shopping at the market, a mass of people going about their day doing almost the same thing every day.

He prayed for salvation whenever the church called for a service and then celebrated when festivities were due.

A cykle he no longer needed, not as an inciting and dispelling force, not when the city guard was under his hand, not when he had power and not when he would see it.

Letting the pen glide over the paper one last time, he signed the last signature and folded the papers, giving a slight sigh of annoyance before releasing the chalice and opening the drawer of his writing desk. A small compartment for more ink or another silver tip for the quill but he reached for the familiar object.

The faint click of the pearls could be heard as they clinked together, the mother-of-pearl changing color from a creamy white to a turquoise and light violet.

Pearls that had been hand-sewn pearled like dark pearls harmonized with the three ruby pearls in between before the Christian counterpart ended with a golden cross.

White pearls like her innocence, the rubies like her untainted blood and the gold for the ring she will wear he thought with a wry smile before hiding the rose in his robe and walking out of his chambers to the stable attached to it. ,,My lord, good evening,” the stable boy greeted his master and looked from the black horse Snowball to the older one who gave him an annoyed look and pointed to the saddle with a wave of his hand.

,,I'll be back at night for a private meeting of the church. I want the food ready when I get back,” he said, ignoring the catty, submissive manner as he saw exactly how the smaller one was worrying in his head about what the best food was.

But so far he had always had something good made, maybe that was the reason why he hadn't ended up in the dungeon like his last one. But what did he care now, after a moment of wrestling and tightening the straps, he handed him the reins and Frollo swung himself onto his faithful companion.

He ignored the congratulations of his stable boy and moved to the reins before Snowball trotted off in the direction of the church. The clatter of horseshoes on the stone could be heard as the people who were out that early evening dodged him and bowed, but he paid them no heed.

His gaze was on the cathedral, seeing the cross illuminated by the setting sun, he knew she was here, knew she was always in the church at this time…he had watched her too many times for that. His horse rode through the streets and squares and it only took a few minutes before he brought Snowball to a halt with another tug on the reins.

Patting the animal lightly, he dismounted to make his way up the sacred stairs he had climbed all his life and yet ever since he had seen her, there was something truly divine about her. She was something divine. The slight squeak of the big old wooden doors let others know that another believer had entered.

His dark eyes immediately went to one of the statues, an altar to Mother Mary, where she always knelt and prayed for the poor, for the children, for the nuns and monks on their missionary journey. Moving quietly towards her, he waited at one of the pillars but his gaze did not even leave her form.

Despite her nonen habit she looked beautiful, on the contrary the fabric on her body the face which was framed by the white and black fabric the long skirt which nevertheless could not completely hide her pretty form. Her ankles not covered by stockings when she bent to pick something up he had seen her he had made an image of her.

Of a biblical beauty, of the soft, lovely eyes, the fine hands that must have been as soft as her whole body, the lips that curled into a smile whenever she played with the orphans and read stories.

Her voice was not too loud, not too soft, appropriate to her situation, yet knowing her place in society. A voice that drew him in so softly that sometimes he wanted to hear it break.

Her form under her clothes simply perfection like an angel an angel on earth and without wings it seemed as if Lucifer had already taken her wings and brought her here but he knew once she heard him she would bear his name and the gold on her finger would illuminate her in her holiness.

But he couldn't let his mind wander any further than that as she turned to him after she had finished her prayer and had an expression that was at first surprised and then neutral.

,,Good afternoon, Judge Frollo,“ she greeted him and made a slight curtsy which made him smile slightly and he made a bowing gesture, ,,Likewise to you I hope I have not disturbed your prayer?” he asked and looked briefly between himself and the saintly figure knowing that she could only pray partially knew that whenever her head looked down a little further she was lost in the prayers without the rosary. But why was she so nervous? She lacked the stability he could give her.

He saw exactly how she was overcome, her gaze fell for a moment on her hands, he saw that she had probably tried to use them to help her, but she didn't have fifty-nine beads and she just needed something to lead her back to God. ,,No-no you do not have that please don't be worried” she said and shook her head slightly the small wooden cross that lay on her chest moved slightly a cross she would take off when she had hers.

,,Is something bothering you my love?” he asked after her gaze avoided his again and she seemed to ask something, not quite trusting herself as if she didn't know if their “relationship” was ready. He came a step closer, suppressing his desire to lay a hand on her and reassure her that it was all right, but then his pretty holiness found her voice again.

,,My rosary it seems I have lost it…it helps me to pray better have you seen it?” she dared to ask and pointed lightly at her cross as if to confirm that she did not have it but he knew for a week that she did not have it not after he had it stolen. The wooden furs in his bedside cabinet were locked away just for himself.

He gave her a pitying look before raising his hand as if he had just thought of something, ,,Wait I have mine with me as a judge you always have to be prepared for anything” he said and smiled slightly because there was truth behind it you really had to be prepared for anything and always be one step ahead of a pretty naive little sheep as a wolf.

He pulled the rosary out of his robe and she heard surprised noises when she saw the more than normal rosary, such a thing was expensive and costly, something she could never afford.

She hastily stepped back a step and raised her hands slightly, ,,No, Judge Frollo, this is yours, I can't accept such a valuable thing, please, really,” she tried to convince him, but he had long since made up his mind.

This time he shook his head slightly, took her hand gently in his, felt that her skin was truly soft and placed the rosary in her hand, holding it for a moment before he closed his fingers around it.

,,I insist as judge and bearer that you can do the will of god properly“ he replied and saw her look at the rosary for a moment and then to him a look of infinite gratitude had settled on her eyes and a smile revealed itself to him ,,Have many thanks Frollo many thanks you are a truly holy savior” she said and he saw her wrap the pretty beads one by one around her hand as she held it.

He looked at her for a moment before heading back towards the main door and she followed him, knowing she had to go home.

Of course he knew. ,,How can I repay you?” she asked when they arrived at the door and his hands had opened it, the cool evening air coming slightly towards them and her skirt moving slightly, ,,A meal I would like to invite you for a meal to discuss the situation of the orphans”.

A sentence that made them even more confused but on the one hand happy that ma was taking care of the poor children and on the other hand almost intimidated by a meal. ,,Please, I insist,” he begged, this time placing a hand on her shoulder for a brief moment, feeling the warm body under the soft fabric.

A body that would belong to him. But she gave in, of course she did, she had too much respect for such a powerful man in her presence. The voice of her farewell, a soft sound wafting in the early evening, left him in her shadow.

He knew he could have accompanied her to her small apartment, knew he could have forced his way inside her walls, but why would the wolf strike so quickly when stalking and hunting was so much better?

His eyes didn't leave her form until she had passed into the streets, the sun seemed to have disappeared behind the cross, the gold in the air vanished and it would grow cold a chill that was in his heart except for her That fool better have prepared dinner he thought as he turned back to his horse and was about to mount Snowball when he snorted and jerked his head up. Fear. His animal was afraid, but of what?

Looking around not knowing if it was those tricky witches and wizards, those nefarious insects on the streets in their caravans. ,,Show yourselves in the name of the law of France!” he commanded, his voice echoing through the streets and it seemed as if the dark alleys were suddenly getting longer, darker and colder with every step he took away from his snowball back to the church.

His hand on the side of his robe feeling the dagger, knowing he was getting away with everything. ,,Show yourselves now!” he shouted it wasn't fear he felt it was uncertainty that someone didn't accept him. That his position was being questioned.

But then right there he saw a shadow from the dark not even a blink later he felt the hard stone of the stairs under his feet he stepped off or had he been pushed? Was it a shadow or had he seen those hideous hellish eyes, was it God's answer to his plan?

Or was it something else, what had that something been that had struck him with a dagger that almost broke his bones. His scream trying to escape his throat as he felt an unspeakable pain in his throat, a voice like a whisper entering his body, claws pinning him to the ground. He heard the neighing of Snowbald who did not know what was happening, who had the evil feeling.

But the judge of this something that could not be human finally let go of him in his state of seeing this creature. ,,The devil” his dry lips uttered as his hand pressed down on his neck to stop the bleeding after the underworld creature had bitten him, the words of the bible as close as he had ever gotten.

But those red eyes, the jet-black hair that blew in the non-existent wind, the white skin that kept heaving under the shadow that surrounded him, and those rice fangs sharp and deadly that were still bloody. ,,You will not get rid of them, my judge…such a monster within the church you are now…and your faith has called me Judge Claude Frollo” he heard the devil speak and as it stretched out a shadowy arm before the sound of beeping and fluttering could be heard.

Hundreds of bats swooped down on him and the swarm took his revenant master but the look of those red undead eyes he would not forget and with the bite…everyone knew the stories.

Not those of the devil but those of the revenant who rose from his graves to infest the living. His dark eyes with a slight sly daze searched the ground for the dagger and he lunged for it when he finally saw it.

His heart pounded like a drum as he pulled his collar down slightly and a sound of disbelief escaped him when he saw the bloody bite with the two dots.

But his lips did not curl into a grimace of fear, of fear that the devil had met him-no, not at all. The figure of the judge rose, staggering, the dagger firmly in his hand and a smile on his lips as he realized what God had rewarded him with, what the devil had blessed him with.

It was the judge's laughter that echoed through the dark alleys as he still laughed about it and couldn't contain himself as he realized what he was, as he realized that it would be so much easier now, that his stable boy was waiting for him and his heart made a sound that made Frollo grip the dagger tighter.

A melody that became a scream as the judge's own fangs dug into the younger man's body and he feasted on the new food…just as he would soon feast on her.

,,Thank God for casting me out and pray to the devil to lead you to me for your heart and his will be mine my love” he finished his last supper and threw the body into the haystack with a force he had not felt for many decades before the judge's laughter was reduced to a grin of madness and the door of the mighty man slid shut…but the night was far from over for Judge Claude Frollo and especially for his pretty nun, a world of darkness had only just begun.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@magmabayvi , @missmannequin , @siwucha

@aliensthegreat , @oceansrose2002 , @fantadym

[jaeclerc]

my maxiel demon WIP that is mostly just vibes rn LOLLLL but i wanted to share:

if max had known that having gay sex in the catholic church would have cursed him to an eternity of bullshit, he would’ve just gone to confession and prayed away the gay like the rest of his peers. but instead he decided to fuck in one of the confession stalls in the mid 80s and then pass away shortly afterwards from a very untimely grape to the airway, which cursed him to an eternity of doing the devil’s bidding. the devil liked to call himself daniel, but max hated calling the devil anything other than The Devil because if he gave him a name then maybe he’d be a bit more personable. max would have to admit that daniel (the devil) wasn’t too bad of a guy.

he himself told max that he didn’t tempt him to fuck in a church, he didn’t even have time to deal with max, too busy dealing with actual sinners. max was just gay and had an insane amount of catholic guilt. but hell was punishment and max’s punishment was to be the dynamic demon duo with another gay 19 year old, only this one was from monaco and obnoxious. he had apparently committed the sin of fucking the priest and then managed to have a very early in life heart attack.

(“he was so hot, max. i had to!”)

max had been working with charles for 40 years. that’s a long time to spend with someone when both of you had passed away at 19 and were forever demon-ized in those bodies and minds. if he looked super deep within he could even admit that charles was his best friend.

daniel, the devil, had them working on the sinner example enforcement division (SEED for short much to max’s chagrin), going out and seducing Actual Real Life Sinners in order to entrap them and enforce that they made terrible mistakes that were actually important to the devil. like trafficking and abusing people. many of them, much to charles’ chagrin and disgust, resided in monaco, which meant that max and charles had to go there often to perform their jobs. they often donned the skins of socialites in order to properly entrap them.

daniel, despite popular opinion, was not the ever eternal enticer but rather the ever eternal enforcer. he was not the opposite of the upside (what he called Heaven) but actually their guard dog, making sure that humans didn’t stomp over each other’s free will. in the event they did, they were swiftly met with punishment, one that hopefully set them straight enough to run tail tucked back to church and having morals.

he sent charles and max out to do the dirty work before he came in, dressed like the worst millennial one has ever seen and met. he was always floating for some reason, maybe to really pack the punch that he was The Devil and he was alive (kinda) to deliver holy justice.

often, the Big Sinners would proverbially spit in his face and brag about what they’ve done. that usually brought in the wrath of daniel, red horns sprouting, tail whipping faster than a human eye can see as he struck them, lashing them. the end of his tail was like a hot poker, searing into their skin and lasting longer than humanly possible.

most gave in after that; some didn’t. so he would lash them again, telling them to repent. if they didn’t repent, he would continue to do it until they did or until their soul joined the three of them, which they would drag back to Hell and throw into the fiery pits.

while charles and max had committed sins, they never hurt anyone. they just offended God. that’s why they were demons rather than spirits, they had the ability to exist even if they had already passed. most souls that came to Hell were souls that needed to be sent up the upside, a few were those who needed to be sent to neutral grounds while the angel courts debated their lives. an even smaller few were those who needed to actually be thrown into the pits. the smallest few would be turned into either angels or demons.

when max met his first angel, a boy named lando, he was shocked to learn that lando was also gay, like him and charles. and had acted upon it. the difference was that he had not offended God, but rather had acted graciously in his name for his entire short life.

max was even more shocked to learn that daniel had selected both him and charles to be demons.

(“i had a soft spot for you both! two gay boys who had both done something homosexual and personally offended toto within days of each other. and then died? sign me up!” god presented himself as a 6’5 austrian dilf. it was very odd, the first time max had met him. god was hot.)

the minor Big Sinners would usually just shit themselves at the appearance of daniel, even without his horns and with his dorky backwards hat. but the whole floating bit did probably help, as well as his candy red tail being held up menacingly, threatening even if daniel had his dimples out and smile on. max doesn’t know if he’d personally be scared of daniel in that form, but he thinks he’s probably biased based off the fact that he watched daniel sob over the notebook a few too many times to count.

(charles tells max that it’s actually probably because he wants to have sex with daniel. charles doesn’t know what he’s talking about. max tells him so, but charles counters that he has a boyfriend and max doesn’t. max personally thinks that the angel that charles fucked after a session of angel court doesn’t count, but who is he to actually say. that angel has been around for like. at least 10 years.

actually max is pretty sure that the angel, who has a name that max refuses to ever acknowledge that he remembers, has been living with them for the past 5 years. he does see sebastian often. like every day after his shift as daniel’s PA.)

their duties after they repent are usually done. some of them take another enforcement session. most of them have the fear of toto put into them and don’t ever commit a big enough sin to ping on their radar.

most of being a demon is just: sit around with charles, being daniel’s assistant, and enforcing the laws of heaven. it’s pretty boring, which is probably the actual punishment to his offense of toto. he gets to be out of his mind bored for eternity or until daniel dies. daniel is a young devil incarnation, but he’s still going to die someday, once society has evolved for a new god, devil, and court. the demons that he created will go with him. nobody wants to serve a new master, especially demons. especially max.

if he reaches deep down, even past the part that admits charles is actually his best friend, he sees that he quite likes daniel. daniel made sure that he always had a friend, daniel always made sure that he knew that his sin wasn’t being gay, it was fucking in a church, and he made sure that max felt comfortable in his after-life. as comfortable as a demon could feel.

if he reached the deepest, most barren hidden parts of himself, he could admit that he wanted to kiss daniel. what type of demon decides that he wants to fuck the devil? not for power but just because he thinks that The Devil is quite sweet and always makes him laugh.

The Devil is delightfully immature while also guiding max through the after life and an infinity of service to the heavens and earth with a maturity that surprises.

max had once asked daniel when he had become The Devil. daniel had looked away before saying he wasn’t exactly sure of the year because it was the middle of the war. the war to end all wars, and he was deep in it, fighting in the Australian army when he got taken. he woke up to toto staring at him with a curled lip and rolled eyes, muttering about the previous devil and his choice of a protégé. he was the new incarnation, as there was a new extreme evil that had been brewing. they never really said what but it was easy to tell the implications, the way the world had seemed to be falling apart.

corporate greed and exploitation was probably what called about a new incarnation, of god, the devil, and all the heavenly figures. who knew, for sure? all they could say was that the universe had decided that it was time, and when it was time for them to go, they would know.

daniel had seen the way the world moves. the way it evolved and devolved. it reflected on his bright red eyes, the mirroring of the flames. that was also the natural appearance of the devil, a reflection of fire in cherry red eyes, but daniel’s eyes always seemed to take on more a brown tint when he spoke of his past, turning slightly sad and dark.

and then he cracked a dick joke and max laughed so hard he wheezed and these moments were over, but max imagines that it probably made his heart ache when he saw how his death, the death of his peers, and those he killed were all for nothing with the second war came. and then all the wars after that. the way the world changed vastly with the evolution of human invention, creating ways for humanity to become even more depraved. ways for humans to suffer even more.

[creature-wizard]

Okay as an ex Mormon this conversation is very exhausting for me and makes me very uncomfortable. And there is soooo many resources out there to show the harm the church has done. There is so much info that I think the people that actually care about this topic will do the research and understand.

So, what I mean by that is, Mormons are a brick wall and making a huge list of all of the harm is just kinda useless, at least in stoping crazies in your inbox, because they won’t listen to the info when they are still brainwashed in this cult.

To those of you who do care and can listen here are just a few things I think are important.

The Mountain Meadow Massacre

Mormons and Native Americans

Mormons and Black People

BYU using Electoroshock therapy to “Cure” gay people.

This is just the tip of the iceberg with this stuff. There is so much more shit they have done and continue to do. I didn’t even bring up Mormons and their hate and fetishization of Jews. The Book of Mormon is and was used to cause harm. If you think harassing people in their inbox will help spread the word on how great Mormons, you are blind and wrong. You should be allowed to question your religion. You are allowed to know historical facts. Mormonism is a fucking sham and a cult that is profiting off your devotion.

Thanks for sending this, and I'm sorry all of this was so stressful. Hope you feel better soon, and hopefully folks will check out these links.

[monsterswithimagines]

Undisclosed Desires - Part 33

Joe Goldberg x female!Reader

Masterlist

Warning: suicide attempt

Your mother's service is not at a church, but at a funeral parlor.

I'm not religious, (Y/n). I understand why a church might not be the norm, here. You can have your funeral at a parlor in the states, too! But wow, a Dutch funeral parlor is a very impersonal building. And ugly.

If I was your mom, I would be pretty pissed.

If I was your mother, I would be angry at the turnout, too. There are a lot of people, don't get me wrong, but there is your family squarely on one side and her friends squarely on the other. They do not intermingle and the hostility is palpable.

I'd ask you to explain why that is, but you are not speaking to me. At all. You woke up and ignored me. You haven't said a word of English all day. I am lost in a sea of people, all speaking a language I do not understand.

So much for you loving me. Today, I am the man who killed your mother. The look in your eyes when you happen to glance at me says it all.

You hate that I'm here. Even your family is beginning to give me strange looks because I am so clearly unwanted by you.

Everyone sits in uncomfortable folding chairs. The casket is and remains closed. The director speaks a few words, then several people speak. Your grandma carefully unfolds a note, reads only two words and then bursts into tears, so that your grandfather has to come and take her away.

You go last, and you are not like your grandmother. Your eyes are bone dry, and you do not have a note.

You're in a black dress - I've never seen you in a dress, but despite the circumstances, you look beautiful in one - with your hair up in a ponytail. You are wearing a lot of makeup for once. Which is understandable because when you woke up this morning, you were so pale, it was like we were going to your funeral.

The makeup looks like a mask. On your expressionless face, it may as well be armor.

“When they ask me what my mom was like during my childhood,” you begin.

“I close my eyes and try to imagine something normal to respond.

“But all I can see

“Is a very small version of me.

“Reading books to myself

“And putting myself to sleep.”

There is some murmuring. This is not the kind of poetry you are supposed to recite at someone's burial.

You don't care. You continue to speak, in Dutch now, and slowly the regular sadness returns. At one point, something you say makes everyone laugh, and I chuckle along though I don't know what's funny.

When you are done, you sit down next to me and you don't look at me and I should take your hand, I should support you, but you don't want me to.

The director says some more words, and then the procession outside starts. Your mother is lowered into the ground gently. Your grandmother cries too much to be able to throw some dirt, so you do it twice. Once for her, and once for yourself.

You hold your grandmother's hand, not mine.

After it's over, we get in the car with your uncle, and he drives us back to the AirBnB.

You don't shed a tear until we're inside.

But once the door closes behind us, you crumple.

You go into the bedroom and you close the door behind you - Keep out, Joe - and I can hear you crying, sobbing, and I don't know what to do.

I did this to you. I gave you this pain. I truly believe that once the grief dulls, you will be better off, but that doesn't help you now.

If I had not been so obvious and if you had not known I was the one who took your mother from you, I could have hugged you and made things better.

As things are, I am helpless.

Things go quiet after a while. I let them be quiet for about an hour before I go knocking at the door.

“(Y/n)?”

No answer.

“Do you want some food, or something? I could heat you up some soup.” You haven't eaten all day, after all.

No answer, still.

The door is not locked. I open it slowly, softly, and peek in.

You are on the bed. Your back is to me but I think you are asleep. You are on top of the blankets and you're still wearing your black dress and your shoes, I should take them off and tuck you in.

Then, my eye falls onto something. I don't know why. It's been there for three days.

It's a bottle of pills Nadia gave you on New Year's. She said they would help you sleep, and you told her, firmly, that you weren't planning on taking her medication. That you knew what road that led down.

I barely paid attention to the exchange at the time. You are not a drug addict and I did not think anything of it.

But I have the worst feeling.

I walk over slowly, uncertainly. Your nightstand feels lightyears away but then I'm reaching out, picking up the bottle.

It's empty.

Everything goes out of focus.

I am feeling your neck for a pulse, listening for your breathing. I am carrying you. I am in the shower with you, sitting on the floor underneath the cold spray with you in my lap.

“Don't do this to me,” I hear myself say. “Don't you do this to me.”

My fingers should not be going down your throat and you should not be puking out all that is inside you, which is water and bile and pills. I pull you to my chest and I rock us and I think I have saved your life but you need a doctor, a hospital, and I don't know what number to call.

The first thing I'm aware of that doesn't happen in flashes, is being in the living room, dripping wet, and calling Nadia. I use your phone and Nadia answers with something in Dutch.

I don't know where you are. I don't know where I left you.

“Nadia? It's Joe,” I say. “How do I call nine one one? (Y/n) just tried to kill herself.”

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Alex O'Connor

Published: Jun 19, 2024

In the apocryphal Gospel of Thomas, Jesus condemns those who “(either) love the tree and hate its fruit (or) love the fruit and hate the tree”. A regular critique of the nominally religious is that they claim to believe in, say, Christianity, but fail to act in accordance with its demanding message of love and compassion. They love the tree, but can’t quite swallow the fruit. More recently, however, a strange reverse phenomenon is emerging: a class of thinkers who, unable to rationally assent to the actual truth of Christianity, and yet disillusioned with the politics of “new atheism”, and fearful of the various religious and pseudo-religious ideas that have filled the vacuum it created, find themselves in the tough spot of being hungry for the fruit but unable to believe in the existence of the tree.

These so-called “cultural Christians” are appearing in droves: Douglas Murray, Tom Holland (not that one), Konstantin Kisin, Jordan Peterson (depending on what you mean by “Christian” and “cultural” and “and”); even Richard Dawkins — the archetypal modern atheist who has done more to confront organised religion than perhaps any other identifiable person in a generation — happily adopts this paradoxical moniker for himself.

Paradoxical because, of course, Christianity is more than just an affinity for evensong, disappointment with secular architecture, and suspicion of Islam. St Paul wrote in no uncertain terms to the Corinthians that “if Christ has not been raised, our preaching is useless and so is your faith”, and the vague, à la carte approach to the religion displayed by the “cultural Christian” which doesn’t seem to care about, much less affirm, the historicity of the extraordinary events of Easter Sunday is the kind of attitude that would see you condemned as heretical by the founders of the orthodox church.

Yet Christianity is experiencing a popular makeover, from an affirmative doctrine of truth-claims to a sort of protective garment to be worn as a practical measure against the equal and opposite destabilising forces of radical political religiosity and cynical nihilism which continue to claw away at the souls of those without a firm spiritual conviction.

This metamorphosis of the Christian religion in is many ways indebted to Tom Holland — not the actor, though perhaps an actor, in that he seems content to live as if Christianity were true — whose “Dominion” thesis has convinced a not insignificant number of intellectuals that the bulk of our celebrated Western ethics is ultimately the product of Christianity, an ideology which has so successfully embedded itself in our culture that we do not even notice it anymore.

This leads our cultural Christians, often those with a special interest in safeguarding Western civilisation, to cozy up to an ideology that they can’t quite adopt without qualification due to their rather inconvenient conviction that it isn’t true.

Enter Ayaan Hirsi Ali. Re-enter, I should say, as this brave apostate from Islam won successful prominence as an atheist writer and speaker for many years since the early 2000s, before recently announcing that she had embraced Christianity. Indeed, she had originally been scheduled to participate in that famed discussion in Washington D.C. in 2007 which gave birth to the “four horsemen” of new atheism — Richard Dawkins, Christopher Hitchens, Daniel Dennett, and Sam Harris. So news of the “almost fifth’s” conversion was met with widespread surprise, joy, and speculation.

Perhaps the most widely read response came from Dawkins, in an open letter whose first sentence contained a rather less than charitable: “Seriously, Ayaan? You, a Christian? You are no more Christian than I am.”

Why? Because Hirsi Ali’s article, while passionate and detailed, suffered from the exclusion of anything resembling an argument for the existence of God, or for the theological supremacy of the Christian religion over others (or even over atheism). Instead, it is a political treatise: it begins with her experiences as a Muslim, touching on 9/11, the Muslim Brotherhood, and antisemitism, before asking: “So, what changed? Why do I call myself a Christian now?”

She answers: “Part of the answer is global. Western civilisation is under threat from three different but related forces,” which she identifies as Russian/Chinese authoritarianism, Islamism, and wokeism. All of which are distinctly political considerations and so hardly serve as a theological defence of Christianity. Then, referring to Tom Holland, she tells us that the “story of the West” is a civilisation built on the “Judeo-Christian tradition”. That is to say, she is ticking all the boxes of a merely cultural Christian.

“Strangely, then, they could find initial agreement on one point: their being just as Christian as each other.”

Yet she later writes, as if anticipating this objection, “I would not be truthful if I attributed my embrace of Christianity solely to the realisation that atheism is too weak and divisive a doctrine to fortify us against our menacing foes.” It’s a promising interjection, which seems to ready us for an apolitical testimony that might justify her exclusion of the “cultural” in labelling her new Christian identity.

Here, Hirsi Ali begins to describe her personal struggles as an atheist. “I have…  found life without any spiritual solace unendurable,” she writes, claiming that the “God hole” left behind after her deconversion was not filled with reason and intelligent humanism, as atheists like Betrand Russell had predicted, but instead left painfully vacant.

“In this nihilistic vacuum, the challenge before us becomes civilisational,” she continues. “We can’t withstand China, Russia and Iran if we can’t explain to our populations why it matters that we do.” In explaining, then, her reasons for becoming Christian apart from her desire to defeat her political foes, she tells us that she was struggling with a nihilistic vacuum that was… insufficient for defeating her political foes. Once again, the motivation seems political.

Thus Richard Dawkins and his assessment, “you are no more a Christian than I am”. The funny thing is, Ayaan Hirsi Ali endorses this sentiment. Dawkins has, of late, been airing his misgivings about gender theorists and Islamists, and constantly reaffirms his admiration for Christian art, architecture and music. These political and aesthetic preferences inspired her to refer to Dawkins at one point as one of “the most Christian” people that she knows. Strangely, then, they could find initial agreement on one point: their being just as Christian as each other.

This uneasy equilibrium provided the mise en scène for an eagerly awaited conversation between the two, which took place in Brooklyn last month. Dawkins tells us at one point that he showed up fully prepared to explain to Hirsi Ali why she is not a Christian: “The idea,” he says, “that the Universe has lurking beneath it an intelligence a supernatural intelligence that invented the laws of physics it invented mathematics […] is a stupendous idea (if it’s true) and to me that simply dwarfs all talk of nobility and morality and comfort and that sort of thing.”

He was, therefore, taken quite unawares, as were many of us, when he asked (or rather told) her, “You don’t believe Jesus rose from the dead, surely?” and she confidently replied, “I choose to believe that Jesus rose from the dead. And that is a matter of choice.” This, for Dawkins (as for me), changes the game. While throughout the event she had no hesitation in repeating her political grievances, in New York, she finally addressed the truth claims of Christianity, and appeared to confess a belief in them. “I came here prepared to persuade you, Ayaan, you’re not a Christian,” Dawkins told her, before correcting himself: “I think you are a Christian,” and — being Richard Dawkins — he added, “and I think Christianity is nonsense.”

This extraordinary event began with Hirsi Ali recounting her conversion: “I lived for about a decade with intense depression and anxiety self-loathing. I hit rock bottom. I went to a place where I actually didn’t want to live anymore but wasn’t brave enough to take my own life.” Through prayer, she managed to escape that hole. “My zest for life is back,” she declared to a healthy applause, indicative of the one thing that everyone can agree on: it is wonderful to hear that Ayaan is happy again.

She looked at Dawkins and shrugged slightly as she finished her personal account. And the audience laughed. I did think there was something comical about following such a moving story of escape from depression and anxiety with, as Dawkins did: “But do you really think Jesus was born of a virgin?” Dawkins, though, can hardly be blamed: as touching as Hirsi Ali’s story may be, if he is right that God’s existence is a scientific question, then we should remember that bringing personal narrative into the laboratory is as inappropriate an approach as bringing a microscope into a poetry seminar. It should be no insult to say that her emotional struggles are irrelevant to the question of theism vs atheism.

As Dawkins himself put it, responding to Hirsi Ali’s fear that an atheistic universe doesn’t offer us any way to connect with each other and the cosmos: “Suppose it were true that atheism doesn’t offer anything. So what? why should it offer anything?” Further applause.

“Faith offers you something, obviously. That’s very very very clear,” he says at one point. “But it doesn’t make it true. It doesn’t make the existence claims of Christianity true.” Again, there was an applause. Given that such a claim is hardly extraordinary or controversial, the clapping seemed to be less in support of the point, and more of Dawkins’s willingness to make it plain.

It is worth remembering that believing something for non-rational reasons is not unusual. Our beliefs are quite often formed by our surrounding environment, rather than some kind of perfect logic and analysis of abstract syllogisms. Most people know this. Hirsi Ali is happy to admit it. You may think it imperfect, but it is not unique.

“The kind of Christianity adopted by Hirsi Ali goes further in asserting its truth, but not very much further in its justification.”

This extraordinary event began with Hirsi Ali recounting her conversion: “I lived for about a decade with intense depression and anxiety self-loathing. I hit rock bottom. I went to a place where I actually didn’t want to live anymore but wasn’t brave enough to take my own life.” Through prayer, she managed to escape that hole. “My zest for life is back,” she declared to a healthy applause, indicative of the one thing that everyone can agree on: it is good to hear that she is happy again.

After finishing this personal narrative, she could only look at Dawkins and shrug slightly. The audience laughed, in anticipation of something of a shift in tone. I did think there was something comical about following such a moving story of escape from depression and anxiety with, “But do you really think Jesus was born of a virgin?” Dawkins’s decision to do so, however, can hardly be blamed: as touching as his former colleague’s story may be, if he is right that God’s existence is a scientific question, then we should remember that bringing personal narrative into the laboratory is as inappropriate an approach as bringing a microscope into a poetry seminar. It should be no more an insult to say that Hirsi Ali’s emotional struggles are irrelevant to the question of God’s existence than it would be to say to say that scientific observations are irrelevant to the study of Keats.

As Dawkins himself put it, responding to her fear that an atheistic universe doesn’t offer us any way to connect with each other and the cosmos: “Suppose it were true that atheism doesn’t offer anything. So what? Why should it offer anything?” Further applause.

“Faith offers you something, obviously. That’s very, very, very clear,” he says at one point. “But it doesn’t make it true. It doesn’t make the existence claims of Christianity true.” More clapping. Given that such a claim is hardly extraordinary or controversial, this reception seemed to be less in support of the point, and more of Dawkins’s willingness to make it plain.

Yet it is worth remembering that believing something for non-rational reasons is not unusual. Our beliefs are quite often formed by our surrounding environment, rather than some kind of perfect logic and analysis of abstract syllogisms. Most people know this. Ayaan Hirsi Ali is happy to admit it. You may think it imperfect, but it is not unique to her.

This means that any surge in Christian interest we may notice among our public intellectuals is unlikely to be due to a renewed interest in Biblical scholarship or the figure of the crucified Nazarene. It is instead likely a product of their environment. Cultural Christianity, then, is in many ways a political movement disguised as a religious one, reacting not to arguments for God’s existence, but concerns about the practical shortcomings of atheism and alternative religions. The kind of Christianity adopted by Hirsi Ali goes further in asserting its truth, but not very much further in its justification.

Therefore, those celebrating some alleged resurgence of Christianity ought be cautious: it would certainly be a happy day for them if their favourite intellectuals began discovering a relationship with Jesus, but if they begin converting to Christianity principally as an ideological bulwark, we may witness the return not of a meek and mild community of believers, but of a more strong-armed, aggressive Christianity that has historically been a touch more controversial.

But Ayaan does seem genuinely transformed by her new faith: she looks happy, speaks humbly, and seems genuinely uninterested in point-scoring or winning any arguments. It troubles me not at all to admit that I found myself applauding her more than Richard Dawkins. It transpired in Brooklyn that her conversion, which at first appeared mostly political, was more a result of her personal battle with nihilism. This is hardly going to convince anybody else to become Christian, but such personal experience isn’t ever supposed to.

Atheists are often told that they are plagued with a “God-shaped hole”. Hirsi Ali appears to have developed for herself a hole-shaped God. But despite the probability of at least an element of motivated reasoning in this conversion, I’m genuinely happy for her. We should keep in mind, too, as her story evolves, that our ideas are the most unclear to us when they are new, and Ayaan is a new Christian. While we are all trying to work out what she really believes, she is probably trying to work out the same thing. She, however, has the unusual courage to do it out loud.

==

In short, Xianity has retreated even further from "my religion is true" to "my religion is useful." Of course, if that's the case, then I have just as much right to pick and choose the parts that are useful to me as anyone else.

We must also apparently address once again the absurd notion of "choosing to believe," usually levelled at atheists as an accusation that they simply choose not to believe. In one specific god, of course. An accusation that necessarily means the believer themselves "chooses" not to believe in all the other gods.

And its absurdity revealed by the challenge to choose to believe in goblins or fairies or Bigfoot. Or to choose to believe in another god - Ahura Mazda, for example - for five minutes.

It matters what's true. And Xianity isn't true.

[p1nkm1lkslug]

" 𝐈𝐟 𝐈 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐥, 𝐈 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭.. " ☣

more hhead canons about my OCS and I am definitely gonna start building up my creeps au, but for now enjoy these :3

-aria arche

- she is the second youngest sister and is Samaras twin sister

- tends to have a resting bitch face (and it is genuinely what she's thinking)

- antisocial, grew up with people assuming she was a social butterfly that enjoyed talking (when in reality she just enjoyed dressing very girly)

- picky with who she spends time with, no where near a people pleaser, she will tell you if you annoyed her

-however she's really good with communication, however people tend to be intimated by her

-not sad, I feel like when some people meet her they assume she has some deep reason but in reality she legit just enjoys her own time (this applies to everyone)

-isn't close with her Sister, the two lived very different life, they would write letters when Sam was first admitted to the psych ward but soon they stopped.

- when reuniting it was.. Awkward, she didn't really have any reaction to her dead twin coming back

-this made Samara over all act up, she's more emotional then aria

- while Samara quit ballet at 14 , aria continues to still take classes

- is aware people see her as bitchy (which she really isn't, avoiding, annoyed, silent, yes. Mean?. Not really)

- she was a very independent kid from a very young age, she never connected with Jordan because, how do you care for a younger sister who does what she can to be left alone, need to do chores? Done, clean the room, done. Jordan tried to parent her but it was hard when she wanted nothing to do with them

- and never got along with Freddie, mainly because she HATES kids, she won't hurt them but by no means is she gonna hold your baby, and wasn't ever forced to take care or babysit for Freddie, mainly because she refused to (stubborn so no one could break her)

- the only people who really know her are samra, Jordan and mishal (and even they have trouble understanding her)

- not really a hater? I mean she has gone through INSANE lengths to avoid people So she hasn't met many

- tends to be obsessive when ever she does find something of interest

- doesn't go by any labels, she is aware she can feel love but isn't really sure she sees herself in a relationship, she does care for people but has no clue what to say or do

- doesn't feel human, she just feels hollow, something feels like it's missing but she has no idea what it is

-never cried growing, only time was when she was 12, she had been yelled at during class and just broke down, like red face snot dripping and drooling tears,

- while I don't see her really interacting with any of the creeps, hypothetically it would go like this:

-she would find will kind of annoying

-Frankie she would just ignore 💀-same with Jack, she just has no clue what the fuck they want 😭

- I feel like Issac would try getting to know her because "ah finally a quiet calm proper women in this day in age, how are you? " "... " Like girl dgaf

-her Samara tend to fight, not often but it's just sad, she feels bad but never really knows how to act? And is just silent while Sam is just angry and emotional

- she has a very muted style, it's very basic she isn't trying to stand out, wears cardigans, jeans, sweaters, dresses and ballet flats

-mainly in dark or creme colors-hair tends to just be straight, long and thick, she doesn't do much, might tie it up if it's hot but that's about it

-for some inspired here:

- she tends to have sunken eyes, eye bags and acne scars (not a fan of skincare or makeup or just anything on her face, she struggles putting on lotion because of the texture)

- enjoys doing ballet, walking, learning about whatever interests her (spirits, Greek, church architecture and cults)

- music she enjoys: hole, Fiona Apple, Lesley Gore, Abba, verruca salt, bikini kill, Adel, Hozier (ima make a playlist I swear)

- Samara finds it funny that she isn't the one who turned to murder, she looks like a stereotypical killer, she has her saved under "Patrick Bateman" On her phone 💀

- while labels don't concern her, she's aware she is more fem but is more gender apathetic, he, she, they bro DOESN'T CARE 💯🙏😍

-and just a mood board I made for them

thats it :3

[fortunatelyenchantingtaco]

Always funny to see people just hating on Anders. Sorry this little guy has spent years running from slavery and then spent years providing free healthcare for those who can’t afford it under a constant threat of being discovered and hunted to death and when things got so bad there was no other way he blew up a church

Like idk its a weird point cause like. Yes I agree he’s fucked up by act 3. He’s very much fucked up cause of Vengeance and just pure despair (as is the rest of the city tbh) but like

There is objectively no argument to be had whether he should have done it or not. If he didnt do it, we know for a fact chantry would have stormed the city killed everyone including very much people in the church and then proclaimed it was a rebellion and it was successful supressed. Like we literally meet Lelliana in da2 cause she delivers a letter about it to the main priestess

Like if Anders didnt do it, Kirkwall would have been cleansed like many cities before (we know Anderfell had this for sure) and things would have continued as is. Its not up for debate we know those orders were issued and Hawke would have also perished then and there would have been no big story

Granted, mage rebellion didnt got over so well, and with the whole Conclave and rifts opening it lead to the end of the world kinda. But considering Corypheus had the orb anyway it would have happened even if there was no Conclaive.

Yes Anders is fucked up and going mad. He is the first person telling you that. He knows what he did he regrets the lives lost cause he’s a healer but he thought it needed to be done to stop his kind from getting enslaved and imprisoned from birth. Like we can talk endlessly about whether it was correct or not, but we know for a fact it would have been worse if he havent done it. This is not a situation of someone enjoying killing or smh those are literal desperate measures. Da2 conveys despair very well, and specifically Act 3’s main point is that no matter how much you try, you cant solve everything. Da2 is very much a story about despair and suffering and finding hope and happiness in the small private moments. In the fun banter in a game of cards. A story about love for people and desire to make the world better despite the circumstances

DA2 quite literally says ‘love was there. It didnt change anything, it was always meant to end that way. But there was life and love even in this city of slaves’ and im yeah immvery emotional about it sorry