#hypocrisy and other sinful things | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

roturo · 9 months

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₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎♡ BAD GIRL, GOOD GIRL !

he couldn't hide the crush he had for the good girl who's a bad girl to him ! ₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎

contains: smut, nsfw, unprotected sex, dacryphilia, cunnilingus, masturbation (m), e2l, a lot of praise, overstimulation, fluff & angst if you squeeze your eyes, lore mention (really vague), based when gojo was still in school, multiple orgasms, gojo whimpers, nipple play, throat & tummy bump, creampie, oral m!receiving, a lot of the use 'fuck', kinda getting caught, really cute tbh.

A/N: this was supposed to be a request but... idk what happened tbh, i just created this story. 2.6k + felt lonely

You enjoyed this. Really. You know about the power you have over Gojo Satoru. And he’s childish, he won’t admit it. He will continue with his god complex and see you as a ‘pathetic girl without knowing you well.

And it’s fun. His gaze is so funny, the hypocrisy is funny. He would be talking with Suguru, judging you and how fast you’re getting into his and Suguru’s level. Is he afraid of you?

The worst fucking thing is how hard you get him. Maybe he has a degradation kink to bring him back to earth. But each time it gets harder to hide his clear erection inside his pants.

But he would never admit the admirations and maybe the tiny crush he has for you. You being the first time he saw a girl like this– and he might be afraid of you. Afraid of losing himself to some silly highschooler crush– When there’s more important things to focus on in this world, like… he could focus on the political and economic state of the world right now….?

“Gojo Satoru! Are you paying attention?” Sensei Yaga brought him back from his own imaginary debate. “Uh- Yeah, sensei. I’m paying attention.”

“Oh.. Is that so Gojo?” Oh well fuck. Here you go. He sighed, saying your name in a whisper like if it’s some bad word full of anger- “Would you mind explaining what Sensei Yaga just said?” Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fucking fucking you with your face pressed against his bed and silencing your cries for him, while he pounds his cock from behind you into your poor vulnerable pussy he just ate out some minutes ago.

“Why do you keep acting like some bad girl instead of behaving yourself and learn to be a good girl for me, hm? Learn how to treat your seniors right. How does that sound? Do you have an answer for that?”

Silence.

Sixth fuck. Why did he think it was okay to say that out loud? Does it sound kinky?

“...I– why- uh- Y-You don’t know me Gojo.” Convincible right? His nicknames didn’t affect you. “So shut up boy. Instead of telling me how to behave, why don’t– Ugh. Shut up.”

He would pretend and convince himself that the reddish color covering your face is an act of his imagination, and move his gaze to his best-friend Suguru, which has a mix of confusion and shock adorning his face. “What? Do I have something in my face?” Gojo asked, touching his left cheek with his hand on that side.

“Uh- No. I will… just pay attention to what Yaga is saying.”

He can’t fucking stop thinking about you.

Is this right? His hand sneaking down his abdomen towards the elastic of his sweatpants, just to enter and– FUCK! He shouldn’t be doing this while thinking about ‘someone he hates’ and want to put them in their place. His erect cock was really visible through his sweats, and all he could do was roll in his bed trying to take you off his mind- Being shirtless didn’t help that either, his also erect nipples having fun with the friction he created while rolling on his bed. Great, not only it affected other areas of his body, but it also brought release to the problem he was trying to stop.

So he couldn’t stop himself. And his sinful right hand went down and inside his boxers to jerk off some tension down there (traitor)-- A whimper escaped his mouth once he teased his tip, already full of pre-cum thanks to stupid bed. His left hand traveled searching to cover his mouth to stop soundings coming out– Not trying to out himself, because it looked like this fucking walls were made of paper. But accidentally while doing so he touched his nipple, bringing out a loud and electric shock to his body.

Seventh? Ninth? Fuck.

He quickly bit his lips, surely blood coming out of them because of how hard he was trying to stop himself, but he really needed to cum. Fuck- If you were here, he would ask for permission, he would beg to cum. He would do anything to just fucking cum inside your pussy.

And it’s so embarrassing, because of all the rumors of him in this small space for his kind, that he’s a playboy and gets pussy every weeknd– when he’s basically a virgin if he has never got his cock inside a woman's pussy. Does it still count as sex without it inside?

He didn’t have enough fucks in his vocabulary to count all the misfortunes he has in a week. How could he let his guard down? How the fuck the curse got him? But the worst (actually it’s like the best thing that happened in his life) is that you cared about his well-being and you offered to take care of him as fast as possible.

"You're hurt. Is it bad? Do you need the med-kit? Let me see-" He already treated himself, not wanting to be a bother for you– (he wants to) but thanks to his infinity it wasn’t so hard to, and it’s basically a paper cut, but ever since that happened, everyone’s been cautious. Well, at least the people who know.

"Don't bother, it's not serious. I've already tended to it."

"...Someone was able to get the better of you?"

Oh shit. Congratulations Satoru! You used another word to describe how unlucky you are! But did you have to mention him?

“Uh.. No- I mean- When training… y’know? It happens, even to the best” He sent you a wink, anxious to get over this topic and not get too focused on him, because really. It was just a paper cut for him. He called for you, bringing back your gaze to his eyes, did he always look this beautiful? “Uh.. Yeah?” You didn’t intend your voice to sound like that, but suddenly everything felt so hot, and was he so close to you before?

“Why did you want to take care of me? The last time I got the memo you hated me as much as you hate bugs.”

“I.. I don’t hate you Gojo. I just-” sigh.

“It’s okay, I understand if you want to gain Yaga’s confidence for… whatever reasons you have. I’m just impressed- that’s all. I’m very grateful it was you.”

…

“I like you Satoru. I’m scared I'll lose you- even though I don’t show it, I care about you” Oh nice. You don’t hate him, and he liked the way his name sounded coming out of your mouth. Could easily make him cum. It’s great you also care for him.

“Can’t blame you. I’m pretty awesome.” His quirky smirk showed in his face, earning no reaction from you. Oh.

Oh fuck.

He really fucked it this time, didn’t he?

“Wait, are you fr?”

“There’s no way you just said ‘ef’ ‘ar’ Satoru.”

He didn’t care about your criticism now, not when you just made him the happiest man in the world and he lifted you with no problem, and got you in a position so you’re now above him, caging his legs.

With no words, he kissed you on the lips with a passion he has never shown. Not even while fighting. He loved the way your lips were perfect for him, how small you felt above him in his touch. As an automatic reaction you slowly started to rock your hips, earning a whimper from him. Which somehow turned you on more, your hands roamed his body until they landed on his chest. Index and middle finger keeping his nipples between- an unexpected thrust from him caught you by surprise and pressed your fingers back together, earning a whine from him. You were about to get your hands under his shirt, and discover this new ‘thing’ of Gojo’s, but-

“Oh my fucking god. WhatshappeningrightnowIthoughsomethingbadhappenedtoyouguys.”

Poor Suguru.

Both of you have been into very… ‘pretentious’ situations while interacting through the years. It stresses him out that it’s just.. well- pretentious. Because you never go to the next base, even after forgetting the bickering and rivalry through the years, (and the raging sexual tension from Gojo), he might finally have the courage to put aside his masquerade and open up about his wants and be vulnerable… At the act? After? During?

Taking a deep breath and sighing, waiting for your answer, but all he receives is a stare. Which makes him even more anxious. He would prefer a slap, a cussing, fuck! even you laughing at him. But all he gets is a stare. Was it so stupid to say how much he liked you and that you should have sex with him?

He called out your name, bringing you back from your shock- “I- shit… Wait a second, this isn’t how I wanted things to go.. what the hell?” The last question was barely heard, he was murmuring to himself and planning a hundred ways he could die without bringing down the sorcerer world with him. Is it good he confessed in your room?

“That’s the worst confession I’ve heard in a while y’know?...” He stopped his mental break-down, never believing he would blush for a girl. Not even the girl he has been crushing (and hating) through his teenage years. “I like you too, like- for my whole life. But I didn’t think you would feel the same. I didn’t see it.”

“But I felt it.” His eyes traced your body until they reached the floor. It was weird seeing Gojo like this. Never in his 20 years of life thought he would be feeling weak and vulnerable to anyone. Not until he met you.

“Yeah- I can see it” You lazily pointed at his crotch. “You seriously have a problem… Do you like being humiliated and degraded?... This isn’t the first time this happens, y’know?:..”

A whine escaped his mouth like a little child- “Ugh, it’s just… I really need you.”

You wasted no time when your lips glued to his. It was 10 P.M, everyone was asleep, but at this rate you didn’t care. If they ungratefully hear you and Satoru moaning, it was his fault for giving the first step this time.

He called out your name, making you break the kiss and start marking his neck. “Ah, fuck. Please mark me, I want everyone to know I’m yours.” You pushed him back so he’s now sitting on the sofa. Kneeling down for him while you continue marking him and hearing his beautiful noises. You were in between his legs, in front of his raging cock begging for release from the sweat pants. “Is this okay Satoru?”

A lot of little cute nods were made, his flushed cheeks making him look absolutely precious. “I need words baby, I don’t know what you want me to do…” You said while playing with the hem of his sweats.

“I want you to suck my cock and then fill you up… please.” Oh! He clearly answered his desires, making you form a smile while he bit his lips watching you undress him. “No underwear hm? You were waiting for this?” His cock was standing there tall and angry. The pale base with a pink needy tip leaking pre-cum from it. “I was risking my luck”

“Then you’re such a lucky man right now Satoru.” Your lips wrapped around his cock, and you slowly teased his tip with your tongue, making him whimper at the feeling. And you tried to deepthroat him- which caught him by surprise and his hand immediately went to find a place in your head, making a made-up ponytail with your hair for some support. (He was too lost in the pleasure to even know if he doing it right)

With the rest of his neglected cock, your hands traveled up to find his balls and start massaging them. Making Satoru to fucking loose control over his body once he saw the bump his cock caused in your throath- Moans turned into whines with tears, he had to pull up his shirt and bite on it to stop whining. Silent whimpers accompanying his tears while he looks at the beautiful girl between his legs. The sight made him cum faster than he expected, he swears he saw light and white noise was heard in his ears.

You happily showed your tongue to him before swallowing the salty liquid down your throat which earned a groan from Satoru.

“From outside you’re such a bad girl, but inside you’re a good girl f’me, aren’t ya?” You chuckled at his ‘drunk-dazed’ face, moving yourself so you’re on top of him again, his cock still hard against your core. “You don’t know me at all Satoru…”

You placed your arms around his neck, getting closer to him. “Not the way I wished. But you’re giving me the chance to be your man and get to know you, right?”

“Oh… Gojo... I’m looking for a real man, not for a man who pretends to be a man. Are you a real man, Satoru?”

“I’ll be whatever you want baby.” He says, ghosting your lips, making a brushing action with his nose and yours before finally giving in and kissing you again. This kiss was more needy, remembering every place from it. While your hands went insearch of his chest, the hold of your hips with his hands hardened when you ghostly brushed your finger through his nipples. He thrusted upwards, looking for some friction between your core and his.

He was getting needier each passing second- and you noticed that once he grabbed the hems of your leggings and tore them apart. Murmuring about him buying you new ones continuously tearing apart your panties too.

One of his fingers going through your folds, coming out wet, you shyly looked away when he inserted the finger on his mouth and moaned. “Sweet.” His cocky personality was back when he sent you a wink. He looked being in control, to be honest.

With no warning, you placed yourself so his cock was aligned. And it kinda hurt because of how fucking big he is. But his reaction was priceless.

You were full of him already, cum coming out of you. “I-..I.. shit.” He couldn’t believe he just came from being inside you, overstimulation taking over him thanks to his second orgasm, but it just felt so right, he couldn’t stop himself from rocking your hips back and forth using his cum as lubricant.

His cock touched places your fingers could never reach, each thrust and movement felt so good. He called out your name in a whine, his head falling back and taking this opportunity so you could mark his neck more. “IloveyouIloveyousofuckin’muchprincess” He was the first to say those three words, bringing butterflies to your tummy after some time of confessing your feelings to the others. “You’remakin’mefeels’goodmygod.” His cries were because he couldn’t take it anymore, filling you up for a second time. And you swear you looked down and there was a clear bump in your tummy because of how full you were. Making itself more prominent each thrust Satoru gave you.

“Ohyeahbaby…Use me as your fuck toy- shit-i’m yours baby.” He never stopped praising you, not until you came and rested your slumpy body on top of his. Your breathings synchronizing with the other, his heartbeat was audible. His arms wrapped around you like a bear. “Satoru- I need to clean myself-”

“I will clean you- Just… let’s stay some time more like this, please. I want to feel you.” His head rested on top of yours while he drew figures in your back with his fingers. “You’re so… perfect.” He said before giving a peck on your forehead.

“Satoru…?”

“Yeah baby?”

“Are you hard again?”

Millionth fuck.

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autolenaphilia · 22 days

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God I think I actually prefer explicit fascist transmisogyny in comparison to the disguised dogwhistly liberal transmisogyny.

Like the people who openly call me an autogynephile and other various slurs and tell me to kill myself are at least being honest. They don't bullshit me about hating my very existence and wanting me to die.

It's all the faux-loving forms of transmisogyny that really make me angry. Like it makes my skin crawl in its dishonesty and hypocrisy. And it takes so many forms. Like the transmisogynist christian "hate the sin, not the sinner" approach where they claim to love me and just want me to accept Jesus in my heart. The necessary condition for accepting their version of Jesus however is me detransitioning, and that would kill me.

There is the terfy "people with gender dysphoria are suffering and they need help but we can't endanger women's sex-based rights for them." i've even seen in arguments about legal gender changes the following: "of course trans women deserve to use women's spaces, but if we allow legal gender self-id evil cis men will take advantage of that. So trans women will have to have their rights restricted." Even J.K. Rowling used it in her terf manifesto.

It makes one yearn for the days of the ur-terf book "The Transsexual Empire" which had the "shemale" slur in its subtitle and in which the author Janice Raymond argued trans women rape real women by the fact of their very existence. That kind of brazen transmisogyny at least had some kind of honesty about it.

There is also the transmisogynist callout culture fandom, or as the japanese fittingly call them: the american feelings yakuza. They callout transfems for problematic kinks like at least once a week but deny transmisogyny. "oh we don't believe all transfems are evil predatory sex perverts, it's just that this particular transfem is."

Their evidence for her being sexual predatory is that she ships two fictional siblings. Or in meatspace meetings, things like her having "bad vibes" ("bad vibes" or "gut instinct" are polite words for what more sensible people call "ingrained bias") .

And they suspiciously keep on making callouts for transfem after transfem in a neverending series, trying to ruin her reputation and socially exile her, but of course they are not transmsiogynists.

There is also the sofboi transandrobro type of transmisogyny. They spread the vilest transmisogyny but always falls back on a terfy bioessentialism to claim ontological innocence and perpetual victimhood in all situations. I've literally seen someone say "how can i be a misogynist, i'm literally afab." These people will not say directly "shut up about your oppression, stupid tranny", but say it in coded form. I had one guy traumadump to me about his rape in vivid detail to make the point that (trans)men suffer more and imply that transfems don't suffer from sexual violence.

And that's the crux of the issue. Open hate barely fazes me anymore, unless there is an immediate threat of physical violence. But being condescended to, being emotionally manipulated, being faced with people veiling their hatred of transfems behind a veil of superficially loving rhetoric, that does make me angry. And these people always use my anger against me. "Why are you so angry when these people are being so polite and nice to you?" And that's because the point of these rhetorical approaches is to have plausible deniability for your bigotry and make transfems look crazy when they point it out.

Yet it's the same bigotry as the explicit version, it's just more dishonest about it. Like if had the They Live glasses and looked at the rhetoric, it would just read "exterminate all transfems." All those polite liberals believe the same thing about transfems as the neo-nazis openly calling for us to be hanged, they just lack the virtue of being honest about it.

#transmisogyny #my posts

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spacerockfloater · 3 months

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Alicent and Criston have every right to be together.

I’ve read a lot of posts regarding their non-existent hypocrisy and I’d like to clear some things up.

First and foremost, stop using Alicent’s “Where is duty, where is sacrifice?” line against her or Nyra’s outrageous “Exhausting, wasn’t it?” speech because you think you’re eating when you’re, in fact, starving. Alicent has done her duty and sacrificed herself. It’s the only thing she’s been doing for the past 20 years. She gave the man she was forced to marry four children and she took care of him despite all the shit he put her through. She has lived all her life based on her principles and now her husband is gone. She mourned him, she buried him, it’s been more than 10 days since his death (confirmed that E1 S2 takes place 10 days after Lucerys’ death) and she is finally fucking free. She deserves a sliver of comfort. Alicent is the only one in this series that’s been faithful and dutiful to a T, yet look where that got her. If someone has the right to break the law a little bit, it’s definitely her.

That being said, I don’t know when it was decided that Alicent is a pious saint that can do no wrong, but I need to remind y’all that following a religion does not magically prevent you from sinning. Is she committing fornication? Obviously. However, you are all under this impression that this is hypocritical on her behalf because she berated Rhaenyra for it when they were younger, without considering that her anger was justified for a myriad of other reasons, such as (but not limited to): 1) the fact that Rhaenyra’s freedom to marry whomever she pleased was a privilege granted to her thanks to Alicent’s efforts, who supported her even if Rhaenyra hated her, yet her friend casually threw that away, 2) the fact that Rhaenyra lied to her by swearing on her morher’s grave and never even mentioned Criston, 3) the fact that Rhaenyra had the guts to call her “sister” while lying to her face, 4) the fact that her lies resulted in Otto getting fired since Rhaenyra misled Alicent so that she speaks to Viserys in favour of her friend and betraying her own father by siding against him (a decision she wouldn’t have made if she knew the truth), leaving her completely alone and friendless at court, even if he was right all along and finally 5) the fact that Rhaenyra is the most sought after bachelorette in the whole world and by having sex she undermines herself (Rhaenyra knows this well, hence why she denies these accusations) and literally endangers herself, because had she been married to any other man but Laenor and had this man found out his wife and future queen is not a virgin, imagine the fucking horrors she could have been subjected to. Like, I hate to break it to you, but a 40-year-old widow, who’s had four kids and has completed her duty to the point where she is actually no longer needed and could leave the palace to go live the rest of her life in peace somewhere else and no one would notice her absence (literally though, she has birthed heirs, her husband is dead, her son is a grown adult king, her job is done there), having sex, is not the same as an 18-year-old princess and future heir in her prime, whose purity is linked to her worth, getting caught drunk in a brothel, hooking up with her uncle and losing her virginity to her guard, all in one night. Viserys himself was outraged. There’s lows and then there’s lows, y’all.

By the way, the crazy assumptions that Alicent has been cheating on Viserys with Criston for a while now need to stop. When Olivia Cooke said that they had filmed a messy sex scene with Fabien Frankel in a recent interview, she never said this was for S1 of HOTD. I don’t know where y’all got that from, but even if it was true, that scene has been scrapped so it is not canon. And don’t make me laugh about Daeron, a dragon rider who canonically has Valyrian features, potentially having brown hair. You’re all so blinded by your hatred for Alicent that you want her to be a lying hypocrite in order to make yourselves feel better about Rhaenyra’s mishaps, that you don’t get that the whole point of her and Criston getting physical is that she is a tortured woman who is finally able to break free, not that she has been a hypocrite all along. You’re heavily misunderstanding her arc.

Finally, when it comes to my good man Criston, y’all have lost it completely. No, Alicent is not raping him, unless he tells her to stop and she closes the door behind her like Rhaenyra did that is. No, Criston did not lie about how important his honour is to him. There’s a whole article on how Clare Kilner, the director of E4 S1, decided that Cole removing his armour slowly was necessary because it symbolises his inner conflict and uncertainty over breaking his vow: should he soil his cloak for the sake of the woman he loves? And he does soil it, because he thinks she loves him back. But that honourable man dies the day Rhaenyra tells him that he’ll never be anything more than a side piece to her. This man stops giving a flying fuck about his honour, oath, position and life. He is trying to kill himself. And you know what stops him? Alicent. Alicent is the only thing between him and death, the only person to show him kindness and understanding, to pull him up from the lowest point in his life. I don’t think you heard Alicent in E7 S1: “No, you’re sworn to me!”. Y’all. His life is hers. He doesn’t care about Rhaenyra, his job, Viserys, anyone else at this point. Only Alicent exists in his mind, Fabien himself has said time and time again that his loyalty to her is unwavering. He only exists for Alicent’s sake. He’s who you wish Daemon was. Crying that “Criston is a bad knight and a liar because he broke his chastity oath yet again!” is so pointless because that knight has been dead since Rhaenyra’s marriage to Laenor. What does an oath mean when you find out the people you swore it to have betrayed you? Why should he keep his promise to the people who abused him?

#house of the dragon #hotd hbo #hotd #alicent hightower #pro alicent hightower #pro alicent stans #ser criston #ser criston cole #pro criston cole #alicent x criston #alicole #team green #pro team green #anti team black stans #anti team black #anti rhaenyra stans #anti rhaenyra targaryen #anti daemyra #anti daemon targaryen

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eldritchneuro · 23 days

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This is probably one of the clearest examples of red-blue contrast that we get throughout Stampede, and one directly tied to divine/angel connotations. You have Knives in light, almost white blue, literally 'above' Vash and then Vash in pinkish red, specifically the color of a distressed plant, but also deeply linked to humanity. Knives is obscured, too holy for human eyes, Vash is not.

One thing that Trigun has always questioned is whether divinity, specifically in the Christian sense, automatically equals 'better' or 'good'. The Dependent plants are divine, but they rely on humans to survive. Humans are shown to do some pretty awful stuff, but are also shown as capable of incredible compassion and change. Wolfwood's arc specifically questions how to juggle the hypocrisy present in human flaws, because doing bad things is so often dependent on the environment a person finds themself in.

And of course with Knives and Vash, one who poses as a god, yet unfathomably cruel, the other stooping to the level of humanity, yet infinitely kind. Knives wants to 'purify' Vash, to rid him of his sin of love, and yet in doing so, subjects him to an experience heavily analogous to rape. He holds Vash's self in a thread in his hands, and toys with it like it's nothing.

Is perfection really worth it then, if this is what it means?

#trigun #trigun meta #trigun stampede #tw sa

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moondirti · 1 month

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i do think dark! gaz has a bit of a... complex about everything he does. a sort of hypocrisy, or sanctimonious attitude — the apollonian champion who'll scorn the sensuous for all but himself. it's a friction that started at work (as all things do, of course) but has gone so far as to infiltrate life beyond it, too.

toxicity. manipulation. isolation. dumbification.

perhaps non obvious to a stranger, nothing like the more flagrant quirks of his teammates. on a surface level, he's the only typical member of his task force. the charm he uses to cut through life used as a shortcut for the others. kyle is the one obliged to order drinks at every bar, or the shepherd to lead flightier birds into the overbearing mens' beds. who's told, repeatedly, how approachable and handsome and kind he is compared to them. that he sets himself apart, despite how equally sullied his hands are. despite the blood crusting beneath his fingernails, and the callus on his trigger finger. despite the sins he's committed fighting those with perfectly mirrored ledgers, trying to stop them from committing more by committing more.

and there's nothing to argue against, not really. spoor it back to basic, where they were taught to justify transgressions by the flag stamped over their arm — it's okay when he does something, because he's on the right side. thrust that ideology forward and it's quick to snowball. now nothing is off limits, not as long as he can justify it. and wouldn't he — decorated, promoted, hand-picked, college educated, admired, perceptive, quick witted, revered, moral, righteous kyle — have well founded grounds for everything he intends to do?

of course he does. he knows best, always.

you edge closer, and that ugliness starts to bare its teeth.

like dipping your toes into placid waters, surface undisturbed, only to be pulled under by leviathan itself. it's something that's been allowed- no, encouraged to grow. fed and fattened up, cleaving through the sea unchallenged. in every relationship, he will appoint himself as the moral arbitrator for your every action. that is, being respected means that everything you do will be picked apart. be ready to defend your decisions, because he's appraising them all. keeps an incisive eye on you, your health, your hobbies, your friends, your clothing, your sleep, your finances, etc... something i think he inherited from price and adapted for his own; though he won't control those aspects for you (at least, not directly), he'll expect you to live up to the expectations he holds.

— which are not the expectations he has for himself.

(sensualism, overconsumption, corruption, arrogance, indecency.

they're all on the cards for him, if he can warrant it.)

and why would they be? you're not him, not unless you prove you're on par, in time. kyle maintains a double standard, though he wouldn't necessarily call it that. he just can't expect you to prescribe the level of thought he does to everything, or do it with enough discretion. do you really dig into the full range of consequence, decide value based on utility? do you know to tally the calculus that determines right from wrong,

(to vindicate pain, you have to maximise happiness. perfectly simple, really. applies to most everything — from the way he bullies you into the relationship in the first place, by determining it's for your greater good, to how he prunes off your friends, one 'break up with him!' advocate at a time.)

or do you act on impulse, like so many of the brutes he's told he's better than?

he wouldn't blame you if you do.

nor would he end things, should you disappoint him.

but you see, having kyle lose faith in you is arguably worse.

to most, things look like they get better. even you're so easily fooled, at first. he's much gentler than he was before. his words no longer have that sharp edge to them, censure a dull knife tucked in the back of a drawer. if you trip or make a mistake, he'll shush the pleas rolling to the tip of your tongue, soft kisses placed over your eyes, cradling your trembling arm. if you succumb to any of your baser desires — like employing your vibrator in his absence, oblivious to the cameras he's installed around the house — he'll just come back home and wring a dozen more orgasms out of you, indulgent of the lust you're so brazen about.

however nice it is, you half expect the switch to flip at any moment; watching warily from the corner of your eye as he goes about his days, completely content to let you do whatever you want. things just feel wrong, thrown off kiler. like there's something going unsaid, or a piece you're misunderstanding. how someone can just shift like that — turn their back on the model they upheld for so long, seemingly overnight. it strikes you the wrong way. too good to be true, almost.

(undoubtedly.)

you finally understand once you voice your concerns.

because kyle refuses to hear you out, pouting condescendingly when you go on about how 'hard things used to be' and how you're 'worried about his change of heart.' (two very antithetical sentiments, he has to say.) doesn't answer any of your questions. rather, he coos softly at your cries, brushing the hair off your temple like one would do a beloved animal. those tears are too big for you, lovie. so silly worrying about complicated things like that. why don't you clear that little head for me before supper.

you're no longer regarded as human, at least not one worthy of deference. but that's just what you wanted, wasn't it? by being so negligent of what it takes to keep that status in his eyes. humans exhibit discipline, intelligence, order, routine. if you can't uphold what that entails, then—

well, you're no better than a pet.

(free range, at least.)

#this took. a turn #anyway i do think they're all similarly delusional albeit in varying degrees #but i wanted to get into gaz's head and find the wolf under all that sheep's clothing #kyle 'gaz' garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz #kyle 'gaz' garrick #headcanons

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lipgloss05 · 3 months

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Rhaenyra sleeps with Criston Cole when she was not married to anyone.

TG stans: “Rhaenyra is a whore and a rapist. How dare she abuse poor Criston who jumped into her bed on his own free will?”

Alicent sleeps with Criston Cole when she is not married to anyone.

TG stans: “Alicent is not married anymore and they are only sleeping with each other. It’s like they are in a relationship now so they are allowed to have sex out of wedlock. Don’t you understand? They are a couple now even if that doesn’t exist in Westeros, so they are allowed to have sex.”

Rhaenyra enjoys consensual sex out of wedlock because she doesn’t believe in the faith’s nonsensical BS that sex out of wedlock is a terrible sin.

TG stans: “She is a whore. How dare she have sex out of wedlock? That is a sin.”

Alicent enjoys consensual sex out of wedlock even though she believes that sex out of wedlock is a terrible sin and judges people who do it.

TG stans: “She is a human being. Humans are not perfect and everybody is a sinner. Besides, Alicent goes to the sept every day to repent for her sins, even if right after that she goes back to commit the same sins. She can always come back to the sept the next day and repent again.”

Double morals? Where?

And we’re supposed to take this people seriously?

I was literally having an argument with a TG stan who told me that they found Alicent and Cole’s affair very romantic because it was like watching two secret lovers trying to live their forbidden love in the middle of a war. And when I spoke about the hypocrisy of those two characters they literally said: “Give them a break. They are finally enjoying a little bit of happiness and pleasure. You TB fans always defend Rhaenyra for sleeping with Harwin, so why can’t Alicent sleep with Cole?”.

Dude, TB fans don’t judge Alicent’s actions because she had sex out of wedlock, we judge her because she is doing the very same thing that she criticized Rhaenyra for. If Alicent wouldn’t have spent the entire season 1 badmouthing and judging Rhaenyra for having sex out of wedlock, no one would care if Alicent slept with the entire Red Keep. But she is a hypocrite. Like Aemond himself said: “Her grace speaks with two tongues.” (In more aspects than one.)

#anti team green #pro team black #anti alicent hightower #pro rhaenyra targaryen #house of the dragon #anti criston cole

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ouroborosorder · 1 year

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Guide Ahead Means Something To Me

Writing about Guide Ahead is…. extremely difficult, for a few reasons. One is that it is a very dense story, and to fully unpack it would require an essay so unfocused that it would be functionally unreadable. But the biggest one is that Guide Ahead is a story that focuses really heavily on the subjective nature of interpretation. How can I speak authoritatively on the thematic meaning of the plot when even a basic description of its events demands a deeper poetic interpretation?

The answer is “I can’t.” So, let’s piss off my English teacher, and coat an entire essay in the phrase “in my opinion.” Because I have to get personal if I’m going to tell you why Guide Ahead is my favorite video game story ever told.

I was raised Mormon. My mother was religious, but my father was absolutely not. You can understand why I related to Cecilia basically immediately.

Ultimately, the thing that draws me to Guide Ahead is the very thing that makes it hard to write about. Guide Ahead is, in my reading, a story about the subjectivity of divine meaning.

The most obvious manifestation, and the most important, is Law. But, Law’s execution, in traditional Arknights fashion, is kinda unclear, so I’ll recap for those who have hobbies outside of this, unlike me.

Law is the supercomputer buried underneath Laterano, and is the sentient religion that binds all the Sankta together into a hivemind of sorts. The Sankta are actually just Sarkaz connected to Law, given halos, wings, and empathic communication between each other. But, the main thing they gain, is a biological impulse to obey the Lateran religion’s thirteen doctrines. Anyone who breaks these doctrines are marked as Fallen, are cut off from the empathic connection, and slowly revert back to Sarkaz. Law represents religion as a concept and a community. Saints and sinners are just one and the same. But despite that, the laws of religion are created just to perpetuate the existence of a special in-group. One enforced by empathic connection they cannot share with anyone outside of them. That is Patia’s point - the Sankta have created an “us” and a “them,” and even the devout Liberi are not seen as “us.” They’re just converts, not real Sankta.

But, Falling has… weird grey areas. Like how Andoain was able to shoot Lemuen, or draw his gun on the fucking Pope, and not Fall in the process. This is because the doctrines are not actually the guidelines they’re held to. The Doctrines are subjective interpretations of the objective Law that they are all beholden to. That Law being “It must survive.” Law only is interested in the perpetuation of Itself, and, as a result, the continued existence of the Sankta as a societal structure.

This is the first and strongest example of what I mean when I say Guide Ahead is about meaning. Law says that the failure of religion is ultimately that religions supplant any subjective meanings with an “objective” meaning. But this “objective” meaning is just another person’s interpretation of the in-group’s best interest. Laws biologically programmed into the Sankta’s souls are revealed to be nothing but interpretation of Law’s interpretation of events.

People Fall not because they have broken a concrete law, but because Law… because the in-group has decided they did. Or when they broke the rules, they did something that’s good for the church. There is no objective laws within the Lateran religion, no matter what the machine is named. The system just declares sin when it deems worthy, and absolution when sin is a benefit.

It is this very hypocrisy that drives Andoain.

——————————————————————————————————

I remember being pulled aside at church one day. Everyone above 14 was given a sermon about the recent legalization of gay marriage. He said it was wrong, the church would never accept it. I asked him if it was like the time the church refused to give black people the Priesthood. He said this was different. I asked him how. He did not answer. I left and someone followed me out. He asked if I was okay. I told him whatever he was saying in there was not the teachings of any god that I know, and wasn’t the teachings of any god that loves me. I kept going to church after that, but deep down, I think I didn’t believe in it anymore. I didn’t feel like part of the community, I lost that reciprocation with my people. I just… began to think.

Andoain, as an antagonist, is defined by a search for meaning. He was the bishop of an Iberian church, and Iberia is doing pretty bad lately. His request for aid from Laterano was denied, and the message was clear to him. “You are one of us, but they are not.” But that answer just created a new question. Why? Why would those who claim faith and utopia as their ideals reject those who are suffering?

He searched for an answer in exile, and he didn’t find one. Instead, he found another story. The Sarkaz man who died in the watchtower to warn a town who hated him of an invading force. And this story made his question develop. Why would someone who is hated by everyone give their life to protect those very people? And why would those people then cry over the grave of someone they hated?

He had seen the realities of the Sarkaz and Sankta laid bare, but he couldn’t figure out the meaning behind it. He tells Cecilia these stories, knowing full well he doesn’t know what to make of them. I think he tells them to hope he finds the point partway through.

——————————————————————————————————

As much as I hate the Mormon church for dear god everything they’ve ever done holy shit look at them? My feelings are predictably complicated. Years later, my family fell upon hard times. I don’t want to say more than that for my own sake. We were struggling to even live. But… the church helped us. None of us gone to church for years, but they offered a hand. They gave us access to the Bishop’s Storehouse, gave us food and supplies for free, because we were starving.

And yes, I know. I know they do this in an attempt at creating a false brotherhood in an effort to create a fascist sense of community. I have also read that part of Brothers Karamazov. I have also read Guide Ahead, come to think of it. But… Shit. Most of them tried to pretend we didn’t exist when we met them in the grocery store. And… they still helped us. In their eyes, I was Fallen.

But still, they saved us, and didn’t even ask for faith in return. I still can’t figure out why.

This is why I just… can’t see Andoain as a villain. I mean, yeah, he shot Lemuen, but even she doesn’t blame him for shooting his friends while holding the Stick That Makes You Shoot Your Friends. His entire goal is an attempt to sort through the cognitive dissonance between what the church tells him and what the church does. A dissonance that is, because of Law and the doctrines, innate to what the church is. An experience that should feel damn familiar to anyone who has spent time as an apostate. His plan is to simply confront the Pope about this hypocrisy, to get an answer, to find a meaning.

The answer he gets back is… It Must Survive. Law must survive. The in-group must survive. It doesn’t matter if we cry over the grave of the Sarkaz, because the Sarkaz would die for us. He searched for the answer to a question, the meaning of a statement. You are one of us. They are not. All this time, he searched for the meaning of those words, but in reality, those words were the meaning. That was all they ever had to say. He just needed to accept that.

…but if the in-group is all that mattered… why allow Mostima in Laterano? Why give her her position? She’s not needed for the survival of the in-group, the Law has deemed her an exile.

And… Why not Andoain?

Before he leaves, his gun is taken from him. A gun that, according to the church, has meaning. A meaning he takes as truth. He believes a part of him is left behind there. I don’t think he realizes it, but Mostima and Fiammetta are the question he left behind. They are Not Sankta, but yet they are accepted. And… I don’t know if there is a meaning to that. I still can’t figure out why.

——————————————————————————————————

For a long time, I missed those days spent in the community I had left. I would remember the things I left behind. The churchball basketball games we were destined to lose. The conversations held on the roof of the storage building behind the church. The scouting activities that were clearly an excuse to go bowling. The shitty halloween parties with the game where you ate donuts tied to a string hanging from a fishing pole. I missed it, for a time. I couldn’t help but look back.

Cecilia is searching for meaning to almost everything. When Andoain tells his stories to Cecilia, he tells her that he can’t find the meaning of them. That if there is meaning to be found, she’ll have to find it herself. So. She does.

Cecilia was faced with the same situation Andoain was obsessed with. But for her, it wasn’t hypothetical. She existed between Us and Them. She felt the pull between the community and the love and fun they represent, and the outsiders who were hated and rejected by the people around her. Society told her the meaning of her dual identity, the meaning behind each half, and then told her to choose. But… she’d experienced otherwise. She’d felt the kindness of the Sarkaz from the Pathfinders, and the hatred from the Church. She’d felt things that contradicted the meaning that she was told was true.

Her story isn’t just being forced to pick a side between the church or apostacy, it’s being forced to pick what meaning she ascribes to the world. Ultimately, that’s why her answer can only be her own. Your belief is… subjective.

And she answered… with a bell. A Sarkaz girl, bearing a halo, ringing a bell that has not been rung since the Sankta were still called Teekaz. A bell that once marked the beginning of the new era. A bell that carries the weight of a Sarkaz, hated by the place they called home. A bell that rings with the melody of a Sarkaz lullaby once sung by a Sankta. A bell that asserts her answer. She’s not Sarkaz, she’s not Sankta. She is Cecilia.

Everyone else finds their own subjective meaning within that action. Something as mundane as the ringing of the bell suddenly has more meaning than divine scripture.

No one else understood the nuance of what she said, but they understood parts of it. They understood what they wanted to. Those who know nothing of Lateran culture understand it as just… a beautiful welcome, celebrating the arrival of talks of peace. Most have their meaning determined by the church’s traditions. The pious see it as the beginning of a new era, whatever that signals to them. To the Church, it is that their talks will bring about a new era of peace. To the Pathfinders, it is a signal to begin their attack on Laterano to begin their new era.

There is so much meaning in that action, but in the end, it’s still just a fucking bell. There’s got to be hundreds, maybe thousands of them in Laterano. But this bell meant something more than the other bells. This bell had meaning, and that meaning made it divine.

This, to me, is what Guide Ahead has to say. That there is so much meaning to be found in something as mundane as a ringing bell. Within such a simple action, there is personal expression, liberation, the sound of change. And in all of this, there is the echoes of divinity, the echoes of faith, as if all of these things are, in themselves, divine.

——————————————————————————————————

When I left the church, I couldn’t help but look back, still tethered to a community who hated me. I think I wished I could stop looking back. I don't know if I realized I was.

In the end, everyone else looks back. They still have meaning to be found in Laterano. Andoain looks back, a part of his soul anchored there by the symbol he was told to believe in. Mostima looks back, knowing she’ll return just as she always does. Fiammetta looks back, because she refuses to let herself leave. Ezell looks back, unsure if he will be able to return home after what he has found.

But… Cecilia doesn’t. She has decided that she is not defined by the church, or the meaning they try to give her. She has decided to leave Laterano and see the world outside of it, to explore the world around her and find the meaning for herself.

And the last thing Cecilia does is... defined by ambiguous meaning. She sees Andoain walking in the sunset - and a word appears to her. The title of Martyr. A title she doesn’t understand the meaning or weight of, but that she feels is appropriate regardless. A title that, to other people, would mean something more. But to her, brings to mind the saints she heard of as a youth, a word her mother told her was important.

The story is ending, and they end it with an assertion. Cecilia is finding meaning, and others will find what they will within. Perhaps even she doesn't know all of it.

A while back, during a theater rehearsal, I suddenly remembered a conversation I had years before I left the church. I remembered speaking with my friends outside of the chapel after a sunday service. My friend said a sentence that has stuck with me ever since. “I don’t think science goes against God. I think God uses science and math. I think those things are holy, because they’re… what everything is made of.”

I remember looking around the rehearsal space and thinking that if science could be sacred, then… so is this moment, now. So is my time spent with the people I love. This is sacred. What I missed, what kept me looking back. It wasn’t the actual religion, but instead… just belonging to something. So… I stopped looking back. In that moment, however fleeting it was, I had found whatever it was I needed.

—————————————————————————————————

Look. You probably had a different interpretation of Guide Ahead. This story is just… So goddamn dense. There is so much there that I didn’t even touch on. For the love of god, I just did an analysis of Guide Ahead and didn’t even really discuss Fiammetta?? What kind of hack writer am I? (I just… couldn’t talk about her without being more personal than I am willing to be in public.)

If you have an interpretation that is different than mine, that’s great. I encourage you to hold on to it, and hold it close. That meaning is yours, and yours alone, and that’s a precious thing.

Because to me, what I found… is that very idea.

There is meaning to be found in anything - and a meaning that is yours, and yours alone. All you have to do is find meaning. and the idea that there is meaning to the world, that everything has meaning not because there is a “true” meaning to it, but because we find one there, because we put one there… that makes everything feel… divine, to me.

So… wherever you find meaning, you can find the divine.

You can find divinity in a ringing bell. In a terrible cactus tart. A carnival game you know how to beat. The promises of peace around a table. A cup of coffee. A city you hate. A community you love. A flower growing near a grave. A weapon you carry. A people you surround yourself with.

Those are all… holy to me.

And to me… that meaning is enough.

I hope yours is for you.

#arknights #critical analysis #feel free to reblog #i know this is personal but don't worry I wrote it to be shared #thank you all.#finally i can rest

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mistystarshine · 7 months

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Hypocrisy and other Sinful Things

“Wait!” the thing cried in that familiar voice. “Lute, fucking— Wait! It’s me!”

Lute froze, the tip of her spear pressing lightly against the skin of the sinner’s throat.

It stared up at her with wide, horrified, hopeful yellow eyes. Now that she actually looked, she couldn’t deny that she would have known them in any lifetime. The shape of his face was the same. The hair was the same. The voice was the same. But—

The creature before her had one more eye than it should have. It had horns growing out of its head — the same shape that the ones on his helmet had been, but real in a way that no angel’s were. Knives grew from the tips of its fingers, impossible to be covered even by the gloves it wore.

The thing in front of her was undoubtedly a demon.

Adam had been an angel.

Adam was dead.

Or; Lute goes to hell during the next extermination seeking revenge. Instead, she gets the crisis of a lifetime.

Now complete.

#hazbin hotel #guitarspear #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel lute #sinner adam #hazbin hotel fanfic #my fic #my writing #hypocrisy and other sinful things #i finished this thing QUICK

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slavonicrhapsody · 11 months

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a deep dive into Rykard’s belief system

We all know that Rykard wants nothing more than to devour the very gods… but Rykard had despised the gods long before he ever became the serpent of blasphemy. Within dialogue and item descriptions, you’ll notice many details that indicate Rykard had quite specific grievances against the gods during the Shattering war and before. It was his audacious campaign against the gods that won him the loyalty and admiration of his soldiers: we meet the spirit of a Gelmir knight in Volcano Manor who tells us, “Praetor Rykard's ambitions, though blasphemous, marked him a worthy sovereign.” Though he was despised by many as a traitor and a blasphemer, Rykard’s beliefs before his devouring were seen by his followers as heroic and worth following. Let’s go through what those specific beliefs were according to the text, and why he might have believed those things…

When we officially join the Volcano Manor, Tanith gives us this speech about Rykard’s beliefs:

“Now, perhaps the time has come to tell you. Of the true ruler of this manor, Lord Rykard. The Erdtree blessed the Tarnished with grace. But it was all too meagre, in the fate of the enormity of their task. The Tarnished were forced to scavenge, squabbling for crumbs. Like the shardbearers, vying for power in the wake of the Shattering. Our Lord, indignant, had refused. To scurry about, fighting over what miserly scraps they allow us. If the Erdtree, and indeed the very gods, would debase us so, then we are willing to raise the banner of resistance, even if it means heresy. We at the Volcano Manor, under Lord Rykard, have sworn no rest until it is done.”

Essentially, Tanith recounts to us Rykard’s view of the Shattering war: the demigods are compelled to struggle against each other for the ultimate seat of power. However, this struggle exists at the behest of the gods, and is for the power that they see fit to grant. The war is fundamentally under their terms. To “win” the conflict is still to serve the whims of the Greater Will. This is what Rykard finds so deeply insulting… the gods treat them like dogs fighting over scraps of meat from their high table that they can never reach. So why should Rykard engage in petty conflicts for the gods’ miserly scraps of power, when he can raise his banner against the very gods themselves?

Displayed on the walls of Volcano Manor are these paintings depicting the Erdtree aflame, visualizing Rykard’s intentions to destroy the gods in a very literal and direct way: he has declared war on all that is holy. He has accepted the fact that in order to achieve his goals, he must carry out such grievous acts of violence: “The road of blasphemy is long and perilous. One cannot walk it unprepared to sin.” (Remembrance of the Blasphemous)

From the Taker’s Cameo, we learn that,

“When lord Rykard turned to heresy, taking by force became the rule. The gods were no different, after all.”

This description tells us a few things. Essentially, under Rykard’s worldview, “might makes right.” This philosophy is continued by the recusants of Volcano Manor as well: Bernahl tells us, “The strong take. Such is our code.” If one is strong enough to take what they wish, then they are entitled to it. Rykard believes that this is how the gods have always operated (and with good reason… more on this later). From Tanith’s speech, we know that Rykard resents the gods’ absolute authority… so essentially, Rykard making a point of imitating the gods’ displays of power is asserting that the gods have no special right to do these things – he is challenging their monopoly on power and violence. He also imitates the gods’ own practices to expose their hypocrisy: though the gods present themselves as virtuous, in reality, they have always taken what they pleased through violent conquest.

We know that Rykard was allied with his sister Ranni (herself on a quest against the gods) through the Blasphemous Claw item description. It reads,

“On the night of the dire plot, Ranni rewarded Praetor Rykard with these traces. Should the coming trespass one day transpire, they would serve as a last-resort foil, allowing Rykard to challenge Maliketh the Black Blade, the black beast of Destined Death.”

The main takeaway from this description is that, since the description implies that Rykard had some involvement (or at the very least, knowledge of) the Night of the Black Knives, Rykard and Ranni closely shared their beliefs on the gods with each other. The phrase “Should the coming trespass one day transpire” even seems to imply that the two had hoped they might openly “trespass” against the gods, culminating in Rykard challenging Maliketh.

Furthermore, Rogier gives us some pertinent details on the timeline of the Night of the Black Knives:

“It happened during the Golden Age of the Erdtree, long before the shattering of the Elden Ring. Someone stole a fragment of the Rune of Death from Maliketh, the Black Blade. And on a bitter night, murdered Godwyn the Golden. That was the first recorded Death of a demigod in all history. And it became the catalyst. Soon, the Elden Ring was smashed, and thus sprang forth the war known as the Shattering.”

Since Rogier’s dialogue places Ranni’s collaboration with Rykard before the Shattering, this means that there must be more to the story that Tanith tells us in her speech – Rykard’s resentment of the gods and his blasphemous intentions go back long before the Shattering war.

This line from Rykard’s unused dialogue lines may give some context to the source of his beliefs… take this with a grain of salt because it is technically not canon, but I believe it is worth mentioning: he says,

“Oh shapers of gods, meddlers in fortune, I do not abide by your suffocating order.”

With the phrases “shapers of gods” and “meddlers in fortune,” he must be speaking directly to the Two Fingers (the envoys of the Greater Will) here, because this is precisely what the Two Fingers do. According to Ranni, they are responsible for choosing empyreans to become potential new gods of the coming age, and because they do this, it can also be said that they “meddle” with fortune and fate. This was the source of Ranni’s entire feud with the Two Fingers — they controlled her fate through her “empyrean flesh.” For these reasons, as well as the reasons listed in the previous paragraphs, it makes sense why Rykard might consider the current order to be oppressive and “suffocating.”

I also believe it is implied that, when Rykard refers to “the gods,” he specifically means the Greater Will and its vassals. Indeed, Bernahl calls out the Greater Will directly by name:

“O Greater Will, hear my voice. I am the recusant Bernahl, inheritor of my brother's will, and you will fall to my blade. We refuse to become your pawns. Consider this fair warning.”

Bernahl’s words interestingly echo Ranni’s experience with the Greater Will as a force that controls fate — it is a fair assumption to make that Bernahl came to hold these beliefs about the Greater Will because Rykard passed them onto his followers after learning them from Ranni. And lo and behold, Bernahl turns up in Farum Azula near Maliketh, carrying the Blasphemous Claw, which Ranni gave to Rykard for him to use “should the coming trespass one day transpire.” Before leaving, Bernahl tells us,

“the Volcano Manor is no more. Though we may yet fulfil an old promise. We hunted our own kind, and took what was theirs. And with everything in hand, the time has come to rise, against the Erdtree.”

Perhaps this “old promise” could have been a promise Rykard made to Ranni, to challenge Maliketh, release the Rune of Death, and destroy the Erdtree once and for all?

If we accept the idea that Ranni’s struggle against the Two Fingers caused Rykard to resent the gods on her behalf, then there are plenty of other instances of the gods causing Rykard’s family misery that might have also shaped his beliefs. Rykard cared enough about his mother to place two of his abductor virgins at Raya Lucaria to guard her, and the descriptions for some of his magma sorceries imply that she was an inspiration to him in the ways of sorcery. It is a fair assumption that Rennala’s suffering would have upset him, and the cause of her suffering was Radagon’s departure… who immediately wed the god-queen Marika, and founded Golden Order Fundamentalism. Rykard could have interpreted this as Radagon choosing the gods over them. It is also stated by the telescope item description that the Golden Order was the direct cause of Caria’s decline: “During the age of the Erdtree, Carian astrology withered on the vine. The fate once writ in the night skies had been fettered by the Golden Order.” Though the Erdtree made peace with Caria, it still ended up eroding its strength anyway. Radagon’s departure would have also reopened old wounds from when he originally came to conquer Liurnia: his bond with Rennala that once made peace between the Erdtree and the moon has now been broken, calling into question the Erdtree’s true intentions.

Indeed, the intentions of the realm of the Erdtree have always been characterized by violent conquest; the desire to expand and the elimination of potential threats to its rule. Rykard would have known of his father’s attempts to conquer Liurnia, as well as Queen Marika’s extermination of the fire giants, who were Rykard’s astrologer ancestors’ neighbors (a bond enshrined within the Carian royals’ Sword of Night and Flame). To return to Rykard’s “might makes right” mindset, I believe his time as the head of the inquisition and an enforcer of Erdtree law taught him the true nature of the gods’ power: he would have brutally enforced the laws of the Golden Order and punished those who did not follow its creeds, and would thus have become intimately familiar with the harsh nature of carrying out the order of the Erdtree. Rykard learns that the gods must protect their rule through terror and violence, so the idea of the gods’ benevolence and divine right to rule is in truth, a farce. The one truth in the world is that the strong command the weak, and in order to avoid being commanded, one must become strong. By any means necessary.

To summarize, Rykard’s beliefs are essentially that the gods position themselves as virtuous and holy beings, but in reality, they administer their absolute authority through force and violent conquest, undermining the free will of their subjects. They are the worst kind of hypocrites, and the only way to end their tyranny is to rise in rebellion, using their own ways against them, no matter how high the price may be. Through a deeper examination of the narrative, I believe it is heavily implied that Rykard came to hold these beliefs because of his experiences serving the gods himself, and feeling the gods’ injustice firsthand through how the ones he loved had been treated.

#elden ring #rykard #rykard lord of blasphemy #praetor rykard #elden ring lore #the biggest epiphany i had here was that bernahl straight up says the same thing about the greater will/two fingers that ranni does #“we refuse to become your pawns / ”I would not be controlled by that thing“#and then the next time we see bernahl he's carrying the blasphemous claw which ranni gave to rykard!!#it feels like ranni's influence runs so deep... her hatred of the two fingers must have struck rykard to his core

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greaterspawnislands · 11 months

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we'll see how this changes now that the bolas have won their third event, but i've been thinking about qphil today.

I've been thinking about why qphil has been carrying the narrative of 'oh red team are honorable, bolas are such underdogs!!" since day one. what the reason for the hypocrisy is, and the seeming self-pitying.

In his first conversation with Etoiles since Purgatory began Day 3, Phil was asked why he's playing to win. His answer was that he wasn't playing to win, he was playing to survive. I don't need to get into Phil's whole hardcore mentality. We know it.

That same day, the Eye called them all sinners in a cinematic. Phil's immediate response? "I haven't been!" He'd been antisocial the whole time, hadn't taken any fights at that point. He hadn't been!

Now, days later, Red team are far more geared and competent. They have plenty of gear, a base the other teams two don't know about, and they have a strong team bond. How does Phil describe them?

"we're probably going to lose, green and blue are going to team up to kill us, bolas will have to be the underdog." That's not true! that's directly hypocritical!

But the thing is, if they're winning, then they're playing into the Egg's hand. They're sinning. So Phil's decided they're not winning. They're still barely getting by. He's still doomed. So of course he won't view any of this actions as sinning. How could surviving be at all something sinful??

#philza #qsmp philza #qphilza

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sgiandubh · 8 months

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The Ascent of Lying

Why, Mordor people? Why do you lie?

Is it stupidity? Hunger Greed for clicks? That #silly, #silly itch to be FIRST? And RIGHT?

The Ascent of Lying started in this fandom with *urv. Her Google sources, her undying obsession for S (and the mandatory hypocrisy that comes along with it), her paltry stories fit for people who never took a flight overseas in their entire life (not something bad at all, but in this context, this makes you incredibly fragile), her remake of the Twilight fandom hullaballoo and her chutzpah.

It continued with Jess, on this side of the fandom: her OTT girlish enthusiasm, her elusiveness IRL and finally, her capitulation and resurrection, under the same name, but with a totally opposed POV. For perhaps you don't know it, but Jess 2.0 has been back since quite a while ago, now making amends about her former strong beliefs. Even taking full responsibility for some 'receipts' (remember the S lemon pin/wedding ring one? she confirmed it was her and it probably was a #silly, horrible lie). How convenient and how depressing, isn't it? Reading her new, sparse blog brought along two firm thoughts: why this need to robotically inform us about her happiness and her change of heart? Also, how many Anons did Jess 2.0 send, since her comeback, to this side of the fandom?

Let this disappointment be my sin, then and let the link to her new hole in the wall remain undisclosed by this page. I have no wish to either start a flaming war, nor give this woman more space than she deserves:

You'll have to deal with the very childish LMAO and this completely irresponsible explanation: 'it was fun to fantasize at the time'. No, lady: you LIED. You lied through your teeth and because you had the privilege of having a thirsty audience, you thoroughly enjoyed this strange avatar of fame, as you say it publicly yourself, now. You even were, most probably, heavily used by ***'s PR and even S (that is a very firm belief), just like another very fragile individual, who switched sides in a far more vocal and pathetic way. That makes for a mixed bag of truths and lies, something I think we all are way too familiar with, by now. But that does not preclude, nor excuse in any shape or form, your eagerness to ahem, 'embellish" a very real love story and twist it according to your naivete and parochial life experience. Morally, you are 0, to me: a sentimental troll, completely on par with *urv.

I could blather on and on about Jess's main competitor, Puffy, too. I think I already wrote enough about her, if only because many believed me to be her latest avatar, which is completely ridiculous, but ridiculous with an agenda. So, did Puffy lie, too? Probably, especially while creating Stella and Deep Throat out of thin air. Let's agree she heavily extrapolated, which is a shame, because some of her analysis is really spot on.

The Ascent of Lying then morphed, along with an US busy social and political agenda being more and more sensitive to the 'fake news" issue, towards the Factchecker Anti blogs, who mimicked neutrality and promoted online stalking to unprecedented levels. Along came people like Meowkabob, who even manufactured their own facts/evidence and released them online. That was perfectly premeditated and done for increased credibility (I have debunked her shite last fall, if you remember), being fully aware that her libel could not be justified only by a prior, questionable, 'London experience', of which we conveniently have no concrete details. The other blog, you all know and sometimes visit: whether she is a PR plant or lonely rider doesn't really matter, yet a stalker and a hypocrite in her own right, too. The fact that both these persons suddenly felt an urge to express themselves during the heavily conspiratorial climate of the first COVID pandemic wave is not innocent at all, I think.

Lying is the real Uncharted Territory of this fandom and one of the main reasons we seldom have nice things to talk about, anymore. I barely scratched its surface and merely stated the obvious. If anything, it only comforted and strengthened my own beliefs, which I always strived to base on personal findings and facts, along with other likeminded people's experience. And I'd rather take the general brunt and simply say 'I don't know", than embellish. Also, when I am wrong, I am wrong: it happens to the best of us and it's always either immediately edited and explained or taken full responsibility for.

What I do know with a reasonable degree of certainty is that These Two are together. And this is all that matters to me, justifying my presence here.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk. There's more, but here is just an overview of the sentiments that prompted my next investigation.

#fandom #shitshow

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saltysultry · 2 months

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Untouched: Part Four

Pastor Lemuel Childs x OC

Synopsis: Pastor Childs has been lost this past year after what his family and the parish went through. But when a young woman comes into town, aimless and without guidance, the Pastor takes it upon himself to be her shepherd, and lead her out of the darkness... And into his arms.

Warnings: older man x young woman, religious exploitation (kinda), religious trauma, smut, masturbation, orgasm denial, religious hypocrisy, angst, OC is a virgin, Pastor Childs is not a great person but he sure is hot as hell, I apologize for any spelling errors

@justme12200 @its-in-the-woods @hiddlebatchedloki @michele131

Word count: 6k

Lemuel drove her home, looking over at Virginia every so often. She seemed content, elated even despite looking exhausted. She was humming along to the radio that was playing Johnny Cash and Willie Nelson, her head filled with nothing but the memory of what just transpired inside the cold church.

Once at her house, Virginia was helped out of the truck and swept into Lemuel’s arms again, carried to her front door where she reached out and unlocked it. Lemuel pushed through until he brought her inside.

“Couch, please.” Virginia said, nodding over to the brown, velvet couch in her living room.

Lemuel did as instructed and set her gently on it. Virginia reached over to the side table and switched on the lamp, finally lighting up the dark room. Lemuel sat down next to her, letting out a long exhale. He had underestimated what carrying a full grown woman could do to his back.

“What time is it?” She asked him.

Lemuel took a look at his wristwatch, squinting down at it in the dim lamplight. “About ten o’clock.”

“Do you think the others will think…”

“I’m their pastor, Virginia. Our absence from the celebration wouldn’t be a scandal. You are my woman now.”

Lemuel smiled at her before leaning in and giving her a kiss. Virginia was surprised, humming as Lemuel’s warm lips pressed against hers.

“Sister Slaughter was very clear about it with me.” He said when they parted.

“Oh, so she talked with you too?” Virginia pouted.

“Hope’s never really been shy ‘bout her opinions.” Lemuel said. “She’s got a keen eye for when people like each other.”

“She was asking when we were gonna marry.” Virginia giggled.

“Would that be such a bad thing?” Lemuel gave her a look.

Virginia scoffed and cupped his cheek. “No offense, Lemuel, but as much as I like you, I think callin you husband would be a little too fast for me.”

“What would ya like to call me?”

Virginia thought about it. To call Lemuel her “boyfriend” would be so… Immature and unfitting. He wasn’t some boy to go on cutesy dates with, though she was sure that Lemuel was planning on dinners, walks by the river, and more so called “punishments.” He was more than her pastor, his role breaching outside the confines of performing sermons and orchestrating baptisms. Their alone time in the church just proved that. And he was clear about his affection towards her.

So, in the plainest of languages… What were they?

“I guess, I’ll just refer to you as ‘sir’ or ‘Pastor.’” Virginia answered.

“It ain’t a sin to call a pastor by his first name.” Lemuel said. “Especially by the woman he is courting.”

“I’m aware, Lemuel.” Virginia chuckled.

“C’mon. Let’s get you to bed.”

He sought to ensure she was properly cared for before eventually leaving to return to Hope Slaughter’s house to retrieve Dilly. He didn’t mean to abandon his ward, but his woman was in need of some aftercare. He helped her into her nightshift, tucked her into bed, setting a glass of cool water on her bedside table.

He kissed her one last time, instructing her to say her prayers once she was alone. It felt wrong to leave her after what happened that night, but Lemuel couldn’t stay.

As he turned the ignition in his truck, Lemuel thought over what their days together would be like. He wasn’t one to let himself dream, but Virginia was very much real and very much willing.

So, what was the harm in picturing her in a white dress, saying the traditional vows, then saying the awaited “I do.” Lemuel had carried her over the threshold into her uncle’s old home, how would it feel to carry her over the threshold into his home?

She would look beautiful in the morning, waking up next to him with her strawberry blonde hair tousled from sleep as her chest rose and fell with each breath. She would be a sight in his kitchen during the morning, pouring him his coffee while he read one of his many collected books, the house smelling of bacon and dark roast.

Or Virginia sharing the clawfoot bathtub with him, her body slacked against his as his hands cleaned her-NO! Lemuel chose to ignore those impulses. Despite what happened in the church, the point was not to continue to torture himself with lustful thoughts. He and Virginia had proven themselves capable of resisting temptation.

Right?

“Fuck…” Lemuel squeezed his eyes shut and threw his head back.

He was in need of a cold shower when he returned home later that night. He wrapped his calloused hand around his hard cock and pictured it was Virginia’s mouth. In his mind, she was on her knees before him, dressed in nothing but that silver chain with Christ on the cross. As he pumped himself, biting his lip to stifle the moans, he envisioned Virginia’s soft lips around him, her cheeks hollowing out as she took him in effortlessly, very unlike the virgin she was.

“Virginia…” He rasped and swallowed, his head propped up on his arm against the shower wall as the cold water drenched him. “Virginia…”

She had felt it when she was strewn over Lemuel’s lap. His hardness was poking into her while she was receiving her punishment. Virginia decided not to comment on it out of respect for her pastor, but the feeling lingered in her mind when she lay awake in bed.

She was conflicted still, even now with the confirmation of their relationship. Lemuel was a proper Pentecostal man with strict views about sex. He had chosen to refrain from giving himself release when they were together in the church.

Then again, every Christian knows that even the most outwardly chaste believers were perverts in private. Virginia’s own mother, a very prudish woman in theory, was very naughty in practice.

When she was alone in her room, her prayers said and Lemuel gone away, Virginia’s hands found their way between her thighs, desperate to touch the ache that had been burning since she was pulled over his lap. Virginia closed her eyes and breathed steadily through her mouth as she slipped two fingers down her slit, covering them in her wetness.

As she touched herself, circling her fingers around her swollen clit, Virginia pictured Lemuel’s tongue. Using her other hand, she inserted three fingers and imagined it was Lemuel’s cock, filling her up.

She imagined they were consummating their marriage, Virginia’s virginity now belonging to her pastor. His age and wisdom enveloping her in security and adoration as he pounded into her, stretching her so she perfectly fit his size.

“Pastor…” She moaned.

Virginia’s nipples peaked and her toes curled as she felt herself nearing her climax. She shifted around on her back, her ass rubbing against the mattress, reminding her of the bruises he gave her. She missed his hand, strong and calloused with age, marking her and casting out the evil he claimed was inside her.

“Cast it out!”

Virginia’s eyes rolled to the back of her head when she brought herself to climax. It was long, warm, and it took the noise out of her throat as her muscles stiffened. She hadn’t come that hard before.

She breathed heavily as she came down from the euphoria, blinking herself back into reality. As she calmed down, her head no longer spinning, Virginia then felt incredibly sick. She pulled her hands away from her pussy and sat up in bed.

Filthy sinner.

Within seconds, Virginia was in her bathroom, quickly turning the faucet in the bathtub until it ran hot water. She shed her nightshift and panties and lowered herself into the tub as it began to fill up. She couldn’t stand the sight of herself, all sticky with her own arousal. She scrubbed herself repeatedly, harshly exfoliating her skin until it was red and burning.

I deserve this. She thought to herself as she winced from the burning pain.

Virginia felt incredibly defeated as she sat in the hot water, in pain and in tears. She missed Lemuel but was grateful he wasn’t there to see her, already acting on her lustful impulses right after she atoned. She feared she’ll never be cured of this evil that festered within her no matter how hard Lemuel tried to cast it out of her.

…

“This is delicious, Dilly.” Virginia said.

She had been invited to another dinner at Lemuel’s the next day. Dilly had made a roast with greens for them, along with some blueberry cobbler for dessert. If Lemuel hadn’t already set on making Virginia his woman, she would’ve found a way to befriend Dilly so she could enjoy her cooking. That's what she said to the young girl.

“Thank you, Miss Godwin.” Dilly smiled bashfully. “I can teach you some of my recipes if you want.”

“Would you?” Virginia’s eyes widened. “That’d be wonderful, thank you.”

Lemuel looked at the two young women before him. He was pleased they had gotten along so well. While Virginia was closer in age to Dilly than to himself, he noticed a paternal way in which she doted on the girl. She asked after her days in school, if there were any other kids she liked, what she was mostly excited about after graduation.

“Well, I’s only gonna get my diploma then come work here in town.” Dilly said. “Sister Slaughter needs someone to help her at the station and when she’s too old, she’ll be giving it to me.”

Virginia frowned. “You’re not going to college?”

“There’s a boy by the name of Luke who’s got his eye set on Dilly.” Lemuel explained, setting his fork down next to his plate. “And Dilly’s takin to him as well.”

Dilly blushed and looked down at her food. Virginia looked between the two and stifled an amused laugh.

“You’ve got a boy?”

“He’s really nice.” Dilly shrugged, trying to repress the smile that spread across her face. “And Pastor likes him too.”

“He’s hard working and kind. And a Holy Ghost man, more importantly.” Lemuel said. “You might’ve met him at service, Miss Godwin.”

Virginia thought back to all the parishioners she met since attending church. She recalled some young faces, though she couldn’t place this Luke character.

“Well, I’m glad you’ve found someone, Dilly. You should have him over here for dinner sometime.” Virginia immediately regretted her words, feeling like she overstepped in Lemuel’s house.

Lemuel just smiled. “That ain’t a bad idea. We should get to know him better, see what kind of man he’ll be.”

“Yes, Pastor.” Dilly said before returning to her food.

The two women cleared the dinner table and Dilly concerned herself with the dishes while Lemuel brought Virginia to the living room. They sat down next to each other on the couch, at an appropriate distance.

“How’re you feeling?” Lemuel asked.

Virginia glanced over her shoulder towards the kitchen. She hoped the running water and clinking of dishes was enough to cover their voices.

“Fine, thank you Pastor.” She answered quietly.

“Oh, don’t worry ‘bout Dilly. She knows we left together during the party.”

“She know ‘bout what you did to me at the church?” Virginia raised her brow.

Lemuel chuckled. “She knows I had to instruct some discipline on a fellow parishioner. The details aren’t important. And, I think it goes without saying that it’d be best if you didn’t go tellin others about what happened.”

Virginia couldn’t help but blush. The idea that anyone would find out about what Lemuel did to her made her stomach cramp with anxiety.

“I didn’t plan on it. I mean, it wasn’t like it was wrong or anything, right?”

“It’s alright, Virginia. What we do is between us and the Lord.” He assured her. Lemuel reached a hand out and lazily played with the end of Virginia’s braid. “Now, I wanted to ask you what you thought about it.”

“What do you mean?” She looked down at his hand, admiring the veins and wrinkles on his knuckles.

“It’s a simple question. What did you think ‘bout your punishment?” He repeated, his expression flat.

Virginia blinked, her brow in a knot. She cleared her throat. “Uh, I…”

She knew it wouldn’t be right to admit she enjoyed it. The point was to discourage her lustful thoughts and encourage chastity and modesty. To want to do it again meant to express no regret about sinning.

Virginia needed to choose her words carefully.

“I only ask for your honesty.” Lemuel added.

She pressed her lips into a thin line as she tried to piece her words together.

“I think… That it was necessary. It was painful, but also…” she winced at her own words. For someone who had been fantasizing dirty things about her pastor, Virginia sure was bashful.

“Confession is good for the soul, Virginia. Allow yourself to be open to the Lord’s guidance by admitting your true feelings.” He said, his hand traveling further up her braid until he reached her ear, tucking some hair behind it. “It’s okay. You can tell me.”

Virginia smiled weakly. “Thing is, Lemuel, I didn’t want you to stop.”

I didn’t want to stop either, Virginia.

He looked into her eyes, waiting for her to continue. Virginia felt incredibly naked sitting there next to him, feeling his eyes on her body. As if his silver tongue wasn’t skillful enough, his hazel irises were weapons of their own.

“And, if I remember correctly… You seemed to enjoy it as well. At least, from what I felt.” She felt hot at the mere memory of the erection in his pants. “I was wondering, after you left… That maybe it was wrong of me to want you to punish me again.”

“Is it wrong to find pleasure in redemption?” Lemuel said.

This confused Virginia. From the way she saw it, Lemuel had taken her across his knee to beat the devil out of her and cast out wickedness. Now, such wickedness was considered a good thing?

“Virginia, you know that some nuns sew thorns into their habits?” He asked. Virginia shook her head. “They did it to feel closer to Christ. To take pleasure in physical atonement is to take part in a long tradition. In the beginning, it hurts, makes you shudder and invert. But the more you get used to the pain, one can sometimes feel… Elation or satisfaction.”

She remembered the feeling. Her body had transcended and suddenly, she was outside herself, floating in euphoria.

“The lord rewards his believers when they seek redemption.”

Lemuel’s words were beautiful as they were assuring to Virginia. Lemuel, ever the eloquent pastor. He smiled at her then took her hands in his.

“Understand me, my girl, my aim ain’t to make you feel guilty ‘bout your sins. We all carry our own crosses, think impure thoughts, or harm others, whether voluntarily or involuntarily.” Lemuel’s voice fell, his hazel eyes averting Virginia. “I have my own demons to cast out too.”

“That’s very nice of you to say, sir. But… If I want for it to happen again, wouldn’t that mean I would want to indulge myself again? To want to sin?” She asked.

Lemuel sat with that inquiry for a moment, his brow wrinkled and lips almost pursed in thought.

“Do you seek to disobey the Lord?” He asked her earnestly.

Virginia shook her head. “I never mean to.”

He could see the desperation in her sad eyes. Virginia very much wanted to be good. Lemuel wished he could wrap her up in his arms and hold her tight, keep her away from all temptation and evil.

“You said that whenever your mother beat you, it made you feel like nothing you did was right.” Lemuel recalled. Virginia didn’t understand the sudden change in topic. “When I took you across my knee, I didn’t do so with the intent of continuously making you feel inadequate. You’re a good woman, Virginia. A Holy Ghost woman now, too. And if I may be frank, darling, I’m getting a little tired of this discussion.”

“What do you mean?” She blinked. “Did I say something wrong?”

“Goodness, no, Virginia.”

For a while, Lemuel had felt pity for Virginia. She wasn’t raised in love, she had been uncertain in her faith, and she always seemed to believe she was doing something untoward or incorrect. Virginia had her strong moments, it was the facade she put on when meeting Lemuel on the side of the road. A wall of protection she had built up over the years after being abandoned and let down over and over again.

Lemuel saw now that his task was to break it down. Make her his faithful woman and keep her pure.

“Do you trust me, Virginia?”

There was no hesitation. “Yessir.”

“Then trust I know what’s best. ” He concluded. Lemuel looked intently in Virginia’s eyes, his brow wrinkled.

Virginia smiled softly. She very much wanted to surrender herself to him. After years of depending on no one else but herself, she imagined it must have felt so freeing to just… Let someone else lead her. Underneath her closed-off exterior was a lonely woman always worrying about herself, about what God expected of her, and what others thought of her.

Lemuel expected some inner turmoil within Virginia. There would always be that voice in the back of her mind, telling her to rebel and disobey. She was human and to worship the Lord meant to limit oneself. She had been off the path for years now and even with her now converted, she still had a long road ahead to navigate.

She had her share of serpents rattling in her heart. But Lemuel was a snake tamer, and a young woman like Virginia was no challenge compared to a venomous snake.

“Now, tonight, when you say your prayers, I want you to remember how you felt when you allowed yourself to let go.”

Let the Lord fill you with his light.

Virginia longed for that closeness. She wanted Lemuel to pull her onto him, to bring her to that same euphoria that made her weak and willing. If Dilly hadn’t been nearby, she would’ve tried to initiate another punishment.

“I will, Pastor.” She said. “I’d be lying if I didn’t say-”

“I’m heading to bed, sir!” Dilly called from the kitchen. “Dishes are all done!”

“G’night, Dilly! Thanks again for an amazing dinner!” He responded casually before the sound of Dilly ascending the stairs echoed down the hall. “You were saying?”

“What I wanted to say was that I’ll miss you tonight.” Virginia said, averting her eyes bashfully. “Every night I… No, I shouldn’t say it.”

“Speak freely, Virginia.” He ordered gently. “You can tell your pastor anything.”

She swallowed, lowering her head. “It’s a bad, bad thing to do. I know that. But I can’t help it.”

“Do what?” Lemuel pressed. “C’mon, you’re a big girl. Speak in plain language.”

She fidgeted in her seat, wishing she hadn’t even brought it up in the first place.

“After you helped me to bed… I-I touched myself.” Virginia spoke slowly. “I wanted more but you were gone and then I just… I know it’s wrong.”

His expression remained neutral, which instilled further anxiety in her.

“And I prayed for forgiveness afterwards. I won’t do it again, I promise-”

“I’ll drive you home.” Lemuel interrupted, suddenly standing from the couch. He extended his hand to her, helping her up. “C’mon, it’s already late.”

“But, don’t you-”

“Don’t argue. Just come on.”

Virginia closed her mouth and inhaled through her nose sharply. Already, she was struggling with taking orders from her pastor. But, he knew what was best and she would have to get used to it. So, she smiled and nodded.

“Yessir.”

“There’s a good girl.” He kissed her cheek and escorted her to his truck.

…

To say she was frustrated would’ve been an understatement. Virginia very much wanted to be good. She had done well so far in life, keeping herself pure and never throwing herself at any man. But the more time she spent with Lemuel and couldn’t so much as get to kiss him the way she wanted to kiss him made her all the more wanton. She would focus on the lines on his face and neck, the gray in his hair, the veins on his hands, or the warmth of his hazel irises whenever he looked at her and she’d be totally his.

Lemuel, on the other hand, was too busy trying to heed the morals he’d be preaching about. About chastity and restraint. Virginia wasn’t the only one with desires. He too wanted to give into his urges and ruin her. He’d relish in watching her be broken. He pictured her face many times at night, imagining her discomfort giving way to pleasure as he fucked her.

When he brought her home, just the two of them alone together, Lemuel had to keep reminding himself that the point of being her guide was to retain a certain image. He cannot let himself falter and just give into whatever they both wanted. He was supposed to be her strength. And so, he felt it necessary to remind her.

“Is this goodnight, Pastor?” Virginia asked him when she fished for her house key in her coat pockets.

“No, it ain’t.” He said quietly. “I didn’t want to disturb Dilly.”

Virginia paused, stopping herself from unlocking the door. “Why?”

“Let’s get inside first.”

She felt the familiar ache of anticipation from when Lemuel took her to the church. Was this going to be another demonstration? Was he planning on punishing her?

Virginia’s face grew warm as she pushed inside with Lemuel following close after. Once she tossed the keys onto the dish on the nearby hall table, he grabbed her wrists and pulled her back against him, her back flush against his chest.

“What’re you-”

“I’d be quiet if I were you, sweetheart.” He whispered, his voice low and bordering on threatening. Virginia bit her lip and shuddered against him. Lemuel’s lips were hovering just above the shell of her ear, his breath almost tickling the side of her neck. “First let me tell you something. Thank you. Thank you for being honest with me.”

He kissed her hair before brushing it away to kiss at her neck. Virginia whined from the touch, wanting to break free of Lemuel’s hold and pounce him.

“None of that, now.” He said with a thick drawl. “Since you seem to be having trouble keeping your hands where they’re supposed to be, I’ll have to teach you the importance of restraint.”

Another lesson. Virginia smiled excitedly but quickly repressed her obvious eagerness when Lemuel turned her to face him. He could see that daring look in her eyes, practically begging him to give her all he got.

“Perhaps I wasn’t clear with you, my girl. Feeling the lord’s light when redeeming yourself of your sins is one thing. But to then immediately seek out the same pleasure you was atoning for afterwards? I’d say that is very sinful.”

Virginia wanted to protest, to explain herself. Lemuel could see it on her face as she tried to hold her tongue.

“What?” He asked, squinting his eyes.

“I knew it was wrong, Pastor. I just thought… I didn’t know what I was thinking.”

“You weren’t thinking, Virginia.” Lemuel said harshly. “You should’ve called me.”

“I was afraid of disappointing you.” She lowered her eyes.

Lemuel tilted his head and caressed her cheek. He could see the guilt in her moistened eyes. She almost recoiled from his touch, though not because she feared him, but because she deemed herself undeserving of his affection.

“Oh sweetheart.” He told her, the pad of his thumb brushing against her warm cheek. “Keepin these things from me will only hurt you. Do you remember what I said ‘bout redemption?”

“Seeking it is what separates us from the damned.” Virginia recited.

“Yes. But holding ourselves accountable by sticking to what we purvey is ‘nother thing. We can’t just ask the Lord to forgive us for our sins if we’s just gon to commit ‘em again and again.” Lemuel said.

He could feel his stomach tightening as he lectured Virginia. Knowing his own hands had done many dirty things while thinking of this young woman… He would surely suffer the snake’s venom. The hypocrisy was burning white-hot within his chest. Perhaps it was the flames of hellfire rising up within him, reminding him where he was destined should he continue this charade.

“What must I do, then?” Virginia looked up at him with the same hopeful, big eyes that begged him to tell her what to do. To make it all okay again.

Lemuel couldn’t help himself. He leaned in and kissed her, his mouth open and hungry as he claimed her. She melted against him, her body weak and mind slowly growing numb. Just as she feared, Lemuel could say anything and make her his slave. A dangerous hypocrite with a silver tongue and a gentle, deceiving smile.

Eventually, he pulled apart from Virginia, their foreheads resting against each other. “Here’s what I’m gonna do to you, young lady.” He breathed. “I’m gonna take you to your bed, you’re gonna show me what you did, and then you’ll atone.”

Virginia didn’t even question the logic of this so-called punishment. She just nodded, whispered “yessir” and led him to her bedroom by the hand.

Lemuel stood at the edge of her bed while Virginia stripped down to her bra and underwear. She did so slowly, keeping her eyes down to the floor while her pastor watched with folded arms and closed lips. His hazel eyes, usually warm and inviting, were now cold and observant.

Virginia clutched at the silver Jesus that hung between her breasts, silently praying as she then climbed into bed.

“Show me what you did.” Lemuel instructed.

Her face flushed, Virginia laid back and spread her legs before him. Lemuel remained still at the foot of her bed, his head slightly tilted to the side as he observed. She bent her knees and adjusted her hips, trying to fight the urge to cover herself and shy away.

First, she sat up for a moment to remove her bra. Once unhooked, she slowly slipped down the straps then let it fall off her shoulders, exposing her mature breasts, which were pale with small blue veins. She then tossed the bra to the side, letting it slip off the bed. Lemuel’s gaze didn’t falter, his violating gaze sending shivers up her spine.

“Keep going.” He said quietly.

From how composed he appeared to be, Virginia couldn’t help but wonder if he had done this sort of instruction before? Surely not, unless other parishioners also came to him when they felt guilty after they masturbated.

She inhaled through her nose then laid back. Raising her hips off the bed, she curled her thumbs under the waistband of her panties and slid them down from her hips to her thighs to her ankles, until they came completely off and fell to the floor, off the edge of the bed at Lemuel’s feet.

Braving it, she then parted her bent legs again, with Lemuel between them in perfect view. For a second, Virginia could’ve sworn she saw his nostrils flare and the corner of his mouth twitch. And from how his pants suddenly looked tight at the crotch, she realized this wasn’t just a lesson about restraint for herself but for him as well.

He said he had his own demons to cast out, didn’t he…

“Beautiful.” Lemuel whispered so quietly, Virginia almost didn’t hear it. Clearing his throat, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “So soft…”

Virginia was beginning to ache as she ran her hands up and down her thighs. Lemuel pressed his lips together but his breaths were deep and short. He was holding back from reaching out and touching her himself, his hands gripping at his crossed arms.

“What do you picture when you’re heated, hm?” Lemuel asked.

With her hooded eyes bashfully looking up at him, Virginia lulled her head and bit back an uncomfortable smile. “Your hands.”

“My hands?”

“When you spanked me.” She added. “How powerless I felt over your lap.”

“You were such a good girl too. A shame you then sullied your own redemption by actin like a slut.” Lemuel said almost sneeringly, though his tone was more humorous. What a tease he could be sometimes.

Virginia found she liked it when her pastor called her that. A slut. Even if it was a mean word and certainly should insult any woman to be referred to as such. But hearing Lemuel’s low, intimidating voice say such a thing only made her ache harder.

“Tell me more.” Lemuel urged.

Virginia’s hand ventured between her thighs, the tips of her fingers just barely caressing her vulva. She very much wanted more, but didn’t want to rush it. Like Lemuel said, this was all about restraint.

“When I touched myself, I thought about your voice.”

“And what would I say?”

“Tell me I was bein’ bad. You’d pray for me. Then, you’d tell me what you’d do to me.”

Lemuel sucked in a breath. Virginia was working him up. Perhaps she had power within her words too.

“So, if I were to say those things…”

Without warning, Lemuel grabbed Virginia’s ankles and yanked her to the edge of the bed until her legs dangled off the edge. She gasped, her eyes widening in surprise as her pastor leaned over her, his hands on either side of her head.

“If I were to tell you that… I’d take you across my knee, use my hand on you until you cried for me to stop then fuck you mercilessly like the whore you are…” He whispered, his lips hovering above her own.

Virginia slipped two of her own fingers into her slit, the tips of her fingers slick with her arousal. She moaned as she then swirled her wet fingers around her aching clit. Lemuel looked down at her hands, admiring how slowly she worked them on herself.

“That’s it. Good girl.”

He leaned back up then sank to his knees at the edge of the bed. He rested his palms atop Virginia’s thighs, keeping them spread as his head leaned in close to her sex. He watched closely as Virginia touched herself. Lemuel licked his lips at the sight of it, how wet she was, how delicately her fingers moved.

“Bet you’re thinking ‘bout how my tongue would feel right now.” He teased.

Virginia could feel his hot breath waff over her. Just the sight of him kneeling between her open legs, his face so close to her sex he could just easily lean in a few inches and taste her. She wanted him to envelop her clit with those lips of his and suck. She wanted his tongue to prod at her entrance. She wanted his fingers to curl inside her and make her squirm.

“Oh Pastor!” She moaned, her hips bucking as she felt herself build inside.

Lemuel’s hands rubbed her thighs while Virginia slowly brought herself closer and closer to release.

“You want me to touch you?”

What kind of question is that? Virginia thought. He was venturing into cruel territory now. She knew he wouldn’t want her to give in. She was supposed to be a good girl. Be obedient to her pastor and to the Lord.

“No.” She answered breathlessly.

“No? Why?”

“Because it’s wrong.”

Lemuel hummed, his brow knit. “That’s right, and yet you do this? You dirty slut.”

“Yes, Pastor. I’m a dirty slut.” Virginia repeated. “I love touching myself to the thought of you.”

“Hmm.” His hands were brushing up against her inner thigh, almost touching her where she wanted him. “But you DON’T want me to touch you?”

“No sir!” Virginia affirmed as she threw her head back, getting closer.

“Ah, then you should understand that when I say stop…” Lemuel then took her wrists and pulled them away from her sex, stopping her completely. “You should stop.”

Virginia looked down at him, her face contorted into a pained expression. “Why’d you-”

“Ah-ah.” Lemuel hushed her. “I said stop.”

Virginia was just about to finish! Her insides were clenching for something to fill her. Her clit was pulsing and hard. Her heartbeat was racing rapidly. How dare Lemuel do this to her!

“It’s hard.” She whined.

“Virginia.” Lemuel pulled her until she was sitting up. “Don’t think it don’t hurt me either. But we can’t always get what we want, can we?”

Virginia wondered if she could get away with coaxing Lemuel into giving her what she wanted by promising to relieve him as well? But that wouldn’t be right. She had done wrong already.

“No sir.” She relented, taking in a deep breath.

It was hard, but Virginia chose to try and ignore her desire for release. She didn’t deserve a release. Not if Lemuel believed she didn’t.

“Good girl. Now, let’s clean you up and then we can talk.”

Lemuel drew a bath for Virginia. He helped wash her, reciting some verses while he scrubbed her arms and back with the sponge. Virginia even let him massage her scalp with shampoo and conditioner. It was nice to be pampered and the hot water of the bath helped calm her body down from the lack of satisfaction. Even Lemuel’s own arousal eventually subsided.

“Have you ever done this before?” She asked as Lemuel tilted her head back and rinsed her lathered hair.

“Do you think I make it a habit of watching pretty girls touch themselves?” He said candidly.

Virginia shook her head. “No, you don’t seem the type.”

“Well, I figured you’s a special situation.” He shrugged. “Being new and without a hand to guide you, you need a specific kind of attention I’m willin’ to provide.”

“Hence the spanking and the restrained gratification?”

“You’re cheeky tonight.” Lemuel remarked playfully. “Well, every pastor’s different. They have their own ways of leading their parishioners.”

“And you specialize in rattlesnakes and gettin’ me naked?”

“Is that a complaint?”

Virginia looked over her shoulder back at Lemuel, who quirked a brow at her. She then chuckled, which made him chuckle too.

“I’d sooner leave the church than complain about your methods, sir. And by the way…” She folded her arms on the edge of the tub. “Thank you. For tonight.”

Lemuel smiled at her, touched by her sincerity. “Of course, darlin’. And I wanna set a new rule. Whenever you feel those urges, I want you to get down on your knees and pray for strength. And if you really feel the need, I want you to call me. I’ll talk you through it.”

Virginia felt a twinge of rebellion within her. She’d want to disregard these new rules, touch herself anyways and tell Lemuel that she just prayed for strength and it went away. But if she really believed in the judgment of the serpent, she’d do as her pastor said.

So, the young woman agreed happily and kissed her shepherd, thanking him again for being so good to her.

Lemuel helped her out of the tub and dried her off, wrapping a soft, baby blue towel around her and holding her close. “My beautiful girl.” He breathed against her wet hair.

Why are you still fighting against this? Virginia thought to herself. There was no better feeling than when Lemuel held her. That voice in her head that kept tugging at her gut, daring her to disobey and fight back. To insult Lemuel’s authority and show him what she was made of. And as tempting as it was to Virginia, the idea of slapping Lemuel’s hand away and rejecting his generosity made her sick.

He took her back to her room, let her dress herself in panties and a white nightshift, and then put her to bed. But, instead of leaving her like the last time, Lemuel stripped himself down to his boxers and climbed in with her.

“You’re staying?” Virginia’s eyes lit up.

“I think there’s no harm in keeping yah company tonight.” He said before snuggling up behind her, spooning her with his warm body. Virginia’s heart swelled as she pressed herself against him. “Especially since you did well.”

Yeah, she thought. This makes it all worth it.

A/N: Sorry for taking forever with this chapter. My computer crapped out on me, I'm in the middle of moving, and life is a little blah atm. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I plan on writing two more, including the finale before the summer's over. Comments and reblogs are much appreciated, my loves <3

#walton goggins #them that follow #lemuel childs #pastor childs #this was supposed to be a one shot then i kept writing #walton goggins was so hot in this #fanfiction #fanfic

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some-pers0n · 8 months

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I think the idea of a "heaven is corrupt" sort of storyline could be a neat way to explore the faults of the church and how religion distorts the word of God and turns a faith that should be about love and taking care of one another under the light of the Lord into a means to demonize and other those who aren't "normal", but is kinda wasted in Hazbin Hotel from a lack of understanding of how it works and favours a less nuanced approach.

Throughout history, Christianity has been used to justify discrimination. Demonizing sex and saying sex workers and those who partake in casual sex will be damned. Addicts and the mentally ill are seen as demon-possessed (or demons themselves) and are sent to hell. Of how people justified themselves in colonizing other countries and massacring these people whom they arbitrarily deemed to be unwanted and unlovable in the eyes of God. Twisting His words into hate and viewing those who go against Him in some way, even if it's as small as enjoying sex outside of reproductive means, as sinners undeserving of redemption.

Redemption of sinners I view as being the main theme of Hazbin. Yes, there are murderers and terrible people down there, but does that mean they aren't possible of redemption and salvation? These sinners aren't much different than the saved in heaven. Still human and still capable of kindness and care. Charlie's optimism and hope for salvation and redemption in the sinners contrasts with heaven deeming that they cannot become better people and are better off dead.

Which is a shame since Hazbin seems to take a somewhat black-and-white approach to it all. Adam is so bluntly evil and it kinda takes the fun out of it. I get it because there's also not real subtly with how real Christians see nothing wrong with their hate and say the most outlandish things possible because it just Makes Sense to them, but Adam straight up saying that they kill sinners for fun is too straightforward this early on.

I personally would've preferred it to be more nuanced, or at the very least heaven just attempting to be kind and perfect. An aura of fake-niceness that makes it seem like it's some peaceful and idyllic place, but it only is meant for those who apply themselves to impossible demands and refuses to believe in redemption. Wouldn't it be nice if Charlie harked back to the idea that Christianity is about loving thy neighbour and that Jesus died for our sins? That, if God's love is endless and He forgives all, hell should be empty? Bring up the hypocrisy and how His words are used as a means to hurt and divide rather than bring together community and support.

But where's the fun in that? How am I supposed to know I should root for the red demons and not the angels if they don't make it extremely clear I should hate them? Nuance is stupid anyways.

#hazbin hotel critical #viziepop critical #tw christianity #tw religious themes #sp-rambles #Can you tell I'm an atheist by reading this :]

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blueberrypancakesworld · 5 months

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If it's not difficult for you, then can I request Claude frollo x a witch!fem!reader? The fact is that the reader is a witch with a beautiful and gorgeous voice, and she earns her living by singing. And during her street performance, Frollo falls in love with her. But after he finds out that she is a witch, a dilemma begins inside him between burning her or accepting and coming to terms with his feelings.

Singing of the untouched rose

warning : obsession, ambiguous fantasies, mention of witch burning, implied torture, no use of Y/n

Summary : The witch or just a pretty woman with flowers and a voice that made people happy. The judge who saw the streets full of sins laid his eyes on her it was clear for such a pretty flower there was only his strangulation on her or death by fire.

Info : Ahhh i missed writing for my favorite thank you anon for the request and i'm sorry it's so late but i just didn't have time so have fun with it ;)

cover from me ~~~~~~~~~~~~ Summer descended on Europe, the continent was bathed in green and every flower blossomed, the forests turned their splendid leaves to the sunshine and the atmosphere brightened.

A mood that commanded the people, commanded the children who played in the fields of flowers, the adults who treasured and sold the flowers and the old people who told stories of even more colorful times. A time that Paris also remembered, a time in the Middle Ages when people feared demons, werewolves and witches.

Demonic women with crooked backs and black, ugly teeth or wondrous shapes that lured men and children into their huts with lust and sweets. But there could be no such thing in Paris, not under the watchful eye of Judge Claude Frollo, who could see the whole of Paris from his presence, from Notre Dame Cathedral to the filthy slums where the filth gathered.

He had seen it all and soon he would be visiting the Festival of Flowers at dawn, the official start of summer. A festival that was too festive, too cheerfully euphoric and a festival where you could no longer rely on your senses.

A festival where jesters and jugglers could be seen making puppets dance, couples adorned with flowers and where every merchant suddenly showed his finest, ,,A festival of colorful hypocrisy," he had mumbled when morning came and he had left his balko after a cup of wine.

He could already hear the cheerful bells and other musicians from his front door, who had already begun to make music while Paris was decorated with colors. But he had to go there, it was his heavy burden to go to the sinners and sinners' houses to wave and smile when he blessed a child.

Hiding his face as often as he could behind the dark curtain of the carriage that drove through the city from the poorest neighborhoods to the richest, arriving to his life in the main square where most of the flowers were.

He smelled the sweetness, the fresh food, the laughter and the colorful surroundings and was about to raise his hand to make the carriage go faster…before he heard it. It was a song as bright and clear as the chirping of birds, heralding the dawn and hope of the seasons.

,,Stop the carriage at once!" he hissed and pulled aside the dark purple curtain to try to recognize this temptation, this bewitchment. His dark eyes swept across the square, searching for the source past the people, the old, the children and the sinful adults as he caught sight of it.

He saw her in a circle of flowers, her body moving sinuously like a flower, revealing herself in her colorful dress, her lips, her exposed neck making those beautiful sounds.

Opening the carriage door, he walked towards her slowly as if taken in, his guards simply pushed the guards aside until Frollo stood a few meters in front of her. ,,The singing flower fairy!" he heard the cries of a gauger juggling and throwing more flowers into the circle, a circle of beauty, a circle of his greed like hands that wanted to reach for her, his hands wanted to lay their hands on her.

Walking up her legs, which flashed every now and then under her dress in a drift, her arms and hands gripping her to see if this pretty creature would fight back up to her neck around which he wanted to put his hands.

The judge heard her singing, heard that sweet voice and in his conviction she heard her voice already haunting him at night full of unprotection.

He recognized the song recognized the song about summer the flowers but also recognized her true side suddenly saw the flash of the knowing smile on her lips as she came towards him and almost playfully seductively let her hands wander lightly over her body.

A closed rose, a hint of the devil's grasp on her body, he saw the witch's mark on her forearm. It had to be cauterized and he drew in his breath almost sharply and closed his hands into a fist as he imagined the screams from the dungeon from the torturer.

,,A performance that makes the summer chill from your beautiful, enchanting voice…Fairy," he said, choosing his last word as he reached into his pocket for his wallet, pulling himself together to keep the goaty hands that were being pushed back by the guards.

He let the gold coin that flashed in the light twist slightly between his fingers and held it in front of him, ,,Take the gold," he said and watched with a smile as she climbed over the flowers and came towards him.

The sweet smell surrounded him in an instant and he was sure it must be a witch, he had read the witches' hammer hundreds of times, he knew how to recognize a witch.

She had him, wanted him there was no doubt that he had to live out his power as a judge he should have spackled her on the hla so sweetly and gently she should have dragged her tears away with his fingers kissed away in the dark at night.

Before he put the torches to her body and saw her fall apart, her screams would fade away and he would free her soul from the devil…but now he had her in front of him.

Saw how she was in danger of being caught by the witch and wanted to take the golden coin as he held her tightly and pulled her back to him, his form crouching over her, his black cloak seeming to cover everything as he whispered to her, ,,You witch have sin in you. If you love your pretty neck you need only come to me…repent on your knees before God, show me you mean no harm and you will survive".

Words that brought fear and uncertainty into her pretty eyes as she tore herself away and picked up her things, not wanting to know if he would chase her, if he would hunt her like a hunter hunts his prey.

But the judge let her go, a satisfied smile on his lips as he took the closed rose she had left behind and, coat billowing in the wind, got back into the carriage, which returned to his residence at a cracking pace.

But his eyes had long since settled on the rose, ignoring the shouts and noises from outside, instead his fingers were already opening the unopened rose, forcibly separating the petals to have the inside untouched for himself, he would be the first to touch this pretty flower…he would touch it either in the darkness of his own righteousness or kissed by the fire burning before him.

Whichever it was with the violent severing of the pretty petals that flew from the carriage and were blown by the wind, fate decided the judge and his witch.

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

@kislaxnd , @judgefrollo24 , @mommmysstuffff , @fantadym , @theangelicbright ,@badabingbadabong1 , @missmannequin , @slutformelatonin , @magmabayvi , @aliensthegreat

#disney #disney movies #the hunchback of notre dame #disney hunchback of notre dame #judge claude frollo #judge claude frollo x reader #claude frollo x reader #judge frollo #frollo x reader #male x female

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