#raise me religiously. i've been to church a handful of times and it was never bad but it never ever stuck. i just kinda remember some stuff | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sockiestupidity · 8 months

Text

desc: miggy and reader bond over catholic guilt🤭

warnings: probs religious trauma, (possibly) bad spanish and bad writing, bad dialogue, ooc miguel (probs), panic attack, VERY SOFT MIGUEL LIKE ACTUALLY IM NOT EVEN OVER EXAGGERATING

VERBAL READER?????

you were roaming around spider society as usual, finding comfort in the unusual ambiance. as you walk to miguel's office to turn in your reports (lab?? room?? idk) you feel slightly off but are unsure as to why. as you enter the room you're met with miguel's back. you snap to get his attention.

he turns around "I've been expecting you for a while. Do you have the reports that I asked you for?" he looks at you expectantly, raising an eyebrow slightly.

you hand him the papers and watch as he sifts through the papers. he lets out a satisfactory hum "perfect." he pauses for a moment, setting the papers aside "are you free? i'd like to give you some pointers, your hands on combat is still sloppy" he explains.

your monotone expression changes to one of shock, surprised that miguel wanted to offer you training. you begin to rack your brain, you knew you were supposed to go somewhere, but you weren't sure where. all you knew was that something was wrong. you hesitantly nod, still having a slightly off feeling as you do so.

your brain makes a sudden realization, tuning out the world as you begin to panic somebody is trying to speak to you but it sounds muffled, as if you're underwater. you watch as the blurry figure approches you with worry.

"hey. look at me for a second" the voice speaks out. you dont respond as the figure attempts to console you. "Mírame por favor. Mírame" strong large hands grip your shoulders, attempting to bring you out of your daze.

"Escucha mi respiración" you hear calm breathing and attempt to match the steady breath. you let out a choked cry, feeling a pain in your chest, a tear rolls down your face "shh shh. Escúchame" your breathing begins to calm "that's right, you're doing so good" he praises you as your breathing starts to steady out.

you look up, eyes meeting his face "m-m sorry" you manage to get out. your lip trembles. you couldn't believe that this was happening infront of the man who was basically your boss.

you watch as his face softens, and he speaks once more "it's not your fault" he reassures you. you begin to walk away from him, ready to leave "wait" he pauses, grabbing your attention "do you-" he hesitates "do you want to talk about it?" he asks you.

you look at him in surprise. you take a shaky breath and nod. he pulls out a chair for you "go ahead, sit" he offers. you're still in shock, having never seen miguel act like this. you take the seat.

"go ahead, whenever you're ready. you can take your time if you'd like" his chair is turned to face yours.

you nod and take another breath. "so um. i dunno. i guess i just. i just freaked out thats all" you try to downplay the situation at hand. your voice is small, not used to talking to other people.

he frowns slightly "what..what led to that?" he asks you, wanting to get a better understanding.

you shrug in response "realized that i forgot that i was supposed to be somewhere today" you respond vaguely.

he gives you an expression that tells you that he knows you're not telling him the full story.

you let out a heavy sigh "um-i uh.. i was supposed to um attend church today and i..forgot" you admit.

his face contorts into a surprised expression "i didn't know you were catholic"

"i mean, not really. my parents were though" you look down at your feet "you know, it's kinda funny, theyre gone and i still feel guilty when i dont go"

he hums in understanding "i was raised catholic too" you perk up at his words "we're more similar than you may think" he smiles sadly "you're not bad for not going to church, okay? plenty of people have done worse. you shouldn't be attending out of fear, you should be attending if it's something you want to do and enjoy"

you hesitantly nod, still feeling terrible about the situation. you wipe away your stray tears.

he suddenly gets up "i wamt to show you something" you quirk your head in intrest "come on" he gestures for you to get up.

you nod and follow him. you find yourself in an elevator heading up. the both of you end up on the roof of the building.

"sometimes i come up here to have a bit of thinking time to myself" he explains as if he could sense your confusion"there's so many things ive done in my life that..i think god would be displeased with, and i often find myself thinking that maybe all of..the stuff that's happened in my life happened because of what i did. whenever i start thinking like that i come here" he looks into the skyline

"if you ever start feeling like that, i want you to come here, close your eyes, and take a deep breath" he speaks in a fatherly tone. you nod.

something about being in that space felt therapeutic to you, and you felt comforted by a sense of familiarity "thank you"

he looks at you softly "of course" you then bring him into a hug. his body stiffens for a moment but then embraces you in return. "you can talk to me if you're having these kinds of thoughts again, okay?" you nod and just let him embrace you. the both of you let go and just stare up at the sky in silence. you close your eyes and let yourself feel the wond brush against your skin.

A/N: not my best work but i had to get this idea out of my brain😮‍💨 anyways i rlly hate this qnd will probs delete later lol

#across the spider verse #atsv #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x gender neutral reader #platonic relationships #miguel o'hara fanfiction #platonic reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel spiderverse #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara x you #atsv x reader #spider man: across the spider verse #teen reader #(teen reader implied at least)#miguel o'hara one shot

35 notes · View notes

gayerthanevertbh · 2 years

Text

say your prayers - five.

pairings | dark!priestess!natasha x fem!reader

your school have church service once every week. of course, as a good little schoolgirl you are, you attend to it. which means you always have to see your priestess, natasha, who you are secretly infatuated with. until there was an unexpected turn that made you feel something else other than good. but maybe, even better.

warnings | smut/dark taboo themes - 18+ MINORS DNI! religious themes, blasphemy of religion, sacrilegious acts, sex with a priestess, mentions of rape (nothing happened), oral sex (r receiving), fingerfucking, oral sex in bed, top!natasha, dirty talking, pet names, slut shaming, and a form of love triangle.

notes | the love triangle is happening WOOOO but hey you know what it’ll be fine... :D enjoy reading, readers!

series masterlist | navigation

Do you know the feeling of being caught by something so scandalous, insidious, and sinister? When you are standing right in front of your father who is not so happy about your reckless motions that began to become bigger and bigger? Was it my fault in any way? Perhaps I wasn't careful and more daring than I shouldn't have been. I felt my toes curling when I saw his face, he looked so solemn yet very upset. Curse my principal for calling my father when it's not even a big deal.

"Where have you been, Y/N?"

"Nowhere." I protested.

"I know when you're lying, girl," he responded, crossing his arms. "Your principal has told me that you are flunking your classes lately, especially literature! And now I see my daughter sneaking out? Where have you gone off to? Is there a man in your life?"

"Can you please not assume things?" I said, raising the palm of my hand in the air. I was angry, short-headed, and trying my best to look puzzled so that he could not have suspicions about my affair with Natasha. "I'm just being a teenager, is that too hard to understand?"

He sighed as his eyes calmed down that it looked like they were about to shoot me with a laser. He said–dragging his words–"I understand that you're growing up, but you are getting your scholarship. But never hide stuff from your teachers or from me ever again, do you understand?"

"I don't think I comply."

"I'm sorry?"

Perhaps I'm pushing his buttons, I want him to know that I'm madly in love with my priestess and that I'd rather be with her other than doing something so stupid in life that won't even apply to me as a human being. Growing up, I thought. What is there to grow up for? I'm already grown up, I've become a better version of myself when Natasha decided to stick her tongue on my skin and ravish me like no one else. No boys or girls would've done it the way she does, no men or women would've done it the way she did. She's different, so different from them. And maybe–just maybe–I'm afraid to lose her.

"Let me grow up, Dad," I said, sighing loudly for him to hear. His eyes softened again and deflated his shoulders; he should feel bad for me. "I need to experience these things to learn something in life. Don't you want me to be a normal girl? Then let me."

There was a long silence between us until he nods, agreeing to my statement that was pretty dramatic, I would say. At least it worked; I tried my best to look poker other than being so joyful about this.

"Okay," he finally says. "I understand, .But please, just be careful, Y/N. You're still my daughter, I'm just protecting you."

Protecting me from the real world wouldn't consider you a good father, or a parent.

"Do you trust me?" I asked.

He nods.

"I do trust you," my father says softly, using his normal voice. "I just don't want anyone to take advantage of you. If you want to sneak out, please just let someone know. Maybe your friends?"

Wanda? I don't know, she doesn't even want to speak with me–and I think that's sort of my fault.

"Okay," I said, still agreeing even though I won't do whatever he's telling me to do. Shrugging, "Yeah, okay. I'm sorry, Dad. I'll do better next time."

Will I even do better? No, I'll still repeat those mistakes–very repetitive. Do I care? I do, but not a whole lot.

He kissed me on the forehead before muttering out a short prayer, and then he left without saying anything much. The thing about my father is that he never looks out for my talent, my charisma, and my good work. Go harder, go faster, aim for your price, as he always says–like a mantra. I'm not going to lie, but it does give me the drive to become a person with a brain, with such great intelligence that I could possibly make Natasha feel bad and question her knowledge. I don't mean to sound conceited, but I do want to be smarter than anyone else.

But sometimes, I find myself feeling clueless and innocent when Natasha touches me when she kisses my lips–then to my chin–as if it was her saying: I love you, I want to be with you. You compel me, I'm obsessed with you. Is she obsessed with me? Does she want me as much as I want her? All I want to do is wrap my arms around her nape and let her carry me to her bed, fuck me until I'm brainless, and make me wet so that she could lick it all up. You are better than anyone else, I don't wish for anyone else. Can she say those words to me? Can she let me know that I'm the only little girl she needs? Every service, I wish and pray for her to give me a short glance. And she would never give me what I want, as she says: we will get caught if I look at you, they'll have an idea about us. So what if they have an idea? So what, so what, so what?

Sometimes all I want to do is rather die in her arms, let her be traumatized, and be in love with me so that she could not seek anyone else. Let her be traumatized, let me become inhumane. Make her scream, cry, and beg for forgiveness. Perhaps she'll be guilty enough for corrupting an innocent girl like me, perhaps she'll have the intelligence of knowing how much I love her. And then, maybe, she'll kill herself too.

—

Today, I was back in Natasha's room with a dreaded look on my face. We had an exam that was excruciatingly long, maybe longer than I was once waiting to get my passport. I was at the foot of her bed, dangling my feet like a little kid. Mother Natasha was by the window frame as she sucked out her cigarette, blowing a huge puff outside the window. I looked up at her innocently, trying to catch her gaze. She looked back, and I could've sworn that the lower pit of my stomach was churning.

"You're cute," she mutters, sucking her cigarette again as she blows it out. I hated it whenever she was smoking, it would make my eyes feel irritated. "Wearing your cute little high socks, covering your legs. Tell me, do you still feel as innocent as when I first touched you?"

I shook my head a no; she smirks one side of her lips.

"So cute," she repeats again, a hazed look on her face that makes her look a little out of place. She nears herself to me and kneels on the ground, looking at both of my knees. My breath hitches when her lips made contact with my left knee, looking back up at me with the darker shade of her eyes. "You're my pure little lamb, kotenok. Open those sweet legs of yours for me."

Kotenok. Kotenok. Kotenok. How much I love to hear her say my pet name like that again with her deep voice that sounded so sultry, luscious, and humid like the air. I looked up to the ceiling and felt her hands departing my legs, shamelessly exposing my covered cunt with my white cotton panties. She badly wants to ruin the undergarment, imagining her fingers into the hem of my panties just to rip them off. I'll let her do it, I'll let her do whatever she wants to do with me. Eat me, Mother, taste your peach. I'm her fruit, especially her peach.

"Tell me that you want me."

"I want you," I gasped out, panting almost. "Please–I want your mouth so much, taste me."

Natasha hooked her fingers inside my panties and dragged it down slowly while her eyes were glued to mine as if watching a scene in a movie that she had been anticipating. She drags it and drags until my panties are now discarded. A smirk still hovers on her face as her tongue dips into my inner thighs. I threw my head back in the air while unbuttoning my blouse, trying to touch my breasts so that the mere pleasure could be more intense and passionate.

My stomach flexes hard when I feel her tongue dip into my folds like a greedy person who's thirsty enough to eat their peach. She moans when she tastes my insides, licking the clitoris furiously while furrowing her eyebrows in concentration. I gasped and heaved, I wailed and cried. It all felt different when she had her long tongue lathering up my folds as if she couldn't get enough of it. I whimpered, "Yes! Oh god, you lick me so good, Mommy..."

"Mmph," she groans, her lips smacking when she tasted my juices. God, she was hungry. "Fucking hell, you taste better than ever. Gonna fuck your pussy so good with my tongue, little girl."

A strong yelp came out of my lips when she started to make circular motions with her thumb on both of my thighs, somehow inching close to touch my pelvis. I didn't care if she was going to hurt me with all she can, I wanted her to do it–as if submitting myself to her until I've become a complete mess. She deepens her tongue inside my hole, licking the top part of my walls. Her eyes were closed, holding out my left thigh for support. "You're making such a huge mess of me, angel. I've got to clean you up."

"I can't–" I gulped, trying to catch some air. My chest starts to hurt from panting too much, my hips rolling to get more of her tongue inside of me. "P-Please, keep going!"

"So fucking dumb," she huffs out, licking her lips together and dives back in again–pressing her whole face against your wet cunt. She laps to your folds, playing with your gaping hole using her index finger. "Look how your cunt is so ruined for me, no one would ever want to fuck you. I only get to do that, do you understand me?"

"Yes!"

She growls and inserts her tongue inside of my walls again, reaching to the depths of my vagina. I could practically feel the tip of her tongue hitting my spot, but not quite there. It wasn't as long as her cock, it wasn't as long as her fingers, yet I didn't care. She eats me out like I was god-sent to her, her mouth grows tired from munching on my juices. I start to hump her face–trembling, shaking, and my forehead creates a thick sweat that I cannot wipe off. I removed my bra, pinching one of my nipples to electrify my body more–to ignite that spark that is called a climax. I was so lost in my own world that I felt her dipping two fingers inside of me, curling it with force and want.

"Oh my god–"

"You're fucking pulsating around my fingers," she groans out; kissing my fat clit. "You like it when Mommy fucks your sweet little hole, baby?"

"Uh-huh," I began to say, panting hard. My fingers threaded through her silk red hair as I tried to hold her head in place–but I wasn't in control, I never was. "You feel so good inside of me, Mommy!"

"Yeah?" she taunts, spitting on my folds to create more lubrification. Hot. "Want me to fucking take you without permission, huh? You just want me to fucking hurt you, huh baby? You're a fucking slut."

Call me a slut one more time, make me your whore, make me come all over your fingers, make me yours. Tell me that I'm a whore over and over again, slap my face, choke me, make me yours. Natasha, I need you.

She was no longer careful with her fingers whenever she would plunge them back into my cunt, no, she was furiously pumping most of her fingers inside of me while having her mouth suck on my clitoris. My back was sprawled all over her sheets at this point, I felt like I was in heaven–paradise. All I could ever think about was her above me with her strap or her fingers, pumping inside of me until I couldn't breathe; until I was going to die. So what if this was my deathbed? That would be too embarrassing enough, yet I didn't care. I wanted her to go harder, to make me bleed like the first time she did on that night.

"Cum around my fingers," she demands, her voice deeper than before. She curls her fingers again and again until my midsection starts to churn. "Come on, pulse around my god damn fingers again."

Her tongue lapped on my clitoris once more to get me to the edge and it worked. I arched my back as I moaned out her name relentlessly, covering my face with my arm and clenching around her fingers–just as she wanted me to. "That's it, little lamb. That's my good girl." Natasha mumbled, staring intensely at my vagina as it kept pulsating with my undying orgasm. My vision started to blur as I flopped my head against the mattress, my chest still heaving like an engine. I felt indiscreet, dirty, and a mischievous girl that spent her time having sex with an older woman who was two decades older than her. I didn't move when her body came back up again and felt the side of my mouth being kissed by her, a hand holding my neck as the woman kisses me desperately–"Good job, little girl. You've made Mommy proud."

My socks and my uniform are definitely ruined.

Her cigarette was torn and lying on the ground.

A pair of my underwear was beside it.

Her clothes were soon discarded and lay down with me with her arms wrapped around my stomach, holding me close.

She kisses my temple, then my cheek, as she whispers coherently: "You are my sin, a beautiful one. If you were taken by someone else, I'd slaughter them with no shame. You are meant to be with me, I know it. God has brought you to me, there's no doubt about that."

I believed her to be the good child I was, I nodded twice. She smiles down at me and kisses my lips once more and we both fall into a shameless slumber while the sun strikes in the room–aiming for our naked bodies.

She was smoking again while I was reading a book in her bed to get my mind off elsewhere other than her naked figure that has been standing against the window frame. Gladly enough, there was a shade on the glass so that no one else could see her nudity–as well as mine. Natasha looks at me with a chilly mysterious gaze, making my stomach churn once more.

"You're quiet," she points out. Has she noticed my distress? "Is everything going well for you, baby?"

"Define well."

"You seem distraught," please don't point that out again. "Did anyone hurt you?"

"I wouldn't say hurt but scared? A little."

"Why scared?" she asked, sounding so interested and inquired.

"My father came to my dorm room this morning."

Her face fell, I noticed by one glance that she was also in fact–nervous as I was. Maybe I shouldn't have said anything, would this ruin our relationship? Then her face changes into technical as if finding a solution to help myself as well. She said, "Your father doesn't know anything about us, right?"

"No." I parried.

"He shall not know anything," she echoes her words, sucking in her cigarette. "I would love to meet your parents one day, I just don't think right now would be the right time."

"I didn't say I want you to meet them," I responded quietly, dropping my book against my covered lap. "I just said my father visited me this morning. I've been failing my class lately, that's kind of my fault."

"This damn school is a mess."

I sighed, nodding. "It is, but I do have to get my scholarship."

"For what? What school are you trying to get into?"

"Well, NYU since my father graduated there. But I don't know, do you think I'll fail?"

There was a short silence since Natasha spent her time dragging her cigarette from her mouth, pushing the bud against the ashtray to stop the fire. She looks at me and nods, smiling softly. At least someone like her would believe in me, my parents barely give any effort.

"I know so," she says, sitting down near my body and kissing my shoulder blade. "I love you so much, if you move away then I'll come with you."

"What about your job here?"

"I do like it," she sighs. "I just want to be with you most of the time. Is that bad enough to say?"

I shake my head, giving her the same smile she's giving me. I decided to kiss her on the lips, although it took me time to process it since it was a slow kiss. She deepens her lips and I could tell that she wanted to make out with me, to make love to me again if that's what you're going to define it. She was now kneeling on the mattress, wrapping her free arm around my rib section as our kiss went deeper and deeper, hotter and wetter. We kissed until we both stopped, knowing that anyone could hear our lips smacking together.

"My schoolgirl," she lets out a lovesick sigh; our foreheads touching. "If you decide to go to NYU, I'll buy an apartment for us both. Maybe we can both live there, you don't have to depend on your parents."

Perhaps that was a generous idea, it all felt too risky and daring. But that says a lot about her personality, including mine. We ought to be together, I can admit that the Lord has put us two as companions and lovers. At least I like to think that way to the point I'd constantly think if I'm a delusional woman. I nodded slowly and pecked her upper lip, giggling like a little girl.

"I think that's a really nice idea."

—

Going to class without Wanda seemed so lonely and depressing. I don't mean to exaggerate, I'm just stating a mere fact. Whenever I'd see her, she wouldn't dare to give me a bat of an eye. No simple: hey, how's the class? Or we should do a project together. None. My heart could sometimes falter when there was an opportunity for me to see her with someone else, laughing with them about a stupid school joke that I don't tend to make a lot. Perhaps she was happier without me, perhaps I have realized how of an awful friend I am. Why did I have to say that to her? Why have I become so arrogant towards the person who only gave me nothing but care and love? Pathetic me, pathetic life.

That changed when I saw Wanda leaning against my dorm room with her head down, playing with the tip of her shoes. I tapped her shoulders, to know why she was there, and she gave me a whimsical smile–then it falters when I touch her shoulders.

"I might've overreacted with what happened." Wanda states, admitting how immature she was even though it was the opposite. I shrugged, letting her know that it didn't really matter to me; because it didn't.

"It's no biggie."

"But if I tell you this," she hesitates a little, then continues. "I-If I tell you a secret, would you keep it?"

"Certainly." what kind of a friend would I be if I didn't keep one of her secrets?

She looks at me with determination, as if she's going through a mission that I have no idea of. I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion until suddenly I felt her lips grazing against my cheek. She breathes in me, she holds my neck just like how Natasha does. Except that Natasha does it so much better than she does–no offense. I look at her with more confusion, so baffled by her lips and she whispers: "I like you a lot. I know we're supposed to be best friends, but I like you. I don't want to date a boy from a diner or even hold their hand. I want to hold yours, I want to take you out on a date."

"Wanda–"

"Just don't say anything if you don't feel the same way," her voice sounded like a plea, making my body deflate more. "I-I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. I'll see you soon."

Before I even blinked, she was walking away and I tried my best to follow her and tell her that I was falling in love with someone else. Why does it have to be me? Why on earth was she interested in a wretch like me? Confusion and questions start to swirl in my head crazily, wondering if I could ever talk to her again. The thing is, if Natasha never existed, I'd say yes to her. And when I do say yes, I'd mean it.

Deciding to go back to my room, I saw a tall figure standing near the corridors. I looked to my side and it was Natasha who had a bible clinging to her hip, staring at me with no emotion. She saw what happened, she saw how Wanda kissed my cheek. She saw it all, and I didn't know what else to say. When I take one step, she backs away and walks off–leaving me completely alone in the hallway.

I've got two women wrapped around my finger, and it's not good.

—

Mrs. Johnson,

Mother Natasha, who's the priestess in this school, is not what you think of. She may come off as a kind and gentle woman who does hear your problems, prays for you, and whatever else you could think of. But she is a rapist, she has touched innocent young girls ever since she stepped into the school. Each time I see her, it feels like I'm her next victim. I will come off as anonymous since I'm not comfortable enough to let you know who I am. Though I can put my initial to make you an idea of me. Please take her out of this school. I want her away and to stop raping other children like me, think about us girls.

If there's not enough evidence, I can dig deeper for this sudden information. Until then, here's my letter to you about what is going on with this woman.

Sincerely,

well “W” is framing Mother Natasha...

taglist: @olicity-boo @nickalpatel @sayah13 @inluvwithfictionalwomen @daddynatasha @natnutkuy @mrs-johansson @ageofolsen @easybxy @natasharomanoffswifeyyy @ayyy-lety @wandsgurl @rt–link @pancakefan7529 @korekiyoss @natash7456574657646645 @riveravalonsage @queen234 @gracied710 @aru-son @katherineromanova @agent99galanzo @dumbdoll-420 @meshuganna @jessromanoff5 @kimromanov @cl-e @profoundpersonacoffee @wandaslittlewhore @natashaswife4125 @setsuna1415 @encyrpted @d14n4ol @natashaswife4125

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff fanfic #dark natasha #dark!natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x reader #black widow x you #say your prayers series

397 notes · View notes

the-downwardspiral · 2 years

Text

The First Commandment ;;; Asa Emory x Male!Reader SMUT

TW: Religious Trauma, Mentions Homophobia & Bad Parents, Asa, Y'all fuck in a church so-

ALSO M/N MEANS MALE NAME IG

You lean against the cold wood of the church pew. Your face is wet with tears and snot as you're sobbing, begging for God to forgive you. Your parents had just kicked you out. They found out. They found out about that "DISGUSTING" and "UNHOLY" way of loving you felt. You left your diary out and they had read all about the boy at church you had a crush on. You were ashamed, embarrassed, REVOLTED with yourself for feeling these feelings so you came to the only place you felt could take them away. That place being the church that has teared apart your mind and soul and heart and anything else that could have made you your own person. You have simply been a shell, a vessel for their scriptures to flood into and brainwash. But yet, you wish that they could save you. You wish they could have made you normal, wish they could have you living your life normally with your parents. But yet, you're here sobbing on the cold limestone floor and nobody has answered your prayers.

"GOD, I'M SO SORRY.. PLEASE JUST REMOVE THIS SINFUL DISEASE FROM ME.. I WANT TO GO HOME.." you say, crying out more. But then, you heard the tap tap of some boots.

You look from the pew to see a rugged, older looking man walking up to the altar. He looks up at the beautiful yet painful artwork on the ceiling and sighs heavily. You gaze at the man, admiring his looks until he turns your way. Its as if he had felt your sinful gaze on him. You wipe your tears and try to get up to leave but he grabs your shoulder with enough force to almost break it. Your already teary eyes started to cry again from it.

"It's late." he says firmly.

You swallow. How would you explain yourself for being here at this hour without delving into your shitty life? Instead of responding with words, you simply look down. You're sure the tear soaked, solem face you have at the moment speaks for itself. The man takes some time to look over your face as if he were reading every thought you're having at the moment. He then lets go of you and grabs one of the bibles from the shelf on the back of the pew.

"This book. It's full of lies, you should know that."

He stares into your eyes as he rummages in his pocket, pulling out a lighter. The man shifts the bible in his hand to hold it in a better angle. But right before he can set it on fire, you grab the bible and look at him with anger and fear in your eyes.

"Why the hell are you doing this? Trying to burn a bible in a church? Are you fucking insane?"

The man grabs the bible back from you with no struggle at all, and you cry and plead for him to not burn it.

"Listen, boy. Why do you try to defend this book when, and this is a long shot, it seems to be ruining your life?"

He stares deep into your eyes, awaiting a real answer. There's no getting out of this already weird and awkward encounter.

"I.. have to. I don't want to end up in hell.. Although I guess I've already got myself a damn ticket for the bullshit I've been thinking."

The man raises an eyebrow at you and lets out a sinister laugh.

"Oh? What kind of things?"

You gulp. Is it getting hot in the church? Or is it the fire of hell coming to take you for the sinful things you are thinking about right now. The man notices how red you are and laughs yet again.

"No need to answer me, boy. Your reaction speaks for itself."

You feel your face get hotter.

"I uh- I never caught your name sir. I'm m/n by the way."

He smiles, dropping the bible onto the floor and stepping closer to you.

"Emory. Asa Emory."

That name seemed familiar, but you couldn't care less. You were tired from crying (among other emotions at that moment.)

"Well, nice to meet you Mr. Emory."

"Nice to meet you too, m/n. Now do me a favor and sit down on that pew for me. Alright?"

You nod, sitting down confused.

"Say, m/n, do you happen to remember the first commandment?"

You take a moment to think, but then you remember it.

"That one is... 'You shall have no other gods before Me' if I'm not mistaken."

He smiles at you again, lifting your chin up to have you looking at him.

"Good job. It's such a shame you'll be breaking that commandment pretty soon boy."

Your face turns bright red. Those sinful thoughts are going a mile a minute, and you don't feel like shaming yourself for them right now. Asa's comment has you intrigued.

"W-What do you mean-?"

Asa grips tighter on your chin, his smile becoming a bit more sadistic.

"You innocent little thing. I'd like to save you like a real god should."

He then moves his hand from your chin up to your hair and pulls you up, having you stumbling to stand. The larger man kisses your forehead lightly and then lets go. Before even being able to stand up right you drop back to the floor, looking up at him fearfully. The sight of you down there had his mind as full of filth as yours was.

"B-but- We're in a church Mr. Emory- We can't do such sinful deeds in here-"

"Says who?"

You gulp, hoping he doesn't see the growing tent in your pants. Of course, Asa is a very observant man so he did in fact notice.

"Seems you've got a bit of a problem down there. Would you like a bit of help, boy?"

"I-I.. Y-Yes-"

Asa smirks as he looks you up and down. It's as if he's undressing you with his eyes, and honestly you'd love if he actually was. Yet again, it seems as if he read your mind. Asa kneels down in front of you and kisses you roughly. You moan through the kiss and grasp at his shoulders as he starts to pull off your shirt.

"M-Mr. Emory--"

"Hush, boy."

And you did.

Asa started to undress himself as well with a rushed pace, he was fully prepared to ruin the smaller man in front of him. You bite your lip as he pulls his boxers off, revealing his huge, hard dick. You shut up every last doubt and lick slowly up it from base to tip, then just going in circles on the tip. Asa, seemingly annoyed, puts his hand on the back of your head and pushes you all the way down on his cock. Your eyes tear up and you try desprately to pull back from it. His strong grip doesn't let you though, and your vision starts to go black. He sees you start to slow down fighting back so he pulls you back for you to catch your breath. You gasp for air, tears running down your face. Asa wipes the tear from you, and stands up.

"Be a good boy and bend over the side of the pew."

You do as your told, eager for the man to be inside you.

"I'm about to show you who your real savior is."

And with that, he rammed his cock so hard into you that you swore you could see stars. He kept this bruising pace, grabbing tightly onto your hips so he can keep ramming fast and deep into you and hitting your prostate head on. Your moans and screams echoed through the church, and you knew if anyone was anywhere close to the place they'd be able to hear you. But the thought of everyone around being able to hear you in there made you want to be even louder. Soon enough, with the amazingly painful thrusts and the embarrassment of being made such a whore in a holy place, you cum more than you ever have. Asa pulls your head back by your hair and starts going even faster if that's possible. Your face is covered in tears and sweat and your throat hurts from both the hard throat fucking you just got and all of the screaming. Finally, Asa does one last deep thrust into you and cums. Both of you are left panting as he pulls out, and you collapse onto the pew. He starts to put his clothing back on and redresses you, giving you his shirt to wear instead. Asa then carries you out of the church and heads to his place, not caring about the mess you both made.

#slashers x male reader #asa emory x male reader #asa emory x reader #x male reader #slashers x reader

391 notes · View notes

fr0gg13b413 · 5 months

Text

my college essay i wrote about queer religious trauma

- @/finchmoment on tiktok

Growing up religious, the realization of your own queerness is also the realization of a betrayal. It will be argued two ways- either you are betraying God, or He is betraying you. Either way, you lose. When you are both the Betrayer of God and the Betrayed by God, you will, inevitably, become the Exiled too. Is it my fault? When Judas only played the cards he was dealt, is he really to blame? Is there something we could have done, something to change the course of time, to write ourselves out of condemnation? And would we have done it, if there was? I was young when I was eviscerated. Foolish, too. To this day, I still don't know why I expected things to be any different. I was raised this way, after all. I was raised knowing queer was a synonym for wrong, knowing gay was a synonym for sin. And still, when I realized that I was a synonym for all those things too, my entire world fell away from me. Daughter turned disappointment. Classmate turned outcast. Friend turned disgrace. Human turned abomination. I found myself alone, not for the first time, but for the longest time. Nothing would ever be the same, and I have spent my life since reeling with it. The church will argue that I betrayed God and I won't disagree with them. It's true- that I was His once. That I made promises to Him I couldn't keep. That I swore my life to someone I would later abandon. But it is also true that I am human, and I am small, and by saying I betrayed God you are either handing me supernatural power or shrinking God down and admitting to His weakness, admitting to His fallibility. Maybe those are the same thing. If at the end of my life I am wrong about my beliefs, I hope He is as merciful and forgiving as they say. Because I tried. Because I spent my childhood trying. Because I need those years to matter. God, I am sorry for growing weary and giving up. I am sorry for pulling away and choosing myself, my little life. Call that betrayal if you will. In The Last Days of Judas Iscariot, Judas asks, "Why... didn't you make me good enough... so that you could've loved me?" I see myself in him, then. I've never understood how it was fair. Being born this way, having no say in the matter, doomed from the start. If God truly is omniscient, if He truly cares about his creation, then why were my pleas for redemption met with a deafening silence? Why did God make me so unrighteous that He could not bear to be in my presence? Isn't that betrayal? Promising everything, ripping it away? Why did He choose Judas for the role of the traitor? Why did he choose me for the role of the pariah? Why weren’t we good enough? I have been reborn since. Not in the way of a baptism, but in the way of a phoenix. Deconstructing your religion will turn your anger biblical. It will send everyone running and leave you standing alone, spark turned flame, burning yourself and everything familiar to the ground. You will be alone, smoking, until your body returns to the dust from which humanity was made. It will be up to you to recreate yourself, then. To craft your bones from the wreckage. To make a clay to smooth on like skin. In the church, a burning is a death. But wasn't hellfire always my fate? Here's the Truth— the fiery furnace is the ultimate act of faith. Faith not in Him, but in me. I am reborn in these flames. Belonging to no one, owing Him nothing. Yes, I was His once. But I am Mine now.

#made me ugly cry in the best way #i love people healing themselves by announcing themselves as their own. there is such a human beauty in it.#christianity #on christianity #on religion #on queerness #religious trauma #essay #on faith #on identity #<3 #anywho; here's to building my faith in Him again <3

16 notes · View notes

philanthropicfeline · 4 months

Text

Christmas thoughts

Just some "religious" thoughts on the season.

I woke up just a bit ago, I slept earlier than usual. I got sick on Christmas 🤒 but I put on a brave face and still cooked some fixings for family. I had to package the rest for them to take and cook at my parents place. Either way, my head's been fuzzy and ugh it's been difficult to eat. I have no issues with appetite but I can barely stomach anything...Despite all of that, it's Christmas and I've been so happy to "celebrate" it.

But, I understand that many are choosing to "cancel" Christmas. I understand the sentiment, but it leaves my spirit confused. On Sunday morning I attended church and my Pastor briefly touched on the topic of canceling Christmas. He was passionate about why true believers could never be affected by this. I was taught the same thing growing up. I was taught to separate the world from Christmas.

My current pastor grew up in Guyana. His family was poor but Christmas was a time to remind themselves that they are wealthy in strength, family and spirit.

My former pastor was born and raised in Ontario, Peterborough to be exact. He came from a poor and large family. He grew up in the church but they were really big on decorations and gifts and such. He didn't agree with that message and turned to bad vices. Later down the road, he got clean and sober and thanks God for helping him through that rough time. Christmas became a time of Thanksgiving and deliverance for him.

My parents were from the Philippines. Both from poor backgrounds and difficult environments. But Christmas was always about acknowledging the blessings and mercy given to them with everyday.

Fast forward to my Christmas. My pastors and parents instilled me with the spirit of the "true" symbol and meanings of Christmas. Personally, I can't cancel a "holiday" when it's a time for me to humble myself, reflect and to be thankful. The gifts are always just extra blessings on the side, but they are never important. I understand that the commercialized and capitalistic aspects of holidays can be agressive. So it's important to take a moment to seperate the tangible gifts from the everyday blessing taken for granted. Im sick on Christmas but I'm still alive and breathing. I'm still capable to help those in my community in far more desperate situations than my own. Christmas reminds me that time on this earth is limited and unpredictable. Spreading love, peace and kindness because God loved me first, will always be my main prerogative.

With great love, follows great pain. There's physical pain but there's even greater inner turmoil that we all go through. I hate that I was aware of such realizations and grief at such a young age. I used to dream of being able to hold everyone and everything I hold so dear, tightly in my hands. It hurts to know that it's not possible but it gives me more reason to start everyday with love. To share love and compassion amongst humanity with each day I'm given. I know that these days have become darker, but i can't help but look to the tiny flickers of hope. You can't tell me to not "celebrate" a window of hope. You can't tell me to not sing carols or hymns when I regard my voice as a gift and miracle from God; it's a gift that has healed me and has kept me from prematurely entering the pearly gates before my time. Please don't tell me to cancel something that meaningful. Everyday I'm thankful for everything and everyone. I'm thankful for that tiny baby born in a stable.

This post isn't meant to be preachy. It was more a way for me to remember that I am blessed despite my current, hurling state. It's a reminder that there are many who barely have anything, except they joy of this season that gives them hope. Don't take that light away from another human.

P.s, I want snow so badly.

Merry Christmas 🎄❤️🕊

5 notes · View notes

raewritesfiction · 2 years

Text

Confessions [Bill Skarsgard as Roman Godfrey] - reupload-

A/N: some more Roman Godfrey! PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS. I've been putting this one off because of the content. Plot: Roman meets you in a graveyard but decides to take you inside the church for some fun. Pairing: Roman Godfrey X Reader. Warnings: Religiously this could prove to be very insulting to some people. I'm not insensitive to beliefs and I genuinely apologize for my offending anyone with this. There's gonnabe smut, there's gonnabe strong language and lots of it aimed at Religion. If you believe any of this is going to cause you an issue, PLEASE do not read and just skip this one.

--- --- ---

You had to have chosen a night with no moon to meet Roman in a graveyard, of all places he chose a graveyard and you had willingly accepted because you knew at some point you were gonna get laid tonight. Hopefully not in the graveyard.

As expected Roman is stood outside the church with a cigarette in his mouth; I wonder how long he’s been stood waiting and then note only one other butt on the floor as he discards the one he had been smoking to join it.

“Hey.” He nods and smirks at me. “You actually wearing anything under that coat?”

I raise my eyebrow “Yes…Sort of.” I shift my feet slightly and am glad it's dark enough that he can't see I'm blushing. Truth is that under my ridiculously huge faux fur coat I'm in nothing but a slip dress and slinky panties.

He chuckles and takes hold of the leading edge where the broken zip once actually worked and pulls me against him. He’s at least six inches taller than me so I have to look up into his amazing eyes which focus on my slightly parted lips for only a moment before he dips his head and presses his against them; Roman’s tongue wastes no time pushing into my mouth and exploring while his hands snake around my waist and down onto my hips inside my coat.

“Cold?” He mumbles after breaking the kiss.

I shrug a little “I guess… wanna warm me up?” Licking my lips slightly.

Roman smirks “Thought you’d never ask.” He leans down and nips my lower lip enough to bruise. “Follow me…” I smile and let him lead me inside the small church; it was mostly abandoned but still taken care of by the locals and used for special events. Luckily there was nothing planned for a few weeks so there was no real danger of getting caught by anyone apart from the security on the grounds. Roman makes sure the door is shut before turning to face me and giving me a devilish smirk “It seems we’re alone. Just as well really.”

“Oh? What do you have planned, Mister?” I narrow my eyes at him playfully and let him push me backwards between the pews until we reach the pulpit behind which were stacks of organ music, choir books and Bibles scattered around.

“Up here..” he motions behind me and I turn to see a bare Alter only covered with a large piece of red fabric.

“On the Alter?” I question, a little surprised. “Uh-Huh.” he pushes me backwards again and makes sure I don’t trip up the steps leading to the Chancel where the Alter is housed.

“Good job neither of us are religious, huh?” I giggle.

“Fuck religion…” he answers simply and pushes me against the Alter, planting his hands either side of me and pinning me to it. “...Fuck God, Fuck the Devil and most of all...I’m gonna fuck you…” he says the last part against my lips then gives a rough kiss as he lifts my dress to find im wearing the smallest pair of panties I own. “Is there really any point in these?” he grips them and pulls instantly snapping the sides.

I squeak a little as the elastic snaps against my skin “Hey… I like those.”

“I’ll buy you more, in every colour there is… but for now? Open your mouth…”

I blink a little “Wh...I…” as I open my mouth to speak Roman pushes the small ball of fabric into the space.

“Shh!” he holds a finger to his lips and then lifts me up onto the Alter, opening my legs by my knees and rubbing his fingers over me. “So wet already? You been thinking of me babygirl?”

Dropping my head back I moan around my panties; yes I had been thinking of him. I’d been thinking of him and his cock since he had fucked me into submission a few weeks back. I’d felt him for days after every time I moved and no matter what I had done, nothing had got me off like he had.

I moan louder and lean back on my hands when he eases his fingers into me - teasing me. After a few moments I was panting and whining, my arms unable to hold me up anymore. I lay back across the Alter and realise I’m exactly where he wants me and how he wants me; his fingers slow completely and I whine when he removes them from me - I’m soon crying out in pleasure when his cock fills me suddenly.

Roman gives me no time to adjust to him, just like last time, just how I like it. His hands push up my dress over my breasts and then glide back down to grip my hips hard enough to bruise me. He can mark me up as much as he likes. I arch and rock my hips to his rough thrusts, my arms above my head and gripping the Alter as I groan around my panties. Roman grunts and pants heavily, thrusting harder and snapping his hips deep into me; I was going to feel this for days as well.

I pant as best I could and move my heels to hook on the edge of the Alter; lifting and rocking my hips to him at the same time. Roman moves and lifts my legs over his shoulders, leaning forward to fold me almost in half; I’ve never felt anyone this deep. A hand plants on the Alter to my side while the other leaves a sharp sting across my face when he slaps me. I groan and give up trying to move myself to Roman; letting him take over completely when he wraps his hands around my throat and tightens his grip.

“Who’s your God?” his voice is rough and low against me. I moan and look into his eyes doing the best I can to say “You are!” around the panties.

“That’s right… don’t forget it…” He growls and I can tell he’s still watching me after I drop my head back again; he knows what this does to me. I whine and grip the Alter with my fingers; I can feel my body already starting to lose everything and I don’t give a fuck who hears me as I moan, groan and call out around the now sodden fabric in my mouth. Roman pants against my skin and I can tell just how close he is too. I tremble under him and will him to tighten his grip on the sides of my neck; he must know somehow because he does exactly that and just as my vision starts to go dark he releases his grip. I see literal stars as the blood rushes to my head and I gasp in a deep breath; my body all but convulses as I cum hard around his cock, I feel my juices squirting out on each of his following thrusts and then he stills deep inside me - f it weren’t for the panties, I would be screaming his name.

I lay panting on the Alter under Roman; he slowly moves and leans up then gasps.

“Hmm?” I frown and lean up a little.

“Shh!!” he listens and holds up a finger, “Move!” he laughs and pulls out of me then helps me down off the Alter, dragging me after him to a confessional booth. In the rush to move I still have my panties in my mouth but Roman soon relieves me of them and stuffs them in his pocket. “Shh!” he reiterates and holds his finger to my lips.

I stay perfectly still as a flashlight sweeps around the Church. Roman slowly sits and then motions for me to kneel in front of him which I happily do. After a few minutes we hear footsteps leaving the Church and crunching away on the gravel. He chuckles and looks down at me “What you waiting for?”

“Huh?” I frown.

“I haven’t cum… get to work… we ain’t leaving till I get my happy ending!” he gives a wink. If anyone else said it I’d have punched them in the dick and ran off. For Roman however…

“Forgive me, daddy… for I am about to sin.” I push my hair back and tie it with the elastic around my wrist then drop my head and take him fully in my mouth. He hadn’t had the pleasure of my mouth around his cock before so had no clue how well I could deep throat from almost any angle.

Roman grips the small amount of seat either side of him and leans his head back against the booth. His breathing is rough and heavy, small whimpers escape occasionally but more often he moans and tries to roll his hips. My hand goes to his balls and massages firmly while I suck hard along his cock, bobbing my head and swirling my tongue. I keep my cheeks hollowed and don’t bother to wipe away any of the mess I’m making because I know there will be more very soon. I can feel his balls twitching and tightening in my hand while his panting has become shallow and his hands are now gripping the sides of the small booth. I twist and bob my head, humming and groaning around his cock, scraping my teeth lightly until he groans louder. I scrape them heavier and moan when he calls out briefly before covering his mouth to muffle his pleasure. His balls twitch again and his breathing hitches; I feel him fill my mouth and throat then proceed to swallow around him. I look up under my lashes at him as I make sure he’s cleaned up.

“Oh baby girl…” he moans and relaxes back. I smile and wipe the corners of my mouth, looking up at him. His face is flushed and there’s a small smirk on his lips while he calms his breathing, running a hand through his hair.

“We are gonna do a lot more sinning….”

#bill skarsgard #bill skarsgård #roman godfrey #reupload #confessions #imagine

77 notes · View notes

atlasscrumpit · 9 months

Text

My Heaven

I sat on the uncomfortable wooden seat inside one half of the confessional, my hands nervously playing with the hem of my shirt.

Ever since I was born my father had raised me as a 'good religious girl,' but lately I was having doubts.

I had been asking questions over and over, my father had had enough and told me to talk to the priest.

It was like time had slowed down, all I could hear was my own breathing and my heart beating in my chest. I had never been this nervous before in my twenty years of life.

When I heard the sound of footsteps, I took in a deep breath and listened to the old priest sit in the other half of the confessional.

When it went silent I scrabbled to make the sign of the cross on my body before speaking.

"Bless me father, for I have sinned. My last confession was...ten months ago." I muttered as I tried my best to keep my voice steady.

I went silent for a moment as I felt myself get lost in my own mind, my thoughts drifted to a girl named Olivia.

Her dark brown hair, her blue eyes and the purple amethyst she wore around her neck, her laugh, her smile, her...

"I've had thoughts of love." I whispered as I felt tears in my eyes, my hands beginning to shake even more.

"And why do you think loving is a sin?" He asked as I took in another deep breath.

"Because... It's not with a man." I admitted as there was a beat of silence.

I was always a shy girl, never really speaking my mind, but when I thought of Olivia, it made me feel like my voice was worth something.

The priest was about to speak again before I cut him off.

"But, why is it a sin? Why is loving someone so bad? I'm not hurting anyone. When Mr. Howard cheated on his wife everyone prayed for him because he was tempted and they were all there for him. But, if I ever admitted I loved someone I would be abandoned. Why? I don't understand it, why can't I love?" I asked as I began to cry, I covered my mouth and tried to silence my cries.

"God made man and woman for each other, without that how would we have children or order in this world? You've sinned and that's okay, but you need to fix it. Stop those thoughts when they come to you and pray for forgiveness for these ideas." He said as I shut my eyes tight and tried to calm myself down.

"No..." I whispered as I took in a deep breath and thought of Olivia.

"No, I'm not going to force myself to be someone I'm not just because a book said so!" I shouted, surprising myself at my own statement.

"I think you need to go home and talk to your father." The priest said as I stood up and ran out of the confessional.

I ran down the hall of the church and back outside.

I didn't understand, I didn't understand any of it, not one bit.

I was happy, I was in love and for some reason that made me the villain.

I took in a deep breath and slowly fell to my knees. Maybe God had failed me, or maybe given up on me, but yet I still prayed.

"Just let me love, please. I cannot live a life where love is outlawed just because she is a woman!" I shouted at the sky as I breathed heavily.

"Whatever the hell you are, whatever the hell this whole church and belief is! I don't care! How dare you call love a sin!" I screamed, feeling myself breaking down.

I placed my hands on the dirt in front of me and cried, bowing my head.

"I don't want any part of it... My father will hate me, my family will abandon me, but if they abandon me for loving then they were never my family to begin with." I whispered, staring at the ground.

I stayed there for a while, on my knees staring at the dirt until I saw two shoes in front of me.

I looked up and my heart skipped a beat when I saw her beautiful blue eyes looking down at me with worry.

I scrambled to stand up to face her, I took her hands all while still breathing heavily like a maniac.

"What happened? Are you okay?" She asked squeezing my hands in return as I looked at her and smiled, tears forming once more.

"I can't do it anymore, I can't keep praying to something I've never seen only to be ignored. I have been to church every Sunday for my entire life, I have been blessed, I have prayed and done everything I can to please the church but nothing ever felt like heaven until I got to know you." I said with a smile on my face as she looked at me in shock.

"I look at you and everything makes sense. All I want in this life is to make you happy and to be by your side and if that is a crime or a sin then I don't care because as long as I get a lifetime with you, or even just one minute it's worth an eternity in hell." I continued, Olivia's blue eyes stared into mine with surprise.

Time stopped and every single scenario ran through my mind as I looked into her heavenly eyes.

When she smiled at me I felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders, like the sun had finally shone and the dark cloudy day that was constantly in my mind was finally gone.

She stepped forward, closer and closer as I held my breath.

With my hands still in hers she pulled me forward into a kiss, it was slow and soft and everything I had imagined.

Suddenly I knew what all those stories and movies had talked about, I understood everything but nothing at all.

But, it didn't matter because I knew as long as I saw Olivia in front of me I would never be alone and I would never be afraid again.

She leant away and slowly leant her forehead onto mine, both of us smiling from ear to ear.

"You're my heaven." She whispered, her blue eyes filled with tears as I chuckled softly, letting go of a breath I didn't know I had been holding for twenty years.

"My heaven."

#This is for a competition I just entered!#Oc #Original story #Lgbtq #Queer love #Queer #Lesbian

6 notes · View notes

syncrovoid-presents · 2 months

Text

Researching for my hazbin fic (A Cannibal's Guide on Living Comfortably) has also made me realize that my adoptive family (and me in relation to my birth family) actually suffer from cultural loss. And this ties to my adoptive family being half french like Alastor.

This is sort of a personal ramble about my experiences and how it relates to cultural loss. Just thoughts I've been having that's making me rethink a lot of things from my life.

(Technically I'm not but that's a whole other thing. I was found as a kid and never allowed to learn about my birth family or heritage so yeah. I'm just whatever people say I am. Means I have double the cultural loss, both from the people that raised me and my own! Yippee! <- sarcastic)

Both my parents are half french and grew up in small communities where there was very very high English vs French tensions. Both of my parents parent's decided that it would be best to give their children the easiest life they could so they raised them as English as possible.

They weren't allowed to learn french and were punished if they tried (both by family and the community. It was a lot worse where my mother grew up), and weren't allowed to continue any traditions, songs, or anything culturally French. Assimilation was the best chance at a future, but meant that they lost all ties to culture that wasn't acceptably English/colonial.

They were born a long time ago, so this was during the era of corporal punishment in school, my mother wasn't allowed to wear pants, my father was punished repeatedly for using his left hand, etc. They were also forced into churches because that's what The Good English Do, even though neither are religious now nor would they have been forced to if the hatred against the french hadn't been so strong.

The small town my mom grew up in had a segregated neighbourhood for the french, and her family fought to cut all ties. Her mother was french but was forced to only speak English and cut all ties to her family.

I don't know as much for my father, but it was his father that refused to teach or share anything French because of the hardships he went through growing up (he also ran away and lied about his age to fight in the war too young, so he likely faced heavy trauma too)

While neither of my parents are half english, they were able to pass as english at the expense of their cultural identity and connection to their family. I've spoken to my mother about it and she says white culture is genocide, but I don't know if she realizes how it hurt her too (not to say the french did nothing wrong. They were colonialists and took part in genocide as well)

It's weird to realize. I was put in french immersion and while my french isn't great, I've realized that my parents did that to give me the only opportunity I could have to learn about their lost culture. They learned a bit from me and would use french words and sometimes share translation quirks their parents had caused by learning english after french.

I grew up thinking that because I don't know anyone I'm related to that i had no culture. I've realized that part of the reason it feels that way is because anything non-English was forced out of people. The more you could pass as english the heavier the assimilation is. To join the oppressors is to sacrifice culture, history, and family, but that's a choice both my parents parent's made and it's one we all struggle with.

As far as I go, I don't know my precise ancestry, but I do know my birth grandparents fled from a country that was dealing with fighting for independence and a highly struggling economy. I'm not supposed to know that or know anything more, but from what I can guess and based on what people have said I look like (closest thing I got) my ancestors dealt with fighting against being colonized for centuries, their culture and history actively being destroyed and demonized, and the language borderline dead because of it (isnt the british imperialism great? <- sarcasm). A bit over a century ago it would have been the cause of much prejudice and hatred, but like my adoptive parents parent's they traded culture for assimilation.

It's.... weird. There's not much I can change nor not much I can do with this information movie forwards. It has helped me connect my experiences more with that of cultural loss, especially those felt by others who don't know any birth family. Because I pass as white (I do not know my genetics, so I'd rather say that than call myself white. Especially because what ancestry I do know I have weren't historically called white and faced discrimination by white folks) I previously thought these experiences could not apply to me.

As a side note, I do hold the belief that orphans like me, or others that lacked any family for much of their lives are part of a "hidden" minority. I faced a lot of extra difficulties, social pushback, and was treated worse than my peers because I am an orphan, as did different foster siblings I had over the years. Adoption means either never speaking about my life to pass as "normal" or speak about it and face the consequences. Every person's experiences are different when it comes to this, but it really changed the expectations adults had on me and forced me to be more mature, resilient, perfectionistic and less reactive to my peers. The expectation was if you acted bad you didn't appreciate having a home and therefore didn't deserve it. What others kids could get away with can be what loses your home when you grow up an orphan.

Anywho, circling back to my fic I'll be adding some elements of my experiences in there too. Not as the main focus, mind you, but some of the struggles of adapting/assimilating to the majority to avoid discrimination will be present (as well as some French (more focused on Creole French history. It was something a few of my french teachers focused a lot on) ). Just background info, I'm as of yet undecided on how much of a character study it will all be, but if it does go into it more then these themes will be present

#syncrovoid.txt #personal #ramble #delete later #to delete later #cultural loss #colonialization #british imperialism #at least mention of it anyways #tw cultural loss #tw foster care #foster care #actually orphan #idk if that is a tag but perhaps others can relate #ignore thos lol ill probably delete later and be sad i shared such personal information #also been thinking about this because my family recipes is just depression era food #literally got adopted and then had to eat like it was the great depression #and spent more years living in unfinished homes than anything else #electricity? a privilege. running water? as long as one faucet works that's good enough. heat? wood fires. food? stole some sometimes lol #upside is that i have a lot of skills and whatnot. downside is that SOMEHOW i grew up like it was nearly a century ago???#literally didn't get a phone until like 2 years ago #grew up spending most of my time in the woods too. modern world? nope! forest!#ALSO THR LOSS ONE FEELS WHEN THEY SEE PEOPLE TEAR DOWN THEIR FOREST IS REAL AND INTENSE AND THE WORST LOSS I HAVE #also while my adoptive mother doesn't practice vodou she is considered a spiritual healer that shares ties with vodou #it is a closed thing tho. either their own spiritual practice or a cult so. but it doesn't hurt anyone and aims to heal but can be demonized #obviously not the same HOWEVER the feelings of bring in that environment and then suddenly not and realizing that basically no one #knows anything about it? has insulted it at best or will think you're crazy for talking about it? having a different point of view on life #because of it?#like. obviously it isn't the same thing and i can claim not level of connection to vodou nor the history of those who practice #but is sorta get it. kinda. in my own way. it absolutely sucks

2 notes · View notes

my-castles-crumbling · 3 months

Note

Hi!! I heard you let people tell you abt things they can’t tell anyone else so I thought I might give it a go? I hope it doesn’t annoy you(!!).

However uhhh how do I start we’ll I’m a lesbian and pretty proud in my identity. I know it’s normal by now (after a long time of denial) and now I’m a queer activist, go to demonstrations etc.

However I have been raised with Christianity, not the awful kind but rather the „god loves everyone no matter who you are and what you believe“ kind. Basically my family is very open abt anything queer and support my identity wholeheartedly. Nowadays I don’t think I believe in God anymore, at least not the one from the Bible. The beliefs are very deep in my core though and recently I’ve been helping my mom a bit at church ( she didn’t ask me I offered, because I didn’t have school that day ).

Anyways I was sorting food from donations that go to homeless people and I was doing that quietly while listening to music. Suddenly a guy came up to me and looked at me like I was sick or something. I take out my headphones to see what he wants and he puts his hand on my shoulder and says: „May the horrible and disgusting demon leave your body in the name of Jesus Christ“

Which - weird but maybe he meant well. Still I asked him why he did it and he pointed to my pride bracelet and said that he pushed away the demon of homosexuality and that god doesn’t have to give me to Satan anymore. I told him that being queer is completely normal and he looked at me with pity and said: „The demon takes time to disappear, but do not worry god will take it away“ and it’s just really hurtful because the God I was raised with (if he is real) wouldn’t ever do that and I feel like his words just hurt something at my core? So much that I cried. My mother found me and comforted me but I haven’t told her what happened.

Just is that Catholic Guilt? Because I have never experienced anything negative with the religion (just personal experiences not what the Catholic Church is up to in general cause many many things it does are just fucking awful).

Dunno just needed to tell someone otherwise it might have eaten me up from the inside. Sorry for the dump you probably have your own issues and don’t need to hear my whining haha.

Okay bye!!

Hi!! <3

Don't feel bad about messaging at all!

Unfortunately, there are a lot of religious people who feel the way that man does. I would guess that maybe you were upset BECAUSE this is the first time you've experienced such negativity. And ESPECIALLY because you are religious, yourself. It's saddening and scary to see someone who claims to believe the same things as you do to act so full of hatred.

However, I would encourage you to not allow one man's opinions to affect your experience with religion. (I say this as someone who isn't religious at ALL). It's YOUR job to decide how you feel about religion. Unfortunately, there are horrible, hurtful, cruel people everywhere. If you have found safety and comfort with your religion, don't let him make you feel differently.

I will, though, warn you that this man's opinion is relatively common, especially amongst different subsets of Christianity. Trust me, I've seen it myself, way too many times. It's jarring and upsetting, and sometimes downright scary to come across, especially when you aren't ready for it, so be aware. Stay safe. There are people who feel like this. But not everyone does. And you have safety and comfort with people who don't.

Hope this helps!

<3 <3

#ask #asks #ask cas

3 notes · View notes

daughter-of-sapph0 · 1 year

Note

You converted into Judaism I believe? I’ve occasionally considered converting (Haven’t looked into it yet), and am curious as to what led to your decision to convert

hi, thanks for asking. I started my conversion process around three years ago. it's been a rough process, but so far it's going well. as for why I decided, it's a long story. so I'll try my best to keep it short

I was raised catholic. my grandfather was Irish catholic, and raised my mother catholic. my father on the other hand was raised lutheran. you would think that would make their marriage extremely controversial, an Irish catholic woman marrying a protestant man. but it was actually really chill for both families. my dad was never really religious, but my mom was a devoted catholic who had us go to church and ccd every week, up until I went to middle school. I went to the tiniest private middle school in existence. there were 15 kids in all of eighth grade. the building was over 100 years old. it almost closed twice during my three years there. and honestly, it kinda sucked. so much that my two younger siblings both went to public middle schools to try and avoid the shit I went through.

since I went to a catholic private school, I was taught a fair amount of religious history alongside the basic middle school education. it wasn't the first thing that helped me open up to other religions, but being forced to study the history of other world religions was a big eye opener for me. I got confirmed in 8th grade, and then immediately stopped caring about religion. I was an atheist for most of my first two years of high school. I wasn't one of the annoying reddit atheists, I still respected other people's religions. I just didn't know what to believe in myself.

around this time I went through a major depression after my grandmother died, and struggled with my grades and suicidal thoughts. I got into twitter (which, let's be honest, is not the healthiest coping mechanism) and met a lot of friends who helped me discover myself. I eventually came out as transgender and my friends online and irl were super supportive. and a lot of my trans friends online were also Jewish. I started to learn more about their religion just from talking with them, and I actually found it really interesting. it wasn't anything like christianity. people were encouraged to question things and argue and debate.

it was a bit after a graduated high school when I started to think about whether or not I wanted to convert, and about a year later when I spoke to a local rabbi. I will be honest, the pandemic has made it extremely fucking difficult. mostly everything is online, and that makes it a huge pain. but I wouldn't be going through this huge tedious process of converting if I didn't know for certain that it is exactly what I want to do. I love Judaism. I love my Jewish friends. I love my religion. I love my own unique personal relationship that I have with god and myself. it's hard to even put into words. the same feeling I had when I came out as trans is the same feeling I have towards Judaism.

if you're considering converting, look into it first. it's a very difficult process. and that's intentional. Judaism is not a proselytizing religion. it's supposed to be a very hard and difficult process with lots of obstacles. you have to be 1000% sure that Judaism is the correct religion for you.

and that's where I'm at now. I sometimes say that I'm Jewish, but really I'm still in the process of converting. but based on how much I've learned and how much I've experienced, I'm more than certain that this is the religion for me.

#dostxt #Judaism

17 notes · View notes

betty-bourgeoisie · 1 year

Text

It's kind of a weird thing to me that as popular and mainstream (read marketable) as Wicca has become in the last few years, people often still get very uncomfortable when I mention the fact that I was raised Pagan and within a Pagan church. Like the witchcraft aesthetic that you can buy at a gift shop is all fine and good, but the second people actually have to aknowledge that there are real established spiritual communities around some of this stuff they really don't like it anymore.

If I tell someone I'm a witch I'm just some edgy college girl. If I tell someone I'm Pagan they suddenly want to know if I cannibalize baby's (real question I have been asked within the last year). As a kid who grew up being taught never to wear my pentacle outside my shirt, and who, on the few occasions that it did fall out into public view, got enough classmates threatening to beat me with a Bible that I know my parents weren't just being dramatic, it's kind of a weird place to be.

On the one hand the aesthetics of Pagan worship that I was taught to hide for so long are actually cool now. I can wear my pentacle outside my shirt and it's not a problem! I can leave out my athame when guests come over, and while people might try to touch it (which is very rude btw, you shouldn't touch peoples magical tools or altars even if they are left out) it's not going to end in accusations of devil worship. I can mention doing a tarot reading to a coworker now and it will be considered a normal, work appropriate topic. These are all very new developments.

A lot of the energy work practices I was taught as a little Pagan kid are also like... legitimate, academically recognized mental health practices now (you would not fucking believe how many college professors I've seen do grounding and centering walk throughs while firmly refusing to call it that). Which is kind of cool even if it does put me in a weird position of watching the same classmates that wanted to beat me up for my religion in middle school begrudgingly, and often mockingly, follow a professors directions as they walk through what was essentially my childhood bedtime routine as a group.

But the other side of this is that actual Pagan religions, while maybe slightly more understood now, are still seen as fundamentaly illegitimate. If you worship the Greek pantheon for example, you're usually viewed as a satanist or some nerd with a Percy Jackson fixation, not someone with a serious religious path that needs to be protected and accommodated by society at large.

Have you ever tried telling your employer that you need to take Halloween of because it's one of your most important religious holidays? I have, and they usually think I'm joking the first time. Have you ever had to argue with a CPS case worker that your religious community is in fact safe for children, and that a child in their care should be allowed to attend worship? I have, but I know for a fact that none of my Christian friends, even those who are members of the clergy, have ever had to.

The question of where it's safe to be openly Pagan is so much more blured now than it used to be. My religious identity and community have always been so important to me, and it is so exhausting to section off that part of my identity into the bits that mainstream capitalist society finds marketable, and therefore acceptable. Like I know it's technically progress, but it really doesn't feel that way sometimes.

#rant #Pagan #witchcraft #not putting this in my main spiritual blog because I am not interested in dealing with discourse around my actual lived experiences #so sorry to people who are here for fandom stuff lamo #this really is just a vent post #also as always - I am from a very liberal west coast city #obviously not everywhere is like this #long post

19 notes · View notes

alexsiple · 1 year

Note

I just read through In Terms of Rain and I found it exceedingly beautiful in illustration AND writing (tf how do you do that). It really captured what I like in a lot of Death Note fan creations, which is some abstractness and ideas left up for interpretation. That being said, I would really love some insight and analysis on your end of certain choices you made while creating it. Just any meanings from certain pages or your general thoughts would be incredible for my plebeian mind <3

ohhhh anon thank you so much. this is so kind of you- thank you for reading it and enjoying it. and thank you for giving me the opportunity to talk at length about this thing i've made HAHAHAHA i'm rubbing my hands together like a little creature (i'm putting this under a cut)

listen i think about death note too much. like, too much for what it is. it's one of my favorite things ever but i'm hyper-aware of its flaws. that said, i think a lot about L and light and how the creators managed to make this really crazy story about being known and what we hide from others. it's so romantically tragic to me. it's so romantically violent to me. i wrote about this more on my substack but i'll keep going with some more specific death-note-lore sort of analysis (i guess i'm a person who links their substack unprompted. great).

L is like, one of my favorite characters of all time? i read a lot of death note fanfiction (i know ok) and my favorite hobby is analyzing people's interpretations of him. literally a year or so ago i was reading so much fanfic and it was kind of rotting my brain and i had this sudden wave of inspiration/wrote the whole script of this comic in one sitting. i kept starting this comic since then and the visual style never felt right until i managed to land on this one.

L makes me very sad. i both relate to him and watch him from afar as an omniscient observer. i wanted to capture all these feelings he gives me at once; it's a really L-centric comic. the tragedy of living a life in so much isolation. the tragedy of living life not exactly for beliefs or morals or justice, really, but because it's your job, and all you have, and you're good at it, so you do it. whatever. shrug, shrug. you do it. if you die, you die. apparently i also for some reason fixated on the thing about L being adopted by wammy and being raised to be this child prodigy. a gifted kid narrative, etc. that makes me sad. i think L and light have this parallel going on where they both feel misunderstood by most people because of their own making, maybe, but also because of how they were raised and because of their ""intellect"" and their superiority complexes. light's complex coming more from privilege, of course, and being more analyzed in the source material. both of them jaded by and cynical of the world and its extreme violence.

i wanted to hone in on that loneliness. L and light are very lonely characters. they are very internal and thoughtful and weird and express this in opposite ways (but they're the same! of course!) hm. i like thinking that L was raised in a church. dropped off in that movie-orphan way as a baby during a snowstorm or something. how did wammy find him at eight years old and adopt him like that. what does a child have to see and do to become a "detective prodigy" at age eight. canonically, the whole wammy's house thing is fucked up. canonically, L is the first and best. what does a child have to see and do to become the First and Best. does intelligence make a child more mature, more able to "handle" anything thrown in their line of view? some people seem to think so. i think it's creating a sort of ghost that haunts you when you're old enough to look back and see it behind you.

also i wanted to explore religious [catholic] imagery. albeit in a more earnest way than the source material but yeah- i imagine L grew up around catholicism. wammy's house with its big cross on it! i think sometimes when you've been lonely for a long time, or your whole life, and you have never felt truly seen, there's this euphoria that arrives with the person who finally Sees you. you know? sometimes that feels like religion. sometimes being known feels holy. sometimes it feels like being loved. shrug, shrug. sometimes it feels like dying.

i've always really loved that L likes that light could be kira. is. i think it's so insane and endearing and personal to me. light hates that L knows him, has never been known before, translates this feeling into violence. L is like, i get this guy completely, he's a mirror, but somehow he's like no one else i've met before and it's still exciting! i'm laughing at him (i'm crying.) i like that light hides all strong emotions deep within and that L occasionally releases strong emotions with, like, a detached acceptance. he's not exactly afraid to be vulnerable but more picks and chooses what to let people see. plays off of something real, sometimes. is willing to play a character for fun. light just doesn't show anything real at all. is very uncomfortable with any vulnerability. is also very afraid of death. in some ways i feel that L seems to halfway accept his death. he's like, yeah, i'm dying now. this is where my life has led me. i lost but it's out of my control anyway. with in terms of rain i wanted it to feel like this foggy reflection on a life from a ghost, i guess? hence all the references to specific years or cases/the opening part. lol. won't explain the one hundred years of solitude reference but i feel as if the stars aligned with that one.

hopefully this is interesting to SOMEONE? LMAO?

and as for certain pages, the only ones i think i want to point out are these two, which are references to B and A respectively because i actually love the los angeles bb murder case novel with like. a fervor. even though i don't think it's actually good but i also think they really nail something with it. i just think about beyond birthday a lot. ugh. DEATH NOTE. I USED TO LAUGH AT BEYOND BIRTHDAY AND NOW IT'S SERIOUS TO ME

thx bye.

#death note #in terms of rain #????? half of my brain is death note lore for no reason.#ask

9 notes · View notes