#the old religion as a living breathing thing

[someguyinc]

*clears throat* THE OLD RELIGION LIKES TO PUNISH MERLIN FOR DREAMING OF FREEDOM

[fox-bright]

hi any life advice for 21yo

Don't date thirty-year-olds until you are at least 25.

Having a glass of water for every glass of alcohol will give you a 50% reduction in hangover viciousness.

Bad people will use your willingness to be quiet as a weapon against you. If someone's being awful to you and trusting you'll be quiet to keep from making waves, surprise them.

There is no physical object in the world that is worth as much as your honor.

Honor is not the same as dignity. Retaining one sometimes means leaving the other aside.

Don't have any sex you don't want to have; have as much as you want of the sex that you do, whether that's a lot, a little, or none at all. Nothing you can do to your own body is immoral, unless you're doing it as an act of self-punishment.

Food is morally neutral. You do not have to earn the right to eat calories. Fat and sugar keep your brain from eating itself.

Learning to sit still and breathe--in, in, in, hold, hold, hold, out, out, out, out, out, out--can give you five feet of clear space around yourself in a maelstrom.

Find out how to make three good meals: A comfort meal you can make for just yourself relatively easily, a fancy meal you can use to wow a date, and a meal you can feed a bunch of people. All the other cooking can come later, but you can build a community on those three meals.

If you ever get to the point that things are so bleak you can see no other way forward but to die, make any other choice. If that means leaving everything you own and being a beach bum, or quitting your career, or taking up or leaving a religion, or deciding to bicycle across the country, so be it; living means more chances, dying means everything stops and you don't get to see any more interesting things. As you have not yet seen all the things that can interest you, it is better to live.

[yokelfelonking]

Post 9/11 Trivia

Most folks on this site were either children on September 11, 2001, or weren’t even born yet.  But America went crazy for about a year afterwards.  Here’s some highlights that I remember that might not be in your history books:

There was national discussion on whether or not Halloween should be canceled because…fuck if I know why.  After planes crashed into buildings in NYC it follows that 6-year-olds in Iowa shouldn’t be allowed to dress up like Batman and ask their neighbors for candy, I guess.  (Halloween wasn’t canceled, by the way.)

On a similar note, people asked if comedy - any sort of comedy - was appropriate anymore, ever.

People sold shitty parachutes to suckers “in case your building gets attacked and you have to jump out the window.” There were honest-to-God news reports warning people not to jump out of the window with shitty mail-order parachutes because they wouldn't work.

As a follow-up to the attacks, someone mailed anthrax to some prominent politicians and news anchors - you know, famous people - along with some badly-written notes about “you cannot stop us, death to America, Allah is good” and after that every time some random dumbass found a package in the mail they didn’t recognize they thought that the terrorists were targeting them, too.

Everyone was similarly convinced that their town was going to be the next target, even if they were a little town in the middle of nowhere. "Our town of Bumblefuck, South Dakota (population 690) has the largest styrofoam pig statue west of the Mississippi! Terrorists might fly planes into that too! It's a prime target!"

People started taping up their windows and trying to make their houses or apartments airtight out of fear of chemical and biological attacks. There were news reports warning people that turning your house into an airtight box was a bad idea because, y'know, you need air to breathe.

"[X] supports terrorism!" and “if we do [X], the terrorists win!” were used as arguments for everything.  "Some rich Arab you never heard of donated to his organization that backs Hamas which backs al-Queda, and also owns stock in a holding company that has partial ownership of the Pringles company, so if you eat Pringles you're supporting terrorism!" "The terrorists want to tear down our freedoms and our way of life and rule us through fear! Eating what you want is one of our freedoms as Americans! If you're afraid to eat Pringles, the terrorists win!" (I promise you that this sort of argument is in no way hyperbole.) (This argument is how Halloween was saved, by the way.  “If we cancel Halloween, the terrorists win!”)

People worked 9/11 into everything, and I mean everything, whether it was appropriate or not.  If you went to the grocery store the tortilla chips would remind you to support the troops on the packaging. Used car sales would be dedicated to our brave first responders. You couldn't wipe your ass without the toilet paper rolls reminding you to never forget the fallen of 9/11, and again, this is not hyperbole. My uncle, who lived in Ohio and had never been to New York except to visit once in the 70′s, died of a stroke about 8 months after 9/11, and the priest brought up the attacks at the eulogy.

On a similar local note, on the day of 9/11, after the towers went down, gas stations in my home town immediately jacked up gas prices.  The mayor had the cops go around and force them to take them back down.  I doubt any of that was legal.

Before 9/11, Christianity in America - and religion in general - was on a downward swing, with reddit-tier atheism on the upswing. Religion was outdated superstition from a bygone age. The day after 9/11? Every single church was PACKED. (This wasn't a bad thing, but the power-hungry on the Evangelical Right saw this as a golden opportunity to grab power and influence.)

EDIT: By Popular Demand - Freedom Fries. I initially left these off because they came a couple years after the initial panic and most people thought they were kind of absurd (and I don't recall anyone really going along with it other than maybe some local diners here and there). France didn't want to get involved in our world policing so some folks were like "TRAITORS!" and wanted to call french fries "Freedom Fries" instead, so as to stick it to the French.

Besides dumb shit like that…it’s really hard to overstate how completely the national mood and character changed in the span of a day, or how much of the current culture war is a result of the aftermath. (9/11 was the impetus for the sharp rise in power of the Evangelical Right, who made themselves utterly odious and the following backlash helped the rise of the current Progressive Left, for instance.)

And if all of this seems batshit...well, it was. But I want you to think for a moment how people react today over even trivial shit. People send death threats over children's cartoons. They call for blood if the maker of a video game had an opinion they don't like. If someone made a racist joke a decade ago when they were a teenage edgelord, folks will go after people who even associate with them. "DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND ALL THE HARM THEY'RE DOING!?"

Now take that same level of over-the-top histrionics and apply it to the unprecedented event of passenger planes crashing into crowded buildings in America's most populous city and killing thousands of people all at once. "DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND THAT WE WERE ATTACKED!?"

[concretecultist]

Sacrilege

summary: being the daughter of a Pastor meant your life was the Bible through and through. Noah being the son of the choir director meant that even though he rejected the faith, he still showed up. You’ve known Noah all your life and always tried to get him right with Christ so he wasn’t predisposed to an afterlife of eternal damnation. What you didn’t expect though, was for him to begin chipping away at the walls of the only thing you’ve ever known. Faith.

pairing: PastorsDaughter!Reader x Noah Sebastian

warnings: sacrilege, smut, religious themes, corruption kink, unprotected sex, mentions of cult-like behaviors, "kool-aid" incident mentioned, just please beware reading this if this is not your vibe!!

word count: 4.6k

A/N: this is an 18+ blog so MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!! This is ALL FICTIONAL!!

You and Noah had known each other since you two could talk. He was always the rebellious one, you were the rule follower, you had to be. Your father was the Pastor of the Concrete Commune of Christ.

Coining its name based off of how "solid" the community’s connection to God was.

But even concrete can crumble.

“Have you changed your ways yet?,” You question him, “I grew up with you, Noah, I really don’t want you to go to hell,”

“Oh, Dove you’re gonna go to hell too,” he smirks, all of this was a joke to him. He has made it clear to everyone in the commune, from a young age, how he feels about religion but they let him stay in hopes that the 28 year old will one day accept Jesus as his Lord and Savior.

“No I’m not,” you shriek, “I’m a follower of God, I live by the book,”

“You live by the book huh?,” he plucks the collar of your shirt, “Deuteronomy 22:11, ‘ye shall not wear cloth combining linen and wool’… your little sweater with the mock collar is a sin,”

“Leviticus 19:28,” you eye his tattoos, any time you two were near each other, it was a banter like this. Noah found it amusing but you were serious. You cared about everyone in the commune, you wanted them to make it to Heaven.

“I’ve made my peace with knowing I won’t make it to those pearly gates,” he gets closer, “If I did it’d probably be to spit in your God’s face and dethrone him,”

“Noah, that’s blasphemous!,” you gasp, “W-what… what is wrong with you?,”

“Your God makes no mistakes right? So he made me this way”

“Satan really has his claws in you,” you give a shaky breath.

“He’s a cool guy,” shrugging as if it were a normal statement, “He’s not as uptight with the rules to brainwash you all like cattle,”

“It’s not brainwash! This is the way. The word of God is the true light,”

“Why do you think he’s called the Shepherd, Dove? Because you’re all sheep. None of you think for yourselves. It won’t be long before your father is feeding you all kool aid and you all commit mass suicide,”

“You’re real nasty you know that?,” How dare you he question your faith. Your faith is all you’ve ever known and as far as you are aware, it's the reason you wake up every day.

“Oh baby you haven’t seen nasty. I can show you though,”

“I cannot commit sin as freely as you,” the disgust written all over your face, “I cannot commit sin with a clear conscience,”

“So repent,” He brushes a strand of hair out of your face, “What did your Lord and Savior die for if you don’t sin? You really want him to have died for nothing? Up on that cross with nothing but a sponge of vinegar in his mouth. You really want to be that ungrateful and not appreciate his sacrifice?,”

He gets closer to where he’s whispering in your ear. He’s so haunting, so… unholy, you question how he doesn’t burst into flames when he walks through the doors of the sanctuary.

“I can show you a real baptism. I bet you’d look pretty in all white… wet… as you cleanse your soul of the dirty acts you’ve committed”

“W-we… we should really focus on getting the lesson together, Noah,” you scoot your chair away from him and turn back to your bible, “I think the book of Psalms will be a great place to start. We can teach the others about the protection the Lord gives as long as you believe and do right unto others,”

Noah played your little game. Giving you pointers for the lesson. For someone who rejected faith the way he did, he knew the Bible pretty well, better than you actually, and almost no one in the congregation knows the Bible better than you.

That’s what started your time spent together. Your father was wary of Noah, considering his tattoos and his music taste outside of the church but when he saw the way Noah studied the Bible with you, he figured you were a good influence, he figured that you were following in his footsteps and spreading the gospel.

Except that wasn’t the case.

Noah was planting seeds in the garden that was your mind. He sat beside you every Wednesday night and Sunday morning whispering in your ear. Deconstructing everything your father was speaking at the altar.

He was able to plant seeds of doubt so easily and that shook you. How solid was your faith if you could question it in just a few weeks? Maybe the Devil is trying to get you on his side, but you must stand firm. So you pray more, you sit at the altar more, you sing hymns so that the voice of doubt could be drowned out.

But it was proving to be pointless almost, you’d go home every night and find it hard to read the Bible. Finding it hard to believe in a God that let horrible things happen around the world and to innocent people.

How do you keep faith like that?

That’s how you find yourself in the pulpit of the church.

Looking up at the statue of the figure that you called Lord and Savior for the last twenty something years of your life.

“Lord, if you’re listening I really need you to keep me strong in my stance. If you’re really there why is my faith in you wavering? If you’re really up there… why don’t you help the poor? Why do you keep sister Paula in an unsafe situation with her husband? If you’re really there-,”

“No one is listening, Dove,”

He has a teasing edge to his tone. He’s making fun of you.

“No one is up there answering your prayers,” his voice gets closer until he’s sitting beside you, “You’re alone. You’re praying to a voice in your head. You want to know why he doesn’t help the poor? Because he isn’t real. And if he is… then he’s one selfish fuck. Wanna know why sister Paula stays with her abusive husband? Because your father brainwashes his congregation into believing that divorce is something that immediately sends you to hell. Either that or your God is a sadistic voyeur,”

You feel Noah wipe the tears off your face as you turn to look for him.

“There are no pearly gates… there is no eternal damnation. Everything you were taught was to keep you in line. To keep you docile. But I know you wanna be set free, Dove,”

He sucks the tip of his thumb, humming at the taste of your tears.

“Do you want me to open the cage and set you free? Do you want me to show you the real light?,”

“I will be forsaken,” there’s a tremble in your tone. Your wings have been clipped long enough and yet now that you have the option to fly, a part of you wants to stay caged.

“You’ve already been abandoned, Dove,” his spit covered thumb traces over your lips, “I can give you something to pray to. Something that’s tangible. Something you can see… touch…,”

“I can be your God,” he was so close to your face now, so close that his lips were touching yours, you could smell the sweet mint of his favorite gum, “I can make today your judgment day. I can walk you to the light, Dove,”

“H-how? You’re just a mortal like me,”

“You doubt me but believe in a man that rose on the third day?,” he was smiling as if your words were the world's best comedy. The congregation had its hooks in you deep. But it's okay, he'd remove them with ease.

“Noah. I don’t wanna go to hell,” you cried, it was hard to break free of all you were taught

“With me, heaven is the only place you’ll go. Follow me and I can show you the real way. Follow me and you won’t have to live your life in fear. Follow me… and I will show you how a real God treats his followers,”

Before you can answer, Noah is taking your hand and guiding you to your father’s study, locking the door before letting go of your hand.

“Psalm 90:17, what does it say again?,”

You swallow thickly, you know the verse and for some reason it’s not coming out. It doesn't feel right to spew scriptures anymore.

“You claim to know the Bible front and back and can’t recite one of the easiest scriptures?,”

Why was he being so mean? One minute he seems as though he wants to help but the next he’s asking you questions related to scripture, what is his game?

“I do know it it’s just-,”

“Not important enough to remember,” he leans back on your father’s desk, arms folded, tattooed muscles stretching the sleeves of his tight black tee.

“Let the favor of the Lord our God be upon us, and establish the work of our hands upon us. Yes, establish the work of our hands" Noah answers for you, sarcasm dressing his tone as he throws his hands up as if he's praising, “what does that scripture mean, Dove?,”

“It means… it’s a plea for the Lord to bless people and their work beyond imagination,” you seemed dazed.

“Every night that’s the last thing I speak before bed after I cum to the thought of you on your knees, praying to me,”

“M-Matthew 7:15, Noah… Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing but inwardly are ravenous wolves,”

“And you are but a little lamb,” He pushes himself off the desk to circle you and suddenly… he feels like a hawk circling his prey, “I never came to you in sheep’s clothing… you knew who I was from the beginning,”

He was so close now. Whispering in your ear so close that it sent shivers down your spine.

“I had faith you could change. I prayed for you every night, Noah I wanted you to see the light,”

“I am… the true light. I don’t need you to pray for me… I need you to pray to me,”

“I cannot… Exodus 20: 4-5. There are no other Gods, Noah,”

His dark chuckle made your stomach do flips. How is he okay with laughing in the face of God like this?

“You’re forgetting a vital piece of that scripture, Dove,” his hands are touching you now and you find it embarrassing when his grip has to tighten when your knees buckle.

“I am not-,”

“I hate my people worshiping other Gods,” he answers plainly, “Your God admits there are others amongst him. He’s just a greedy…,”

A kiss to your neck makes you gasp, your mouth feels dry as you choke on your saliva.

“Selfish…,” a little nibble where your neck and shoulder meet, “Unworthy prick who doesn’t deserve a lamb like you. I deserve you. I deserve your praise. I deserve to hear you sing songs about me. I deserve to experience the look on your face when your knees ache from being on them so long when praying,”

His hand is under your skirt now, do you push him away? Do you… do you welcome it? What if this is God testing you to see if you’re a true follower?

Will you follow him?

Or the Devil?

“I deserve to be the flesh and blood you devour every first Sunday,”

His middle finger swipes between your lips and there’s an unfamiliar rush that takes over your body.

“Let me show you the fruit I bear,”

You can feel him smiling against your ear as he speaks directly into it. It feels like he’s speaking to your soul. All this time you’ve been praying and it’s been nothing but silence but now… now here Noah is, speaking his word into your ear and it’s taking over your mind.

That’s all you’ve ever wanted, was a voice in your ear with a sense of direction. Maybe the Lord has forsaken you… maybe it’s time to try a new path of faith?

“Show me the light,” you breathe out.

Those were the words he was waiting for. That’s all he needed to hear before he’s turning you around and gripping the nape of your neck to plant his lips on yours in a searing kiss. It was overwhelming, to feel his lips and his tongue and then his hands roaming your body as he sets you on the desk.

“Can I taste you?,” he asks, “Can I taste the sweet fruit you bear?,”

You don’t know exactly what he means by taste you but with the eyes of a lamb, you nod to him.

“I will be a good disciple. Show me the truth and I will follow you,”

The words coming out like projectile vomit. The haze of the confusion and deteriorating faith creates a cast over your mind.

Noah’s hands are slowly taking off your cotton panties, eyeing the string of slick that follows before it breaks its connection to your underwear and lands on your inner thigh.

“So ripe. So fresh,” he mutters as he lowers himself on his knees, “I just might have to worship you,”

It makes your cheeks heat up. All your life, all you’ve known is worshiping something you can’t see. You were taught to be humble and modest and yet here you are… with a heretic on his knees before you claiming he wants to praise you.

A flip switches.

“Show me,” you plead softly, “I wanna know what it’s like to be praised,”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d have thought his eyes turned completely black for a second, but it’s too late now. You’re already committing sin and like Noah said… don’t let Jesus die for nothing, right?

His lips make a path on your inner thighs before they find that string of slick. You feel his warm tongue flatten against your thigh and suddenly his eyes are in the back of his head and he lets out a moan that was devilish, it came from the core, as if he was parched and it was the first drop of liquid he received after a long, desolate journey.

“I knew you’d taste good,”

You’re watching his every move. You can’t tear your eyes off of him. Especially when his mouth isn’t even an inch away from your core. He stared and stared and you were wondering if something is wrong.

So you try to close your legs but he’s not having that. His big hands spread them even wider than they were before, taking in the view.

“My goodness maybe there is a God,” he smirked as he stared at your wet lips, “Back out now, Dove, because once I start, I will feast as if it’s the last supper,”

“I wanna see the light. Show me the light, No- OH!,”

You’re immediately cut off when he finally touches you. His mouth is so warm, he’s getting you all over his face like a juicy peach in the summer time.

You’re gripping the edge of the desk as if your life depends on it and with what he’s doing, it seems like it does.

He’s suckling on your bundle of nerves, his finger tips are digging into your thighs and it feels so good but all the sounds you’re wanting to make are trapped in your throat.

“N-Noah… N-,” you wheeze

“N-N-Noah,” he pulls back and mocks you. He’s taunting you and it brings a wave of embarrassment so bad that tears flooded into your eyes, “Relax. You’re being a good disciple,”

Your eyes flutter at those words as he dives back in. He’s lapping at you as if you have a prize inside and he wants it.

Then you feel it. He’s sliding a finger in and it takes your breath away.

“There we go,” he whispers against your clit, “Tell me when I’ve hit that spot,”

You have no idea what spot he’s talking about. Not until he’s adding a second finger and reaches deep within you and lightly curls his finger.

“Oh! O-oh m-my… goodness!!,” your legs bend and tremble, toes pointed. You don’t know what that is but it feels immaculate.

“There she goes,” He’s got you now. He now has made a mental map of your core. Knowing what makes you cry out, what makes you mewl like a cat in heat.

His fingers are speeding up and your juices are splashing on the ugly carpet of the church office.

You’re committing sacrilege and you know it’s wrong but why does it feel so… right? so… Heavenly?

Your stomach begins to tighten and you need something better to grip on, so your hand flies to Noah’s head, gripping so tight the moan he gives goes straight to your core and before you know it, your body is convulsing and you’re crying asking the Lord for forgiveness for the sin you’ve just committed.

“You’re forgiven,” Noah answers, “Let’s repent, yeah?,”

He slowly stands up and within the light of the rising moon, his lips are red, swollen and glistening. He’s sucking on the fingers that were just inside you and a part of you feels as though it should make you cringe but instead it causes your heart to race and you want to taste his tongue.

As if he can read your mind, his lips are on yours once more and you can taste yourself. It’s not something you’d taste alone, but tasting it on Noah? That’s something you can get used to.

After he pulls away he pulls you off the desk and brings you around to the other side. On the back of the office door is a mirror and above the door is a cross.

“As much as I’d like you on your knees… I have something else in mind that’s far more exciting,” he pulls you back and takes the swiveling chair so the back is against the desk before helping you on it, situating you on your knees and pulling the neckline of your top down so your breasts spill over.

He toys with your nipples with a shit-eating grin, admiring the way your body responds to him.

“Hebrews 13:4,” you whine. The guilt started to creep back in, maybe you should stop, Noah would understand. With the cross staring right back at you, it all started to become too much, “Let marriage be held in honor among all, and let the marriage bed be undefiled, for God will judge the sexually immoral and adulterous,”

“I am the only God here, Dove,”

Your eyes meet his in the mirror and you’re back under his spell.

“What God keeps his people from experiencing something so good, so… freeing that it feels like they’re ascending? I am unclipping your wings, Dove. Won’t you fly with me?,”

You feel him poke at your core, spreading the wetness, coating his tip. He just wanted to slide right in but he knew he had to work you up first. His grip on your breast was tantalizing. His tattooed hand in contrast to your skin was a beautiful sight to see.

He was right.

What God kept his people caged from experiencing beautiful sights like this?

“Start praying,” is all he says before he starts pushing the tip in, “I want to hear what you pray for,”

It was a distraction tactic but he couldn’t get enough of your voice. Especially when you pray for the congregation after Bible study. It always made him hard, he always wanted to bend you over the podium and just hear your delusional prayers.

“I..,”

His hand that’s on your breast is now gripping your cheeks and keeping your head straight to the mirror.

“Don’t get shy now,”

“I call upon God, the Father..,”

He pushes in more and it’s not painful but it is a lot to handle.

“God, the Son a-and God, the Holy Spirit,”

With each word he slowly makes his way inside of you before his pelvis is flush against your ass.

He sighs as if he’s been reborn again.

“Keep going, baby,”

“I… I ask that you watch over us. B-bless us with the gift to see another day. Please continue to guide and protect me,”

“You sound so pretty praying to me,”

“B-but I’m praying to God,” You correct.

“Dove have you learned nothing?,” his chuckle was so dark, “I am your God now. Everything you do. Everything you pray for. You’re saying it to me,”

His hips roll and it causes you tremble in his grip. It’s dizzying. Your vision doubles as he begins a pace to move in and out of you.

“So keep fucking praying,”

There was no room to argue. There was no hint of teasing in his voice.

You didn’t want to anger him. You wanted to make him proud.

You had to be a good disciple, right? Prove to him that you’re worthy.

“God, enlighten my mind with truth. Inflame my heart w-with… with,” a gasp is ripped from your chest as his hips snap into you, he’s so deep. It feels like your nerve endings are on fire and it’s hard to think straight.

You hear the mess being created between your legs and its mouth watering.

“Oh God, please,” your head is thrown back and you turn to look at Noah, “What… why does it feel so good?,”

Noah licked the tears that fell down your cheek. Kissing your waiting lips, picking up his pace and he swallows your cries while you grip his wrists that are caging you in that way you don’t topple over.

“I told you I would baptize you. I told you I would show you the light. I told you I’d show you how a real God treats his followers. You’re being reborn again, Dove,”

Your eyes roll the deeper he gets.

“God, please,” a whimper drips off your lips, you call out into the empty office, “Inflame my heart with l-love… enrich my life with a-service,”

Noah’s hand snaked around to your core to add pressured circles to your clit. He was everywhere.

His breath fanning on your cheek, his hand at your core, his cock deep inside, his eyes boring into your soul. His aura wrapped you up in a warm hug. This is what the presence of God feels like.

The tears flowed. This is the first time in a long time you’ve felt the reward of faith. Maybe Noah was a God… a patient God who waited for you to find your way to him.

He has a follower for as long as you’ll live… and maybe there after.

“Don’t forsake me,” you moan, “I need you. I need something to b-believe in. Don’t f-forsake me. Don’t forsake me!,”

It was a prayer that Noah never expected to spill from your mouth with such conviction.

“A true God doesn’t abandon his people,” Noah’s pace was deadly now. His hips clapping your ass sounded like the church drums during Sunday praise and worship. Your moans were more beautiful than any gospel Noah would help direct during Tuesday night practice.

“I will follow you, I will follow you, My Lord,” you reach behind him to grab at his hair. At this point, your hips were moving back to meet him.

“Thank you!!,” a wanton moan escapes you as he adds an intoxicating amount of pressure to the bundle of nerves between your legs, “Th-thank you for… for you faithfulness a-and presence in my life!,”

Most people loved for dirty talk… but this was incomparable. This couldn’t be topped. The little bird of his dreams was singing her tune for him.

Anyone could get off to dirty talk. But only someone as twisted as Noah could get hot and bothered to the sound of the Pastor’s daughter abandoning her faith to pray to him.

He is God.

Your God has been dethroned.

You’re his now.

“I tr-trust you with this day,” your eyes were so glossy that it actually tugged at Noah’s heart, “And all that it h-holds,”

“Fuck,” it was a mix of a moan and chuckle as he felt his cock twitch, “Say my prayer, Dove. I know you’re close. Say my prayer and you’ll see the light,”

He gave you a few moments to enjoy his thrusts with an empty mind. Mouth hanging open, breath hitching, tears falling and eyes rolling.

The beauty of this moment must have been what Peter felt when he saw Jesus walk on water.

“C’mon, Dove. Say it with me,” he slowed his pace down to pull out his phone. He wouldn’t record the action, but he needed to record the audio. He needed this and you wanted to put on a show, wanted to prove to him that he made the right choice.

“You can do it,”

You don’t know if you can. He’s so deep, his fingers are circling at a pace that’s too fast. His lips felt like they were searing an imprint onto your skin.

“Look at the cross and pray,”

He softly turned your head back to the gold cross above the door, picking up his pace once more.

“Our Father,” he begins, coaxing you to speak the words.

“Who art in H-Heaven,” the tears were spilling too fast for you to keep up, “Hallowed be thy name,”

His deep tone was mumbling under your high pitched mewls, creating a lovely harmony.

“Thy Kingdom come!!,”

He's bent you forward now. Hand under your chin, other still torturing your clit.

“Th-thy will be d-done,” the cross was hazy now, you were losing your wits about you. This was too good. It was shameful and it felt too good.

“Keep going, baby. You’re making your God so proud,”

You clench around him and you’d have thought there was a dark entity around you with the way he growled.

“On E-Earth as it is in Heav… en,” eyes rolling, there’s spit dripping down your chin and onto the expensive leather that the church tithes paid for.

Noah was on the edge. This was so sinful, even for him, but yet he smiled as he took in the view of your face in the mirror. So innocent. So… dumb. You really did have the eyes of a lamb, no wonder it was so easy for the church to brainwash you. You didn’t know any better.

But it’s okay.

He’s here to set you free.

“Give us this day our daily bread,” he groaned along with you, “And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us,”

You were almost there. You could see the light. It was coming. This was real. Noah was right.

“And lead us not into t-temptation… b-but deliver us from ev… evil,” you were breathless now. Panting like you were suffering from heat exhaustion.

“For thine is the Kingdom,” Noah interjected, hips not stopping, you could feel your wetness dripping, your stomach was in knots.

“Oh God!,” You trembled beneath him.

“No,” he lightly smacked your cheek, “You can’t step into the light until you’re finished. Be good. You’re almost there. You don’t wanna disappoint me, do you?,”

“N-no,” you’re sobbing at this point. You can feel it in your guts. He’s stirring you up like brother Jackson’s gumbo. You were so wet. So fucking warm. The veins of Noah matching perfectly within the ridges of your own walls.

“Then finish. You’re almost there,”

“For thine is the Kingdom,” Noah prompted again.

“And the p… the power and the.. the glory forever a-and ever,”

Noah rolled his hips a certain way and pressed harder on your clit and that was your undoing.

“Amen,” he smiled darkly, it gave him a new life purpose to hear you scream and fall apart in his arms while staring at the cross above the door. His stills as he fills you up.

“Oh God!! Oh God, please, please, please,” you’re sobbing, face fallen against the leather chair.

“I’m right here,” he speaks against your shoulder, slowly pulling out of you, admiring the way his cum spills out of you and falls onto the vintage maroon carpet. He figured he should clean it up but then he opted not to.

He turned the recording off and cleaned you up as best as he could before sitting you flat into the chair and holding your face ever so softly in his hands.

“Breathe,” he had to guide you for the next few minutes.

“Am I dead?,” you ask softly. It was the most intense thing you’ve ever experienced. More than when you caught the Holy Ghost during a sermon.

“No, Dove. You’re very much alive,” he kisses your tear stricken cheeks.

“You’ve just been reborn. Welcome to your new purpose. Your new life,”

[myspacebrat]

𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒇𝒊𝒍𝒕𝒉𝒚 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒔

priest eddie munson x nun reader

♱ summary: after a life of chaos and sin, eddie finds comfort in the one thing he never thought he would, religion. But what happens once he gives his life to god and swears off all of his old vices before finding the one person that makes him question whether it was worth it.

♱ warnings: smut ahead, 18+ mdni, fem reader, no use of y/n, use of pet names, religious themes, slight religious trauma, reader was forced to become a nun, mentions of drugs, fingering, unprotected p in v, slight lil daddy kink, cream pie, fluffff, overuse of italics but what else is new? Pls do not read if any of the above sounds offensive to you, you are in control of your own media consumption.

♱ authors note: just a little something to feed my priest eddie brainrot, hope you like! A special thank you to my beautiful beta’s @take-everything-you-can , @xxhellfirebunnyxx & @corrodedcorpses <3

♱ wc: 3.7k

The first time Eddie had ever seen you, he thought it was a fluke. Of course he’d see the most beautiful girl, after he had taken a vow of chastity and was in the works to become a priest.

It felt as though God was taunting him for all of the sinning he had done as a teen and young adult. Dangling something he could now never have, right in front of his face. Oh, cruel world.

He should be used to this, the feelings of disappointment and utter longing. For most of high school and some time after, he was used. Used for the things he had that people wanted: sex, drugs, and the few rare instances girls dated him just to piss off their parents. But never has he been wanted, adored unconditionally. After living a life like that, filled with drug binges and meaningless sex, giving his life to God seemed like a no brainer, at the time.

Eddie was impulsive however and the things that felt clear as day in the moment, seemed to blur over time.

What Eddie didn’t know was that you had already planned your escape route. You had grudgingly been pressured by your late father to join the “family business”. He had become a priest when you were five and since then he’s had your life mapped out for you; become a nun, work in the monastery and give your life and soul to God until it was your time to eventually meet him.

That was not the life you wanted for yourself. You wanted to fall in love and get married, have children and move far away from this town that has brought you nothing but shame and guilt.

“Excuse me, uh I believe this belongs to you.” A voice echoes through the empty chapel, making your shoulders jolt at the startling interruption of your most sacred thoughts. Your veiless head snaps towards the voice in fear, as you were not to be in the church without your veil, it was a symbol of modesty that your convent took very seriously.

What you found was not an angry priest, deacon or catechist but a student priest. His kind eyes and gentle smile, long brown locks that were pulled back at the nape of his neck and his hands that were clutching at your head piece, had all simultaneously taken your breath away. There had never been anyone in the church that met his appearance. He had a bad boy turned good look that really set your insides ablaze. Whether it was a warning from God, not to stray from the path by allowing you to feel small licks of hellfire, or your subconscious begging for a reason to deviate from the life that was so carefully laid out for you, you didn't know but what you did know was this man would now become the catalyst of all your waking day dreams.

“Oh, yes my apologies, sir.” You softly smile before taking the veil and placing it securely on your head. You turn back to the big wooden cross hung above the altar you’re standing afront, before looking back into the strangers' doe pools of chocolate. “How uh, how are you enjoying your seminary studies?” You question, cheeks heating up at your terrible attempt at small talk.

“My seminary studies?” Eddie repeats with a low chuckle as his eyebrows shoot up, getting lost behind the fringe of his shaggy bangs. He cocks a wide smirk at your question, you really were as sweet and delicate as you looked. That made the future priests’ stomach flip in excitement. The need for corrupting such a cute little thing, vehemently returning. He hadn’t felt that utter desire in years. He would give this all up to watch you fall apart underneath him.

“Mmhm.” You giggle with a small nod of your head, fingers twisting together over your front from the frisson excitement bursting through your chest. You had never felt this way talking to any priests or priests in training, the rush was addicting.

“It’s going well.” The male murmurs with an unconvincing smile, his eyes glance down to your lips before snapping back up to your eyes in a fleeting moment. Your heart rate kicks up at the implication before you boldly turn towards him, your chest puffed out as the swell of your breasts are tightly hugged by the black fabric of your unflattering habit.

Eddie takes a step closer towards you, the toe of his boots brush against your black flats. His eyes roaming your fully clothed body as if he had x-ray vision and could see the black lace set you allow yourself to wear underneath, as an act of rebellion that only you were allowed a glimpse of.

His left hand slowly moves into your space, gently placing the cloth of your veil that had fallen over the front of your shoulder, back to its rightful place. The act was so tender and kind you couldn’t help but to lean closer into his touch.

The chapel was so still, all that could be heard was the heavy breathing of two very enamored people, as if they finally found what they had been looking for all along. A safe place to house their hearts.

In a matter of seconds you jerk back, as footsteps ring out from the corridor, startling you out of your love filled daze. Eddie thinks on his feet, the awfully close position being far too compromising, so he takes your hand and leads you into the confession box. He covers your mouth as the footsteps grow closer, two people chattering as they walk by before leaving out of the exit, letting the heavy wooden doors slam shut behind them.

Eddie quickly removes his hand, shooting you a sympathetic smile before the realization hits that you’re seated on his lap, half awakened cock digging into your backside causing a small gasp and unintentional clench of your thighs. A devious smile displays itself upon the brown eyed boy's lips, you wanted him just as bad as he wanted you. And he didn’t even know you. Oh he’s fucked.

His soft lips swiftly brush up against yours, making you quickly pull away in surprise. “I can’t kiss you, I don’t even know your name.” You whisper rather unconvincingly.

“It’s Eddie, what’s your name sweetheart?” He purrs into your ear, goosebumps alite your skin as you squirm in his lap from the low timber of his voice.

You meekly recite your name as your face grows hot from his attention. “Mmm, pretty name for an even prettier girl.” He huffs before he licks his lips in anticipation. His cock now fully hard and poking into your clothed skin.

Eddie gently grabs your chin, eyes meeting yours in a powerful standoff. “May I kiss you, angel? I really need to kiss you.” The desperation dripping from his voice is enough to convince you of anything.

“Yes.” You murmur before fully straddling him, his lips find yours in a passionate frenzy as you move together like a beautiful melody.

In all of your timidness and trepidation you’ve completely forgotten how it feels to be pressed up against another body, brain empty as you enjoy the moment as it comes, you giggle between kisses at the double entendre.

“What’s so funny, huh?” Eddie says playfully, grabbing at your sides and causing a shriek of loud laughter to roll off your tongue. How was it possible that this man made you feel like a kid again, a kid you didn’t even get to be? The fleeting nostalgia is quickly interrupted when Eddie puts a finger up to your lips, a gesture that asks “do you wanna get caught?” And it almost makes you giddy, nothing this exciting ever happens to you.

“You gotta be quiet, angel. Can you do that for me?” He asks in a dominating tone that has you shuttering and weak at the knees. He swipes a gentle finger across your lips, placing it in between the two before you quickly get the hint, wrapping your plush pink pillows around his index and lightly sucking. The action has Eddie’s eyes rolling back in his head, there was no way he’d be able to hold back, not with you grinding down on his painfully hard cock while sucking on his finger.

Without much thought left in your already fucked out brain, you remove the long black cloth that you’ve despised for years, yanking it off of your shoulders and over your head. Disposing of it over your shoulder without a care in the world, you had more pressing matters at hand.

“Oh fuck.” Eddie’s breath hitches as utter shock crosses his features, his mouth drops open while his eyes roam the expanse of your body that is scarcely covered by lacey black fabric. His cock twitches underneath you, causing you to squirm, unintentionally rubbing his throbbing pink tip over your warm heat and pulling a needy moan from between your lips.

He wastes no time, bringing his hands to rub over the see through fabric that is covering your now peaked nipples before slowly moving down in a gentle but callous glide over your sides, to your hips and finally landing on your plush thighs, giving them a tight squeeze as his lips curl up in satisfaction.

“Can I touch you, baby?” He whispers, rubbing the tip of his nose against yours as he desperately awaits your approval.

“Please.” You moan out into the expanse of the wooden box as you drag your slick cunt across his achingly hard cock in one more act of torment.

His fingers move before his brain, finding themselves between your legs, rubbing right over that button of pleasure that Eddie hasn’t been acquainted with, in what feels like years. He slips his hand past the black lace, digits sliding between your soaked lips and teasing at your tight little hole before he’s bringing the slick up to your swollen bud and drawing gentle circles, a loud moan erupts from your chest as the unknown pleasure consumes you.

You weren’t a virgin, despite what everyone thought of you or at least what you let them think. No one knew that you’d lost your virginity the summer of junior year. Maybe it was an act of rebellion against your strict parents or maybe just a sad attempt at being so starved for any kind of connection, you took the only one some high school boy had to offer; three minutes in the back of his beat up Pontiac.

The feelings being pulled from you by the long haired man, were unlike anything you’ve ever felt and you never wanted it to stop. You would beg and plead to him until the end of times to always make you feel this good, it’s the closest to God you’ve ever felt in all of your life, how is this a sin?

“Does that feel good, angel baby?” Eddie whispers into your ear, low and seductive as his finger finally breeches your entrance, it slips in easily and without pain but the pleasure makes your hands fly up to grip at his shoulders before throwing your head back and letting out the sexiest set of moans Eddie has ever had the delight of hearing.

He slips a second digit in alongside the first, pumping in and out at a slow pace but the depth is what had your toes curling into your little black flats that were being held on by a thread, threatening to fall off of your feet at just the slightest movement. Eddie began to scissor his fingers apart, stretching you open enough to take his girth. The moans that were beginning to fill the church were downright sinful.

“I-I think I’m gonna um…” you breathe out harshly as your cheeks heat up from the words that you just can’t bring yourself to utter.

“You’re gonna what, huh? You gotta talk to me, baby. Tell me what’s goin’ on?” Eddie asks in faux concern, it’s so mocking and arrogant but it causes you to clench tightly around his fingers, sucking him in like a fucking vice.

“I’m- ah ah, I’m gonna cum!” You sob into his chest as you grind down onto his digits, fucking them into you deeper with each thrust, until your incredible high starts to feel slightly painful and overstimulating.

“Such a good girl.” Eddie praises, slipping his two fingers out of your pussy before bringing them up to his mouth and sucking dramatically as a groan of delight reverberates from his chest.

“You think you can cum on daddy’s cock like that?” He questions, his lust filled eyes bore into yours as the filthy words drip from his tongue. You should be disgusted, it should turn your stomach…but it doesn’t, not even in the slightest. Instead it amplifies your arousal and now it’s you who is desperate, yanking his vestment off of his upper body in one swift and eager motion.

With Eddie’s full chest on display, you drag your nails gently down his torso, causing a whimper to slip past his lips. He has tattoos. The revelation causes your eyes to widen. You didn’t think priests were even allowed to have tattoos, they were a sin in your convent. Although you had been fed so much propaganda throughout the years, you really couldn’t see what made them so terrible.

And you had to admit they were very attractive, certainly adding to the whole former bad boy mystique he has going on.

“You like em’?” Eddie asks as if he knew exactly what you were thinking, a glint in his eyes as they lock with yours.

“I do, father Eddie.” You purr as your hand brushes over his hard erection still locked behind the confines of his black slacks.

“Fuck.” He hisses into your neck before leaving a trail of sloppy kisses, his hands reaching for your black lace thong as if he was going to slip it down and off of your body, but the sounds of fabric tearing alert you to his true intentions.

“I’ll replace those.” He says with a sinister chuckle, throwing the piece of fabric behind you to be lost in the sea of clothing beneath your feet.

“Holy shit!” The man gasps as his eyes meet your dripping center, the damp coils that sit above your mound and your little stretched hole that was done by his own hand. The view causes him to bite at his lip in animalistic hunger.

“Mmm, such a naughty boy using such foul language in a church.” You tut, having no idea where that came from but if his cheeks that have now grown a bright pink hue and the wild growl that slipped from his mouth were anything to go by, he was just as into it.

Eddie can’t take much more of your teasing so his hands slip down to the buckle keeping his slacks up, eagerly removing all of the obstacles that keep him from sheathing his cock deep into your tight little cunt.

Once he is fully released from his fabric confinement he wraps his hand around himself, giving it a few tugs before he’s smearing the large beads of precum around his tip and down his shaft, groaning from the attention he was so badly yearning for.

“You ready, baby?” He questions. Bringing his glistening, pink head to the seam of your sodden lips and rubbing the tip against your clit, before prodding it against your awaiting hole. The way your cunt sucks him in is heavenly. It was as if he was a virgin again, nothing or no one else mattered before you. The feelings settling in the young man's chest were overwhelming and terrifying but when he looked up from how his cock was coated in your wetness and into your eyes, he knew you felt it too.

You let out a breath of relief when he was finally buried to the hilt inside of you, throbbing and aching for release. Deciding to end the torment of your teasing, you begin using your knees that are roughly digging into the oak wood of the pew eddie is seated on as leverage to bounce and swirl your hips as you fuck him, so audaciously.

“Ah, ah, ah…” were the only noises leaving both of your mouths as you continuously sunk down onto Eddie’s cock. His big hands gripping the meat of your thighs as if you’d dissipate without his touch.

“Please.” You whine into the sweat slick skin of his neck, before reaching for the hair tie placed carelessly into a bun at his nape. You tug releasing his brown waves that fell just beneath his shoulders.

“Please what, my love?” That word made your head spin, you’d never been referred to as someone’s love. I mean you just met him and he probably says lots of endearing things while he’s getting laid, but it certainly made that fire in your belly kick up to blazing high levels.

“Please fuck me!” You sob, tears falling from your eyes as you get closer to your sweet release. But your legs were closer to finishing than you, as every bounce sent a searing pain from your knees up to your thighs.

“I’m sorry baby. I’m makin’ you do all the work, aren’t I?” Eddie teases with a condescending grin, making you pout and nod your head in agreement. “Here you are bein’ such a good girl, riding my cock like that and I don’t even have the decency to help you out.” He tuts, a wide smile splitting his face before the hands that were once resting on your thighs, come up and grab two rough handfuls of your ass.

He pulls your cheeks apart as he sinks down some, planting his heavy boot clad feet better onto the red carpet of the confessional box. He sends you a quick wink before he begins pounding into you with almost inhumanly, rapid thrusts making you cry out into the stuffy air.

Your hands dig into his scalp, grabbing fistfuls of hair as he fucks you like an animal, with complete carnal hunger. A chill runs down your spine all the way to your toes as the fire in your lower stomach begins to consume you. You don’t care who hears you now, you just care about you and Eddie and working each other's bodies to gratification.

“Your close baby, I can feel it. C’mon, let go for me and cum on my cock.” He demands as his length throbs with each clench of your walls around him. He’s too close, but he’d rather die than cum before you.

“Oh! Yes, Father Eddie.” You squeak before crashing your lips into his. The long haired man’s eyes roll back into his head and a growl escapes his chest at the use of his not so future title. If he can’t have this then being a priest just won’t do, not anymore.

Eddie breaks the passion fueled kiss to suck his thumb into his mouth, slicking it up before bringing it to your swollen clit. The first gentle circle makes you jump, causing your walls to tighten even harder around him. His toes curl in his boots, he was so close, so on the edge to stuffing you full of him.

“I’m gonna cum inside your pretty little pussy, do you want that?” He asks roughly, but his eyes are so soft and so full of adoration and you want whatever he’s willing to give you.

“Yes, please Father Eddie.” You plead as you meet his thrusts, aching legs be damned. You can feel that high that’s teetering so close, you’re so desperate to fall off the edge.

“Who’s the naughty one now, huh? Begging a church priest to cum inside you? You bad girl.” He tsks, with a faint chuckle. His words knock you over the edge, coming so hard on his cock you see a white blinding light as your eyes tightly shut.

“Mm, that’s it baby!” Eddie growls, his thrusts faltering as he cums inside of you, your walls now coated with his white, hot release.

Eddie scrubs his hands down his face, “oh my god!” He exasperates before wrapping his arms around your back and pulling you tightly into him, as his softening cock is still buried inside of you.

“Shh, you can’t use the lord's name in vain in a church!” You playfully reprimand, as if what you both have just done wasn’t grounds for going straight to hell.

“Hey, watch your mouth when you’re talkin’ to me, young lady! Or I’ll give you ten of these…” he scolds before bringing his palm down harshly onto the sensitive skin of your ass, making you gasp in surprise. He grabs your chin tightly before continuing, “and ten Hail Mary’s, I’ll make you say each one with my cock down your throat.” You clutch at your chest like you’d never been so offended, but the words caused you nothing but arousal as your cunt began to drip at the thought.

“You really are a naughty boy.” You purr, shaking your head as if in disappointment. You were both so deep in your own little world that you didn’t hear the footsteps outside the confessional door.

The handle was jiggled and quickly ripped open as a loud gasp rang out from behind you.

“Sister!” The nun hisses in absolute disbelief and disgust. The tone of her judgment awoke something deep inside of you that you thought had been buried. You hop off of Eddie’s lap, his spent cock plopping out and falling back onto his lower stomach. You quickly pull the habit over your head as Eddie stands up to inch himself back into his pants.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” The nun you now recognize as Sister Claudia, snarls with a look of revulsion.

Eddie swiftly takes your hand and pulls you away, abandoning your veil and his vestment. His now shirtless and tattooed chest on display for the judgmental nun.

Without another thought you throw her the middle finger as you and Eddie run down the row of pews and out the heavy doors.

You weren’t sure where you were headed, but as long as it was with him. You were ready for the new journey.

[barbieaemond]

Religion (sneak peek)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Warnings: mild angst, misogyny, pregnancy, childbirth, oral sex, p in v, fingering, orgasm denial, overstimulation, brief lactation kink, breeding kink, manipulation (to get some), some good ol' tying up, slandering of the Gods lol

Author's note: this is the third and final part following And I dream of a grave and A curse for a curse but can be read as a standalone. It will be posted tomorrow!

She looks around briefly; the room is warm, the fire in the hearth is lit, as the candles scattered all around. This is all quite familiar. “These are my old chambers…” she says with a little frown, turning to him.

“Quite the observer, wife.” He drawls, and takes a few steps. His stride is different now. Slow, contemplating, just as his gaze raking over her, as if he in the first place doesn’t know why he brought her here and he’s assessing what to do. A war map unfolding, and he knows where all the faults lie.

“I thought we could spend some time together” he starts, walking past her to go sit near the fire “Alone.” he adds once he leisurely sits down, crossing his long legs and resting his hands on the armrests. “What better place than a vacant room? No one will come looking for us here.”

She tries as hard as she can to stop the little smirk at the corner of her lips; she walks closer, stopping right in front of him, staring down. “They might hear.” 

“Hmm. And that is much of a trouble for you, isn’t it?” he asks with the most fake genuine tone, taking a cup from the nearby table, and then “You sucked my cock on a terrace and begged me to fuck you in the Small Council…I thought I told you to quit your act.”

She smiles openly now, watching the wine pouring in the cup, his eye fixed on the liquid as his eyebrow shots up. “Besides, I know exactly what to do to muffle your noises.”

“You should be proud of my noises.”

“I am.” He says, taking a sip of wine, his eye piercing through her above the cup’s brim. “But for once, Aegon is right. I’m not one for sharing.”

His arm moves to put the wine aside but she takes it, only to feel his hand pulling the cup away from her. “You cannot drink.”

“Fine.” She concedes, leaning on him. “I’ll have it my way.”

She holds his face and with her left hand she glides her fingers on the left side, delicately but with purpose, pushing the eyepatch off. And then she kisses him, eagerly, licking his lips and then breaching inside to taste the wine on his tongue, on the roof of his mouth.

She sighs deeply when he locks his tongue with hers, and feels his lips curling.

“Did you hear it?” He says breaking the kiss, breathing into her mouth. “That one is my favorite.”

“Your favorite what?” She asks mindlessly, chasing his lips but to no use, because he tilts his head back, his cursed smirk lingering.

“Noise. It’s a little thing…” he tells her, locking one hand around her neck “in the back of your throat, close to a sigh but not quite…” his fingers trail against her throat, chasing her swallowing “It tells me you’re dying to.”

“To do what?”

“Fall on your knees for me. Be a supplicant.”

She grabs the back of his neck, driving his head close and looks down at his arched mouth “You cannot live without God, can you?” She looks up, her mouth open to breathe “Seven of them seem to have cursed me. I had to find my own.”

His eye widens at that. He looks straight into her eyes, so devoted, so raw. She’s right. The Gods would curse her some more if they saw she looked at him the way she should look at the Gods.

“Then do it.”

“What?”

“Flatteries don’t work on me, sweetling. You should know that.” With his hand on her neck, he slightly pushes her away, putting some distance between them. “You will have to show me.”

“What would you have me do?”

His hands let go of her completely, resting on the armchair. The gemstone glints in blue and yet, it’s nowhere near the bright cursed thing in his eye. “Get on your knees for me. Now.”

She should be ashamed of the pull in her bones, the muscles willing to move on their own accord and fall to the ground. But why, why does it have to be sin? Why can it not be religion?

FULL FIC HERE

[ryin-silverfish]

Could you tell us more about fox spirits? or what you know about them? Since the Kitsune is the fox spirit that people popularize the most, information on the Huli Jing is difficult to search for.

*Deep Breath*

Man, oh man. On one hand, I am fascinated by fox spirits, on the other hand, entire books have been written on them (in Chinese), and there are a staggering amount of Qing dynasty fox tales in Yuewei Caotang Biji (阅微草堂笔记) and Liaozhai Zhiyi,(聊斋志异) it's hard to know where to start.

[Previous ask about nine-tailed foxes, the duality of auspicious and demonic, and Su Daji]

Fox spirits, like any other yaoguais, is an animal that has lived long enough and absorbed enough Qi to gain sentience. Through cultivation, they can eventually gain a human form.

According to Tang folklore, they need to wear a human skull on their head while bowing to the Dipper stars/moon, without the skull falling off, in order to transform into a human.

However, foxes are also talented shapeshifters and tricksters who have this reputation for seducing humans, male and female alike.

In earlier legends, that's just their nature, but Ming and Qing tales expanded on that, stating foxes have sex with human to drain their Qi or life force, because they need those to form an Inner Core——an orb of solidified Qi that contains all of their cultivation and life force.

(Usually, it's female foxes seducing human men, because they need some of that sweet, sweet Yang force to compliment their Yin.)

(But some Ming folklore collection said that male foxes also go after guys in the guise of women, while in others, male foxes are just seducers of women.)

(Oh, and there are actual lesbian foxes in Qing legends. Like Feng Sanniang from Liaozhai Zhiyi.)

But one must keep in mind that foxes, like all yaoguais, are not inherently good or evil. For every sexual predator and Daji-like temptress, there exists a graceful scholar, a chill friend, or a lovestruck girl (Liaozhai is full of human-fox romances).

Like, there is a tale in Yuewei Caotang Biji that's just a guy chatting with his 50-60 looking fox associate about how foxes cultivate. When asked why he's so candid about this stuff, he really sums up it best:

"There are good and bad ones among our kind, just like humans. If you humans don't shy away from speaking of human evil, why should I?"

He then proceeds to talk about how legit fox cultivators collect the essence of sun and moon like any regular Daoists, while the ones that seduce human and suck away their life forces are taking a shortcut and inviting heavenly retribution in the form of thunderbolts.

Other Qing legends introduce the hilarious concept that all aspiring foxes must pass an exam organized by the Lady of Mt. Tai, to, well, earn their cultivation permit. Not even foxes are free from the clutches of imperial examinations, it seems!

Still, their old auspicious association does give rise to the archetype of "cultivator/sorcerer foxes", as well as a higher chance of recruitment into the Celestial Bureaucracy.

Which might explain why foxes were so frequently venerated in popular religion. Like, northern China has this thing called the "Five Great Immortals" (五大仙), five species of cultivated animals that people worship:

Hu (胡), Foxes

Huang (黄), Weasels

Bai (白), Hedgehogs

Liu (柳), Snakes

Hui (灰), Rats

When I travelled to the city of Pingyao, Shanxi last summer, one of the sites I visited had a Yuan dynasty building, and its second level is a shrine dedicated to the "Fox Immortal", guardian of the imperial official's seal.

Fun fact: fox spirits have a habit of impersonating Buddhas and Bodhisattvas in Tang dynasty legends. Manjusri and Maitreya seems to be the most popular choice, and in 三遂平妖传, a Ming dynasty novel, "Sagely Old Lady"(圣姑姑) the heavenly fox also impersonates Bodhisattva Samantabhadra.

So imagine my surprise when I actually encountered some foxes next to a highway during the same trip, while visiting Mt. Wutai, Manjusri's sacred mountain!

[talkbycolor]

the nun and the soldier

A/N; I ACTUALLY DREAMED ABOUT THIS AND THOUGHT LOL WHAT A GOOD IDEA FOR AN OS

Pairing; "[REDACTED]" x AFAB!Reader

CW; cnc? for someone who doesnt know how to put limits the line is very blurry, you will guess / daddy kink but in a priestly way / def religion kink, breeding but im not sure if its just a kink, worship but im not sure who worships who the most / this is more like an au like 1940 battlefield where [REDACTED] is a soldier and MC a nun

The night was like a classic old horror movie scene.

And how not to be scared? Outside the cathedral it was raining heavily, the skies were roaring from the electrical storm and the only lighting was the holy candles, that place was a refuge for the homeless.

After all, many people needed comfort in times of war.

You had decided to stay until midnight, praying to your father to protect the soldiers in battle, that the families would stop going hungry, you held the wooden cross that hung from your chest so tightly, begging for the massacre to stop, the times They brought sadness to the entire nation and God had to save them.

A loud clap of thunder echoed outside the cathedral and the doors were opened, the cold of the night and the wind caused the flame of some candles to go out, so holding the cross tightly to your chest you turned to see who dared to break in. with such violence in the house of God.

"Who's there?" You asked as you walked towards the huge wooden gate.

A man in uniform walked in, soaked from the rain, he looked tired, hungry, hurt, he barely made eye contact with you you felt a chill run through your entire body, not just because of the weather.

"I need food" He was a soldier, you nodded immediately and helped him walk to take a seat on one of the benches while you went to the warehouse for something the man could eat, there was food stored that was going to be donated, or that's what the priest said.

You returned with canned food and some water for the stranger, who snatched your things to eat like a dying dog, water running down his chin and eating haphazardly as he breathed heavily.

"Sir, are you okay? Where is he coming from?" You didn't avoid being curious when asking those questions, although just one cold look from him was enough to make you close your mouth.

…

You only heard him chewing, the man seemed to have had a really bad time and it was no wonder that you could tell from miles away that he was a soldier, and since he came alone, there was a high probability that he was one of the few survivors in the trenches, but you are not going to assume too much.

"Father, please help this poor man to heal his wounds safely, to regain his strength, to protect his life on the battlefield and the lives of our nation -…"

"Stop talking shit" he interrupted you in a vulgar way, causing astonishment on your face, even disgust.

"That is no way to speak before the lord" You scolded him, the black-haired man only laughed hoarsely.

"Bring me clothes, I'm freezing in this" he demanded arrogantly, getting rid of his wet clothes, your kind soul heeded his words, because that's what you were, right? A sweet nun willing to help the needy, love your neighbor as your god ordered.

"Excuse me, I only found the priest's old clothes and I'm not sure they fit him, I hope they can help you" You said as you returned to the bench, he once again snatched the things from your hand.

Yes, he was a rude man.

The minutes passed, the candles continued to melt at the altar, you were praying in front of the golden statue of your lord while the soldier was resting on the benches, grunting at his wounds and trying to stay warm.

"Hey, nun, since you won't shut up come here, I think I know how you could keep that mouth busy" The man suggested with a cheeky smile, it was unheard of how he could say such things in the lord's house.

"Hey! That's enough of-…"

"It wasn't a question, come here or I'll come for you" his voice was sharp, and with no intention of continuing to listen to you, seeing how you froze in surprise he grumbled and took the trouble to walk towards you.

Right in front of the golden statue of your god, he subdued you to the ground and lifted your robe to reveal your underwear, that man was shameless because he simply buried his face between your asscheeks to inhale deeply.

"HEY! HEY" WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! STOP! YOU CAN'T DO THAT!" You begged him, confusion and disgust replaced with terror, but… he was a soldier, a man willing to sacrifice his life for his nation.

"Please, honey, aren't you supposed to be a helpful sweetheart? You promised to help me stay warm, and this is my last dinner before I die?" He murmured on your back, riding you without a word, his hands had already pulled down your underwear while you were busy in your thoughts.

"Oh my god, this can't be happening, I'm supposed to stay pure" You whimpered as you covered your face, too embarrassed by the situation but not trying to push the man away.

He was an angel sent by god to save the country, it would be so rude to reject any order he gave.

He ground his hips against yours in a messy manner, he hadn't even prepared you well when your pussy was already engulfing his cock.

"Wow, you're so tight, so it's true that nuns are virgins, right? I feel so lucky to be the one to take your chastity, dear." His voice was teasing in your ear as you squeezed your eyes shut to endure the sudden intrusion, you were Pretty sure you would bleed.

No one would pass by the cathedral at that time of night, much less in a storm, the clicking of both skins echoed in the enormous building, right in the eyes of your lord.

"P-please forgive me Father for I have sinned, forgive me so much" A hand grabbed your jaw to silence you.

"You better ask thanks to the Lord because you will soon have a son, I will take care of filling this pretty pussy of yours to the brim, okay, angel?" He mocked your prayers but the seriousness in his voice was immaculate, he really wanted to impregnate your womb with his seed.

Your legs were shaking as you tried to stay in the doggy position, the soldier was selfish, penetrating your wet cunt for the sole purpose of having his release and getting you pregnant.

"S-sir please slow down, I feel like you're going to break me" You begged, snot slipping out of your nose as well as tears at how disastrous the situation was, the problem wasn't that the man was using you, because he was part of the brave army that risked his life, it is logical that you want to help.

"... We shouldn't be doing this in the Father's house." Sob quietly, your body reacted so well to his touch and it was inevitable not to moan, causing echoes in the cathedral.

"No, no, angel, call me father, you don't want your lord to hear you acting like a slut in his holy home." His calloused hands squeezed your hips and he pulled you like a wolf would its prey towards its nest.

"My god, angel, you feel so good, I'm melting between your walls, I want to spill all my essence inside you, you're being so good for me, I promise you it will feel better" He whispered lovingly despite the furious thrusts. that you received. "Don't worry, this is what your god wants, right? Demigods are worshiped with flowers, real gods need blood." His tone felt so somber, his hand traveled to your crotch to caress, collecting said blood, your blood.

So if he died on the battlefield, he would at least have left his inheritance in the world and he wouldn't be completely forgotten, right? His greedy hands ran over every inch of your skin under your tunic, squeezing the flesh, he too seemed inexperienced too, moaning and letting out incoherencies as he ground his groin against you, saliva running down his jaw as he moaned like a dog, panting, his eyes rolling back, sharper sounds until you both trembled violently.

Just as he said, you were dripping, as soon as a mirror cascade came out of you and warm semen was present from your pussy, his member was already a little more flaccid as he observed such a work of art in front of him.

He didn't want to die, he wanted this stupid war to end so he could get this nun pregnant and raise a child together.

"It's okay, you'll be okay" he murmured one last time as he clung to you, taking you into his arms with a blank look, but his words weren't.

He promised that when all that was over he would return to you to take care of you and the baby, that was what he wanted most, a life without daily blood, peace.

It's a shame that the promise would never be fulfilled.

♡

[chuubian]

solace and secrecy

Tags Fyodor x fem reader, angst, religious imagery, religious guilt, alcohol consumption, abuse, blasphemy?? kinda?

Summary Fyodor is determined to live as a righteous, holy man. Dedication to his god is all he has ever known and he would never stray away from it, but he starts to view his faith differently when he met you.

Intricate architecture and stained glass windows were familiar views to Fyodor. Spending all his free time as a child in the church, working on his faith. Terrified of what could happen if he were to ever give up his religion. His dedication bordered on obsession. When the time came to make his career choice, he chose something that would be worthy of going to heaven.

Becoming a priest involved things like teaching the congregation, performing sacraments, and counseling. Fyodor did all this with love and passion in his heart. It was familiar. There was no place he would rather be.

Fyodor is sitting in his office, offering counseling to his brothers and sisters is a welcome break from standing and preaching for hours at a time. Most problems people come to him with are not too serious. Family disputes and disobedient children, occasionally infidelity and thievery. Though… those are few and far in between.

Fyodor is cleaning up his desk while waiting for his next meeting. Stacking his books and arranging his vase of flowers to be just right. He opens his door and invites in the next person he’s supposed to meet with. Gesturing for you to sit down.

“Please, have a seat”

He takes a seat across from you, the golden light from the sun casting a heavenly glow. Fyodor looks angelic. It's hard to not immediately start begging for mercy. Suddenly feeling like you are unworthy of being in the presence of his divinity. Fyodor starts off.

“What can I help you with?”

You hesitate to speak, unsure if this is even something you could ever admit or speak out loud.

“Father… I’ve been having some strange thoughts and feelings.”

Fyodor hums softly, thinking. His voice is soft and reassuring, representative of his care for your wellbeing.

“Strange in what way?”

You hesitate. Can you really say this? Would he report you? While you’re taking your time considering what to say, Fyodor interrupts.

“I notice you are being awfully quiet. This is a confidential conversation, nothing you could say would make me think of you as unworthy or strange. I am a servant of God, sworn to secrecy. Everything said in this room is between you, myself, and our lord and savior.”

With that reassurance, you take a deep breath. Fyodor is looking at you with such kind eyes. It’s hard to not to get distracted. How do you even word this? What can you really say?

“Father… I’ve been having thoughts about murdering my mother.”

Fyodor's face remains unchanged. He almost doesn’t look shocked. He sits up straight and speaks in the same soft reassuring tone. It’s eerie.

“I see… Why is that?”

Old painful memories flood your mind. Your mother choosing her new repulsive boyfriend over you. Your mother isolating you from friends and family. Making you kneel on rice for hours at a time. Inventing new barbaric punishments just for you. She had never put as much love and care into anything, as she did torturing you. Being an adult now, you wrongfully believed that she would let you live your life. But that is not the kind of person she is.

"She's cruel and vindictive, I hate her. She's never cared for me in my entire life and I can't leave. She takes my money, traps me, beats me when she’s angry and drunk. I have nowhere to go. I've given up on my life, but if I can make her suffer one last time I think I could die happily."

Fyodor remains abnormally calm. It feels like the calm before the storm. You should've kept your mouth shut. What the fuck were you even thinking? Obviously that's not okay to say, why are you even here? For him to talk you down? Your legs are shaking. Although Fyodor is gazing at you tenderly, it's like he's looking right through you. Like he can read you.

"And you believe that this is the solution?"

You feel trapped. Breath hitching, your eyes start watering. You try to speak up but your voice is shakier than you expected. Why is it so shaky?

"I don't know what to do, Father."

He slowly stands up, making his way around the desk. You take a deep breath, readying yourself for what he might do. Maybe he'll restrain you and report you. But before you can let your thoughts go wild, he reaches out for your hand. His skin is cold, but it curiously makes you feel warm. It's like a shock to your system.

"I'm sorry that happened to you"

At those six simple words, you break down. No one in your entire disgraceful, miserable life had ever given you an ounce of genuine kindness. He gently wiped the tears from your eyes. You didn't even realize you had started crying, your throat and eyes were burning. There was a big lump in your throat.

"Do you not think that instead of doing something so horrible, so sinful, maybe you should turn to god?"

You pause at those words. Is that even a real choice at this point? This is a cry for help, you aren't looking for a god to follow. What use is he to you? God is the reason that you've had such a dreadful life.

"I have never seen you come to mass before, so why are you here? Is it because deep down you are hoping for god to save you?"

Taking a deep breath you try to calm down.

"I'm not a follower, I would never do that. God is the reason my life is so awful."

His eyes narrow. Fyodor's gaze is piercing and chilling. He takes offense to you talking about his deity in such a blasphemous way.

"I know you may feel that this is our lord and savior's fault, but that could not be further from the truth. This is the work of the devil, and the devil alone."

Shaking your head, you refuse to accept it. Is God not supposed to fix this? Is he not supposed to be all knowing? How could he allow this to happen in the first place? What did you even do to deserve this? Fyodor notices that you're deep in thought.

"I am sorry to be the first to tell you this, but you are not as innocent as you think you are."

His voice is much colder than it was before. It makes you shiver and tense up.

"All human beings are sinful. Do you not think it is better to acknowledge that and ask for forgiveness from our Father? What happened to you was unacceptable, but is the solution really to victimize yourself and act so foolishly?"

You were stunned. Looking up at Fyodor, who towers over you. He's so tall and imposing, it makes you feel small. He's so cruel. You had done nothing and now he was trying to make you feel guilty? Who does he think he is? You stand up angrily, deciding you don't have to take this.

"I'm leaving."

Fyodor raises an eyebrow.

"Please, sit back down. I understand that this seems harsh but violence is not the answer. Why are you even here?"

"I'm not sure."

Fyodor hums softly. Sitting back down he reaches over to his vase, taking a hold of a white rose, looking deep in thought. He gently runs his slender fingers over the petals and then holds the rose out for you.

"This is my offering to you."

You furrow your eyebrows, confused.

"What? A rose?"

Fyodor chuckles softly.

"Yes, a rose. But I am not only offering this rose, I am also offering you a chance to start over. So that you do not have to go back and see your mother."

You stay silent, completely bewildered.

"Why?"

He tilts his head, he looks almost baffled that you would question him.

"I am a servant of God. It is my job to help those in need, but in exchange I would like for you to start coming to church. I would like for you to at least try and follow the word of God."

You sit back down, considering the offer. Could he be telling the truth? This seems too good to be true. Fyodor notices your hesitance to take him up on this.

"I will provide you with a place to sleep and help you find employment. I am a well known priest around here, I promise this is a genuine offer."

He holds out the rose for you again. You finally accept it, nodding.

"All right then. I’ll take you up on it."

He smiles at you softly. As your fingers gently close over the stem of the rose, one of the thorns pricks you, drawing blood. You gasp softly, letting go of the rose as it falls to the ground.

"Are you okay?"

Fyodor looks concerned, taking your hand in his gently and inspecting the punctured finger.

"It is only a small cut, I could fix you up easily."

You look up at his face, noticing the kind look in his eyes. He's so ethereal. Delicately, he pulls your hand closer, cleaning the blood up and bandaging your finger.

After this, Fyodor shows you around your new living quarters and helps you get a job. He requires you to come to mass at least three times a week and have talks about how things are going afterwards.

Getting away from your mother wasn't easy. She was always watching you, looking for mistakes or something that may be off about you. Eventually, you finally saw a chance when you could leave without her noticing.

Since that fateful day, your days have been spent surrounded by ornate golden walls. The high cieling of the church make you feel like a small bug, crushed under the weight of God's will.

Fyodor has helped you see the mistakes in your thinking patiently. At first, you didn't even want to admit it but it was true that you're a sinner. However, God could cure you. He could forgive.

At this point you hardly ever spent any time outside of the church. Right after work you went inside that large, lavish building, repenting for your sins and working on your relationship with your lord and savior. Fyodor had even started planning for your baptism soon after you made the deal with him.

Spending so much time around that mysterious man, made you feel even more captivated with him. What is his story? Was he always like this? His eyes are so kind but so empty, there's something so off about him. Despite the bad feeling in your gut, you couldn't help but like him more. Whenever you would walk into his office, it was always beautifully decorated with white roses, fresh, blooming and shining in the sunlight. The bookshelves along the walls are always full of vintage books, smelling like parchment and wine. His demeanor is always serene. He would just sit there and listen to you, never once trying to interrupt you.

You came to appreciate his advice, he seemed to be on a higher plane of existence than you. In a way, he was your savior. Whenever he looked at you now, you could feel your cheeks warm and your hands get clammy. Disappointing him would be devastating.

It's night time now, about six months after you first met Fyodor. The church was completely empty at this time. Soft glowing moonlight is sparkling and radiating off the gold and stained glass decorations inside. Fyodor decided to sit on one of the pews at the front, admiring the large crucifix behind the altar. It fills him with a sense of pride. Pride to be one of the Lord's soldiers.

As you walk in, you feel uneasy. This is a building you love, with a man you care about inside, but it feels so cold… so isolated. No one else is here. It's just a big empty building. You can't help but notice how exquisitely it's decorated, compared to your cheap clothing. It doesn’t look like you should ever even step foot in here.

Sitting down next to Fyodor, he smiles at you softly.

"I haven't seen you in a while, Fedya."

"It has only been a few days."

Shrugging, you take in his appearance. He's still wearing his white baptismal robe, contrasting with his dark shiny hair. He looks so pure, so divine, it's hard not to be completely enchanted.

"A few days is too long. You're my only friend, you know?"

He hums softly.

“Do you need anyone else anyways?”

You go quiet for a few seconds, thinking.

“I guess not, I like spending my time at the church with you anyways.”

He slowly stands, walking up the stairs to the altar. You stay sitting.

“What are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer, standing in front of the crucifix, facing you. He pulls a chalice out of the communion table, filled with red wine.

“Come here, we may as well enjoy ourselves while you are here right?”

Your eyebrows furrow, letting out a little chuckle.

“Are we even allowed to drink from it under these circumstances?”

Fyodor tilts his head, almost offended that you would question him.

“Does it matter? Do not tell me youre scared.”

He pauses, sighing softly, noticing your hesitance.

“It is fine, you will not get in trouble for it.”

With that reassurance, you walk up the steps of the altar and stand next to him. He holds the chalice up to your face, intending to feed you the wine himself. Your cheeks flush, feeling babied and embarrassed.

“Can’t I drink it myself?”

He shrugs.

“Just drink, it is not a big deal.”

You nod, leaning closer and taking a sip. The metal of the chalice feels cold on your lips, while the wine makes your throat and stomach feel warm. Fyodor tilts the container up to help you drink more. Once you drink about half of the wine, you lean back, cringing at the disgusting taste of alcohol.

“Wine is always so bitter.”

He chuckles at your reaction.

“You are such a baby, it is not that bad.”

Without hesitation, he gulps down all the wine that was left over. His pale cheeks grow pink from the alcohol, and of course, you can’t help but point it out.

“You’re blushing, you know that?”

“So what? At least I can handle my alcohol.”

Suddenly, it’s not so funny anymore.

“Hey, I can handle it just fine!”

He chuckles quietly, gazing into your eyes. His stare is so intense that you grow silent and still. The effects of the wine are now messing with your head. Your eyesight grows fuzzy and your muscles feel heavier.

You can’t help but stare at him, he’s so handsome it’s unreal. The tension in the room thickens. Fyodor reaches up to gently brush your hair behind your ear. You gasp. His touch is electrifying. It feels like your skin is on fire where his fingers brushed against the shell of your ear.

“Is something wrong, dear?”

Your eyes widen at the pet name. Were you really close enough to be this affectionate? It felt too intimate, it felt wrong. You look around the empty room, suddenly feeling guilty. What are you even doing here? You’re not supposed to be here, you don’t belong. You’ve never belonged anywhere. Not at home with your mother, and especially not in a place so sacred.

Fyodor places a hand on your shoulder, making you flinch.

“What is wrong?”

Shaking your head, you sigh softly.

“Nothing… I just…”

You pause for a few seconds, trying to articulate your thoughts. Fighting against the haze of the alcohol, your tongue feeling heavy in your mouth, making you slur your words.

“I shouldn’t be here.”

When you finally look back at Fyodor, he looks concerned. There’s something so angelic about him that it’s hard to not immediately lean in and kiss him. He looks genuinely confused, as if its unheard of for you to be undeserving.

“Why is that?”

You hide your face with your hands, sheepish and uncomfortable.

“I’m not a good follower of god… I… I don't belong here.”

Fyodor takes a step forward, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. It feels too close, but instead of shaking it off and backing away, you let him.

“Come on, let us sit down.”

He leads you over to sit on the stairs in the altar.

“Dear… Why do you not think you belong?”

You pause. Can you even admit this? This is wrong. You have thought worse things and he knows it, but this is different. This time it involves him.

“I’m a sinner…”

He looks at you like you’re stupid.

“So is everyone.”

This is so frustrating. He doesn’t understand.

“Fyodor… Do you ever think we’re too close?”

“Why would I think that?”

Your hands clench, grabbing onto the skirt of your dress.

“You’re a priest… you should act like it.”

At that, Fyodor's eyes narrow. He takes offense to the suggestion that he isn’t acting in a godly manner.

“Explain yourself.”

His tone is sharp, he’s clearly unhappy because of you. You grow nervous at his anger, fidgeting with the sleeve of your jacket.

“I just mean… I don’t mean to offend you or anything… but you called me ‘dear’ and I feel like we’re getting too close…”

He still seems peeved that you would suggest he isn’t doing his duties properly, but his gaze softens a great deal.

“I see… Well, you do not have to worry about that. We are friends, are we not? In fact, I am your only friend.”

You nod. It felt embarrassing to have him casually talk about how lonely you are. You really rely on him for everything at this point.

With everything finally calming down, you both sit silently, looking out at the dark empty church. It isn’t awkward. Fyodor is someone whose presence you can enjoy even when you’re not talking.

Slowly, you both grow closer and closer. Maybe leaning your head on his shoulder is too intimate but you can’t seem to care anymore. Fyodor doesn’t seem to mind and the wine is messing with your sense of balance and judgment.

Fyodor’s hand slowly slides from your shoulder down to your waist, pulling you closer. You suddenly feel too warm in your own skin. You feel restless but you don't dare move from where you are.

Looking up at him, you notice he’s already looking down at you, studying your expression, looking at your features so lovingly. The tension in the room rises. You don’t know what to do, but you don’t want to look away. You can’t let this opportunity pass.

“Fedya…”

Your voice sounds much softer and weaker than you thought it would. It’s clear you're nervous, even to yourself, and especially to someone as receptive and smart as Fyodor. Your heart is racing. You can barely even speak. A warm, heavy feeling pools in your stomach.

“Yes, dear?”

The pet name makes you feel warmer and causes your skin to prickle. You sit up, you’re so close now that his breath is fanning over your face.

“Fedya… I… love you.”

Those words hang in the air, echoing throughout the vacant room. Fyodor doesn’t react. After a few seconds, his gaze travels down to your lips before looking back at your eyes again.

“I see…”

He looks away. Your stomach drops. This can’t be. Did you read things wrong? Why were you so stupid?? Your eyes are starting to water, even your nose is burning. This is so embarrassing. How could this happen??

“I am truly sorry… I-I think we had too much to drink.”

His voice is soft and understanding.

“I am a part of the clergy, we are not allowed to be in relationships.”

Despite the reasonable explanation, you feel upset. After all, emotions aren't rational are they? You can't even look at him anymore. The humiliation is too much.

“Please dear… It is not your fault, but the Lord comes first to me. I would never do anything to jeopardize my position.

He notices your expression and body language, pulling you into a hug. You can’t help but break down. The embarrassment and guilt finally catching up with you. You just wanted to be loved. Is that too much to ask? Even when you thought you had a connection, of course it had to be with a man who is unable to return those feelings.

“You are beautiful, you have a great personality. I am sure that one day, you will find someone who can love you back, but that person can not be me. With time, these feelings will pass.”

After a while of Fyodor comforting you and holding you close, you finally calm down. You both sit quietly. Even with the rejection fresh in your mind, even with your heart feels like it’s been beaten and abused, you can't find it in yourself to hate him. You should’ve known this would happen.

Fyodor and you sit silently. He reassures you that this has nothing to do with you, and after a while, he leaves. You sit alone in the dark empty church, feeling much more alone than when you first came in.

You decide you can’t just let your friendship with Fyodor wither away. So you stick around, still talking and enjoying each others company as always. When you next visit Fyodor's office, you notice his vase lacks the same bright white glowing roses. Instead, they have all wilted and dried up.

[crimeronan]

hey kitkat, if its not too much trouble, could you make a propaganda post for the silt verses? I've been seeing you talk about it a lot (i have spoilers marked dw) but im afraid to look up anything about it. is it horror? all i know about it is val <- horrible woman(?) so im intrigued. was wondering if it'd be possible for a silt verses post a la that trc post you made a while back

OH, ABSOLUTELY. i think about 95% of my followers have no idea what this media is about, so this ask is very exciting. i'll preface it by saying that i think it's edged out the dreamer trilogy for my favorite story Ever -- it's exactly on par with the first two books in terms of Reading My Heart Off The Page.

the premise:

the silt verses is a now-complete horror-tragedy narrative podcast set in a fantasy world that has many parallels to our own. this fantasy world is embroiled in late-stage corporate capitalism and is ravaged by the effects of colonialism, war, and oppression.

in this world, gods are created through sacrifice and belief. there are thousands of them, with thousands of individual religions.

the problem is that gods must be fed through human sacrifice. and if they aren't fed, they die.

and people are very invested in keeping their gods alive.

sacrifice is considered a necessary part of society, something that's as essential as breathing. the idea of simply not making sacrifices is considered a violent, radical, leftist anarchist position that is simply unsustainable. or so the state would have you believe!

but. SOME gods have been outlawed, and worshiping them WILL get you killed by the government.

the state says that it's because these gods are uniquely evil, and too dangerous or sadistic or wild to be fed.

in actuality, gods are outlawed when they don't serve the state or corporations' purposes. the question at the heart of the worldbuilding is always, "is Anything you've been told about the gods and the magic true? how much of this world is socially constructed? who benefits from the way things are?"

Metaphors Abound.

-

the cast:

the first season follows four key narrators; the second season introduces a fifth; the third a sixth.

-

carpenter - sister carpenter is an older woman who was born into an outlawed river-worshiping faith. she has seen her entire family murdered by the state, including her brother, parents, and grandmother. she briefly left the faith but returned to the parish because she had nowhere else to go; her relationship with her river and her church is complicated at best.

carpenter begins the series as a """devout""" disciple of the river parish. in actuality, her faith has been slipping for a Long Time. she's no longer certain that she loves this god she's been killing for for her entire life.

she begins the series investigating some unexplained "miracles," aka Deeply Fucking Horrific Murders, that appear to have been done by her god.

alongside her is brother faulkner.

-

faulkner - faulkner is a kid, somewhere around 19 or 20 years old when the story starts. he was NOT born into the river faith, but was instead called to it, back when he was still a rural farm boy living with his father and brothers. his first sacrifice was his brother, who he drowned on the farm. he later left home to find the parish.

faulkner has been with the parish for a pretty short period of time, but he truly IS a devout fanatic. because of this, he does not get along with carpenter. the two of them bicker a lot. carpenter thinks that faulkner is a stupid country bumpkin who's naive and full of starry-eyed optimism, and he annoys the piss out of her.

faulkner is not a dumb country bumpkin.

but he knows how he sounds and he knows how he looks. so he plays the part of the starry-eyed child with ease.

he is planning to kill carpenter.

he knows she's slipping, he knows she's losing her faith, and he wants her dead. he's been asked to keep an eye on her because the parish knows she's slipping, too.

uh oh!

-

hayward - investigating officer hayward is a police officer in the religious homicides division of the greater glottage police force. this police force has jurisdiction over outlawed gods. hayward's job is to find outlawed gods, arrest/kill their worshipers, and report them to the government.

he is the main antagonist of season one. crucially, he's a Good Cop - he's friendly, affable, funny and likable. he's kind of a dickhead bastard, but in the way that the protagonists of Cop Tv Shows (TM) often are. he offers to "help" the people he's arresting. he's good at playing the role of a good guy who just needs to uphold the status quo for the good of society.

but. he is, first and foremost, a cop. and the narrative has a Lot to say about cops. and about other people whose job is to Enforce The Law.

so. don't think that him being a Good Cop means that he's Actually a good guy or that he's not dangerous to the protagonists. Hoo Boy.

-

paige - paige duplass is a corporate boardroom executive who works for a marketing firm that creates gods. her job is to do all the marketing and branding for new corporate mascots. what does the god look like? how does the worship work? how are the sacrifices made?

but her company's profits are waning. and they need to return value to the shareholders.

so. they're going to kill their employees.

not paige, of course! she's a highly valued member of the team. she just has to keep everyone calm and be a kind, upbeat manager while the Layoffs approach. everything is fine, everyone. we aren't going to kill you :) don't worry :) just keep smiling :)

the horror of this gives her a crisis of conscience; after all the murder goes down, she leaves to go on a long drive.

which becomes longer still when she's taken hostage by carpenter and faulkner.

-

shrue - season two introduces shrue, a spineless liberal politician who runs on a """left-wing""" platform but really could not care less about anything except polling numbers. they're willing to do rotten, ugly propagandist things for their campaign -- including killing the river god. and all of its followers. for the good PR! :)

not great news for carpenter, faulkner, or their people.

but then shrue experiences Actual Violence up close for the first time. and it Shakes Them To Their Core.

and, well. suddenly they're not so comfortable being a spineless liberal politician anymore.

too bad they've locked themselves into their role and cannot fucking escape it!!

-

val - introduced in season three, VAL is the saint of a god of liars, purposefully created by the government for use as a weapon. she is the remnants of a woman who killed herself to serve her country. she does not remember who she is or what else she wanted, aside from her mother's approval.

as the saint of a god of liars, whatever VAL says becomes true..... as long as someone is there to listen. you're a loyal soldier? no, you died of a tumor as a child. you're a politician begging for mercy for the sake of your infant child? no, your baby has an insatiable taste for flesh and ate your sorry ass. etc

she's a monster and a sadist; she enjoys killing people to try to fill the emptiness in her. she is in terrible pain all the time and does not understand why. and she is becoming increasingly disillusioned and sick with herself, the government she serves, and the Utter Pointlessness of all this systemic violence.

but how do you break a cycle when you Are the cycle?? how do you get better?? how do you change anything??

much to consider.

-

overall, it's as close to a perfect story as it gets imo. literally every detail is carefully, painstakingly chosen to further the themes, arcs, characterization, etc. the plotting is suspenseful, the horror is Deeply Fucking Scary, the storylines are gutwrenching, the voice acting is spine-chilling, and the characters are So Fucking Compelling.

also, i get frustrated by representation-first fiction recs, but if you get this far and want to know: it's Deeply queer. faulkner, paige, and shrue are all trans (shrue is they/them, paige is a post-transition trans woman, faulkner is a trans guy who's recently started T). carpenter is aroace, there's casual representation and normalization of trans n gay people throughout the ensemble cast.

and more importantly, it's just. So Damn Good.

@valtsv @deermouth you two are the other main silt verses bloggers i know, so if you want a pitch for your followers.... here is this!

[areyoudreaminof]

Worth The Wait: An Elucien Week Playlist

Happy Day One of @elucienweekofficial! Enjoy this playlist of songs about fate, love, and patience that I hope inspire you!

Tracklist and lyrics behind the cut!

Love Letter From the Sea to the Shore-Delaney Bailey

Cause you hold in my tide I would die a thousand times Just to see you in another life I think I loved you in a thousand ways 'Cause you remain stagnant on my trouble days No matter how far I drift away You'll be there when I come back one day

Silence-Before You Exit

Talking Why's everyone always talking? Noise in my head, but it’s nonsense I can't feel nothing Guarded Don't overthink how we started Knew from the second you walked in This could be something Everybody’s looking for a love to start a riot But every time I look in your eyes The world gets quiet

Comin' Around Again-Amber Marks

So let's see where the night goes Maybe love's comin' around again

Why Don't You-Cleo Sol

Why don't you just let go And quiet down your ego Don't complain about finance I know your daddy weren't a real man Go ahead and live your dreams To me you're stronger than a whole team

I wanna see you smile Even when you think I'm angry It's true it might take a while But it's between you and me

Homemade Holiday-babygirl

Homemade holiday Catching rays, wearing shades Inside, dead of the night Who needs pearly gates? You’re the same, hear your name I die, bye bye

Forever & Always-Zeph

Honey, now we're older, but we'll never age I don't think my love will ever start to fade My attachment to you isn't subject to change My heart's yours forever and always

The Day That I Met You-Matilda Mann

But then you called, only to say You'll never love somebody else this way And though I'm still battered and bruised I forgave the world the day that I met you

The people talk, it's background noise I don't wanna hear nobody else's voice There's somethin' sweet about your scent It's like lavender came and never left

Garden's Heart-Natasha Khan & Jon Hopkins

I hear a whisper in the trees Where I am you and you are me You need to find a way back here Remember what I said: The space that is in between You have to fight it

Love Sneakin’ Up on You-Bonnie Raitt

Fever turns To cold, cold sweat thinkin about things we ain't done yet Tell me now I gotta know, do you feel the same? Do you just light up at the mention of my name?

Till Forever Falls Apart-Ashe & FINNEAS

Out on our own Dreamin' in a world that we both know Is out of our control But if shit hits the fan, we're not alone

Jupiter-Flower Face

We can leave right now, never come back home You're all I need Forget everything that we used to be Take me to another place, fly me up to Jupiter We can run away But I'll always feel at home with you

Lucky For You- Novo Amor & Gia Margaret

Lucky for you I’m nothing without The thought of starting all my days With the mornings when I see you I’m bored of staring at my face Every morning when I need you

coffee-Miguel

Old souls we found a new religion Now I'm swimming in that sin, baptism Peach colored skies we feel the sunrise Two lost angels discover salvation Don't you wish we could run away now?

Sardine Song-Lav

If I had a home It would be our tin can Caught in your red hair Breathing in salt and making you swear Please Who do I have to be? I'll dip myself in honey Climb into the spaces in between your teeth

Ends of the Earth-Lord Huron

To the ends of the earth, would you follow me? There's a world that was meant for our eyes to see To the ends of the earth, would you follow me?

Unicron Loev-Raleigh Ritchie

There’s something about you That takes my blues away Life’s nothing without you I can’t get through the days I’ll never be cynical ‘Cause you wouldn’t have it I believe in miracles, I believe in magic

Morning Dove-Genevive Stokes

We don't talk much When I'm around you I'm a statue When you're running I can't catch you But it's not time There's a way to your defiance so I'll wait to break thе silence

I'm On Fire-Bruce Springsteen

Sometimes it's like someone took a knife, baby, edgy and dull And cut a six-inch valley through the middle of my skull At night, I wake up with the sheets soakin' wet And a freight train runnin' through the middle of my head Only you can cool my desire Oh, oh, oh, I'm on fire

Worth the Wait-Kali Uchis

Most people don't know how to love, that's why they're empty Nothing will ever be enough, that's why they envy Gotta be careful with my heart because I love deep

How Deep is Your Love?-PJ Morton

How deep is your love? I really need to learn 'Cause we're livin' in a world of fools Breaking us down, when they all should let us be We belong to you and me

Taglist: @born-to-riot @asnowfern @cauldronblssd @dawneternal @foundress0fnothing @goddess-aelin @goghwilde @kataravimes-of-the-shire @iftheshoef1tz @acourtofladydeath @chunkypossum @amandapearls @climbthemountain2020 @popjunkie42 @queercontrarian @rosanna-writer @tunaababee @temperedink @lainalit @xtaketwox @cursebrkr @octobers-veryown @separatist-apologist @separatist-apologist @the-lonelybarricade @jules-writes-stories @velidewrites @melting-houses-of-gold @panicatthenightcourt

[themidnightcrimson]

religion ࿏ wm

summary: in which the new reverend at your hometown church wants to give you a lesson on sexual immorality.

words: 5.6K

warnings: pastor!wanda, fem!reader, oral (r giving), fingering (r receiving), slight non-con/dubcon, manipulation, dumbification, degradation, religion, lots of bible verses, rip my religious trauma, spank me with a bible, fuck me with the crucifix, yes lord in wanda's name we pray amen

this post is for 18+ only. minors dni.

masterlist.

A few women in the church had put together a potluck after one Sunday sermon, or a “covered dish supper” as the elders liked to call them. You remembered loving those potlucks as much as you loved church itself when you were a child. As the years went by and your worldview got bigger and your mind opened up to the broader possibilities that this was not what life should be like, you scarcely ever went to church.

Upon moving away for college, the idea of church was a laughable thing to you. You could hardly even remember what the rituals were anymore, or the verses, or the hymns. It wasn’t necessarily a hatred or aversion, but rather a bitter distaste in your mouth when reminded of how indoctrinated you and your whole community were into the church. You just weren’t religious anymore, and you preferred living life that way, though it took years of untying the knots of theological principals and “truths” from your mind.

When you were back in your hometown for a visit, your mother nearly fell over at the sight of the little rainbow bracelet on your wrist. After a very heated conversation where you threw in her face the fact that you had been with multiple women in college, she seemed to give up and leave the conversation alone—until the next morning she asked you to come to church with her.

“Really? You think going to church is going to reverse the way that I was born? You expect me to just pray the gay away?!” you yelled at her, but she was calm. She said that was not her intentions, but rather they were to simply have you come see everyone you grew up around. She said that there was a new pastor there who was younger and could relate better to youth without that kind of feigned wise judgment that the other pastor, a wobbly old man, used.

You fought tooth and nail against your mom in a thirty-minute argument until finally you were just too tired to fight against her anymore. You felt how you did in high school—getting lectured by your mom for skipping church only a single Sunday, being placed under her godly ray of obstinance that so easily drained you until you just couldn’t fight anymore. She forced you to wear one of your church dresses from high school and practically shoved you into the car that Sunday morning. You were just looking forward to the potluck afterward.

As your mom pulled the car into the church’s parking lot, you realized that they had done renovations on the sanctuary since you had been gone. It was bigger now, with huge mosaic windows facing the front and a new pure white cross on top of the spire, making the triangular building look even taller and more pointed than it already was.

“This new pastor a millionaire or something?” you mumbled as you unbuckled your seatbelt.

“No, she’s just so brilliant and amazing that she’s attracted dozens of new parishioners since she came,” she explained. “You’ll see. She really has a way of connecting with young people, especially young women. I couldn’t tell you how many girls your age have joined in the past year!”

Crinkling your eyebrows, you stepped out of the car and took a breath of fresh air. Even in the parking lot, you could pick up that familiar smell of wood and old books. “The pastor is a woman?” you asked, remembering only male pastors. Although your denomination was open towards female pastors, the general misogyny of your small-town Southern community had always favored men, of course.

“Uh huh,” your mother said as she stepped out of the car and fixed her hair in the wind, walking over to you and gently grabbing your arm suddenly. “Y/n, I should probably let you know… I did call Reverend Maximoff last night and told her a little about your…situation.”

Your eyes widened as you stared at her incredulously. “What?!” Had your mother really gone and called the local pastor to tell her that her daughter was gay?

“Look, it’s important for a pastor to know their parishioners’ personal lives in order to truly connect with them. I’m not saying I asked her to… pray the gay away or whatever you said, but I just let her know that you were having some…sexually immoral feelings. She’s helped many young women here with the same problem.”

“Excuse me?!” you exclaimed, jerking your arm away from your hand. An old couple walking by glanced over at you, and you blushed and looked away, speaking quieter. “Why the hell would you tell some woman I don’t even know that I’m having sex with women?!”

“She’s not some woman, she’s an ordained minister of God!” your mother exclaimed. “She’s not going to drag you up in front of the church and hang you, for God’s sake! She was just concerned that you’re not living your life under the guidance of God and would be happy to give you a steering hand, that’s all! She didn’t even say anything about the gay part—just the promiscuity!”

Curse words formed on your lips, but you pursed them together, pushing past your mother and towards the church so you could get this thing over with. “Promiscuity my ass,” you muttered as you burst open the church doors, hit with that familiar old smell. It looked different now that it had been renovated, the ceiling and windows much taller and the carpet redone, but it was the same wooden pews you remembered as a child and the same large altar with a grand piano and steps for the choir.

You looked around at all the familiar townspeople sitting in the pews as the choir, dressed in their robes and holding their hymnals, made their way to the chancel in formation. You realized that your mother was right when she said that the church had grown—all of the pews were jammed full of people, except for a little spot near the front where there was enough room for two people to squeeze in. Feeling aggravated and brash, you stormed to the front and shimmied past the row of people to sit down in the empty spot, your mother scrambling down beside you.

“Please don’t be angry in the house of God,” she began.

You ignored her, looking around and seeing that there were groups of young women your age looking excitedly towards the altar, waiting for the pastor to come out. You assumed maybe the pastor had started a women’s group and was just mentoring the young women.

Reaching forward, you took the hymnal book sitting in the slot behind the pew in front of you, opening up its yellowed pages and flipping through. You could still remember some of the songs, but before you could read one, there was a hushing whisper among the congregation.

Glancing upwards, you saw Reverend Maximoff emanating from behind the altar, glancing out among the ground with a smile as she stepped to the front. You were shocked to see her—she was older than you, but not by too much. She had a youthful smile to her face and twinkling green eyes, her blonde hair cut right to the shoulders of the maroon robe and dark green stole she wore.

“Good morning, everyone,” she announced, her voice loud and confident. The church crowd silenced and gave their full attention to her. “Today we will start by worshiping the Lord our God with our choir’s beautiful voices, as well as your own.” Her Southern accent was feminine and airy with a cheerful tune to it, as if she was already singing by simply speaking. “Please turn to page 304 in your hymnals and stand to worship the Lord with us.”

The sound of people standing and pages turning filled your ears, and you found yourself flipping to the page and standing up along with everyone else, realizing that your muscle memory was still there. It felt odd being in that place again, viewing the solemnity and respect of religion in a community sense.

The choir started, and then the rest of the church joined in, singing the hymn in unison. You didn’t sing at first, until your mother’s elbow stabbed your ribcage, so you quietly mumbled the words.

Glancing up, you watched Reverend Maximoff singing at her stand, face turned towards the choir and grinning at them as the words formed on her lips. You had to admit that for a pastor, she was beautiful and charming. Her smile was nearly mesmerizing as her head slowly turned towards the congregation in appreciation for their singing, eyes casting over the pews of people until they flickered near you. Realizing that you were staring, you quickly glanced down at the book before she could make eye contact with you. Feeling suddenly nervous, you mindlessly stared at the book until you figured she would be looking somewhere else, looking back up only to find that she was looking right at you.

All you could hear were the choral praises of God as the Reverend’s eyes bore into yours. The smile on her face faded a little, her focus zoning in on you through the crowd. You remembered what your mother had told her about you, the thought bringing a sickly blush of shame to your cheeks. Why was she staring at you? Was she judging you? Thinking about what a dirty sinner you were? You couldn’t take it, but you couldn’t look away either.

Finally, the song ended, and she broke eye contact.

“Thank you so much. You may please be seated.”

The crowd sat down and put their hymnals away as the choir did the same, and once everyone was finally still and quiet, the Reverend opened her Bible and started flipping through pages to find notes for her sermon.

“Today, people, we will be talking about the one thing we think about almost all of the time—our bodies.” Your teeth ached as you braced yourself for whatever religious bullshit was about to be shoved down your throat. “Our bodies—whether it be our health, our appearance, the work we can do with them, what we eat, what we drink—our bodies remain a constant thought in our mind.”

She stepped out from behind the stand, walking to the front steps of the altar and peering out at the crowd with her luring eyes like a bird.

“God tells us in His Word that our bodies are a temple for the Holy Spirit. You see, we do not own our flesh and blood. Our body is a sacrament to Him in everything we do with it. Our divine purpose on this Earth is to use our bodies the Lord has given us as a vessel for the Spirit, to spread His Holy Word. If our bodies are unholy, or if we use them to transgress against His Word, we are violating His purpose for them.”

As much as you wanted to dissociate and just block out whatever she was saying, a strange curiosity overcame you that kept your eyes trained on her as she stepped down the altar steps to get even closer to the crowd, holding the Bible in her hands.

“There are many ways that we sin with our bodies every day. When your mouth curses, when your hands do not pray to Him, when your feet lead you to unholy places. One of the most extreme ways that we go against the Holy Spirit within us is when we commit the very sin that seems to have a grasp on the youth today—sexual immorality.”

There it was. You bit the inside of your cheek and took a deep breath, trying to control the anger within you.

“I want y’all to turn to one of my favorite passages in the Word,” she said, turning to walk towards the other side of the pew as she waited for people to turn to the verse. “1 Corinthians 6:13.”

You wouldn’t dare to pick up a Bible. You crossed your arms and ignored your mother’s urging glances as the Reverend started to read.

“You say, food for the stomach and the stomach for the food, and God will destroy them both. The body, however, is not meant for sexual immorality but for the Lord, and the Lord for the body,” she called out, her voice echoing off the walls of the large room. You watched her, her back turned from you, as she paced the other side of the room before turning, walking towards your side of the pew with her eyes trained on the book. “By his power God raised the Lord from the dead, and he will raise us also. Do you not know that your bodies are members of Christ himself? Shall I then take the members of Christ and unite them with a prostitute? Never!”

You rolled your eyes and rubbed your forehead, wishing you could escape this cultish experience. Still, you watched her, the way her lips formed the words, the way her face looked pointed down to the book, eyelashes dancing across her cheeks as she read the words.

“But whoever is united with the Lord is one with him in spirit.” She turned down the center aisle, and as she got closer to your pew, you started to shift uncomfortably in your seat. Suddenly, her eyes lifted from the pages and pierced you sideways. You felt frozen under her stare as she discreetly eyed you, not even having to look at the page to recite, “Flee from sexual immorality. All other sins a person commits are outside the body, but whoever sins sexually, sins against their own body.”

Her voice was lower now, serious and clear. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from hers as she slowly floated past you, her robe wafting around her ankles. You noticed the way her svelte hands held the Bible, a single digit lifting to flick the page. You could’ve sworn you saw a smirk on her lips as she finally looked away from you and kept preaching, walking down the aisle.

Finally, you could breathe. Surprise filled you as you realized that you had started sweating—were you really so demonic that you were sweating in the pews of a church? But why did she look right at you as she read that particular verse? Was she targeting you because of what your mother had said?

You could barely listen to the rest of the sermon as she talked about sexual immorality and fleeing from it by turning your mind and body towards the Lord.

At the potluck, you couldn’t help but find your eyes drifting to wherever Reverend Maximoff was in the room. Potlucks were always held in a building connected to the sanctuary where they had special events and meetings. She drifted around the room chatting with different members of the congregation, her eyes somehow always finding yours right as you were looking at her. You would blush and quickly look away, redirecting your focus on what the old lady was talking to you and your mom about.

You didn’t realize that she was waiting for you to be alone. Finally, you left your mom and the lady to go to the table filled with homemade desserts, browsing around for something chocolate.

A hand on your lower back made you gasp and turn. You were shocked to see Reverend Maximoff standing close beside you, still dressed in her robes. “Y/n,” she greeted you with a pearly smile, her earrings dangling from her ears. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. Your mom has talked about you so much since I’ve been here.”

“Oh,” you said with a polite smile. “Has she?”

“Yes,” she smoothly answered, stepping even closer to you. “I’m very glad you came today. I must tell you that the Lord has speaking to my heart about you quite a lot.”

“Oh yea?” you said disinterestedly, more focused on the way her eyes kept darting down your body, trying to pinpoint why she was ogling you.

She tilted her head and closed her smile, looking thoughtful for a brief moment before saying, “You know, I was hoping you would have a session with me here sometime, before you go back to college. I would love to talk more with you and get to know you. You were at this church long before I was, and I would love to give you some heavenly advice on whatever is pressing at your heart.”

Your eyebrows rose. “Nothing’s pressing at my heart but my ribcage.”

She giggled, and it surprised you. “No, there’s always something for pretty young women like you.” You flushed a little at her choice of words. “God has a plan for you, y/n, but I get the feeling you may need some guidance to get you there.”

“You get these feelings a lot?” you droned, picking up a brownie from the table and taking a bite, keeping eye contact with her. You weren’t going to let this pastor try to get her godly claws in you.

Her eyes flickered to your mouth as you took a bite of the brownie, her irises darkening. “Come see me after the Wednesday night sermon. Maybe…” She reached forward and took the half-eaten brownie from your hand, her fingers grazing yours. “I can teach you to use your mouth to praise the Lord.”

She put the half of the brownie into her mouth and chewed it with a smirk. Frozen and confused, you stared at her as she put her thumb in her mouth to suck off the crumbs, winking and floating away from you. Your entire body went hot as her words folded over in your mind, as well as the sight of her eating the brownie you had just had between your teeth.

Normally, you would’ve declined any invitation to have personal sessions with a Reverend, but the brief interaction you had with Reverend Maximoff had you offput and curious. Your mother almost cried in relief when you told her that you would be going to the Wednesday night sermon as well as staying behind to speak with the Reverend.

Wednesday’s sermon went the same as Sunday’s. There were less people there that night, naturally, and although Wednesday night sermons were usually shorter than Sunday’s, it seemed like Reverend Maximoff was antsy to be finished with it. She spoke faster with less focus, ending the sermon after only an hour. Your mother excitedly hurried away with the rest of the congregation, and you anxiously stayed in the pew as the Reverend talked with some lingering people until finally she ushered them all out, closing and locking the church doors behind the last person.

You turned your head and watched her as she sighed, holding onto the doors for a moment before turning around to look at you, clasping her hands at her front.

“Y/n,” she began lowly, turning her face down slightly as her eyes trained on you, her feet slowly leading her up the aisle towards you. “I was so glad when I saw you here tonight.”

“Well,” you began, fiddling with your thumbs. “I didn’t have anything else to do tonight.”

It was only partially true. You could have caught up with your old friends or went out to dinner or even just stayed home and watched TV, but something lured you into that church that night, and you felt it had something to do with the way she predatorily eyed you as she neared you.

She said nothing as she came closer, sucking her cheeks as you could see words forming in her brain. “Keep watch over yourselves and all the flock of which the Holy Spirit has made you overseers. Be shepherds of the church of God, which he bought with his own blood.” A smirk drew itself on her lips. “Acts 20:28.”

You just raised your eyebrows and nodded impressively. “You have the Bible memorized. Good for you.”

Ignoring your sly comment, she spoke, “It means that, as the Reverend of this church, it is my duty to be a shepherd.”

“That is what the verse says.”

Her eyes narrowed at you, her lips parted at distaste of your attitude. “What did I tell you about your mouth?” she snapped, her voice edged and cutting as it echoed loudly off the walls of the church, reminding you how alone you were with her. You stiffened in the pew.

She neared you, resting a hand on the edge of the pew as she stood before you. “As a shepherd, I must keep watch of my flock. I must be aware of them all the time—their lives, feelings, behaviors, their walk with God.” She paused, her tongue settling over her lower lip as she tilted her head. “Tell me, what path do you walk?”

You blinked, lips opening and closing as you tried to understand what she was asking.

“Do you walk the ways of the wicked? The ways of Satan himself?” Without breaking eye contact, she lowered and sat on the pew beside you. “Does your body sin against the Spirit?”

Looking down, you shook your head and laughed. “I know my mom told you. Believe me when I say I have no inclination to your religion, and I never will. I don’t need to be scrutinized or judged.”

“Your mother was only acting as a shepherd by leading you to me, and I thank her for that,” she remarked, her eyes glancing down at your dress where the ends stopped at your mid-thigh, leaving your legs bare. “I fear you are not treating your body as the temple of God it is. You have tainted it with your sexual proclivities, haven’t you, y/n?”

Your face started to burn at her outright words. “Excuse me?”

“Tell me, how do you prefer to use your body? Like a whore? Like a destitute slut?”

Ears burning at the sound of her husky voice, your face burned even hotter. The shock of her words left you speechless and utterly confused as to how a Reverend would speak to someone that way.

“You can tell me, y/n. Only God is watching us.” She reached forward suddenly, placing her hand on your thigh and sliding it upwards. The touch startled you and made you jump to your feet.

She looked up at you with a twisted smirk as you started to tremble with nervousness. “What kind of a Reverend are you?”

“One who will do anything to guide her people to God,” she lilted, standing up and reaching for you again. You backed away, bumping into the wooden back of the pew and circling around it to get away from her. You jumped up the steps of the altar.

“What are you doing?!”

“So Christ himself gave the apostles,” she began in her pastor voice she used during the sermon, circling the pew to saunter towards you again, stalking like a predator, “the prophets, the evangelists, the pastors and teachers, to equip his people for works of service, so that the body of Christ may be built up.” She took a slow step up the altar, grinning devilishly. “Ephesians 4:11-12.” She lowered her chin. “I can help you restore your body’s temple. I can sanctify you, make you whole again in the eyes of the Lord.”

Your heartbeat fluttered at the way she was seductively eyeing you, sauntering up the steps, the sultry and sensual tone in her voice. You let her come near you and place a hand on your waist that made you shiver all over.

Whispering, she said, “As God’s apostle, I offer you a direct line to worship Him and beg for forgiveness.” Her other hand softly cupped your chin, feeling the blushing skin here. Her thumb grazed over your lower lip, her dilated eyes drinking up your mouth like thick wine, and she recited, “May my prayer be set before you like incense; may the lifting up of my hands be like the evening sacrifice.”

The verse burned in your ears—it was one you had memorized for Sunday school so many years ago and somehow still subconsciously remembered. You whispered, “Psalms 141:2.”

Her grin widened. “Good girl.” She licked her lips, thumb still grazing your own. “From the fruit of their mouth a person’s stomach is filled; with the harvest of their lips they are satisfied. The tongue has the power of life and death, and those who love it will eat its fruit. Proverbs 18:20-21.”

It became hard to breathe when two of her fingers slipped through your lips and sunk slowly over your tongue.

“What goes into someone’s mouth does not defile them, but what comes out of their mouth, that is what defiles them. Matthew 15:11,” she recited, her own lips parting in a sigh as she slid her fingers further into your mouth.

A soft noise escaped your throat as you let her feel your mouth, your legs becoming weak. Her grip on your waist tightened when you flicked your tongue between her fingers and closed your lips, sucking dutifully on them. She jutted her lower teeth in desire, stepping so close to you that there was no room to breathe. Your skin felt hot all over, and you became suddenly aware of the cross hanging at the front of the altar, as if it were burning into your back.

The Reverend licked the back of her teeth, eyes trained on her fingers disappearing into your mouth as she whispered, “Shall you use your tongue to praise the Lord our God?”

A dirty sucking sound escaped your mouth as you sucked her fingers, and you were so under her trance, her beautiful green eyes, the way she was so enamored with your mouth, that you eagerly nodded around her fingers.

A half smile curled on her open lips as she slid her fingers out of your mouth, placing a hand on your shoulder and harshly pushing you down. Your knees hit the velvet red steps of the altar as Reverend Maximoff, standing on the step below you, placed one leg on the upper step and started to lift up her robe. You kneeled, watching in all of God’s glory, with the church’s mosaic windows behind her, as the Reverend lifted up her maroon robes and bunched them with one hand at her hips, exposing her bare pussy. With one foot on the step below your knees, and the other foot beside your knees, she tilted open her thigh and placed a hand on the back of your head.

You shivered at the feeling of her fingers in your hair as she pushed your head towards her, bucking her hips. You were filled with pulsing desire as you placed your hands gently on her hips and let her draw your mouth towards her, opening your lips and finding her slick folds. Your tongue ran over her slit, and you moaned at her taste, at how she was so wet that her juices already covered your lips.

Reverend Maximoff sighed, leaning her head back as you found her clit and started to lap at it. “Oh, God!” she exclaimed, pushing her hips towards your face as you suckled on her clit.

You could hardly keep up with her as she pushed your head and bucked her hips at the same time, forcing her clit onto your tongue. Your mouth involuntarily closed when one particular thrust of your head was too rough, to which she snapped, “Open your mouth! Proverbs 31:26—She speaks with wisdom, and faithful instruction is on her tongue.” Her sentence ended with a piercing moan as you opened your mouth wider for her and let her fuck it as she pleased.

Whining from the force, you furiously tried to pleasure her—as much as you could with the way she was practically pleasuring herself with your mouth like it was a toy. You melted at the sounds of her moans and gasps that echoed in the church, at the way that you were kneeling on the altar with your head between her legs, at the way her hand was tangled in your hair. Her clit tangibly throbbed on your tongue as her hips thrusted harder, her moans rising in pitch.

“Oh, God! Oh, God!” she screamed as she came, grinding her clit against your tongue and grabbing your hair so hard that your scalp ached. You struggled to breathe, eyes tearing up from the pressure on your face, listening to her catch her breath and loosen her grip on your hair. Finally, she moved away from you, dropping her robe back down her ankles. You were panting, lips puffy and red and covered in her wetness, eyes glistening as you stared up at her, drunk with lust. She grinned, biting her lip. “You serve the Lord well. Come.”

She offered out her hands, and you took them, letting her help you to her feet and guide you to the front pew. She sat down, keeping hold of your hands, and pulled you down so you straddled her lap. She sighed, her eyes looking everywhere at you except your face.

Her fingers crawled to the straps of your dress, slowly tugging them down your bare shoulders. She recited, “How beautiful you are and how pleasing, my love, with your delights.” Her voice was quiet in the silent room, burning at your ears as you tried to stay focused with the taste of her still on your lips. Her eyes sunk down your chest as she started to pull the dress down your breasts. “I said, I will climb the palm tree; I will take hold of its fruit.”

She tugged the fabric of your dress over your breasts, exposing them as they bounced over the fabric. Taking a sharp breath, she drew one hand to your tit and squeezed the soft flesh there, earning a gasp from you.

“May your breasts be like clusters of grapes on the vine, the fragrance of your breath like apples, and your mouth like the best wine.” Her eyes, which were trained on your exposed chest in front of her, flickered up to your face, catching the gloss of her cum on her lips. She raised her other hand and spread her fingers over your lips, smearing the wetness across your mouth. “May the wine go straight to my beloved, flowing gently over lips and teeth.”

You started to throb at her touches, at her words, at her inebriated eyes. Her hand that groped your breast fell down to your thighs, urging the end of your dress upwards as it slid up your skin.

“Song of Songs 7:6-9,” she whispered with finality as she danced her fingers up your inner thigh, and you watched her hand disappear under your skirt. “Is your body a temple of God, y/n?” she asked you as she parted your panties with her fingers.

You nodded desperately, so turned on by what she had done to your mouth, so dumbed down by the verses and the touches and the taste of her. She bit her lip and moaned as her fingers touched your slick cunt, grazing over your clit before two of them sunk into your hole.

Head falling back, you grabbed at the shoulders of her robe and whined as she plunged her fingers inside you, your wetness already making a dirty squelching noise as she pumped inside of you.

“I’m not so sure it is,” she husked as she wrapped an arm around your hip to steady your bucking motions. “You’ve been a dirty girl, y/n. You’ve used your body to sin against His Word. My hand of God can only do so much—you need to beg for his forgiveness.” An evil smirk lined her lips.

You could barely hear what she was saying as she fucked her fingers into you, your hips moving up and down in desperate search for more of her. She thumbed at your clit as she waited for you to answer, leaning forward to press wet kisses on your nipples that bounced with your motions.

“Please, God,” you began shakily, “Forgive me.”

“That’s not good enough,” she tutted, suddenly pushing a third finger inside you. Your mouth fell open at the stretch and the burst of sensations that exploded when she curled her fingers inside you. “Beg Him. Beg Him to forgive you for being a dirty whore.”

“Ah!” you exclaimed when she bit your nipple, jamming her fingers into you harshly. “P-Please, God,” you began breathlessly, squeezing the Reverend’s shoulders as pressure built inside you. “Please forgive me.”

“Forgive you for?” she urged, biting your other nipple and sucking on it.

You tried to remember exactly what she had said as your orgasm threatened to impend upon you. “F-For, for being a dirty whore!” The sound of your own voice saying those words pushed you over the edge, your inner walls clenching around the Reverend’s fingers. Your hips rocked hard against her hand as she watched in pure desire and delight, grinning when you finally came down from your climax.

“Very good, my child,” she soothed as you panted, her fingers still inside you. You trembled on her lap, seeing that your wetness had dripped onto her hand and down her maroon robe. “The Lord our God is a merciful one. He forgives you.” She played with the end of your dress, moving her fingers inside you and seeing just what a mess she had made of you. She looked up at your beat red face and teary eyes, her eyes alight with an idea. “Have you ever been baptized?”

[0v3rcast]

Self Aware Wuthering Waves Ideas:

Feel free to use them. Just tell me if you do (so I can read your work). This will be a list of random idea bits. Spoilers ahead.

The creator of the world (you) is called either the Metronome [providing the backbone of existence by 'keeping time' with your metaphysical heartbeat in the same way as the device does in music] or the First Howl [the birth of existence in deafening sound, with the resonance of your voice shattering unreality to make everything].

You loved music in your first life, and sound-based powers were the first thing you'd unlocked with godly energy. You took a mortal body to walk among your creations and know them.

Your first body died during a disastrously failed peacetalk between two old-world nations, and the first Tacet Field grew from your blood. It's believed that the TDs are the world's rage at humankind for their actions manifested.

The Threnodians and Sentinels are made from your old body, though the parts have been long since warped by time and collected resonance.

The Threnodians have a core sound, a resonation of your dying moments. A gurgle, a gasp. Choking. Blood dripping. The strongest Threnodian is made from your final exhale of breath, and the strongest Sentinel is made from your final inhale of breath.

The reason you can collect so many TD echoes in the game is because it's you who is helping the Rover. They state it's a rare occurrence to get an echo normally in one of the quests - versus the Rover, who can get entire groups of them in a single fight if they're lucky.

Religious practices involving atonement for the guilt of humanity [your killers] are common, and in the most severe sects, some will go so far as to flagellate themselves or have a religious leader do it monthly.

TDs don't attack religious buildings constructed in your honor. They just take them over for themselves, half-understanding the significance and also liking the acoustics of the rooms.

Live music is always to be played at one of your temples. Since very little of the music you like is remembered this many years after your death, they're left to choose their own playlists.

In places without instruments, people use what they can to make noise, and there's a longstanding tradition of oral storytelling in the form of songs in places where people live.

It's believed that there's a sacred note or series of notes that you love dearly, based on a mistranslation of an old-world religious book from some abandoned religion.

The Rover and friends shouldn't be able to survive half the shit they do - you're giving them and others in the main story plot armor in the form of a nearly imperceptible sound that throws off aim and weakens the strength in muscles.

Full resurrection isn't possible for anyone else, so when you're reviving someone mid-fight, it's the equivalent of using smelling salts to wake someone up from a decapitation, but somehow it works.

Your reappearance in the world was first thought to be the release of some ancient Threnodian that was older than any known ones, or perhaps even the being that embodies the end of reality. Nah, s'just you, much to the relief and joy of humanity.

Sure, your powers are... dwindled, but you did un-mortis. That's fucking crazy.

Your avatar, the Rover, kicking Dreamless' ass and metaphorically skullfucking Ovathrax's attempted rematch was basically seen as a sign that you've mostly forgiven humanity for their mistake.

It's impossible for you to have a doppelganger, as the amount of resonance that's required to sustain your physical form (and is emanated by you) would reduce other people to a fucking pulp or shake their organs into mist inside their torsos.

You have no voice of your own when you go to Sol-3. You're like a TD, in the way that the only sounds you can make are sounds that you've heard and collected.

It's the one thing that's forever lost to you, and for weeks after your arrival, you sound like an EDM mashup as you try to speak to people but don't realize what you're saying is total nonsense and scrambled noises.

Early on, you can say intelligible things with enough effort, but it takes all your focus to string together even a handful of words. Sign language is a good friend to you in the early days, if you know it, and if you don't, they're happy to teach you.

People are deeply unsettled by your manner of speaking because sometimes you laugh, but it sounds like someone's spine breaking in multiple places, or you yawn, and it sounds like someone in a car crash.

You don't have any echoes when in the world. The TDs just want to hang out with you anyway.

Eventually, Outcasts find oldworld tech full of machined voices, and now you sound like Miku. Or like Microsoft Sam. Or multiple of them at once, making you seem to talk the way the Master from the original Fallout talks.

[weird-addiction]

God is Cruel to you, Not Me.

Pairing: House of the Dragon x Male!Targaryen!Reader x Mandela Catalogue Alt Gabriel

Genre: Crossover Angst

Warnings: self-hate, self-harming, guilt, mentions of childbirth death, masochistic tendencies, forcing religion onto someone, manipulation, happy ending for reader but everyone else suffers.

A/n: Final Repost of this. This is official post of this fic. @kawaiiskeletoneggsnerd

Westeros is known for having the religion of the Faith of the Seven, the Valyrians such as the Targaryens and Velaryons. They had the Valyrian gods of old to watch over them, it was always said the Targaryens were closer to gods than to men, they say that because of their dragons.

What if, it was not the dragons that made them closer to god, what if nothing made them closer to the gods.

Well. Except for one.

Y/n Targaryen.

He was known as the younger brother of Rhaenyra Targaryen, when he was born he took the life of both his mother Queen Aemma and his older twin Baelon Targaryen. When he was old enough to understand it, he began to blame himself for killing his mother as he made his way into the world.

The other thing about Y/n is that he was a dreamer, but not just any dreamer. His dreams were not of the future or about the present, it was about something completely different. The first one started at the age of seven, it was a dream of him standing in front of a tree. In front of the tree was a red apple, it was tempting to take a bite out of it. There was a faint voice pulling him ever so slightly forward, but he woke up before he could do anything.

Then the dreams would continue every night, every time he went into the dream he would walk a step forward, inching towards the apple.

Y/n would go to talk to his father about such dreams, Viserys did not fully understand his dreams as they were not the usual dreams of Targaryens that himself has experienced. During the days in the Red Keep, he would hear voices pulling him to places, sometimes he passed out and awake in his room with him on the floor.

He would pick the dagger his uncle Daemon had gifted him during his seventh name day, then begin to make marks on his arms just to relieve the pain he felt building up.

The scars would burn at first, but then he realized he liked the burns.

This was the way he grew up, soon it felt like normal, during nights sometimes he would wake up and see a tall figure at the foot of his bed. The figure was almost as tall as his room, it wore a white robe and had curly blonde hair. Sometimes, he could have sworn he saw wings.

Rhaenyra offered to take him to the sept to pray as to maybe to take his mind off things, but once Y/n even put one foot inside the sept he felt dizzy, like something was restraining him from going inside. He pushed back the feeling and continued in anyway.

“Even though our family worships the Valyrian gods, in Westeros we still have the Faith of the Seven. We should have both as we now live on these lands.” Rhaenyra said.

Y/n stayed silent before speaking, thinking over what he was going to say. “Are there…any other religions in Westeros?” His voice was soft as he turned to his sister.

“Not that I know of.” Rhaenyra then got into a prayer position, she gestured to Y/n to follow her actions.

She then began to pray under her breath, closing her eyes as she spoke to herself. Y/n also tried, but inside his head was something different, a different prayer was said.

‘Say it.’

“My lord, bless for all as I shall never stray. For my blood should be my own, no other gods shall see me bleed.” The words fell out of his lips so easily, he had no control of what he was even saying. And before he knew it, he was done.

And that is how many years passed, the years passed before his own eyes like a blur of colors. The prayer he continued to say over and over again every single night, the tragedies that befall on others, the drama within his family never got to him. It seemed like everyone else around him was miserable, it was he was the only one that was not punished by the gods.

On Driftmark, they were there to attend the funeral of Lady Laena Velayron. He stood next to his sister and his nephews, he kind of felt bored but he gave his best stance regardless. After the speech Vaemond gave, Y/n went over to his uncle Daemon.

“Uncle.” He said.

“Nephew.” Daemon replied back.

“I’m terribly sorry for your loss, I’m sure she was a good wife.”

A smile ghosted Daemon’s lips. “The gods can be cruel, especially to your father.”

Y/n wanted to laugh at that, he pushed back the feeling of it back down. “Yes, they have. Same with my sister. And even you, uncle.”

Daemon had confusion on his mind. “And you?” He asked his nephew.

“Not that I could think of. Nothing has been bad for me in recent years.” Y/n dipped his head slightly, looking out to the ocean.

“Nothing good ever comes to us Targaryens. Every time a Targaryen is born they say the gods flip a coin. If they flipped to the good side, the bad will still be present regardless.” Daemon downed his wine from his goblet in one go.

“What if the gods are just not cruel to me?” Y/n asked with curiosity, his eyes watched the tides below.

“Why don’t you ask your cunt of a step-mother? I am sure that she knows about the ‘higher authority’. Faith and all that.” Daemon lets out a smile, in which Y/n returns to him.

“I doubt she can help me.”

—---------

He went to bed early that night, having the same dream again but this time he was right in front of the apple.

Y/n picked it up without much of another thought, then he took a bite out of it. There was a tree that was planted in front of him, and behind it, a boney pale hand reached out to him, telling him to take its hand.

His body moved on his own as he took it, then everything faded to black.

Y/n felt someone shaking him awake, it was a guard telling him something had happened. He got dressed quickly and went downstairs. Turns out his half-brother Aemond had his eye taken out.

Once he saw how Aemond was sitting in a chair getting stitches, he wanted to care but he just really could not feel any empathy for him. Once again, such events passed with flying colors as before he realized he was already back home in King’s Landing.

His sister, Rhaenyra has distanced herself and has decided to move to Dragonstone. Y/n stayed as in King’s Landing.

Time passed quickly, and soon six years went by and his sister was back to defend Luke’s claim to Driftmark. He avoided the whole thing that was happening in the throne room, he wandered off to the sept again to pray.

Y/n did not know how much time had passed, but Alicent, his step mother, had come to see him in the sept.

“I did not know you came into the sept, I always thought you and Rhaenyra worshipped the Valyrian gods.” Alicent said, walking in while her arms held each other.

“I do not know anything about the Valyrian gods of old, nor do I know anything of the Faith of the Seven. I have never even once looked at the Seven-pointed-star.” He continued to stay in the prayer position of being on his knees.

“Then why do you come into the sept, there is no reason for you to pray to.”

Y/n stood up, his eyes held a dark glint in them. “There is someone else I pray to.”

“Y/n.” He heard being called, looking over to see his sister at the arched doorway of the sept. “Nyra..” He called his sister’s nickname as she walked over.

“I knew I would find you here, though you have told me you don’t know the faith. We worship the Valyrian gods, you know that. It is our heritage.” Rhaenyra held his shoulders in a comforting manner.

“If Y/n is a prince of the Iron Throne, it is best for him to know the religion of Westeros after all.” Alicent spoke as she watched the sister and brother standing by each other.

Rhaenyra gave Alicent a harsh stare. “My brother is of Targaryen descent, from the times of Old Valyria. He should know the Valyrian gods.”

Silence ensued as the two women stared at each other. It was the prince that stood between that broke the silence.

“Then, I guess I failed as a Targaryen.”

Rhaenyra turned to look at him in confusion. “What do you mean brother?”

Y/n walked over to where the candles casted shadows onto the walls, standing in the said shadows as he clasped his hands together in a prayer position. “But now, I belong to him.” The shadows behind him begin to shift and turn into something else.

The figure the shadows shifted into was tall, the silhouette on the walls, soon three pairs of what seemed to be feathered wings sprouted from its back. The face soon had shadows cleared to show eyes and a mouth. The eyes of the shadow were stretched and the mouth was also very wide, the arch of the smile went from eye to eye.

The queen and the princess both could do nothing as they saw the shadow. The lighting soon returned to normal as Y/n turned to leave.

Over the next couple of weeks Alicent avoided her stepson like the plague, she could not get that image of them in the sept out of her mind. Everytime during meal time she prayed to the seven for their guidance and their blessing to set Y/n free of it. One night at supper, he heard her praying and leaned over to say something to her.

“You think the gods have been cruel to me?” He asked Alicent with a smile, the queen looked at him with confusion.

“Think again.” He drinks the wine from his goblet. “The gods have been cruel to you, not me.”

Y/n did not speak to her for the rest of the night, but Alicent on the other hand was even more scared than she had ever been in her life now. Is what he said true? Were the gods just cruel to her?

Y/n went on with his days as usual, until one day he saw someone new in court. A new man in court that somehow worked his way up in his father’s small council, when Y/n saw him for the first time he felt a sense of familiarity.

The male looked ethereal, like a true god that has fallen from the stars. He was tall, easily at least 6ft, blonde curly hair that shaped his face and fell around his neck and shoulders like a curtain, he had ocean blue eyes that seemed to pull him in.

The man looked too familiar to a certain someone from his dreams, the one whom he took the hand of years ago, the same hand that came from behind the tree, the one where the apple fell from. Y/n felt drawn to him at first glance, he saw the man during a small council meeting, when the council was done Y/n left fast.

Once he got back to his room, his face felt like it was burning. Deciding to get some fresh air he walked to the garden, but on the way he bumped into someone. Surprise, surprise it was the same lord that he was trying to get away from. Now that he thought about it, the lord in front of him looked too perfect, it was unnatural in a way, it was not human.

“My prince, I’m so sorry. I did not see you.” The unnamed lord held his hand out for the prince to take.

Deja Vu hit Y/n like a storm, the same hand, from the same dream, now he was sure something was wrong. He took the hand getting himself up to his feet again. “It is alright, I was just going for a walk.”

“Oh? May I join you?” The older one asked. “Of course.” Y/n could only accept the offer as he walked towards the garden again, this time with someone behind him.

Once they made it to the garden, Y/n wandered mindlessly. Until he decided to sit on one of the turf benches, the unnamed lord followed him and sat next to him.

“I have not introduced myself. I am Lord Gabriel of House Seraphthrone.” Gabriel said with a smile.

“House Seraphthrone? I have not heard of this house before? Where does it reside?” Y/n’s curiosity has now peaked.

“My house resides on the edge between the Riverlands where the Tullys are, and the north where the Starks live. But also somewhat close to where House Arryn resides.” Gabriel’s smile did not leave his face.

“Huh. I would like to see it sometime.”

They continued to talk as he escorted Y/n back to his room, but when they got there, Gabriel was hesitant to leave.

“What is it? Something wrong lord Gabriel?”

“Nothing. Just…this..” Gabriel’s hand went to the underside of Y/n’s chin, making him look at him.

“You really are beautiful..” Was all the lord said before he turned on his heels and left.

Y/n was left stunned with that, retreating back into his room and left to contemplate what in the seven hells he just went through. That was not the last time he would see Gabriel.

Throughout the next weeks and even months, Gabriel would continue to be in his company. At times, the lord would even bring the prince gifts and even new sets of robes and clothes for his wardrobe. Soon, the robes he wore of his own house were not only black and red, but also with the white robes from house Seraphthrone.

When the days went by, Y/n would continue to pray not knowing the god he prayed to was the one that hung around him all day. Slowly but surely, Y/n had begun to fall in love with the lord, and Gabriel knew this well.

Gabriel had deceived everyone within court, hell, even everyone in Westeros. No one said a single thing as his house had risen through many other houses, along with him working his way up in the King’s court. He deceived everyone’s weak minds, including the sweet prince that was so naive to pray to him when he whispered it into his ear for the first time.

But soon, he had to come clean about who he was. And when did, it was a reaction he did not expect. Y/n was practically overjoyed and hugged him tight.

“You’re the god I have been praying to? Then I guess I am one lucky dragon am I not?” Y/n said with a smile on his face.

On the inside, Gabriel now knew he had someone that could do his bidding no matter what, which means he could destroy House Targaryen from the inside. Little by little, Y/n did what was asked of him, slowly tearing the family more apart. It got to the point where he started to realize it, but what could he do now, nothing. He kind of liked it anyway.

When the blacks and the greens were very clearly divided, Y/n was on his sister’s side of course, but he also wished he was not part of this.

“Then you know what to do.” Was the only words Gabriel had said to him before leaving his chambers.

Taking heavy breaths as Y/n grabbed the dagger that sat on his nightstand, unsheathing the blade and gripping it within his hands. The dagger then went through his stomach, it was less pain than he thought it would be. And to mark the final blow, he slit his own throat.

Letting go of the weapon and as it dropped to the floor his eyes rolled to the back of his head, also falling to the floor as his blood pooled around him and under him. Taking one last breath as he closed his eyes. Gabriel then came into the room seeing the prince dead in his own blood, putting his cold hand on Y/n’s forehead as he muttered a spell. The ‘angel’ then disappeared into white mist, as the only thing left in the room was Y/n’s body that was slowly going cold and the weapon of his suicide.

Hours later, Rhaenyra went to check up on her brother only to let out a blood curdling scream. Guards and Daemon soon flocked to her side seeing the prince’s dead body, Daemon took his wife away as the guards took care of the body.

Daemon thought the greens had done it, well others say there was a traitor in the guards, very few said it was suicide. Deep down, Rhaenyra knew it was most likely suicide, no murderer would leave behind their weapon, and the dagger that they found next to him was one of the prince’s own.

The dance of the dragons would start, Rhaenyra would avenge both her son Lucerys and her brother. A son for a son, a brother for a brother.

Y/n’s spirit has been guided to a different realm, to a place that looked like heaven and paradise, but just slightly darker. This. Was Gabriel’s realm.

It allowed him to see what was going on below in Westeros, he watched the war rage on in rather amusement. He became a lover to the god he worshipped.

How sad. That everyone else had a bad ending, he had a good one.

God was indeed cruel, but not to him.

[ludinusdaleth]

this is something ive had brewing in my mind for a while, but now that this aeor arc seems concluded, im really thinking on ludinus & other calamity survivors, and the idea of no perfect victim & moving forward.

ludinus & leylas are about the same age, have lived the same years. when we meet leylas, she is sending her soldiers to war in large part because she has seen the cycles of exandria unfold so consistently she cannot imagine peace until she defeats her enemy (quana still prays for it, and unity among everyone. but she holds her tongue). ludinus, on the opposite side of the mountains, knows the cycles too. and he thinks he must wage them to break them. leylas worships the luxon to free herself from the gods. ludinus despises the luxon for being seen as a god at all, that leylas as a survivor would dare worship it. both see the exact same thing but in opposite ways. but leylas gives a small smile of surprise when the m9 stop the war of ash & light. she is surprised, but happy to be wrong, in this one moment; her faith in these non dynasty folk paid off. all ludinus, one who hates cycles seeing a cycle caught short, sees, is a loss at taking more beacons, at destroying the "religious drivel" of the luxons religion. at least he can get to work on the big picture, the cycle he actually cares about, over any he enforces.

devexian & alyxian awaken the same year, devexian by the m9, in the ruins of his (and ludinus's) home. he can only laugh dryly at its fate, say it is a cruel joke of history. he picks up the pieces, tries to bring his people back to life. he wants them to start anew. he wants them to let go. if ludinus cant escape the day the city fell then it seems devexian wants nothing more than to leave it for tomorrow. alyxian has been caught in the hell of being a demigod of divinity & ruidis left to rot in half death. (depending on your netherdeep ending) he awakens to a new dawn, suddenly ancient & old in body, but.... free. freed by your party. he was torn asunder by avandra/correlon/sehanine & predathos within him, their powers festering in him as gruumsh destroyed him - and still he tries to be kind, and have faith, even if he is not the warrior he was, even if everything he ever knew was destroyed. he can see society flourish again, even after his & gruumsh's battle destroyed half of marquet. ludinus has seen society rebuild its entire course of time - and all he sees is a world never as brilliant as what it was before.

all of these calamity survivors are completely fucked. leylas is paranoid, losing her mind from living too long, and still haunted by lolth. quana is resigned to stay at her lovers side even as madness takes her when all she wants is unity with others. devexian is clearly so unwilling to face history repeating he wont tell other aeormatons their heritage. alyxian is broken & battered after an eon of nonstop torture.

but they had help from others, from kind souls, who reached a hand out. and they took that kindness and internalized it. and they have vowed to help their people any way they can. to spread that glimmer of hope. to rebuild.

ludinus hasnt. and i think there is deep tragedy in that. i dont know if he has much hope, ironically, beyond raging cleansing fire. in that broad big picture it is both incredibly real & also heartbreaking when recovery falls through the cracks so badly. to have so little of a support group of survivors around you that you smack the hand of those who came out of it differently, and not have known others who could show you it was okay to move on. you hurt other survivors in your refusal to breathe, and live too large to see the others choosing a small destiny. it is unfair to him to had to have suffered and unfair to inflict that on calamity survivors again for your own agenda.

i fixate on him not disagreeing with the bells finding a third option. deep down, he wants to have that hope the others share so fucking bad. we'll see if he ever finds it.

[neo404]

Reader finally decides to come out to his parents but it doesn’t go well so nick holds and comfort hims

I’m here.

Summary: during a dinner with your family on Pascua, your dad asks about girlfriends, if you have one yet, you tell him that you actually have a boyfriend, and his reaction is worst than you thought.

TW: USE OF THE F* SLUR. homophobia, cursing, talk about religion.

Note: It’s quite hard to read, so stay safe reading this one.  

It was our mandatory monthly dinner, since I moved out my parents and siblings insist that we all gather at least once a month to talk about our lives and not grow apart. Tonight was different, my older sister brought his boyfriend with her, and that of course made the topic of partner the focus point tonight.

‘’5 months together, that’s so sweet darling.’’ My mom awed as they talk about how they met, how they started dating and all that bullshit. I have been with Nick 7 months, it will be 8 in a week, I can’t bring him here and brag about how much I love him, how unfair.

‘’What about you? Do you already have a girlfriend?’’ my dad looks at me, a bottle of beer on his hand. ‘’Or are you a player like your old man used to be? You know, it’s normal for boys your age to play around until they find someone to tie them down.’’ He laughs and I try to not make a disgusted face.

‘’No, I’m not ‘playing around’. I’m actually dating someone, he’s a good guy.’’ I mumble and look at my dad dead in the eyes.

‘’What are you talking about? He? A boy, you are dating a guy?’’ he laughs, like it’s some kind of joke.

‘’Yes.’’

‘’No, no son of mine is gay. That’s not how I raised you.’’

‘’How you raise me has nothing to do with who I like.’’

‘’I should have been harder on you, you are disgusting.’’ I know my dad isn’t the sweetest man alive, but that hurted, a lot.

‘’What?’’

‘’Leave my house. I don’t want to see your face! What will the people at church think? That I raised a fucking fag, that my son will burn in hell. No, you are not my son, get the fuck out of here!’’

Tears pool into my eyes, I look at my mother and she’s looking down, tears running down her face. I stand up and run away as fast as I can, tears rushing down my face. I run and run. I realize I was running towards Nicks house; I can’t show up unnoticed. I look at my phone.

----------------------------------------------------

Whinny Boy. 💜

<Hey. Tell me how was the dinner when it’s over.

<If you want to maybe we can watch a movie on call.

Nick. I’m sorry. I’m outside your house.>

<Hey?

<All good?

<Wait

<I’m going.

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I try to stop crying, I try to hold myself, I try to be strong. But I fail. And when Nick opens the door I rush into his arms, he quickly holds me whispering reassuring things into my ears. I break down, I cry like I never had before, I cry like I was a child. He closes the door and guides me into his room. I hide my face into his body, and when we are in his room I lay down on his bed, not saying a thing, quiet tears streaming down my face.

‘’Shh, I’m here. It’s over, you are okay.’’ He rubs my back. ‘’Everything it’s all right.’’

After a while I stop crying. He cleans my tears and runny nose.

‘’Wanna talk about it?’’

‘’I don’t know.’’ I whisper.

‘’That’s all right. It’s all right, honey.’’ He grabs my face, his warm hand bringing me comfort. ‘’take your time.’’ I nuzzle my face into his hand.

‘’My dad, he-… he said that I’m not his son, and that I’ll burn in hell because I’m dating you…’’ I try to keep my breath steady, but a few tears run down my face, I see Nicks eye, he wants to cry too, I can see it, but he doesn’t, he stays strong for me. He hugs me, as hard as he can.

‘’I’m so sorry, honey. I’m so sorry.’’ He rubs my back. I hug him like my life depends on it, I hug him like he’s keeping me together, and he is. ‘’You didn’t deserve to hear this, I’m so sorry.’’

‘’Can I sleep here tonight?’’ I mumble.

‘’Of course. All the days you need.’’

That night I didn’t talk a lot. Nick helped me shower, brush my teeth and change clothes, he brushed and dried my hair. I cried a bit more and he cleaned my tears and held me close at all times. He whispers sweet nothings into my ear until I feel asleep in his arms.

It was a hard night, a night I won’t forget, because it made me realize how much he loves me, and how much I love him. it made me realize that I want to spend the rest of my life by his side, and I will make everything in my power to make sure it happens.