#three religious rebels

[no-saints-around-here]

Yesterday's Cage for Tomorrow's Prison: Chapter 1

Yandere Shiba Family, Yandere Sano Family with BabyShibaSister!Reader

Masterlist

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heavily inspired by @sinreader 's Promise, and many thanks to @trashybandit for the bigbrain ideas!

tw: heavy incest, pseudo incest, explicit smut, yandere, drugging, sexual assault, heretic religious themes, afab reader, female pronouns, dead dove do not eat

“Our Father who art in Heaven.” His words bounced off the ornately decorated walls of the church, echoing back amidst the crackle of flickering lit candles dancing carefree atop their wax prison. At this time of night, it was only his single large figure that towered over the pews, his head of slicked-back blue hair bowed respectfully in prayer. Despite it not being Christmas quite yet, Taiju found himself having wandered back to the familiar, comforting environment of this holy place. Maybe it was in search of divine guidance through these difficult times, or perhaps it was somewhere he could think and ponder without distraction; God only knew he could use whatever help he could get.

Silence fell once more back over the otherwise lifeless building, blanketing the atmosphere with a heavy grandeur as the figure of an angel simply watched on from the altar, stone eyes devoid of any mercy of the inner turmoil Taiju was going through. The man sighed, dropping his clasped hands, yellow tiger-like eyes turned up towards the ceiling, a silent plea to the heavens. Where to even start? 

You were gone, missing from the penthouse he had called home ever since he had parted ways with Hakkai and Yuzuha twelve years ago. You - their baby sister, the single knot left that still held their broken family together - had vanished during his watch, and had failed to turn back up at the Shiba family home like you usually did. You, the only reason why your three older siblings were still in contact despite everything that checkered their past, the one person they would move the sun to keep you safe and secluded away from the harsh outside, the sole being Taiju held above all else in his heart right next to God. 

And you had abandoned him. Left him and his protection for a godless world. A dark and violent reality.

“Forgive me, Lord, for it has been a-” His usually formidable voice cracked, though the hitch in his tone was quickly swallowed. “A long day.”

The soft silk scarf wrapped around large shoulders was lightly perfumed with the fragrance you always wore, the gentle scent only serving to remind him of your equally kind touch. The last of the Shiba siblings to be born, Taiju had been the one to raise you from the beginning, though you were spoiled rotten by all your older siblings. And having promised his mother on her deathbed to always watch over you, he had always allowed you to do as you will, with you never once having been the target of his discipline. Was it his softness towards you that led you to decide to rebel? Was it his reluctance to ever discipline you like he did Yuzuha and Hakkai? Were you taking advantage of his continued goodwill?

Tai-nii! Up! The memory of your giggle from a time past reverberated in his ears, and if Taiju closed his eyes, he could still see a younger, tinier you - arms raised towards your oldest brother, insisting on being picked on and swung onto those broad shoulders. Your chubby, happy face as you dug into a burger he had bought for you, stopping to offer your big brother a bite of what was supposed to be your treat. Tai-nii, stop moving! You’re going to ruin it! Adorable doe eyes that held all the innocence of a lamb furrowed in concentration as you braided his blue-streaked hair into many tiny braids as he laid there and let you thread flowers right before his gang meeting. And any anger towards you that had begun to surge up into his chest instantly melted away, replaced with a nagging emptiness that felt wrong. He needed to find you, and soon.

But where could you have gone?  “She’s out there, all alone. Cold, hungry, dirty-”

That was an answer he still lacked after a week despite his best efforts, though perhaps all the search parties he had sent out would not return empty-handed this time. After all, Yuzuha, Hakkai and him had been so careful that you were allowed to see, meet and know all your life - he couldn’t think of anyone that you would be able to seek shelter with off the bat.

All his life, every second he had watched over you, your oldest brother had worked so hard to keep you pure, both of mind and body; it was what any good Christian father would have done for you as the Bible had demanded within its blessed pages, and in the absence of their own who was too busy working, Taiju had done it in his stead. And you had been so good for him as well when you were younger, listening obediently to everything he told you and learning eagerly from the person you looked up to the most in all the world, that bright and unsullied gaze filling him with joy. But then you grew up, and with your growth came the questions. The doubt. 

“Tainted.”

He couldn’t keep you home from school, not without arousing unwanted interest from the authorities, but with every passing day, Taiju could only watch as your once pure eyes were clouded over. Fouled, dirtied by filth spewed forth from dirtbags. He had tried his best to keep them away from you in the only way he knew how; the blood of sinners that coated his hands, that splattered across his face and stained his clothes was a low price to pay to warn everyone else away from you. Yet you still continued to stray from the light slowly but surely, first asking why you couldn't watch the television, to why your siblings were so insistent on keeping you at home and in sight when everyone else could ‘go and hang out with friends’, and then slowly progressing to why they were 'ruining your life’. 

Sighing, Taiju stood, dusting off and adjusting his tailor-made suit, handcrafted Italian shoes barely making a sound as the giant of a man made his way across carpeted floors towards the empty altar. It hurt him as much as it hurt you, but he was just doing what was best for his baby sister. Coming to a pause right before the wooden candle-laden table, those beastly eyes turned up longing to gaze upon the angel sculpture. Virtuous, sinfree, divine; you were once his little angel. “I pray that you lead me to my lost lamb, Lord, like how you shepherd your flock to the promised lands.”

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Despite all his protection, you just kept getting older by the day, and the day that he caught the gazes of scum lingering on your behind as he walked you out from the Shiba family compound was the day Taiju had had enough; mere beatings dished out to your unwelcomed company weren’t going to keep you on the right path. The time had come to solve the problem at the root. And even in his memories, Taija had to remind himself that it didn’t feel good. It couldn’t feel good, because it wasn’t like Taiju wanted to do it to you. But he had to do it to you, for your sake. 

Just the sheer thought of some sinner would have their slimy hands touching your delicate skin, fingers dipping into your panties as they touched your lips with that dirty mouth, soiling the purity that your brother fought so hard for- Such a detestable thought that he had to shower again just to remove the ick from his skin. No, he would never let you be taken advantage of, to be tarnished by demons. 

He remembered that he had kept you home from school that day without explanation, instead dressing you up in his favorite white dress and taking you to church. You didn’t question it of course, your head bowed as you listened quietly to his prayer, before compliantly following him home. Neither did you question the drink that the oldest of the Shibas passed over to you, simply drinking it down, washing the glass and putting it away. The sleeping pills didn’t take long to take effect, and it was the first time in a long while since Taiju had seen you in such a peaceful state, your face relaxed as you cuddled into the warmth of his chest, bundled safely in his arms as he carried you upstairs to his room. 

A twinge of guilt prinkled at his chest as the unusually silent man lifted your skirt up to reveal the pristine pair of panties, framed between your silky thighs, though it was mercilessly squashed down - there was nothing to be ashamed of. Because there was no pleasure to it, he told himself: a union under the eyes of the Lord. His unglamorous task of taking your virginity that your oldest brother was undertaking was all for your sake, Taiju reminded himself again and again. To preserve your virtue, to save his little angel from the sinners of the earth, he must.

You were wet between your legs, Taiju had grimly noted, the sticky liquid stretching to form a glistening trail that snapped as he finally peeled your underwear off, the cloth surreptitiously slipped into his pocket instead of being tossed to the side with the rest of your clothes. It was a worrying sign to your god-fearing brother of your slipping righteousness. Where have your thoughts been going? What have you been doing alone? Was he already too late? His distress was somewhat alleviated when he pressed your lips apart to find an unengorged clit, and a quick dip of his finger into your slit alleviated his concerns as you tried to wriggle away from the intrusion into your privates. Good, you weren’t used to the sensation.

Pulling his erect cock out from his boxer, the man lined himself up between your spread legs. But for all his mental preparations, for all the praying he had done in the week leading up to this day, every last thought was lost, ripped away in a sudden violent wind in his mind as he finally slipped the thick head of his cock into you, as he could only concentrate on biting back the satisfied groan that threatened to rip from his throat as he forced himself past your tight muscles. He was stronger than this, stronger than the immediate siren’s call of your warm walls that instantly began to squeeze around his member, adding to your tightness that surrounded him like the demons of the earth. Pressing through and deep into the tunnel of muscles, he finally bottomed out in you, the hairs that decorated the base of his cock like a halo tickling your soft skin.

He didn’t remember it being a particularly hot afternoon, the memory of a cool wind that gently brushed drawn curtains still strong. Yet the beads of sweat clung to his forehead as he began to thrust, pulling out slightly before gently pushing himself back in as far as he could go - a small mercy he granted you for you to be able to adjust to his size. Even in your sleep, you winced, your brow furrowed as tears welled at the corners of your eyes, your legs subconsciously attempting to close around him in an effort to push away the pain though you failed to wake, the sleeping pills keeping you pliable.

“Shhhhhh,” Taiju had soothed you, running one big hand through your hair as he bounced you on his lap, your bare skin barely making a sound rubbed against the cloth of his shirt and pants. 

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A soft soft chime of his phone, and Taiju was shaken from his memories. The gaze of the angel seemed more ominous as the night grew older, surrounded and swallowed at the edges by the shadows as several candles expired. The blue-haired man turned, adjusting the silk scarf around his neck as he left, his footsteps thudding across the worn wooden floor. “Amen,” he mumbled, as the double doors of the church swung close behind him.

He needed to find you, and soon.

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You let out an eep as you were yanked backwards by the strap of your bag, though you never did hit the floor like the scrunch of your body and outstretched limbs had prepared for, instead finding yourself being caught and slowly lowered to rest against a warm wall of muscles. “And where do you think you’re going?” He whispered into your ear, hot air tickling the nape of your neck as Izana’s unblinking violet eyes glanced down at you.

Letting out a sigh, you opted to allow yourself to relax, slumping back against the tanned man as his arms moved to wrap gently around your waist: caught again. Your dreams of a quick jaunter shattered once more. “I-I was just thinking of popping out for some snacks,” you admitted sheepishly. 

You hadn’t even seen him there despite his white, wavy hair being a perfect contrast against the black sofa and dimly lit room, and you could have sworn you looked several times before attempting your getaway. Yet against your mind still screaming for you to move, to flee, to grovel and beg for mercy like you always had to in the not so distant past, it was sheer relief that surged through your veins as you realized that his disappointed tone was all you had to deal with now. Receiving nothing more than a hum for your rebellion still came as an unexpected relief to you where formerly you would have had to bare your buttocks for a spanking, two thick unlubed fingers forced into your tight pucker to make the punishment that much more painful. You shuddered, forcing those foul memories back. Come to think of it, you were definitely glad that your older siblings had remained unaware of your secret…excursions out from under their noses - you would have never gotten to know Izzy if you didn’t, and you would have nowhere to go.

Izana pulled you closer to rest his chin atop your head while you pouted at your foiled outing attempt. No words needed to be exchanged: those empty eyes gazing down at you said everything that needed to be said. Even just across the road was too dangerous alone given what was at stake for you.

The glimmer of the polished front door just a stone’s throw away mocked you from where you now sat amidst the grandeur of the reception room, though you knew that nothing looked like it seemed - that door was heavy, much, much heavier than its wooden facade gave away, and almost too hefty for you to pull open yourself. And it didn’t open straight out into the world you knew, instead leading to the lift that would bring you down to a concealed door hidden within an inoperable freezer in the backroom of a Toman-owned club; it was a when, rather than if, you would have been caught on your escapee.

But still, you tried. "It would have been five minutes tops, just there and back."

The white-haired man barely blinked at your plea, cocking his head to one side. “You want to go back there?”

Wincing at his question, his usually harsh gaze seemed to soften on you; you didn’t quite need the reminder that you were just across town from where you had run away from, nor that your siblings were scouring the city for any sign of you. The four walls of this luxury apartment were where your safety and security was guaranteed, protected from your former Shiba family who seeked to return you to your cage, though the same guarantee couldn’t be extended should you choose to wander out alone. “No,” You mumbled, burying your face into his black jacket, his tanned hand soothingly running through your hair. “M’ sorry Izzy.”

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“Don’t worry about it,” Izana reassured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as he cuddled you closer. You smelled…soft, a hard-to-describe yet addictive scent that he couldn’t get enough of. He imagined it would be much like what a newborn would smell to its mother. “What was it you wanted to buy?”

You were the fresh spring rain to his cold, hardened ground, new life to his tainted world like the first seedlings of the year. It was a well-kept secret that Izana had always wanted someone to dote on after the tough life that he had led, someone unblemished by the horrid world who he could lavish his love on and in return receive unconditional love. Someone he could latch onto and leach off and pass on the burden of a purpose to keep living. 

No pet would make the cut, nor would the hassle of maintaining a significant other be worth the risks or cost. And the crime boss had also known exactly what he needed, the same thing that the rest of his adoptive family (no matter how much he resented them at times) also craved for deep down, but it was exactly what they lacked in every regard: a baby sibling. Someone to spoil, someone to light up their world with their innocent doe eyes and toothy smile, someone to simply appreciate their existence and their presence without expecting anything in return. The youngest of them, Emma, was way too old and hardened, and there were no untainted hands left. 

So when you turned up after all these years, anxiously loitering outside one of the many clubs he owned on that stormy night looking like a lost puppy, soaked with nowhere else to go and no one to turn to, Izana knew he had struck gold. Who better to fill that hole in his chest than a new baby sister who had been so sheltered from the dark, despairing world? But you were his, and he so despised sharing.

“I was- I wanted to buy ice cream.”

Izana raised an eyebrow. ‘Ice cream? Do the kitchens not have any more?”

The corners of your lips pulled down further, your voice dropping to a whisper as if to keep a secret. “I wanted to try the one I saw on the TV,” you admitted, burying your head further into his coat in embarrassment. “The kitchens didn’t have that brand.”

He had known you briefly all those years ago, Izana recalled, as he propped you up better in his lap; you had bumped into him outside of your school, striking up a conversation despite him being dressed in his Black Dragon uniform, only to turn white and hurry away abruptly as if realizing something. And it was those innocent eyes, the same that still looked back at him when you blabbered to yourself, that Izana could never quite scrub from his memories every time he convinced you to sneak out to see him, not even after he lost track of you for all these years. Learning of your family explained much of your disappearance for all these years, but still; he supposed he’ll have to thank them for keeping you this pure just for him. You hadn’t even realized you were simply trading one gilded cage for another.

Trailing one hand up your creamy thigh, slowly inching further and further beneath your skirt, it was a complete wonder that you failed to react negatively, if at all. You didn't register it as wrong or weird, Izana mused, violet eyes watching as you enthusiastically described the advertisement that so caught your attention, the solid gold tag engraved with his name hanging from the equally pricy collar around your neck jingling away merrily with each wave of your arms. But he stopped before he had wandered too far up and retrieved his hand - that was for a more suitable time.

Any sane individual would know better than to approach the insanity that was the Sano family, yet you had waltzed into their - his - lives without a second thought, recklessly trading one jail for another all for the possibility of the real family you craved. Bundling you into his deceptively lean arms, Izana stood, setting you carefully back onto your feet. “Come on, I’ll bring you to the store.”

Your expression changed in a moment, the sheer joy at such a simple request being fulfilled amusing to the white-haired man. “Really? I mean, I don’t need it…”

One tan hand came down to gently rap you on your head. “Unless you don’t want it anymore.” 

“No no!” You did a little jig, before shyly slipping your delicate hand into his. “Thanks, Izzy.”

“Just Izzy?” 

“Izzy-nii-san.”

He let out an approving hum, free hand reaching into his pocket to lightly touch the cool metal of his pistol, the other tugging you to walk with him. “Good girl.” 

Those doe eyes of yours were priceless, but he couldn't help but wonder if they would look any different broken.

[teapartyprincess4two]

heyyy idk if you've been on tiktok but currently in like the editing fandom everyone's been editing the triplets to the song 18 by Anarbor so I was just wondering if you could maybe write for Matt because I think it just fits so well but surprisingly I don't think I've ever seen anyone write for the triplets based on that song and I think you would slayyyy it. I know you've got a couple requests and others you're working on rn so no pressure, even if you don't end up doing this request I'd eat up anything you put out 💋💋

I’ll Play Your Game- M. Sturniolo

pairing: GoodGirl!reader x BadBoy!Matt

classification: angst, fluff

warnings: use of y/n, suggestive content but no smut, mention of parental issues, controlling parents, mentions smoking, rebellious reader, mention of religion & religious trauma, mention of church, reference to the Bible (brief), cliche high school stereotypes/ tropes, long

inspiration: request^^, 18 by Anarbor

summary: You’re the Pastor’s daughter, all eyes are always on you. So, why not put on a show?

—

Ever since you were a little girl everyone expected three things from you; be sweet, pray, and obey. There were 10 commandments, all of them listed plain and simple in the Bible, and you were expected to follow them all. Your dad was strict, he had high expectations of you from the day you were born and upheld them throughout your infancy and childhood. Your mom was a pushover, she’d let your father brain wash her long ago into believing that his way was the only ways.

Your dad kept your weekly itinerary filled to the brim with activities to ensure that you had zero time to misbehave. Everyday after school, without fail, there was at least one activity waiting for you. Monday’s were for Bible study, on Tuesday you had golf practice, the afternoon prayer circle was on Wednesday, piano practice on Thursday, on Friday’s you’d volunteer at a food bank, Saturday’s were for homework and chores, and Sunday was the Lord’s day. Sunday’s were always dedicated to church, if you even thought of doing anything else you’d never hear the end of it from your dad.

That’s why, at the ripe age of 18, you’ve decided enough is enough. You’ve made it your sole mission to rebel against your dad and his ideologies, you’d remove the ‘good girl’ label from your life once and for all. But, if you were being honest, you’d followed the rules for so long that you didn’t even know where to begin.

The only good thing your parents did was send you to a public school, deeming Christian school too expensive despite it aligning more with their views. You’ve made a few friends, most of them also conformists, but no one who’d help you properly rebel against your parents. So, if you wanted to do this right, you needed to find someone new with a bad reputation; Matthew Sturniolo.

Matt was the textbook definition of a bad boy, and if there was a guide he’d definitely check off all the boxes. He had the angsty, quiet demeanor with a touch of humor. His body adorned with a multitude of tattoos, each one representing something different from his life. His hair was long enough to be considered too long by conservative parents, framing his face just around his scruffy beard perfectly. The outfits he wore, matched his mysterious persona perfectly, allowing him to disappear into the shadows seamlessly.

If anyone was going to help you piss off your parents, it was definitely going to be Matt. But you had to start off slowly, this wasn’t a one and done type of plan, it was more intricate than that and you were playing the long game. If you wanted to get to Matt, you needed to get to get to one of his triplet brothers first.

You had two options; Chris or Nick.

Chris was your stereotypical jock. He was the captain of the school’s varsity hockey team, occupying most of his Friday nights with hockey games and following them with a Saturday night full of partying. His weekdays were obviously spent at school, but he did the bare minimum to keep his grades up, he focused most of his attention on flirting with girls. Chris was loud, outgoing, flirtatious, and way too popular for his own good. If you tried getting to Matt through him, he’d surely think you were flirting.

So, if you wanted this to work, you needed someone equally as popular, but not as cocky.

That left you with Nick. Nick was on a completely different side of the popularity spectrum than Chris; he was your stereotypical cheerleader. He, much like Chris, spent his Friday’s at hockey games except he was leading his team in cheers and chants instead. The rest of his time was spent organizing the important school events such as prom and homecoming, and when he wasn’t doing that he was boosting student morale through heartfelt speeches at school assemblies.

Nick was the perfect contender and since cheer tryout were opening up soon, it was the perfect excuse to get to know him. First, you’d earn your spot on the cheerleading team. Then, you’d slowly enter Nick’s inner circle, using it as leverage to finally get to Matt.

It was the perfect plan. What could go wrong?

—

One of your dad’s frequented sermons plays over the car stereo as he drives you to school, he’s adamant on silence in the car so you can fully absorb the message behind the sermon. It doesn’t bother you anymore, you usually just tune it out and scroll through your phone, especially on weekday mornings on the way to school.

Before you fell asleep last night you decided that today was the day, cheer tryouts were after school and you were going to saunter in there, perform your best routine, and complete the first step of your plan.

“Listen, Y/n. This is important,” your dad snaps his fingers in front of your face, breaking your gaze from your phone. He turns the sound up, the words of the sermon taking over the car, “Children, obey your parents. Do as you are told and you will be blessed.”

You rolls your eyes, it was always the same thing with you dad. “See, be obedient. God will only bless you if you’re obedient,” he says. The man on the stereo continues, “Parents, do not anger your chil-“ Before the man can finish his sentence, your dad turns the sound off. If he had to follow any rules that gave you any sort of power, he didn’t want to hear them. You side eye him, glad that he’s too focused on the road to notice.

Most kids hate school, they claim it’s a waste of time or that they hate doing all the work, but not you. You’ll gladly welcome the extra hours of homework, volunteer opportunities after school, and early tutoring sessions just for an excuse to get as far away from your controlling family as possible.

Your dad pulls up to the school parking lot, immediately commenting on something he found distasteful before bidding you goodbye. “Be the light, Y/n!” he exclaims as you hop off the car, shutting the car door without turning back to him. A wave of relief washes over you when he pulls out of the parking lot, you felt so tense the entire car ride. But now that you were finally at school, it was time to put your plan into full effect.

You were getting rid of the ‘good girl’ title no matter what.

—

When the last school bell rings you’re practically flying down the stairs to the gym. You wanted to get to the girl’s locker room as quick as possible so you could be the first in line for cheer tryouts. Nothing said ‘co-captain’ like punctuality. Or, actually, would it be better to make a fashionably late entrance? You shake the thought off, you’re just going to be on time. You’re sure Nick would appreciate it.

The tryout requires that you wear a pleated skirt along with a school shirt so that the judges know what you look like in school colors and that you know how to perform in a cheer uniform. As a classified church girl, you had a wide variety of skirts to choose from, but you made sure to pick your newest one just for the occasion. You changed quickly in the locker room, tying a bow into your hair before anyone else arrived.

When the second person entered the locker room, you were already walking out, mentally going through your routine in your head. If you wanted a spot in Nick’s inner circle, you needed to execute this routine perfectly. You choreographed it yourself after watching endless hours of cheer routine videos, making sure to incorporate as many dazzling moves as possible.

The gym is quiet, the only sound being Nick and two teachers setting up the judges table. They’re surprised to see you already dressed and ready to perform, no one had ever been this early before. They’re even more shocked that you’re here, everyone knows you’re the Pastor’s daughter and the cheer team was known for everything but modesty.

“Are you here for tryouts?” Nick asks, a big smile on his faces. He’s excited for the new year and to find a new co-captain amidst the crowd of talented dancers and performers.

“Yes, my name is y/n,” you reply, watching as he finds your name on one of his many clipboards. Suddenly, now that you’re standing in the gym, you don’t feel so confident anymore. The nerves are starting to settle and you’re becoming anxious at the thought of forgetting your routine, messing up and embarrassing yourself, or just not being good enough to make the team let alone become co-captain.

One of the teachers heaves a large stereo onto the desk, connecting it her phone and cueing up your song before asking, “Alright, Y/n. You ready?” Shaky, sweaty hands smooth down your pleated skirt, a long exhale following right after. It was now or never, if you wanted to get back at your dad for all the years of religious trauma it was going to start now.

“I’m ready.”

The teacher smiles at you, all the judges taking a seat behind the table as she presses play on the song. A funky pop beat plays over the stereo, and immediately your routine is in full swing. One of the male judges is humming along to the music, all their eyes trained on you as you dance along the gym floor. The song wasn’t necessarily inappropriate, but you managed to pull out as many sultry moves as possible.

Nick is instantly impressed by your routine, taking down a few notes on how graceful and elegant you move. The teachers, who are mostly there out of obligation, refer to their rubric before giving you a final score. If Nick could have it his way, he’d make you co-captain then and there, but there’s plenty of other girls still waiting to tryout.

You finish your routine in a split, slightly out of breath but trying to keep your composure. The music stops, but the noise is replaced with the judges clapping for your performance, “Great work! The team list will be posted end of day tomorrow. NEXT!”

Just like that you’re being rushed out of the gym for the next girl as Nick sends you an enthusiastic thumbs up. All you could do was hope you earned a spot on the team, and by the way Nick looked at you, you were almost 100% you’d be this years cheer co-captain.

You’re daydreaming about making the team, feeling confident that your plan is working and you’re not paying attention to where you’re waking. So, on the way back to the locker room you accidentally bump into someone, their hard chest causing you to stumble back slightly.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologize, looking up at who just bumped into.

“No problem,” a deep voice croaks in return, you’d recognize that voice anywhere. You look up to see none other than Matt, fully clad in his signature all black style. His hair falls in front of his face, hiding just enough of his eyes to give him an even more mysterious aura. He smells of cigarettes and cologne, a delicious scent that has you weak in the knees.

Without another word, just a sly smirk, Matt is walking past you and into the gym. He saunters up the bleachers, managing to find a perfectly secluded corner to hide in. Not long after, he’s joined by Chris who just finished hockey practice. Chris doesn’t bother hiding, instead he sits right next to Matt where the gym lights are still illuminating. They’re both waiting for Nick so they can head home, and although they’re tired from the school day, they’ll gladly stay a couple extra hours to watch all the pretty girls do their tryout routines.

Matt can feel you watching him, allowing the darkness to serve as a veil as he looks you up and down. He’s noticed you in the halls before, but never took you for a cheerleader. You can’t even see Matt anymore, but you have to force yourself to look away, quickly continuing your walk back to the locker room.

The next day after school you’re once again rushing down the stairs, trying to get to the bulletin before anyone else. You push past a few people, weaving your way through the crowded hallway. This is the defining moment, if you made the team you’d be one step closer to achieving your final goal: get Matthew Sturniolo.

You must’ve been lost in thought because you once again manage to bump into someone. You stumble back, some of your textbooks falling out of your arms and onto the floor in the process.

“You need to watch where you’re going, sweetheart,” Matt says, reaching his arms out to steady you before you can fall over. The nickname turned your legs to jelly.

How was it that you always managed to bump into him? It almost seemed like fate.

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention,” you reply sincerely, kneeling down to pick up your books from the floor. He does the same, picking up one of your stray books, fingertips grazing your hand when he hands it to you. Your eyes can’t help but travel up his arm, mentally counting and admiring the different tattoos that litter his arms. He notices, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Y/n, right?” You hold your textbooks in a firm, anxious grip as you stand up. Matt is still kneeling, your knees aligned with his face. He lets his eyes trail up your legs and up to your face, a devilish grin on his face. The position felt so compromising, but you had to try an act casual.

“Yeah, you’re Matt. Right?” He hums in response, tracing your entire silhouette one last time before he finally stands up. His height causes him to tower over you, a whiff of his cologne once again hitting you, immediately putting you in a deep trance. Matt is handsome and he knows it, he notices how hypnotized you looked and it only serves as an ego boost.

“See you around, Y/n,” he smirks, sending you a quick wink as he walks outside. “See you around,” you reply meekly, mentally facepalming for letting the anxiety take you over.

You felt like a little mouse who finally gained the courage to scavenge for food only to be chased around by a ravenous cat. The only sounds coming from you being squeaks and chirps, too anxious to form coherent words. This was going to be harder than you thought.

When you finally reached the bulletin, your eyes scanned over the new team roster. Your name was all the way at the bottom in bold, capitalized letters, ‘Y/N: CO-CAPTAIN.’ At least you did that part right.

—

It’s been 2 months since your cheer audition and since then you’ve risen in popularity dramatically. As co-captain you were invited to join Nick at his table for lunch and worked closely alongside him to choreograph new routines. This led you two to become close, your friendship blossoming over the countless hours of cheer practice.

Your dad hated that you were a cheerleader, finding issues in everything about it. He deemed the uniform too provocative, the cheers too sexual, and claiming that you were spending too much time practicing and not enough time studying your Bible. The only reason he didn’t force you to quit was because your mom finally grew a backbone and stuck up for you, advocating that this was a good hobby for you. Cheerleading was the perfect scapegoat, even on the odd days when you didn’t have practice you were able to sneak out of all your other responsibilities. No more piano, golf practice, volunteering at the food bank, or Bible study for you.

Eventually, the hockey season ended so you and Nick modified the chants to fit the lacrosse field. Chris was known to play every sport possible, so you weren’t surprised to see ‘STURNIOLO’ written across one of the jerseys running on the field. But upon further examination, you realized you were seeing double. Matt, who usually watched from the sidelines, was running plays alongside his brother and absolutely dominating the field.

It was hard for you to focus on your routine, your eyes kept following his sweaty figure as it raced across the field. Nick, who notices your sudden offbeat performance, was sending you warning looks to get it together. But you couldn’t help it, Matt had an alluring aura to him that seemed to draw you in without fail each time.

The school band plays loudly over the course of the game, making it hard to hear anything other than the loud drums and trumpets. During a small break, Nick nudges you, mouthing a quick “what the fuck?” You give him an apologetic smile, adjusting your uniform slightly before mouthing back an “I’m sorry.” He gives you a look that says, ‘yeah, you better be’ before getting back in position, ready to cheer the rest of the night away. You do the same, forcing yourself not to look at Matt for the rest of the game.

Before you know it, the game is over and the stadium was filled with hooting and hollering as Matt scored the winning goal. The school and his entire tram cheered for him in unison. You and Nick guided the bleacher full of students in a big chant, cheering for the lacrosse team loudly for their victory, “Yeah, yeah, do we rock? Yeah, yeah, take it to the top! Yeah, yeah, we are never gonna stop! Get wins till the other team drops!” Pompoms are in the air, rhythmically swaying to the beat, your feet twisting and turning as you pop your hips.

These type of events were always full of school spirit, but when they ended and the team headed towards the lockers and the cheerleaders went in search of their boyfriends, the air quickly became chaotic. Especially with everyone else piling off the bleachers and into the parking lot, trying to get home before it got too dark. You stay back and chat with Nick for a while before he dismisses himself to find one of his brothers.

So, now you’re left to wander the field on your own, taking a seat on the grass under the bright stadium lights. You loved moments like this, moments when you got to be alone with your thoughts. All you could think about was Matt, and for a second you thought he might be here on the field with you, the smell of his cologne and cigarette smoke whipping past you with the breeze. You look around, thinking your mind was playing tricks on you.

But it’s not, you see the light at the end of his cigarette deep within the shadows, followed by cigarette smoke that forms a cloud once it dances into the light. For some reason you feel bold, or maybe it’s just the same alluring feeling from earlier that makes you stand up and walk over to him. You can’t see him, but the lit cigarette between his fingers serves as a place marker for his location, the embers crackling brightly in the dark.

Matt’s eyes train on your figure as it approaches, squinting slightly in confusion. He’s never taken you for a smoker, but then again he didn’t take you for a cheerleader and you were clearly the best dancer on the team.

The whole night he couldn’t stop sneaking glances at you, even earning a tongue lashing from his coach for missing a few passes. Towards the end he had to force himself to focus, scoring the winning point in hopes of impressing you.

It obviously worked because once your eyes adjust to the darkness you’re commenting on it, “Good job on the field today, that last play was awesome.” There’s a twinge of innocence in your voice that Matt wants to destroy. “Thanks, you weren’t too bad yourself,” he replies, taking a long inhale of his cigarette before blowing the smoke away from you. The wind only blows it back into your face anyways, causing you to cough slightly.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, ready to flick the cigarette on the floor and stomp it out. But you stop him, a gentle hand holding his arm, “no it’s okay, I’ll get used to it.” The comment is bold, but you needed to be bold if you wanted to get Matt.

Was this the same girl that everyone knew as the Pastor’s daughter? Where was all this sudden confidence coming from?

“Oh, will you?” he asks with a quirked eyebrow, dusting the ash off his cigarette before taking another hit. You hum in response, slowly moving closer to him, allowing him to blow the smoke close enough to your face for it to sting. You hold in a cough, offering Matt an innocent smile that he returns with a smirk.

If this was the game you were starting, he was ready to play.

—

From that moment forward, Matt has been obsessed with you. He gave himself a day to decide whether he wanted to pursue you or not, but after hearing his lacrosse buddies talking about you one time after practice, he decided no one else could have you. The comments they were making were typical, the same things they said about every girl they found attractive, but because it was about you it irked him.

So, two days after your fateful encounter on the lacrosse field, Matt was waiting for you to finish cheer practice from outside the gym, fully clad in his lacrosse uniform, sweaty and dirty from practicing just moments before. Chris was standing nearby, chatting up another cheerleader who snuck out of the gym to be with him. Nick always reprimanded Chris for this, especially because it directly affected her performance and it showed on the field when she was struggling to keep up.

Matt debated on whether or not he should do the same, call you out from practice to tell you everything that was on his mind, but he loved watching you perfectly execute your routines during games. He wanted his girl to be the best, outperforming everyone else seamlessly. So, instead he decided to patiently wait for you.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, the music in the gym turns off and he can hear sneakers against the waxy floor as you all rush towards the locker room. For someone so dark and mysterious, Matt actually found himself getting excited.

Not long after, you and Nick walk out of the locker room. You’re laughing at something Nick said as you sling your duffel bag on your shoulder. Matt watches as you throw you head back in laughter, the bow in your hair twirling in the wind.

Nick instinctively walks towards his brothers and you follow suit, still too immersed in the conversation to notice Matt. Once you’re close enough, Nick sends the cheerleader talking to Chris a disapproving look that has her scurrying away and into the locker room.

“What was that for??” Chris exclaims, watching as the girl he was chatting up disappears. “Dude you always distract her, it shows on the field. She has the sloppiest performance out of everyone on the team,” Nick comments blatantly, readjusting his bag on his shoulder. “So? Just kick her off then!” Chris retaliates, running an exasperated hand through his hair. “Would you date her if she wasn’t on the team?” you chime in, laughing at how flustered Chris has become. He thinks about it for a while, “no, yeah probably not.”

His response elicits a laugh from you and a scoff from Nick, who begins scolding him. Matt is watching you intently, trying to gain your attention through some form of telepathy. You feel his burning gaze on you, finally looking at him through your long, thick eyelashes. “What about you? Any girls on the team won your heart yet?” you ask, a playful grin appearing on your face. After your last encounter with him, you’re hoping he doesn’t even know anyone else on the roster and just blurts out your name.

“Hmmm maybe,” he replies with a smirk, reaching in his pocket for his lighter and a cigarette. “Oh really? Mr. Tough Guy’s in love?” you tease, watching as he places a cigarette in between his lips and lights it with ease, taking a quick draw of it before pinching it away. Nick and Chris have started walking to the parking lot at this point, too immersed in their own world to notice you and Matt flirting.

“Something like that,” the smoke puffs out with each word, swirling in the air before fading away. He brings the cigarette back up onto his lips, intently waiting for you next move. What you say next is unexpected, “can I try?” You’re pointing at the cigarette innocently, causing Matt’s eyes to open in shock.

“Too strong for you, sweetheart,” he replies coyly, blowing the smoke out through the side of his mouth. “How am I supposed to get used to it then?” you’re referring to what you said the other day, hoping to jog his memory and let him know that you still want him.

Matt doesn’t skip a beat, within seconds he’s wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you into him. “Slowly,” he answers in a whisper, taking a long drag of his cigarette before moving his face closer to yours. You’re holding onto his shoulders for support, watching intently as his face gets closer and closer to yours.

Without another word, his lips are inches from yours as he exhales the smoke into your mouth, capturing your lips in a quick kiss. His mouth melts into yours, working the smoke into your lungs with each movement. When he pulls away from the kiss, you’re immediately coughing up a storm. Your nose burns and tears brim at your eyes from the strong sensation.

“Told you it was too strong for you,” he comments with a chuckle, putting the cigarette out on the brick wall behind him before moving his other arm around your waist. Once you’re finally not coughing he speaks again, “Here, let’s try that again, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, moving your hands from his chest to his neck. He leans in for another kiss, this time savoring your sweet kiss without any smoke to inhibit his taste buds.

In that moment, Matt knew he didn’t have to say anything else, you became his girl.

—

The next few weeks were amazing, you finally got everything you wanted, all you needed to do now was flaunt all of it in front of your dad and watch how horrified he became.

“Hi baby,” Matt whispers, throwing an arm over your shoulder while you wait in the lunch line. Matt never ate lunch at school, he’d usually get in his car and hit up the nearest fast food place or walk off campus for a smoke break. He found the cafeteria to be too chaotic, there was nowhere to seclude himself and even less areas to eat a meal in peace and quiet. But, that you two are dating, he’s started dragging you along on his school day adventures. Sometimes you’ll just get lunch, other times you’ll sit and talk to him while he smokes, but most times you’ll end up making out in the backseat of his car.

“Hi handsome,” you reply in a cheery tone, tiptoeing so you can plant a quick peck on his lips. He smiles into the kiss.

“Let’s go to my car? I’ll treat you to lunch, pretty girl,” he suggests, already beginning to walk towards his car with you under his arm. You don’t complain, especially because this is the closest you’d ever get to real dates with Matt, especially when under the careful watch of your parents.

You guys end up at a local Mexican restaurant, it was a restaurant that your family frequented on Sunday’s after church so you were well acquainted with it. Once inside, you and Matt are directed to a booth in the back, perfectly secluded and away from prying eyes. He takes a seat across from you, smiling at you in a lovesick gaze.

Maybe it was too early to say it, but Matt definitely felt it; he loved you. He was apprehensive to admit it, even just to himself, because he was scared to get hurt, but so far your relationship has been nothing but sweet.

The waitress takes your order and you don’t even need to look at the menu to know what you want which catches Matt by surprise. “You bring all your boyfriends here?” he jokes, folding the menu and handing it to the waitress after placing his order. “Only the cute ones,” you joke in return, sending him a playful wink. He laughs, holding your hand in his on the table.

“This is my dad’s favorite restaurant, we come here like every Sunday after service,” you explain, taking a quick sip of your drink. Matt nods his head, of course he didn’t suspect you were cheating, but he appreciated the explanation.

“Your dad has good taste,” he comments. You never spoke about your family so everything he knew was by word of mouth. He knew the basics; your dad was a Pastor, you came from a conservative family, and your Sundays were usually occupied with church.

You hum in response, trying to think of a topic to avert the conversation from your dad, and, as if on cue, the front door rings. A customer just walked into the restaurant, nothing out of the ordinary, but upon further inspection you realize it’s your dad. You’re mid sip, choking slightly on the liquid as you try quickly swallowing from the shock.

Matt notices your distress, following your gaze to see what has you so nervous all of a sudden. That’s when he sees him, your dad standing by the front waiting to be seated. Matt’s not scared, but he is nervous to possibly meet your dad. He wants to make a good impression, but with the tattoos, long hair, and lingering smell of cigarette smoke, he doubts he’ll be successful in doing that.

“Speak of the devil,” you mumble, watching closely for your dad’s next move.

Matt’s surprised you’re not rushing to leave, you actually look calm now, almost like you’re hoping your dad will be seated one booth over. For the first time in your relationship he senses an ulterior motive behind your actions and he doesn’t know whether to be scared or turned on.

He remembers the good girl you were, the girl who always arrived to class on time, the girl who would never be caught skipping school and he wonders where this sudden rebellious nature came from. But now he gets it, this is a game to you, you want your dad to catch you skipping school with the ‘bad boy,’ you want to make your dad so upset his face turns red. Matt doesn’t know what to think about that, but if this is the game then he’d happily play along, he’d do anything for his girl.

The restaurant host sits your dad a few booths down and he situates himself in the seat directly facing you, if he looks your way at the right angle he’d easily see you. But he’s too occupied in conversation with the waitress to notice anything, ordering his food before pulling out a book.

“Here’s your food, Miss Y/n,” the waitress says with a smile, placing plates of food on the table. The waitress learned your name from all the years your family visited the restaurant, and although you appreciated the effort, you wanted to slap a hand against her mouth for giving you away. Matt’s eyes go wide, she said it really loud, did your dad hear?

“Thank you,” you reply quickly with a tight lipped smile, trying to shoo her away as fast as possible. You look back towards your dad’s booth, fully expecting him to still be turning pages in his book, but his eyes are locked on you. He’s seething, you can practically see the smoke coming from his ears.

You waited for him to get up from the booth and walk over to your table, but instead he pulls out his wallet and throws a bill on the table, grabbing his stuff and walking out. The waitress watches in confusion, and so do you. What the hell was he doing?

Matt senses the movement, straining his neck to watch your dad walk out. He suddenly becomes nervous because even though he wanted to help you piss off your parents, he also wanted to be the boyfriend parents welcomed with open arms despite his appearance.

When you finish eating, you’re walking out of the restaurant intently searching for your dad. He was sure to be lurking around the parking lot somewhere. You’re holding Matt’s hand, walking slowly to his car.

“Y/n! Where do you think you’re going?!” your dad’s voice booms from the other side of the parking lot. He waited outside until you and Matt finished your meal, not wanting to make a scene in his favorite restaurant.

You watch as he slams the car door closed, storming over to you and Matt with an unreadable expression on his face. “Is this what I send you to school for? So you can skip with.. with this?! What will people think? What will the church think? The pastors daughter off fornicating with a- with a delinquent,” your dad motions up and down Matt’s body, clearly displeased with his appearance and attire. It makes you so mad, but you don’t even get the chance to respond because your dad won’t stop talking, “You’re coming home with me right now. Say goodbye to your phone, cheerleading, and this boy because you’re never seeing them again!”

He attempts to grab your arm, but you pull away. “Y/n. Do not make this any more difficult than it already is. Let’s go!”

“No.” Your reply is short and curt, but it’s stern enough to appall your father.

“No? No?! Who do you think you are?! You’re nothing but a stupid little girl, now get in the car.” He reaches for you again, this time managing to pinch your skin slightly. “Ow, stop,” you exclaim, pushing him away from you slightly. Matt protectively moves you behind him in one quick swoop, using his body to prevent your dad from touching you again.

“Get out of the way, this is between me and my daughter.”

“Not happening,” Matt replies, towering over your dad.

“This is what you want, Y/n? A stupid hippie? He reeks of cigarettes and has tattoos, didn’t I teach you better?!” Matt is fuming at this point, your dad was the most disrespectful person he’d ever met. “Dad, just go. I’m not choosing you over Matt,” you reply, trying to stand your ground, but sounding so weak and small.

“I’m not asking you to choose me, I’m asking you to choose God. But if you want to choose this boy, then go ahead, but don’t come knocking on my door when he gets you pregnant and leaves you,” he yells. Was he kicking you out?

“What?” you ask, stepping out from behind Matt.

“You heard me, girl. Don’t bother coming home unless it’s without him.”

Without another word your dad is walking back to his car and pulling out of the parking lot, driving away and leaving you with nothing but the dust. You watch with teary eyes as his car disappears into the horizon, you never meant for it to end like this. All you wanted was a little freedom, but your rebellious actions have warranted a consequence you never anticipated.

“Hey, hey. It’s gonna be okay,” Matt whispers, bringing you in for a warm hug. He’s patting your hair as you bury your face in his chest, allowing the tears to flow. “What am I supposed to do? Where am I supposed to go?” you hiccup, wrapping your arms around Matt’s torso in an attempt to feel him closer.

“You can stay at my house,” he replies and he means it, he’d do anything for you. In retrospect he should’ve seen this coming from the moment he realized you were trying to piss off your parents, but he’s too far gone now to turn back. Matt’s too in love with you at this point for his own good, the only thing he can think to do is protect you.

“Are you sure?” you feel like a helpless little mouse again, except this time Matt feels like a security blanket instead of a potential threat.

“I’m sure.” Matt places a loving kiss on your lips before kissing your forehead and pulling you into him again.

Whatever happened, you and Matt were going to get through it together. After all, Matt decided to play your game.

—

MASTERLIST

A/n:

Shwoop here you go luv u honey bunches thank you for the request. I hope you enjoy!!

Also, I had never heard this song before but it’s def going on my playlist now & I will be searching for those tiktok edits hehehe

-L.A.M.B👼🏻💗

[chloristoflora]

Okay, I've just returned from a marathon of Dune 1 and 2. Spoilers for the first book (I've read Dune three times now and never felt the need to read Dune Messiah, but now it is on my tbr pile)

I think that it is fair to say that I loved it. I was shaking through the whole Chani/Paul romance and through the Shai-Hulud riding sequence. Seeing those scenes you know so well from the book being acted out in live-action, phenomenally, that feels orgasmic (or sacred... or just really fucking good). I think I've never seen a SF film adaptation that was thís good (but maybe I haven't seen the good shit). The Giedi Prime arena scene, Margot getting the Good Seed, Jessica's transformation to Reverend Mother, the terrifying transformation of Paul from a kid to a Messiah and a warleader..

There are a few changes to the book. Alia isn't born yet and I get that change. It would be ridiculous for this film to have a super wise baby. Leto II (the Elder) also isn't born, we don't even know if Chani is pregnant. Maybe they deemed him irrelevant because of his near-instant death. I think that the most important change to the book is the change in behaviour of Chani. She seems to rebel against Paul's religious role and his holy war. Maybe that happens in Dune Messiah, I don't know yet.

All in all, I'm mostly overwhelmed and awed by this movie, the whole of Dune, and I think that I'm going to let it sink in for a while. I haven't seen it in IMAX, so perhaps I'll go see it in IMAX in a few weeks.

[city-of-ladies]

Women warriors in Chinese history - Part 2

(Part 1)

"However, court confessions, unofficial histories, and local gazetteers do reveal a host of women warriors during the Qing dynasty when patriarchal structures were supposedly most influential. Women in marginal groups were apparently not as observant of mainstream societal gender rules. Daughters and wives of “peasant rebels,” that is, autonomous or bandit stockades, were frequently skilled warriors. Miss Cai 蔡†(Ts’ai) of the Nian (Nien) “army,” for example, “fought better than a man, and she was especially fine on horseback. She was always at the front line, fighting fearlessly despite the large number of government troops.” According to a folktale, she managed to rout an invading government force of several thousand with a hundred men and one cannonball after her husband led most of the Nian off to forage for food.

Related to the female bandits were the women pirates among whom Zheng I Sao 鄭一嫂†(literally, Wife of Zheng I; 1775–1844) is the best researched. “A former prostitute … Cheng [Zheng] I Sao could truly be called the real ‘Dragon Lady’ of the South China Sea.” Consolidating her authority swiftly after the death of her husband, “she was able to win so much support that the pirates openly acclaimed her as the one person capable of holding the confederation together. As its leader she demonstrated her ability to take command by issuing orders, planning military campaigns, and proving that there were profits to be made in piracy. When the time came to dismantle the confederation, it was her negotiating skills above all that allowed her followers to cross the bridge from outlawry to officialdom.”

We know slightly more about some of the women warriors involved in sectarian revolts. Folk stories passed down orally are one of the sources. Tales that proliferated in northern Sichuan on the battle exploits of cult rebels of the White Lotus Religion uprising in Sichuan, Hunan, and Shaanxi beginning in the late eighteenth century glorify several women warriors. The tall and beautiful Big Feet Lan (Lan Dazhu 籃大足) and the smart and skillful Big Feet Xie (Xie Dazhu 謝大足) vanquished a stockade together; the young and attractive Woman He 何氏 could kill within a hundred feet by throwing daggers from horseback. The absence of bound feet in Big Feet Lan and Big Feet Xie suggests their backgrounds were either very poor, unconventional, or non-Han.

Sectarian groups accepted female membership readily, and many of these women trained in the martial arts. Qiu Ersao 邱二嫂†(ca. 1822–53), leader of a Heaven and Earth Society (Tiandihui 天地會) uprising in Guangxi, joined the sect because of poverty and perfected herself in the martial arts. Some women came to the sects with skills. Su Sanniang 蘇三娘, rebel leader of another sect of the Heaven and Earth Society, was the daughter of a martial arts instructor.  Such sectarian rebel bands are frequently regarded as bandit groups. A history of the Taiping Revolutionary Movement refers to these two cult leaders as female bandit chiefs before they joined the Taipings.

Male leaders of religious rebellions frequently married women from families skilled in acrobatic, martial, and magic arts. These women tended to be both beautiful and charismatic. Wang Lun 王倫, who rebelled in 1774 in Shandong, had an “adopted daughter in name, mistress in fact,” by the name of Wu Sanniang 烏三娘 who was one of Wang’s most powerful warriors. Originally an itinerant performer highly skilled in boxing, tightrope walking, and acrobatics, she terrified the enemy with spellbinding magic. She brought a dozen associates from her old life to the sect, and they all became fearsome warriors known as “female immortals” (xiannü 仙女); three of them, including Wu Sanniang, lived with Wang Lun as “adopted wives” (ifu 義婦). A tall, white-haired woman at least sixty years old, possibly the mother of one of these acrobat-turned women warriors, wielded one sword with ease and two almost as effortlessly. Dressed in yellow astride a horse, hair loose and flying, she was feared as much for her sorcery as for her military skills. Her presence indicates that some of the women came from female-dominated itinerant performing families. Woman Zhang 張氏and Woman Zhao 趙氏, wives of Lin Zhe 林哲, another leader of the cult, were also known for being able to brandish a pair of broadswords on horseback.

Hong Xuanjiao 洪宣嬌†(mid nineteenth century), also known as Queen Xiao (xiaohou 蕭后), wife of the West King of the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom (taiping tianguo 太平天國), was so stunningly beautiful and impressive in swordsmanship that she mesmerized the entire army during battles. The link between early immortality beliefs and shamanism also suggests that these women warrior “immortals” of sectarian cults may represent surviving relics of the female shamans who occupied high positions during high antiquity.

During the White Lotus Religion rebellion in Sichuan, Hunan, and Shaanxi beginning in 1796, five of the generals were at once leaders and wives of other leaders of the cult. They were Woman Qi née Wang (Qiwangshi 齊王氏; Wang Cong’er 王聰兒), Woman Zhang née Wang (Zhangwangshi 張王氏), Woman Xu née Li (Xulishi 徐李氏), Woman Fan née Zhang (Fanzhangshi 范張氏), and Woman Wang 王†née Li 李 (Wanglishi 王李氏). In the Heavenly Principle Religion (tianlijiao 天理教) rebellion that began in Beijing during 1713, the wife of its leader, Li Wencheng 李文成, led three invasions into the city. There was even a “Female Army” (niangzijun 娘子軍) within the Eight Trigrams (baguajiao 八卦教) uprising in Shandong during the Daoguang 道光† reign (1821–51). The female generals, Cheng Sijie 程四姐†and Yang Wujie 楊五姐, were particularly impressive when they wove among enemy forces in the style of “butterflies flitting among flowers,” wielding broadswords on horseback, their hairpins glittering in the light.

A number of female rebel leaders used religion and magic to buttress their power. Many claimed to be celestials and were leaders of sectarian cults (...). Chen Shuozhen 陳碩貞†(?–653) mobilized a peasants’ uprising by declaring that she had ascended to heaven and become an immortal. Tang Sai’er (ca.1403–20), a head of the White Lotus Religion (bailianjiao 白蓮教), designated herself as a “Buddhist Mother” (fuomu 佛母). The spellbinding old woman warrior in Wang Lun’s Clear Water Religion (qingshuijiao 清水教) sect was known to the rebel community as a reincarnation of the highest White Lotus deity, the Eternal Venerable Mother (wusheng laomu 無生老母). Wang Lun relied on her for performing magic and the rituals for calling on their supreme deity. Woman Wang née Liu (wangliushi 王劉氏), one of the numerous female leaders of the White Lotus Religion revolt, also titled herself the Eternal Venerable Mother. Wang Cong’er (1777–98), originally an itinerant entertainer, became the commander in chief of the rebel army she launched with her husband, a master in the White Lotus Religion.

Indeed, itinerant performers such as Wu Sanniang mentioned above were frequently trained in the martial arts since childhood and must have been skilled at performing magic tricks as well. Lin Hei’er 林黑兒†(?–1900), leader of Red Lanterns (hongdengzhao 紅燈照), the young women’s branch of the Boxer’s Movement (yihetuan 義和團), was also originally an itinerant entertainer (her husband was a boatman). Designating herself the Holy Mother of the Yellow Lotus (huanglian shengmu 黃蓮聖母), she taught her followers the skills of wielding swords and waving fans as well as magic to defeat their enemies.  Wang Nangxian 王囊仙†(literally, Goddess Nang, 1778–97), an ethnic minority of the Miao tribe, was worshipped as a goddess by her tribesmen before she led them in revolt against the Chinese government."

Chinese shadow theatre: history, popular religion, and women warriors, Fan Pen Li Chen

[cosmicghoul99]

An interesting Hannibal theory I think you should know about

I'm not sure how many people know this, but if you're unaware, some really interesting things relate to the show and Hannibal's character specifically. (Wanna add that I am not religious, so apologies if I get something wrong. I mean no offense to anyone, this is just a little analysis on my part)

There are a lot of biblical references in the show. It makes sense; religion has always been a deep, moral, and philosophical concept, and Hannibal loves to incorporate the ideas of religion and God into his actions and that of those around him. One of these references is a recurring one. Hannibal is often referred to as the devil. Like this quote from Gideon:

"You really are the devil," Abel Gideon - Antipasto

Or this one from Bedelia:

"Who holds the Devil, let him hold him well. He will hardly be caught a second time." Bedelia Du Maurier - The Wrath of the Lamb

Add this to all the religious imagery, the references to stags and the wendigo, plus the season three discussions about Dante. Bedelia says that she was "swallowed whole" by the beast at the mouth of Hell. You get the picture. There is a lot of talk and allusions to Hannibal being "the Devil."

Obviously, this is a metaphor first and largely used because he is the main "evil" or antagonistic character, but there's actually some truth to this.

Both Bryan Fuller, the creator, and Mads Mikkelsen, the actor of Hannibal, have stated that Hannibal is meant to be the literal devil. He is meant to be both a personification of the devil and the literal devil.

According to Bryan Fuller, Mads Mikkelsen plays Hannibal like he is Lucifer. In an interview, he stated that "he is as close as you can come to the Devil, in the sense that the Devil has no reasons," following it up by saying that Hannibal's reactions aren’t something of a person, but of the Devil. He intentionally plays the character through the lens of the fallen angel, Lucifer. Hannibal is meant to, in the eyes of the actor, be a manifestation of the Devil

Bryan Fuller has also said in interviews and online that he believes Hannibal is the devil. Of course, he states that this is his opinion and that others are up to their own interpretation, but the show's main creator and writer believes this also means that we can reasonably see this in the show.

Throughout the show, Hannibal is simply on another level. Many times, he does not seem human but rather otherworldly. I think that is where Mad's acting presents itself, alongside whenever Hannibal is talking about humanity and God.

Hannibal loves to play at being God and also criticizes God as well. I believe it is in episode three after Will kills Hobbs, that they discuss how Will killing Hobbs felt good. Hannibal responds with this.

"Killing must feel good to God, too... He does it all the time, and are we not created in His image?" Hannibal Lecter - Amuse-Bouche 

Oh boy. This is such an interesting line. He talks about being created in His image. Let's be honest; he speaks as if he were God or knows God at least. His comment actually makes more sense if you view this as him being the Devil. Lucifer, the fallen angel, was cast from Heaven for rebelling against God. He feels that it was unjust. Most people talking about God and His actions view him with benevolence. Hannibal does not. In the bible, Lucifer had a problem with humans. And humans are, of course, said to be created in God's image. You could also argue that angels, especially Lucifer, were created in that same image, too. Hannibal has an issue with the rude. Why the rude particular? It is because those who are rude often showcase the worst of humanity's attributes and free will. Hannibal despises the rude because I believe that it, in some ways, represents the hatred that the Devil, or Lucifer, holds for humanity. The Devil had an issue with humans gaining free will and felt they did not deserve life via God's hands. This is similar to how Hannibal feels that those who are rude do not deserve to live. Hannibal, then, of course, being Satan himself, would be resentful of God for casting him from Heaven. Again, Hannibal often discusses God's motives, or what God feels doing certain things. Literally, a few seconds later in that episode, he says this:

"Hannibal: God's terrific. He dropped a church roof on thirty-four of his worshippers last Wednesday night in Texas while they sang a hymn.

Will: Did God feel good about that?

Hannibal: He felt powerful." Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter - Amuse-Bouche 

That last line about him feeling powerful gets me thinking. Hannibal is speaking not just about this but also about his own fall. But more importantly, he's also showing us what he thinks of himself. Killing makes God feel powerful. That means that killing makes Hannibal feel powerful as well. He is both giving motives and somewhat criticizing God at the same time. Hannibal seems to find the situation amusing. I think he believes it quite funny that humans were killed while worshipping God. He might even see a comparison between what happened to him and what happened here. He is simultaneously praising God and calling Him a hypocrite.

Hannibal's motives for killing are also interesting, and I said earlier that I think the reason why he kills is because he believes that rude and ill-tempered people are the problem with humanity. And he wants to get rid of them.

Now, let's explore how this connects with other metaphors, his decisions in canon, and his relationship with Will.

Let's talk about the stag. I did some research, and in many religions, including Christianity, stags represent God and his might, at least from what I could find. I find this interesting because stags are also meant to represent opposition to the snake, another symbol of the Devil. Why is the representation of Hannibal, at least in Will's mind, a stag? I think it actually represents the darkening of Will. If stags are meant to represent good, then that means that Will starts off that way and then slowly follows the stag and is affected by it, which, to me, means that Will is slowly being corrupted. Just like the stag was corrupted due to Hannibal's influence, Will is starting to change and fall deeper and deeper into darkness. It's also interesting that the dynamic between Hannibal and Will is clearly that of one between the Devil and the person they are trying to tempt. Hannibal is trying to tempt Will into changing himself and embracing the darkness inside of him.

Will is Hannibal's realization that humans are actually not that bad. They are complex, and their free will actually makes them relate to him more than he thinks. Will is his weakness, and Hannibal is intrigued by him. If the Devil, which is Hannibal, is the snake, then, in Hannibal's own words, Will is the mongoose that preys on the snake. Hannibal originally fell because of humans, and at the end of the series, he falls because of humanity again. He fell for Will. Will is meant to represent the lamb of God. The symbolism is that Hannibal fell for Will, who sacrificed himself to keep the Devil away, getting corrupted in the process.

Dolarhyde is also a factor. The original painting, "The Great Red Dragon," represents Satan. How does that tie into this idea? I think it's not Dolarhyde who is meant to be Satan; rather, it is Hannibal. We know that Dolyrhde idolizes Hannibal in a sense. Like Will and many of his other patients, which I'll get into later, Francis is influenced by what Hannibal says. Yet another temptation by the Devil. This is also connected to Will coming into his own life because Francis is also manipulated by Will. There is a connection between Hannibal and Will, which is shared via the tempting and manipulation of Francis.

I mean, we have this statement by Jack talking about The dragon, the lamb, etc. Jack says that,

"He's not the Dragon, you are. The Devil himself bound in the pit." Jack Crawford

Hannibal compares Jack to God. But I think they both are, in some way.

Many of Hannibal's patients and the people in his life, in general, are manipulated by him. I mean, some of his patients are tempted and influenced by him to do bad things commit crimes, and murder people. That's very indicative of the Devil's work, in my opinion. Even Jack and Alana end up being manipulated and deceived by him.

There is a lot of other religious imagery and symbolism, so I'll only discuss some of it. To start with, the reference to Bedelia's presentation and Hannibal's name in Italy and what they could represent. I mentioned earlier that in season 3, Bedelia talks about her time in Florence with Hannibal. She talks about how Dante gave a physical space to Hell, a solid concept, but before that, people would say, the "mouth of Hell." Then she says that she was "swallowed by the beast." This refers to Hannibal, but here's the interesting thing. In the Bible, the Devil is also referred to as the Beast. Bedelia is yet again referring to herself being used and brought into the mouth of Hell by the Beast, Hannibal. The name that Hannibal was monikered by in Italy is also the same. "Il Mostro" translates to the monster, which can be interpreted as yet another way to refer to the devil. Then, there is the obvious references to lambs in the show, with it being a sacrificial symbol. I'm sure that's been talked about a lot, and I mentioned it earlier.

There are many mentions of justice, redemption, retribution, and more in the show. This connects with the religious themes, of course, but it also plays into Hannibal's view of himself as a God, as well as how the show depicts him as the Devil. He is the one who casts judgment onto people, like his patients, and onto the rude, like a God. He is the one who issues punishment for sins and misdeeds, like the Devil. I think it's so interesting to see them both working in tandem.

I once saw a post saying that Hannibal acts like he's lived the same life a hundred or so times. And I agree. He does. He acts like he has been around for a time so long that many have forgotten it. It makes sense why he's so confident, and nothing seems to phase him. Nothing that happens has any consequence for him. The only thing, really, that he cares about is Will. That's why he tries to get Will to have his Becoming and Fall with him. He wants Will to be there with him. Which is sweet, I think :) And not to bring up related trauma for anyone that has ever been a fan of Devilman or Devilman Crybaby, but IMO, it really really reminds me of Akira and Ryo and how Ryo is stuck in the same cycle over and over again as a lesson. Idk, my opinion. Let me know what you think.

I also wanted to touch on some other interpretations of the raven stag shown alongside the wendigo and how other religions and beliefs might relate to this.

The Wendigo is a demonic entity or evil spirit from the Algonquian people of Canada. It is a winter spirit that is meant to represent greed and gluttony. When humans succumb to greed, like being greedy for money, being cruel to people, or generally evil things, the Wendigo spirit can possess you. During harsh winters, when food is scarce, people commit taboo acts and consume another human, participating in cannibalism. This also causes a possession and turns this person into a wendigo, never to be satisfied and constantly craving forever. I am not Algonquian, or even Indigenous/Native American, so I can't speak too much on this, and I don't know too much, but I hope I explained it well enough. I apologize if I did not. The show has its own visualization of this, and Wendigos traditionally doesn't look like the one in the show, but the overall message is the same. Even if Hannibal is not the Devil, he could be some manifestation of a Wendigo. It makes sense. Remember his back story? He was forced into captivity while hiding by soldiers during an extremely harsh winter during the war. Harsh enough that food became scarce, and the soldiers had to resort to cannibalism. They fed Mischa to Hannibal, which might have triggered something. Ofc this is a reach, but I did want to bring another interpretation into this.

Obviously, this is all just speculation. I love this show, with its dark complexities and incredible depth, and I wanted to talk about something I've been thinking about for a while now. Again, not everything might be correct. I apologize if that's not the case. Please feel free to correct me. I also apologize if this made no sense or was not cohesive, it's pretty late for me, but I couldn't get this out of my head.

I hope it was interesting ;)

[communist-manifesto-daily]

Socialism: Utopian and Scientific - Part 7

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1892 English Edition Introduction - 2

History (the role of Religion) in the English middle-class

When Europe emerged from the Middle Ages, the rising middle-class of the towns constituted its revolutionary element. It had conquered a recognized position within mediaeval feudal organization, but this position, also, had become too narrow for its expansive power. The development of the middle-class, the bourgeoisie, became incompatible with the maintenance of the feudal system; the feudal system, therefore, had to fall.

But the great international centre of feudalism was the Roman Catholic Church. It united the whole of feudalized Western Europe, in spite of all internal wars, into one grand political system, opposed as much to the schismatic Greeks as to the Mohammedan countries. It had organized its own hierarchy on the feudal model, and, lastly, it was itself by far the most powerful feudal lord, holding, as it did, fully 1/3rd of the soil of the Catholic world. Before profane feudalism could be successfully attacked in each country and in detail, this, its sacred central organization, had to be destroyed.

Moreover, parallel with the rise of the middle-class went on the great revival of science; astronomy, mechanics, physics, anatomy, physiology were again cultivated. And the bourgeoisie, for the development of its industrial production, required a science which ascertained the physical properties of natural objects and the modes of action of the forces of Nature. Now up to then science had but been the humble handmaid of the Church, had not been allowed to overlap the limits set by faith, and for that reason had been no science at all. Science rebelled against the Church; the bourgeoisie could not do without science, and, therefore, had to join in the rebellion.

The above, though touching but two of the points where the rising middle-class was bound to come into collision with the established religion, will be sufficient to show, first, that the class most directly interested in the struggle against the pretensions of the Roman Church was the bourgeoisie; and second, that every struggle against feudalism, at that time, had to take on a religious disguise, had to be directed against the Church in the first instance. But if the universities and the traders of the cities started the cry, it was sure to find, and did find, a strong echo in the masses of the country people, the peasants, who everywhere had to struggle for their very existence with their feudal lords, spiritual and temporal. The long fight of the bourgeoisie against feudalism culminated in three great, decisive battles.

The first was what is called the Protestant Reformation in Germany. The war cry raised against the Church, by Luther, was responded to by two insurrections of a political nature; first, that of the lower nobility under Franz von Sickingen (1523), then the great Peasants' War, 1525. Both were defeated, chiefly in consequence of the indecision of the parties most interested, the burghers of the towns – an indecision into the causes of which we cannot here enter. From that moment, the struggle degenerated into a fight between the local princes and the central power, and ended by blotting out Germany, for 200 years, from the politically active nations of Europe. The Lutheran Reformation produced a new creed indeed, a religion adapted to absolute monarchy. No sooner were the peasant of North-east Germany converted to Lutheranism than they were from freemen reduced to serfs.

But where Luther failed, Calvin won the day. Calvin's creed was one fit for the boldest of the bourgeoisie of his time. His predestination doctrine was the religious expression of the fact that in the commercial world of competition success or failure does not depend upon a man's activity or cleverness, but upon circumstances uncontrollable by him. It is not of him that willeth or of him that runneth, but of the mercy of unknown superior economic powers; and this was especially true at a period of economic revolution, when all old commercial routes and centres were replaced by new ones, when India and America were opened to the world, and when even the most sacred economic articles of faith – the value of gold and silver – began to totter and to break down. Calvin's church constitution of God was republicanized, could the kingdoms of this world remains subject to monarchs, bishops, and lords? While German Lutheranism became a willing tool in the hands of princes, Calvinism founded a republic in Holland, and active republican parties in England, and, above all, Scotland.

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[serpentface]

Stavis Amanti, the reigning monarch of the Wardi Empire during the great drought, decked out in traveling regalia and perpetually frazzled.

He and his dynasty are facing some major public opinion issues in the wake of a disastrous war against the rebelling tributary state of Finnerich and an unprecedented drought and famine.

Stavis oversaw a second invasion of Finnerich, in attempt to assist the imperial loyalist Finn monarchy in civil war against dissenting Northern Finns. This invasion was a catastrophic failure, and resulted in much of Finnerich's conquered territory being liberated and Imperial Wardin being humiliated.

One of the most crushing elements of the defeat was the killing of the Odomache (the high priestess of the Odonii order, spiritual leader and de-facto commander of the Imperial Wardi military, and believed to be a physical incarnation of God). The Odomache does not usually participate in combat directly, but was sent into the thick of battle as an attempted show of power. She was captured and killed and her corpse was defiled, an act deeply significant to those in the Wardi faith- the sanctity of her body is directly connected with the sovereignty and sanctity of the imperial entity.

This was proven to imperial Wardi observers when the rainy season that year failed, as did each rainy season over the next five years. The region is mostly reliant on seasonal flooding for its agriculture, and with flooding either being inadequate or wholly absent, this drought resulted in an extreme famine. This is interpreted as a result of The Face Of God Itself being defiled, and God being severed from Its lands.

Five years into the drought, the political landscape of the Wardi empire is in shambles. The city-state of Erub is experiencing a localized collapse as the Yellowtail river runs dry. Godsmouth and Lobera are in borderline open rebellion, calling for the ousting of the Amanti dynasty. Public opinion of the royal family is at rock bottom. The key unifying factor of Imperial Wardin (which is culturally diverse and composed of relatively powerful and distinct city-states) is its shared state religion, and the royal family is increasingly seen as impious, weak, and a foreign element (as effectively a remnant of the former eastern Burri empire). Pre-existing tensions between the monarchy and the priesthoods are exacerbated, with much of the Imperial Wardi public now calling for the overthrow of the monarchy (in favor of, essentially, an imperialist theocracy).

Much of the population is starving. All the usual dry season sacrifices have failed to restore the cycle of sacrifice and rebirth, and no new Odomache has been crowned. It's in this context that the great pilgrimage occurs under Stavis Amanti's command, with the goal of performing a reenactment of creation via the mass sacrifice of seven great beasts (aspects of God) and the incarnation of a new Odomache. It is hoped that this will restore God's connection with its lands and end the drought.

While this is (for most involved) a sincerely believed religious conviction, it is absolutely a desperate power play as well. The trek of the royal family, hundreds of soldiers and military elites, and the two most powerful priesthoods (the Galenii and Odonii) is a display of unity between the three fractured core powers of Imperial Wardin.

This is itself exceptionally fraught. Not only are the leaders of barely unified factions stuck together on a road-trip, but this trip is essentially a military march, taking place largely through conquered tributary lands. The pilgrimage contains the king, the prince, the king-sister, about three hundred soldiers, dozens of Odonii and Galenii, hundreds of servants and associated laborers, and a couple hundred khait and oxen. Such a movement requires a tremendous amount of resources to sustain.

Imperial Wardi culture involves a spirit of charity (particularly towards the Galenii priesthood) which is being heavily banked on to keep this hungry march afloat. In practice, a lot of commoners aren’t too thrilled by soldiers marching into their towns and demanding tribute in the midst of a devastating famine. Particularly given that much of the pilgrimage path is through conquered and heavily exploited tributary lands.

Needless to say this is not the best PR move for the Amanti dynasty and things go to shit.

Stavis himself is not a particularly cruel or stupid man (BIG CAVEAT: he is the head of an imperialist state), but was crowned amid growing internal conflict (after a long stretch of relative stability during his father's reign) and is overwhelmed by complex political situations and prone to hasty and dramatic maneuvers. He is heavily distrustful of the Odonii priesthood (which is functionally more in control of the military than he is), and is maneuvering to have his personal friend Faiza Haidamane mantled as the new Odomache, in hopes of maintaining loyal ties and not being replaced by, like, a god-emperor.

That being said, he is a true believer in the pilgrimage and is really, really, really hoping that getting all those cows and stuff to that place is gonna make all the raiding (and occasional massacres) of his own civilians to feed his pilgrim-army work out.

[mandos-mind-trick]

Lollipop

Summary: You're doing it on purpose. He wholeheartedly believes it.

Pairing: Crosshair x reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Crosshair's oral fixation, sexual tension, oral sex, lots of teasing, cum swallowing, finger sucking, Crosshair is kind of rough but what do you expect, language, slightly possessive Crosshair, eating candy but make it sexual.

A/N: *Sweats nervously* Uh yeah. I don't have much to say about this one. Please enjoy my fellow Crosshair simps.

MASTERLIST

You’re doing it on purpose. 

He wholeheartedly believes it. 

You’re sitting there in nothing but a shirt and your panties, relaxed back in the pilot’s seat. One bare leg is propped up on the console, the other spinning the chair back and forth. Back and forth. Your panties offer just enough coverage, but one wrong move and he would be able to see everything. 

You’re certainly not shy. 

His eyes trail up your body, focusing where your fingers are wrapped around the stick of the candy you liked. It was some specialty from your home planet, and you kept a whole crate of it on board. You’ve finished this one off, instead absentmindedly chewing on the stick as you read something on your datapad. 

You’re a pain in his ass, but you’re a talented pain in his ass. 

He had quickly gotten bored on Pabu. There were only so many fish he could catch before he started to go crazy. So he had made the decision to leave, to join Echo and Rex and fight against the Empire that had controlled him for so long. It wasn’t long before he was partnered with you, a highly skilled bounty hunter turned rebel. Rex knew you and trusted you, and you have yet to prove yourself unworthy of that. 

Even if you do drive him insane. 

He watches the way your tongue darts out, shifting the stick from one side of your mouth to the other. He can see the way your tongue moves, flicking the stick back and forth. His eyes narrow, hands closing into fists where they rest on his thighs.

“Why don’t you take a picture or something?” You say, putting down your datapad. 

He narrows his eyes even more, glaring at you as you stand. “Why don’t you put on your pants?” 

“It’s my ship.” You say, flicking the candy stick at him. It bounces off his chestplate with a quiet tink. You lean over his shoulder, resting your hand on the computer console. “Have you found our location yet?” 

“Yes.” He answers simply, glancing at you from the side as he leans slightly away. It’s not that he’s repulsed by you. No, in fact you smell good. You bathed religiously, imbuing yourself with some expensive soap from Naboo that made you smell like some sort of dessert. 

Good enough to eat. 

“He’s not exactly hiding.” You say, your tongue popping out to press against your upper lip as you read the screen. It’s what you do when you focus. 

He hates it. 

“You ever been to Nixor?” You ask, turning to face him. 

“No.” He says simply. 

“Well, you’re not missing much.” You say, pushing yourself off the console and back to the pilot’s seat. “We’ll be there in an hour or so.” 

***

You’re good at your job. No, you’re great at it. You’re more than happy to let him handle things from afar, waltzing right in without fear. Many quarries have been surprised to find not only are you not helpless, you’re also not alone. You’re good in a tight spot, making him feel like he’s only there to watch sometimes. 

Sometimes he thinks you mess up on purpose just to give him something to do besides stare at you. 

Which he does. 

A lot. 

“Come on, toothpick.” You say as you lower the ramp to the ship. “I need a bath.” 

He jumps as you pat his ass on the way up the ramp. His eyes narrow, waiting a moment before he follows you in. You weren’t overly touchy, but sometimes you liked to push boundaries.

Sometimes he wants to grab a handful of your perky little ass. 

“About three hours to Coruscant.” You say as the ship jumps into hyperspace. “You wanna fuck or something?” 

He nearly inhales his toothpick as his head snaps towards you. You stand from the pilot’s seat, sauntering over to him. It’s the same walk you use on some quarries. You bend down in front of him, plucking the toothpick from between his teeth, slipping it into your own mouth. 

“Why would I want to do that?” He manages to grit out, eyes narrowed at you as you hover over him. 

“Well, you have to constantly be staring at me for some reason.” You shift forward, planting yourself in his lap. You wrap an arm around his shoulders, fingers grazing the back of his neck. “If it’s not cause you like the way I look, then why is it?” 

He’s not sure how to answer. You are attractive, for a nat-born. He’s not stupid, he knows it, and he knows you use it to your advantage. He rarely lets anyone that close, unless out of boredom or necessity. He wonders how many others have found themselves in this position, how many others have fallen victim to your confidence. 

Thankfully you don’t give him time to answer, plucking the toothpick from your mouth. Your tongue traces your lips, his eyes following its every path. “I don’t know how you chew these things. Pokes the shit out of me.” You slip the toothpick back into his mouth, pulling a candy out of your pocket instead.

You carefully unwrap it, tossing the wrapper on the floor before slipping it into your mouth. He watches you, the way the stick moves outside your lips. He can picture the way your tongue swirls around the candy, coating your mouth in sticky sweetness. You stare back at him, unwavering under his gaze. Your nails rake against the back of his neck, a shudder running down his spine.

He reaches a hand up, fingers wrapping around the stick of the candy. He pulls it from your lips, watching the way your lips pucker around it. He holds it up between you, your eyes meeting his. You stare at him for a moment, searching his gaze. You seem to find whatever it is you're looking for as you lean forward, staring up into his eyes as you stick your tongue out. You run the length of it along the candy, flicking the tip across it before pulling back with a smirk. 

His gaze darkens, and he pushes the candy back between your lips. You take it eagerly, lips turning up in a grin. You lean closer, hand dropping to rest on his thigh, right in the gap between his thigh plate and codpiece, thumb just centimeters from the bulge. His blacks are starting to feel tight, his cock pressing against his codpiece almost painfully. 

You push the candy to the side so you can speak, smiling playfully up at him. “So? We’ve got three hours.” 

He curses himself silently, lifting a hand to tangle in your hair. Your lips part in a gasp, the candy nearly dropping from your mouth. He tugs it from between your teeth, flicking his toothpick onto the floor before he slips it into his own mouth. It’s sickeningly sweet, some flavor he doesn’t recognize. 

He slips his finger between your lips, pressing against your teeth. “Bite.” 

You sink your teeth into the tip of his glove, and he pulls his hand free. He takes the glove, tossing it to the floor. You’ve never seen any of his skin besides his face. He always wore his armor, always covered, going into the bathroom and leaving it. He slept in it too, on the rare occasion you had to make longer trips. 

His fingers are rough and calloused as they slide across your skin, his thumb tracing your lips before tugging at the bottom one. You part your lips, his thumb pressing into your mouth. You immediately close your lips around it, tongue darting out to lick the tip. He tastes like blaster residue from holding his rifle. 

He presses his thumb further into your mouth, your tongue flattening against it. You hold his gaze as you suck his thumb, swirling your tongue around it. He releases your hair, taking the candy from his lips, letting it drop to the floor. His own tongue darts out to lick his lips, your eyes following it. You hum around his thumb, shifting in his lap. 

He pulls his thumb free, gripping the back of your neck to pull you closer to his face. You’ve never been this close to him, close enough you can see the texture of his skin, all the little blemishes. Your lips part, breath heavy as he leans even closer, licking at your lips. Your hands grip his shoulders, eyes fluttering closed as he traces your lips with his tongue, tasting the remnants of the candy. 

Your lips part more, your own tongue darting out to lick the tip of his. His grip tightens on you, tugging you as close as he can as he smashes his lips onto yours. You whimper against his lips, his tongue invading your mouth. You taste sweet like candy, melting into him as he explores your mouth. The sound is loud in the quiet ship as he practically devours you, licking and nipping at your mouth and lips. 

You try and press yourself closer to him, grinding against his codpiece. He licks at your lips as he pulls you back slightly, holding the back of your neck. He brings his fingers back to your lips, pressing two of them into your mouth. You take them eagerly, relaxing as he pushes them all the way in to the knuckle. 

You whine around his fingers, tongue pressing against the digits as he lets them rest there. Your eyes flutter closed, one hand raising to grip his wrist. He releases the back of your neck, your head beginning to bob as you suck the length of his fingers. His free hand drops to tug off his codpiece, letting it drop to the floor with a clang. He passes a hand over the bulge in his blacks, eyes focused on you. Your own eyes crack open, staring at him as you suck his fingers. 

You tilt your head back, pulling yourself off his fingers. You tease the tips with your tongue for a second before meeting his gaze. “I wanna suck your cock.” You pout, using the stare you often did on quarries, the male ones, the easy ones. 

He falls just as easily, pushing you as you lower yourself to your knees between his legs. He wonders how many others have been in this position. None of the quarries have ever gotten this close. At least, not the ones you’ve caught since he joined you. He doesn’t let his mind wander, jealousy beginning to bubble within him. He wants your mouth. He wants your mouth to be his. He wants your body to be his. He wants you to be his. 

You’re a pain in his ass, but he wants you to be the pain in his ass. 

You rub his bulge through his blacks, tongue darting out to press against your top lip. He groans, gripping the sides of the chair as he watches you. That sinful mouth that’s spewed teasing banter his way since you met him. You never backed down, meeting him toe to toe in ways no one had been brave enough to, besides his brothers. 

What would they think of him now? 

You open his blacks, hand wrapping around his length. He’s hard and leaking already, just the sight of your mouth enough to elicit such a response. He’s not going to last long. Not with that little pink tongue sticking out, so close to touching him. Not with those lips, swollen from his kisses. 

He refrains from touching you, wanting to see what you’ll do alone as you lean in to him. Your tongue flicks along his head, pulling a shaky breath from his lips. He watches enraptured as your tongue traces a circle around him before trailing down his length. Your hand holds the base of him, squeezing gently as you lick him like your candy, your eyes lifting to his face to watch him. 

His eyes are dark and lust blown, the normal glare gone as he stares down at you. He looks fucked out already and you’ve barely touched him. You smirk, opening your mouth to take his head between your lips. You flatten your tongue against him, sinking onto his length. He’s so thick, his precum salty on your tongue. You breathe through your nose as you take as much of him as you can, whimpering quietly as he presses close to the back of your throat. 

He groans out a curse, tangling a hand in your hair. You release him, taking a deep breath before taking him back in your mouth. Your other hand rests on his thigh plate as you sink back onto him, taking him as far as you can before pulling back. You set a rhythm, keeping your head lifted as much as you can to stare at him as you suck his cock. He’s close, you can tell by his breathy groans, the twitching of his cock between your lips. 

You moan as he tugs at your hair, the sound vibrating around him. He holds your head still, fucking into your mouth as he cums with a loud moan, spilling into your mouth. 

You pull free from his cock once he finishes, staring at him as you swallow his load. His lips part, chest heaving as he stares at you. He swipes his cock against your lips, your tongue sticking out to clean him up. He leans back in the seat, watching your mouth. He’s far from done, and he knows you are too. 

Maybe this partnership isn’t so bad after all.

Taglist:

@kaminocasey, @rosechi, @mxkyrie, @bobaprint, @star-trekker-0013, @padawancat97, @bamfahsoka, @rain-on-kamino

[pynkhues]

What do you mean when u say Lestat is a Milton’s Satan hero?

Ah! Okay! Going to try and keep this shorter than my Byronic Hero post, haha, but we’ll see how we go.

Before we start…

When we talk about Milton’s Satan as a character archetype, we’re talking about something that was originated in John Milton’s epic poem, Paradise Lost, which was published in 1667. This was before gothic literature was quote-unquote ‘invented’ (as I mentioned in my first Byronic Hero post, gothic literature is widely accepted to have begun with Horace Walpole’s 1764 novel, The Castle of Otranto – worth the read, even just for the bonkers prophecy-speaking skeletons and a character dying from a helmet falling on his head, haha), but had, and continues to have, an enormous impact on gothic literature and horror in general.

The poem is set across twelve ‘books’ (chapters, basically), and is effectively a re-telling of the Book of Genesis but with two narrative throughlines. One throughline is Adam and Eve who represent more conventional biblical heroes in the poem, and the other is Satan (also called Lucifer in the poem). We’ll talk more about them in a sec, but before we begin it’s important to note that Paradise Lost was never intended as a criticism of the church.

Milton was a religious man, which is a really important thing to note when we start talking about Paradise Lost, but he was also heavily influenced as a writer by King Charles I’s autocratic rule and the English Civil War which lasted from 1642-1651. I’m not going to get into the nitty gritty of all of that, but what’s important to note is that he wrote Paradise Lost in a really increased period of anti-authority sentiment in the UK and believed strongly in rebellion against authority, which feeds into how he invented his Satan.

Milton’s Satan in Paradise Lost

Lucifer’s arc in Paradise Lost is a relatively straight forward one. He begins as God’s favourite angel but his pride and his vanity gets the better of him as God starts to invent (and favour) earth and mankind, and he comes to resent God’s authority over the kingdom of heaven. He believes he deserves to be loved as God is, so he leads a rebellion against God, only to lose, and he and the rest of the fallen angels, get cast out of Heaven and into Hell.

Out of spite, Lucifer decides to make Hell his own, with the iconic line “Better to reign in Hell, then serve in Heav’n” and to set his sights on corrupting God’s new favourite thing – Mankind (at this point, just Adam and Eve) – and he’s ultimately pretty darn successful. I’m not going to talk too much about the specific ways that he does that, but it’s basically a mix of deception and sowing seeds of lust, and the end result is that humanity’s corrupted, and God further punishes Satan by turning him and the other fallen angels into snakes.

The devil had been depicted a few times in literature and poetry before this time –most notably in Dante’s Inferno – but these depictions of the devil were always monstrous. Dante’s Satan is a three-mouthed beast keeping his sinner’s constantly in pain, trapped in Hell himself instead of reigning over it, and this is where Milton’s Satan hit the streets and changed character archetypes for good.

Because Milton’s Satan was hot.

Sure, he was evil, proud, vain, impulsive and did terrible things, but he was also charismatic, beautiful, graceful, funny, with all the best lines in the poem. He was “a lonely rebel…[and] an appealing, sympathetic deviant.”

And – I can’t stress this enough – nobody had ever done that before in Western writing.  “[Milton] transformed the way evil was depicted in Western texts and cultural imagery,” and also created the hero-villain archetype, something we now often refer to as an antihero.

On top of that though, Milton’s Satan was deceptive (literally a shapeshifter!), impulsive, had an incestuous family, and made sex sinful by making it lustful (Milton’s thesis over and over in his writing is that sex is great as long as nobody feels lust lol). He was also a loser, haha – he lost every battle he fought, and is in some ways regarded as a caricature of the epic odyssey hero, but look, I’m not going to get into all of that here.

Milton’s Satan is a tragic struggle between the entirely villainous and the entirely heroic.

Let’s just grab a quote from the excellent paper Miltonic Influences in Gothic Victorian Literature:

“As a rejected, troubled child of God, Satan decides to forcefully take what he thinks he should have by birthright. When he does not succeed, he decides to corrupt God’s new children…Satan is narcissistic, vain, proud and jealous. However, he is also remorseful and aware of the wrongness of his actions. He alone thinks he cannot be pardoned for the sins he commits so he forcefully pushes forward in his need for revenge. At the same time, Satan shows disturbingly human characteristics, but also inexplicable immorality. Just when one thinks one can reach a humane reason for Satan’s behaviour, one is left baffled by how evil he actually is.”

The important thing to remember about your Milton’s Satan archetype is that he was not just invented as a means of Milton’s grappling with autocracy and anti-authority sentiment, he was also really Milton’s way of grappling with humanity.

He leaves Adam and Eve as the Biblical heroes of the story, which makes them hard to engage with. What Milton wanted with Satan was to lean into the fallen angel element of him and show him as a character with the capacity for both good and evil, and the tendency to choose evil, thus making him both ultimately tragic, but also more human than the human characters. He was a way for Milton to explore what he felt were his own sins and moral failings, and in the process of that, became a way for readers to explore that too.

Evolution of Milton’s Satan

Milton’s Satan as an archetype has grown a lot over the years since his invention. Even by the time gothic literature started being ‘officially’ written a century later, the character archetype really existed on a spectrum, with some Milton’s Satan’s such as Ambrosio in Matthew Gregory Lewis’ 1796 novel, The Monk leaning more villain than hero, and the Monster in Mary Shelley’s 1818 novel, Frankenstein, who’s cast out by his maker and not given the chance he needs in life to be good. The Monster lacks a lot of Milton’s Satan’s typical traits like pride and self-love, but he continues the archetype’s throughline of being a cast out child who out of loneliness, becomes vengeful against the authority that rejected him and ultimately depraved/

Like I said, this archetype underpins all antiheroes today, and there’s a lot of writing about characters as wide-ranging as Hannibal Lector to Batman as being owing to Milton’s Satan, so there’s heaps out there to read if you’re interested, but yes! Let’s talk a little about Lestat.

Lestat as Milton’s Satan

Trying to keep this short(ish, anyway, haha): I really do think Lestat is born out of this archetype. Lestat’s an anti-authority character – an enormous part of which stems from his father’s autocratic and abusive reign of the household, and the feeling of abandonment by God when his father pulled him out of the church where he’d learn to be a priest only to continue his abuse. Lestat in that sense also faces rejection from three ‘God’s’ / makers not just one one – his spiritual God, his biological father, and later Magnus as his vampiric maker.

Interestingly too, Miltonic Satan’s remain heavily tied to their maker’s even after their rejection. In that paper above on Miltonic Influences in Gothic Victorian Literature, they note:

“The Satanic hero or the hero-villain is a dark, troubled and mysterious individual. He is shaped by life experiences and traits which he inherits from his maker.”

Something the show has reminded us a few times now. Lestat’s grounding in trauma and abandonment is steeped in the Miltonic trope of rejection by authority leading to rejection of authority, but even beyond that, Milton’s Satan is impulsive, morally weak, self-centered, proud, vain, lonely, beautiful but also, vitally, has a capacity for real good and an ability to love (and, more often, lust, haha). He’s a hero-villain that ultimately draws the viewer in because he’s exceptionally human in his monstrousness, and that is what is at the heart of the Milton’s Satan archetype. He’s evil but he’s human in a way traditional villains were robbed of, and similarly, he’s good but he’s human in a way traditional heroes weren’t allow to be, and to me that is Lestat in a nutshell.

[ultrone]

⣷♱🪽🕊️

─ ౨ৎ ‧˚ rebel!reader who was failing yet another one of their classes, and their parents forced them to get tutoring, threatening to send them away for the summer if they didn't comply. after class, you approached your teacher to discuss the possibility of extra tutoring. unfortunately, her schedule didn't align with yours. as a last resort, she arranged for laura lee to assist you. laura had recently started volunteering after school to help students excel in subjects she excelled in, one of which happened to be the class you were struggling with.

you both agreed to meet three times a week, much to your dismay. you clearly couldn't care less about that particular class, and the fact that you now had to attend not only the class but also endure hour-and-a-half tutoring sessions three times a week made you want to end it all. and to make matters worse, the two of you weren't even friends, which added to your lack of enthusiasm. most of your free time was spent with your best friends, lottie, van, and tai. you occasionally hung out with nat too, but usually separately or with lottie. laura, on the other hand, was in a completely different league when it came to friendships. it wasn't that you mocked her; in fact, you’ve always thought she’s a very sweet person. it was just that she had always been too uptight for your taste, which left you completely disinterested in forming any type of bond with her. 

or so you thought until your tutoring sessions began. initially, it was dull, the same old routine of reviewing confusing topics. but as the minutes dragged on and boredom set in, you found yourself inexplicably staring at her face. her neatly combed blonde hair, so soft-looking, her smooth skin, rosy cheeks, and the way her pink lips moved while explaining topics with ease and enthusiasm—all of it made you realize just how pretty she was, something you'd never noticed before. you didn't say anything about it, though; you simply admired her from a distance.

what truly captivated you, however, was simply her. she was not only the sweetest person you had ever met but also far more interesting than you'd ever imagined, and her patience in explaining the same things to you over and over again without a hint of irritation made your cheeks flush each time. whenever stress got the best of you, she would gently rub your forearm, wearing a small smile on her face, and suggest that you take a break. she'd then open her backpack and share some of her snacks with you while you talked about random things. her unwavering faith was admirable too. even though you respected it, you had always thought she was a bit too religious, attending church every weekend, saying prayers before meals, and before bedtime. this, coupled with her prudishness—never uttering a single curse word, abstaining from parties or social events, and avoiding alcohol, essentially steering clear of the typical teenage activities most students indulged in—was something you always found quite weird, or uncommon. although, you had to admit that her dedication in upholding her beliefs was impressive. what truly struck you, though, was the genuine peace and satisfaction that radiated from her whenever she engaged in these activities. she seemed whole, and you yearned for that same feeling.

it didn't take long for you to realize you wanted to feel that completeness too, but by her side. so, you did what you did best: you flirted. you were careful not to make her uncomfortable, keeping your advances subtle, at least initially. you'd drop compliments about how pretty she looked that day, how smart she was, and you even gifted her a beautiful rosary necklace she had been wearing ever since. the best part was catching her shy smile and the way her cheeks reddened at your words, looking away while opening her textbook to continue with the lessons.

eventually, you mustered the courage to ask her out. to be honest, you were a bit nervous. you weren't usually the timid type, but despite the prolonged flirting with her, which she seemed to enjoy, you didn't actually know if she was into you or if she even liked girls, which worried you the most. as the days passed, you grew closer, and you feared that her beliefs might cause her to react negatively and jeopardize your friendship. however, you knew it was worth it, she was worth it, so you took the plunge. during one of your sessions, before you both headed home, you asked her out.

initially, she innocently interpreted your invitation as going out as friends, causing you to chuckle. you then clarified that you meant going out on a romantic date. she blushed and stammered a bit, clearly not expecting that, but to your surprise, she said yes.

─ ౨ৎ ‧˚ some hcs

literally not a single one of your friends believed you when you told them laura lee and you had just started dating 😭 it wasn’t until they saw you walking to practice hand by hand that they realized you were being serious.

“laura lee, y/n? are you serious?” “isn’t she like a pilgrim tho? how’d you even manage to hit? wth”

you convinced her to come to one of jeff’s parties once, and she vowed never to go again. long story short, she drenched shauna in holy water and tossed her pocket bible at her face because she was vomiting and mumbling things in spanish while being really drunk. “i know what a drunk person looks like and believe me when i tell you she was not drunk.” “people vibrate in lower frequencies when they’re drunk and attract demons more easily.” ☠️☠️

studying got a lot more fun since you started dating. she promised that if you get all the answers right, you’ll both watch a movie and cuddle all night. but even when you get them all wrong, you always manage to convince her to do the same anyway 🤭

you began attending church with her every sunday. waking up early in the morning is a hassle, but you understand how much it means to her, and you just want to see her happy. so, if that's what it takes, then so be it.

you were low key surprised her playlists weren’t just gospel songs LMFAOO (much to her parents dismay 😭😭)

whenever you fuck up and do something wrong, she always goes “it’s okay, baby, you’re beautiful in the eyes of our lord.”

once, van, tai, and you offered her $10 in exchange for saying a curse word. you begged her relentlessly, and she felt so pressured that she finally said one. but as soon as the word left her mouth, she burst into tears because she felt awful and guilty 😭 you felt terrible about it so u went to church with her that same day and asked for forgiveness in front of her LMFAOO

[eretzyisrael]

by Sophie Kalmin

The Roman period left various indelible marks on the Jewish psyche, further exhibited by the remains of the Masada fortress. Excavated in the 1960s, King Herod’s first-century BCE stronghold serves as a powerful symbol of Jewish resilience. It was at Masada that Jewish rebels stood firmly against the Romans before the fortress was destroyed, and the Romans marked another victory over the land’s people. Today, Masada serves as one of the most popular tourist sites in Israel, in which visitors can interact with ancient cisterns, pottery, and engineering feats completed by Jewish architects. With areas of the fortress still yearning to be excavated, Masada prevails as one of the most poignant reminders of the Jewish connection to the Land of Israel — Jewish people died defending it thousands of years ago.

Historians say…

Beyond archaeology, the writings of Flavius Josephus, a first-century Jewish historian, provide an insider experience of Jewish life and Roman governance in Judea. In his work Antiquities of the Jews, Josephus details the Roman administrative presence in the region, including the taxation policies implemented by the governor of Syria, Cyrenius. Flavius notes, “Moreover Cyrenius came himself into Judea, which was now added to the province of Syria, to take an account of their substance, and to dispose of Archelaus’s money.” This account emphasizes both Jewish property and economic activities in Roman Judea. Josephus’s comprehensive records serve as a critical source, underscoring the continuous Jewish involvement in this land across millennia. 

Benjamin Tudela, the 12th-century author of The Itinerary of Benjamin of Tudela, records Jewish activity at the Cave of Machpelah. Tudela, a Jew living in the Middle Ages, describes the religious practices being exercised distinctly at this place. He writes that casks of generations of Israelites are buried within the cave and that our forefathers constructed “a gate of iron” to protect those visiting their loved ones’ remains. Because of Tudela, the stories of connection between Jewish people and their ancestors buried in the Land of Israel resonate more deeply.

Lasting Jewish Practice 

The discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls in the early 20th century provides arguably the most compelling evidence of the Jewish people’s enduring connection to their land and heritage. These ancient manuscripts, which date back to the last three centuries BCE and the first century CE, include the earliest known copies of the Hebrew Bible, providing invaluable insights into Jewish life, law, and beliefs during the Second Temple period. Written in Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek, these scrolls are a powerful symbol of Jewish spiritual and intellectual resilience. Their survival over two millennia affirms the enduring legacy of Jewish scholarship and the community’s unwavering commitment to preserving their sacred texts.

Israel is the Jewish Homeland

When British ships landed in North America in the late 16th century, they didn’t dig up Shakespeare plays and find ancient coins minted in English. By definition, colonial powers are not indigenous to the places they colonize. Jews have maintained a continuous presence in Israel since Judaism’s inception, despite numerous conquerors that have come along and expelled the Jews from their land. These exiles are not only thoroughly documented in Jewish literature and cultural evolution, but in continuous archaeological findings. Failed attempts to eradicate the Jewish people from their land have reinforced the urgency of the lasting existence of a Jewish country.

[library-ghoulette]

day 9 // voice kink

Prompt list thanks to @kroas-adtam 💜

Pairing: Terzo x reader

Rating: Explicit, minors DNI

Words: 1048

Tags: second person POV, female reader, confessional booth, masturbation

Summary: You confess to Papa Terzo why you have trouble paying attention during mass.

A/N: At long last, another Ghostober fic! Written in a frenzy and barely proofread, so beware? The Hail Lilith prayer that I quote in its entirety is from the article "Praying the Satanic Rosary," uploaded to Scribd by jimhoward300380.

Read beneath the cut or on ao3!

All is quiet as you make your way to the confessional, stepping into the booth and pulling the door behind you with a muffled, satisfying snick. You settle on the bench, and the dim silence envelopes you, thick and expectant. It awaits your words and the violence of breaking.

You cross yourself—right shoulder, left, forehead, between your breasts—and say, "Bless me, Papa, for a I have sinned. It has been one week since my last confession."

Then, you pause, letting the silence spool out between you. You can only catch a glimpse of a silhouette through the screen, the strong line of an aquiline nose in profile.

There is an impatient shuffling of vestments. "Go on, sorella."

A frisson of excitement runs through you at the words, at the familiar trill of the rolled r. You're not supposed to know who sits on the other side of the divider. You're certainly not supposed to memorize the schedule according to which the various Papas in residence—three retired from their public role, but still of service to their flock, and one still on active duty, as it were—hear confession, and plan your sojourns into the booth accordingly.

But isn't rule-breaking inherent to your faith, you rationalize? Did Lucifer not rebel before His creator? Is it not the nature of the brightest stars to fall?

And fall you have. You're not unique in this—every Sibling in the Abbey would be happy to line up and wait their turn with Papa Terzo. Who could resist his clever hands, his easy charisma, the transfixing power of his unholy gaze?

But for you? It's all about the voice. You have been known to linger outside of the music room, sweeping the hallway extra carefully as he warms up his vocal chords, running through scales and nonsense exercises. During mass, you let your eyes slip shut in the semblance of religious ecstasies, letting each syllable of his homily wash over you, meaning more felt by your body than absorbed by your mind.

But nothing compares to sitting here with him in the secretive dark, where each word rings with a special gravity, rendered huge by the small space.

You rack your brain for something to confess, searching your soul for the most exquisite sins you've committed. You run through a small litany of everyday transgressions—indulging your slothfulness, lying to Sister Imperator and saying that you weren't feeling well to get out of cleaning the sanctuary, envying one of your Sisters the expensive new pair of shoes she just bought and won't stop showing off every chance she gets.

Each sin you recount gets little more than a grunt of acknoledgement. This is no good. He's barely spoken the entire time you've been in here, and you're running out of sins, running out of opportunities for approval, for comment.

You decide to be bold.

"And—" your voice falters for just a moment before you press on "—and I've been having— impure thoughts. During mass."

"Oh?"

"Yes, Papa. I find that I can't focus during the readings, because I'm so distracted by— by your voice."

"My voice, sorella?" It comes out deep and rumbling, and you swear you can feel the words low in your belly as surely as if he were murmuring against your skin. You press your thighs together, seeking friction, seeking any relief you can find.

"Y-yes," you sigh. Your fingers twist in the hem of your skirt.

"Well, that is a problem." A pause, and you wonder whether he's going to continue. "You come here to hear my voice, but I think that I need to hear yours."

"Papa?" you ask, confused.

"Say a Hail Lilith for me," he commands. "As your penance for failing to listen to the words of our Unholy Father."

You take a deep breath, collecting yourself as you recall the words of the prayer. "Hail Lilith, full of the Serpent's seed, Satan be with you. Blessed are—"

"Slower," he interrupts.

You begin again, taking your time. "Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb, the Demons."

As you speak, you become aware of the rustling of cloth, as though he has reached beneath the robes of his office, as though—but surely not—he has taken himself in hand. It surprises you so much that you stop mid-prayer.

His voice is husky, breathy, when he prompts you, "Keep going. Please."

Emboldened, you snake your hand up under your skirt and down your panties, suppressing a gasp as your fingertips find your swollen clit and begin to trace desperate circles. You strive to keep your voice steady as you continue to pray.

"Seductress Lilith, m-mother of— mm— mother of S-succubi—"

You can still hear the motion of his hand, the huff of his breath as he gets closer, as he whispers, "Yes, that's it…"

"Pray— pray for— for us." The words have to fight your quickening breath and lust-muddled brain, now, and you're so close to coming that you're barely aware of what you're saying, or how loud you're being. "Pray for us that are serving You! Now and— fuck— now and in the— in the—"

Your release carries the rest of the prayer away, and you bite your lip hard enough to taste the coppery tang of blood, desperate not to scream your pleasure loud enough for the entire church to hear.

Beyond the partition, you hear his muttered swearing, the gentle knock of his head falling back against the wall of the confessional, and a deep, barely suppressed moan that you know you'll be replaying in your head tonight, and for many nights to come.

"Pray for us that are serving you," you repeat, slightly out of breath, "now and in the time of our Fornication. Nema."

For a few moments, the booth fills with the sounds of your breath as you both recover, heartbeats slowing. And then he asks, "Do you have anything else to confess?"

"This is all I can remember," you say, falling into the rote script of confession. "I revel in these and all my sins."

"Very good. When you leave, say three more Hail Liliths and an Our Father. And sorella?"

"Yes, Papa?"

"Come to confession the same time next week."

[marshmallowwitharubberband]

My grandma grew up in a very catholic environment and was an avid participant in her church for pretty much her entire life.

But she didn't buy 100% into the beliefs, so now that due to her age, health, and dementia she can't do much else than sit around and think, she's taken to making random religious musings that would probably get her expelled from the church or something. My top three favorites are, in no particular order:

- What if Jesus and the apostles were all gay? And they made up the whole "followers of the Messiah" thing to get away with never marrying and traveling around together without being killed.

- What if the Virgin Mary had rebelled from heaven and became a goddess/demonness of abortion? After all, she was made pregnant against her will when she was a child herself, at a time when a mysterious baby not from her husband would get her killed. Son of God or not, she has every reason to support getting rid of unwanted pregnancies.

- If God is omniscient and can pretty much read your mind all the time, wouldn't that make the whole church as an organization pointless? In theory, you should be able to communicate with God and show him love by simply thinking about it. Having to put on special clothes and go to a closed temple to chant the exact words to summon Him sounds like something you'd do for a demon. The symbolic blood drinking doesn't help.

The funniest thing about this all is that grandma will just spew these things at random, unprompted, while we're, like, making her tea or something.

Grandma's dementia has her coming up with the most metal bible fanfiction ever and it's never not funny.

[city-of-ladies]

An unprecedented female monarch in her dynasty, Rudrama Devi (r.1262-1289) presided over an age of prosperity. A successful warrior queen, she triumphed over both internal and external threats.

Her father’s heir

Rudrama Devi was the daughter of King Ganapati Deva (r.1199-1262) of the Kakatiya dynasty, who ruled over parts of present-day Telangana and Andhra Pradesh in Southern India. Their capital was located at Orugallu (Warangal). 

Ganapati Deva was a successful monarch. His kingdom was famed for its’ diamonds and beautiful fabrics. He had no son to succeed him and his older daughter was already married. He thus decided to make his younger daughter Rudrama Devi his heir and gave her the requisite training.

A female monarch would nonetheless be a in vulnerable position and see her legitimacy questioned. To make female rule more acceptable, he arranged a Putrikayagna ceremony for his daughter. This religious rite allowed a sonless man to declare his daughter or his daughter’s son as his son. After that, Rudrama Devi was also known by the masculine name of Rudra Deva. She also attended all public meetings in masculine attire. 

Her story is similar in that regard to that of her near-contemporary, Raziya Sultan of Delhi.

A warrior among warriors

In 1259, Rudrama Devi became her father’s co-ruler and assumed sole rule in 1262. She married the Chalukya prince Virabdhadra, who played no part in her administration, and with whom she had three daughters. 

Rudrama Devi faced many threats at once. Her neighbors saw an opportunity to conquer her kingdom and her feudatory noblemen couldn’t stand being ruled by a woman.

She stood her ground and prevailed, proving her might as a warrior queen. Many of her nobles rebelled, but she successfully defeated them. The Seuna Yadava king, Mahadeva, invaded her territories and reached her capital. Rudrama Devi chased him after 15 days of fighting and forced them to pay a heavy tribute in money and horses. 

To commemorate her victory, she styled herself “Rayagajakesari” or “the lion who rules over the elephant kings”. In the pavilion she built, she was depicted as a warrior mounted on a lion, holding a sword and a shield, with an elephant trunk holding up a lotus to her in sign of submission. 

In 1262, another of her neighbors occupied the Vengi region. She was able to recover it after 12 years of fighting. She was nonetheless unsuccessful in fending off the attacks of her southern rival Ambadeva.

Meritocratic policies

Rudrama Devi completed the construction of the nearly impregnable Warangal Fort. She bought large tracts of land under cultivation, increasing her kingdom’s revenue. She also recruited non-aristocratic warriors from diverse castes. Only 17 percent of her subordinates were of noble background. Prominent commanders could receive lands and become feudatory nobles. She thus established a new warrior class. Since the nobility had rejected her rule, this meritocratic policy allowed her to surround herself with loyal retainers.

Marco Polo, who mistook her for a widow of the previous king, wrote about her very flattering terms, calling her a “lady of much discretion” and a “lover of justice, of equity and of peace”. 

A warrior to the end

At the end of her reign, she chose her grandson, Prataparudra, as her heir. 

Rudrama Devi likely died in 1289 (though some sources date her death from 1295) according to an inscription made by a member of her army commemorating her recent death and that of her army chief. The cause and location of her death are unknown. She likely died facing Ambadeva's armies, leading her troops as she had always done.

Further reading

Gupta Archana Garodia, The women who ruled India, leaders, warriors, icons

Janchariman M., Perspectives in Indian History From the Origins to AD 1857

Talbot Cynthia, "Rudrama‐devi, Queen of Kakatiya dynasty (r. 1262–1289)", In: The Oxford Encyclopedia of Women in World History. 

Talbot Cynthia, Precolonial India in Practice: Society, Region, and Identity in Medieval Andhra

[presleyluvschris]

Hey babes got another request Well, it’s is more of an idea with JJ inspired by the song “up there down here by Jake Owen” feel free to do with this whatever you want 🤍🤍🤍

free falling - J.M.

pairing(s): jj x christian!fem!reader

a/n thank you for this baby

summary reader is scared about going full pouge due to her strict religious family but caves in after a date where jj shows her what she was missing.

word count 1.5k

warning(s) swearing, grammar

your mother comes storming into your room, slamming the door open which combusts against your fragile thin walls.

"Y/N." she groans and tries not to loose her patience. "What did i tell you about john b?"

you resisted the urge to roll your eyes, knowing you would be flipped upside the head if you dared.

"you know? that guy who's always wearing flimsy shirts like a complete fool?"

she gives you a cold stare, her eyebrows on the ceiling and her eyes popping out like she was furiated.

"why is he in our driveway with that rusty ass old worn-down no good van?"

she immediately squeals and covers her mouth with her hand that was painted with red nails and an engagement ring.

she sighs and mutters under her breath to be forgiven but all you do is roll your eyes, (without her seeing of course) and storm past her and down the driveway, your mother scrambling for you, screaming and yelling for you to come back but you had made up your mind.

you had just recently become friends with the pogues, hanging out then and there as it seemed the bond kept growing by day, but you were scared of getting attached because of your family and how the felt about the pogues.

it had become a daily topic at dinner table conversations and it had started to annoy you after a few surf trips with those certain ian hated people.

you wondered if it was just easy for them to say just because they were rich assholes, and your new friends made you realize that over these few weeks.

they weren't really religious. You felt that at times they used it as a cover-up, or some kind of crutch to hide themselves and make them look perfect. and thats what your family image had always held the standard for. They didn't want you to be truthfully happy, whether it was with the pogues or not. They wanted you to be perfect.

you were naturally drawn to them, especially the blonde one who had sneaked into your window late at night when you knew the alarm in the house hadn't been set.

they taught you how to have fun. JJ, taught you how to live, be loose, go with the flow like the waves would. Something you had never experienced before due to the strict brick-and-border lifestyle you had obtained since you were three years old.

part of you felt guilty for being such a rebel since you were taught to always sit straight, but it felt good. it felt good to not have to constantly worry about every action you took.

as you scurried down the stairs you laugh at john b who honked the horn and gestured for you to get in.

"were going to the beach, theres a bikini in the back that kie dropped off for you, don't worry."

you were only excited for one thing. to see your favorite blonde boy again.

john b caught onto the energy and rolled his eyes, "the shithead will be there too, don't worry."

you gelt yourself blush at the comment but the both of you knew that was all that you were worrying about.

the engine starts as john b pulls out of your driveway, you didn't even look at your mom beating on the window.

as the van makes it's way down the road, you tilt your wrist out rhe window and make a wave gesture with your hand, making john b chuckle a little.

"so, you going to live life outside the bubble wrap yet?"

you groan and shift your head on the back of the seat. "I dont know! My parents are being total asses about it." you cover your face with your palms.

you slightly flinch at your words, you were already under the influence. you couldn't help it.

he gives you a look, "y/n, all the pogues have either went against their parents, or went to their funeral."

he looks back at the road and turns on another street.

"besides, do you really want to live your life for your parents?" he makes a raspberry with his lips.

"not on our watch. you deserve more than that." he raises his eyebrows and tilts his head slightly, "we'll show you."

he stops the van on the sand and turns the engine off before getting out and shutting his side of the door closed.

you huff and squint your eyes at the coastline ahead and maneuver yourself out of the twinkie, following john b out and onto the beach where all your friends were sitting by the fire and downing beers, except for pope of course.

"hey, guys." your lips curl into a laugh.

JJ spots you in the bikini and looks at his shoes before you take a seat next to him.

"hey princess," he faces his head away to hand you a beer from the cooler, "how'd getting out go?"

you shrug, "mom nearly killed me but here we are." you take a sip of the beer and place it in the sand.

his lips go into a downward position and he nods, finishing the rest of his drink.

"what do you think would happen if i ran away?" you press your lips together.

JJ nearly spits out his drink, "what?! why? for what?"

you put a small smile on your face and loosen up your shoulders, "i dunno i just kinda like you guys." you bite your lower lip, "i feel like if i don't get out now then i never will."

he looks you up and down, "not bad, newbie."

you laugh a little while the pogues continue to talk about surf plans.

"you wanna go somewhere?"

you hum a little, "where you have in mind?"

"ahhh, i dont know," he cocks his head, "private, maybe."

you nod your head and get up, "lets go then."

he chases a wave as he sits on his board, and you follow him out onto the water.

he kicks back a wave as you sit in the water admiring how hot he is surfing.

the both of you have fun riding waves before you make your way back on the sand, your gut internally sore from laughing so hard.

he takes your hand in his as you walk down the beach near the water line, finding a good spot to sit down as the sky turns pink from the orange sun setting into the horizon.

"so," he mumbles, looking ahead at the ocean in front of both of you, "you've been hangin' out for a while, you still a kook?"

you rest your tounge to the side of your mouth, "john b wants me out of figure eight already." you swallow, "i dont think its a bad idea."

he smiles, "well we know all about getting away from CPS." he takes a sip of his beer, "JB made like a pact with some of the officers by workin' a few extra shifts so they would get off his ass."

he shakes his head, "crooked cops," he tuts, "not bad for us though."

you felt a sigh of relief come over you. you wouldn't have to worry about legal consequences of it.

he turns his head to look at you, "what, you think you'd go to jail?" he laughs as you give him a sarcastically nervous look.

he looks up at the sky, "okay, yeah, maybe if you stick around for it all you might have some shit in your records."

you start laughing and jj admires your beautiful smile.

he looks at your face, "so, what do you say?"

you couldnt stop smiling when you were with him, especially all alone like this. "yeah whatever i'll pack my stuff tonight," as you draw circles in the sand.

"atta' girl," he nods as he sets down his beer.

you feel yourself blush and giggle like a little middle school girl as he wraps an arm around you.

"just so you know, im not so tight with the man upstairs."

you chuckle and nod, "obviously." you purse your lips slightly, "its alright."

"but," he starts, "you make me wanna be a better version of myself, you know?"

you grin and stare at the ground, "do I, now?"

"yeah." he smiles, "how bout' this?" he studies your face on his shoulder, "you teach me about all that god stuff and i'll teach you how to have some fun."

you snort at the comment, laughing, "deal."

he rubs your arm as you both look at the glistening water, the campfire in the distance.

you feel him sigh as he gently holds you on the sand, "thank god i have you, y/n."

you roll your eyes into your head at the corny joke before he tucks a small kiss on the side of your face making you blush slightly.

this girl is heaven on earth, jj thinks to himself.

"pope actually wanted you first."

your mouth drops open, "what?"

you start laughing as you punch his shoulder and JJ gives you a dominant stare.

you put your hands up in surrender, "okay, yeah, im yours, i give up."

he snickers to himself as you look in his eyes.

JJ shakes his head as he ruffles the top of your hair, making it all messy.

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[todaysjewishholiday]

17 Tammuz 5784 (22-23 July 2024)

The Roman siege of Jerusalem in 3830 brought a brutal end to four years of rebellion against the Roman occupation of Judaea and Galilee. Eretz Yisroel had been under some form of foreign occupation for almost the entire period since the end of the Babylonian captivity, from the Persians to the Seleucid Greeks to the Romans, and had the history of the successful Maccabee Rebellion to look back on, which had ended with the closest thing to Jewish political autonomy during the whole second temple period.

The rebellion began in 3826, one of several rebellions against the excesses of Nero’s reign, including others led by Roman provincial governors. It combined Jewish religious objections to being governed by a polytheistic empire with widespread rage at the brutality of Roman military occupation and excessive taxation. The rebellion brought together nearly all classes of Judaean society and all the major socioreligious factions of Jewish life, with even the staunchly apolitical Pharisees throwing their support behind the rebellion. However as the conflict raged on the ideological and class differences of the Jewish combatants led to brutal internal strife which weakened the effort to cast off Roman tyranny.

The chaos throughout the Roman Empire during this period led to hope of Roman withdrawal and retrenchment to smaller imperial borders, especially when Vespasian, who had been leading the Roman assault on the rebels, took a large portion of his forces back to Rome to seize imperial power at the end of the bloody year of the four emperors in 3829. But the Romans were determined not to lose any of their subjugated territories, and Vespasian soon sent reinforcements back to his sons Titus and Domitian. The tide then turned against the rebels.

The seige of Jerusalem began just before Pesach in 3830, when the city’s population was swelled by Jewish pilgrims from across the Roman and Parthian empires. These visitors were trapped within the city’s walls with its permanent inhabitants, severely straining the city’s stockpiles of food and water. Disease and hunger were as deadly in the siege as the foreign army, and Jerusalem’s defenders soon turned on each other as tensions and rivalries reached the breaking point and every faction sought to blame the others for the horrible situation.

It was on the seventeenth of Tammuz that the Roman armies broke through the third and final defensive wall around the city. By the end of the month Jerusalem had been almost entirely leveled in a series of fires that broke out during the Roman massacre of much of the surviving population. Nearly a hundred thousand Jewish survivors were forced into slavery and taken elsewhere in the empire. Scholars estimate that less than ten percent of Jerusalem’s pre-war population remained in the area by the end of the year. The revolt’s suppression had brought untold horrors upon Judaism’s holiest city.

The seventeenth of Tammuz soon replaced the ninth of Tammuz, which was the anniversary of the Babylonian army’s breach of Jerusalem’s walls at the end of the thirty month siege of the city, as a sunrise to sunset fast day. Because the Roman destruction of the Beit haMikdash occurred on the same Hebrew date as the Babylonian destruction of the temple built by Solomon, there was no need to change the date of that observance.

The period from the seventeenth of Tammuz to the ninth of Av is known as the Three Weeks, and is observed in many Jewish communities as a mourning period for the physical and spiritual exile created by the destruction of both temples. Communities that consider post-exilic rabbinical Judaism to be a superior development to the sacrificial order and which celebrate the cultural vibrancy of diaspora Judaism over the longing for return are correspondingly less likely to emphasize the Three Weeks.