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physalian · 1 month

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What No one Tells You about Writing Fantasy, #2!

I did this list about 7 annoyances about fantasy, but I write in this genre for a reason! Fantasy knows no bounds, it can encompass all other genres within it. You can write a fantastical murder mystery, fantasy horror, fantasy romance, political drama, slice-of-life, comedy, whatever you’d like!

Whether it’s urban or high fantasy, supernatural or scientific, here’s seven great benefits of writing in this genre:

1. No modern means of communication

Unless you’re writing a world with phones or phone-adjacent devices. Phones and instant communication seriously inhibits the plausibility of dramatic irony and tension when you have to keep coming up with reasons to keep your characters from calling or texting each other everything they know. It’s exhausting, I tell you, and such a relief when phones aren’t a factor.

With that said, without phones, you have complete freedom to design your own magical channels of supernatural FaceTime, as weird and zany as you want. But without instant connections? Your character who knew too much can’t pass on the intel before they die. Your hero team can’t call for backup in their darkest hour. Otherwise easily preventable tragedies and deadly miscommunications are now very real.

2. The Monster Allegory

Fantasy and sci-fi tend to overlap more than they’re set apart, and in that overlap sits the monster allegory. Everything from werewolves to vampires to witches, reapers, demons, angels, goblins, trolls, wraiths, fairies, mermaids, ghosts, to Eldritch horrors and your classic Hollywood cast of mummies, creatures from the black lagoon, and Frankenstein.

Most of the time, the monsters aren’t just monsters, they represent a monstrous aspect of society the author wants to challenge and caricaturize in a fun and entertaining way. Or, the monsters are the good guys and the humans are the real terrors. Or, you’ve got two kinds of monsters to allegory two human sides. Sometimes they represent metaphorical demons, like vampires often representing addiction and werewolves repressed identities.

What all of this boils down to is the hyperbolic nature of science fantasy that allows you to go over-the-top with your metaphor and allegory in a way that a book grounded in reality just can’t.

3. Magic Systems!

Do you love world building? Do you love filling pages upon pages with your cool and unique set of superpowers you want your characters to have? Do you dream about your fight scenes and dramatic slow-mo shots?

Then Fantasy is for you!

There are zero limits to how you want to define your magic system. You can go classic with the familiar archetypes of elemental magic, wizards, sorcerers, and witches. Or you can step off the beaten path and design a whole new funky system of power sets. Best part? Your readers will have an awesome time imagining themselves with those powers, and debating endlessly about how it works.

4. Real-World Politics, who?

Amazon’s Rings of Power was twice-doomed when they only got the rights to adapt the appendices of The Silmarillion and when they decided to inject current political problems into a timeless story written purposefully to be divorced from those politics. You *can* write about human politics, but in fantasy, you don’t have to. You *can* interpret Lord of the Rings to be an allegory about the World Wars, but no matter how hard you argue, it wasn’t written with that intent.

Which means: Even if your story is set in the reality-adjacent fantasy version of 1543, you are free from the following: Racism, homophobia, sexism, religious bigotry, mental health bigotry, gender norms, anti-feminism, toxic masculinity, and more. “But that’s how it was-”

Nope. This is fantasy. You built this world, you decided to keep in the discrimination. Or… You can fill your fantasy world with a rainbow of gays, POCs in power, women in power, men unafraid to be compassionate and caring, a religion that doesn’t foster hate and division, the list goes on. You. Are. Free.

5. Nothing is too “unrealistic”

Both that you will always have people whining about how X would never happen so write the book you want to read, but also because fantasy is fake. Fairies aren’t real. Mermaids aren’t real. There are no rules for how they must be written and that’s how we have so much variety with so much room for interpretation by so many creators. Twilight made how much money writing about vampires that sparkle like diamonds in sunlight and crack like marble?

This is fantasy, it’s supposed to be unrealistic. Yes, your plot should make sense, but don’t be afraid to get weird. Write at least some of your story dependant on those fantasy elements. Write a story that can’t just be told in the real world minus the spectacle. Don’t be afraid to be sincerely fantastical and weird. People love weird. People love loving weird.

6. You are in complete control

But you do still need to research, unfortunately. Unless this is urban fantasy that depends at least a little on the human world, yours is completely your own to govern like a god tweezing weeds from their garden. You get to design your own geography and weather patterns and seasons. Your own countries and kingdoms and politicians. Your epic pre-canon fantasy war and the stakes that it was fought over. Your species, races, and ethnicities.

It’s a shame that a movie like Avatar (2009) set out to be this wholly unique take on aliens with music completely divorced from earthly bonds, new languages and a visually and culturally distinct alien species… and ended up a largely generic blue Pocahontas in space. It forgot that it was fantasy and didn’t go weird enough. They have horses, monkeys, wolves, rhinos, and deer just re-skinned with some extra limbs and colors. It’s pretty but it’s so, so shallow.

It could have become a cult classic like many a positively *weird* 80s off-beat fantasies, and now it just… exists. It makes a whole lot of money but its impact on the cultural zeitgeist is negligible. I’m the only person I know that can name every major character in the movie, and I’m no Avatar obsessor. They had complete creative control, and this is what they did with it. Don’t be Avatar. Take your creative freedom and run.

7. Even if it has been done before, do it again

You can say this about any genre, particularly romance, but fantasy and sci-fi, by the gatekeep-y nature of their fans, can be a lot less forgiving when it comes to claims of “unoriginality”. No one hates Star Wars more than Star Wars fans. Fans of these genres can get… concerningly attached to their favorite stories (mostly because the people who like them had only their fictional heroes to protect them from very real bullies).

But Game of Thrones exists because the author likes Lord of the Rings and went “yes, but what if it was an R-rated parade of misery?” Dungeons and Dragons exists because people wanted to roleplay in an LotR-esque world. Legolas and Gimli single-handedly defined what a badass elf and dwarf looks like in high fantasy. And people still gobble up media ripping shamelessly, or even good-naturedly, from this one story.

So on my other list, I argued that the sum of your parts is still original, even if the components aren’t. On this list, I implore you this: It’s not stealing or appropriating to write another Legolas if you love Legolas. Everyone loves Legolas. How many generic buff action heroes do we have and love? How many Hallmark romances tread the same predictable path? Who gives a damn if it’s unoriginal? Just make it entertaining and have something fresh to say in the end (or don’t, that’s fine too), and people will read it.

And when people say “Oh, you mean like Legolas”, take it as a compliment, not an insult. Yes, exactly like Legolas. Here’s my new elf because I adore this other book, now watch him go on a new adventure that I wrote for him.

#writing advice #writing resources #writing tips #writing tools #writing a book #fantasy #scifi #writeblr #writing

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hup123hup123slapslap · 2 months

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So a thought has been kicking around my head for a bit...what if Helio knew exactly what he was signing up for by making Kristen his chosen one?

It has always struck me as odd that when describing Doreen in Helioic heaven, Brennan mentioned her flirting with men and women. It also strikes me as odd that Kristen never got any pushback from Helio about turning her back on him. Even if he was similarly 'out of the picture' like sol was while Arthur was wrecking havoc, Kristen's powers should have faded when she fully committed to not worshipping him. You need to worship a god to get powers, and this is emphasized heavily in the latest episode. Kristen worshipping the vague idea of religion but Definitely Not Helio just doesn't cut it. Sure, taking away a PCs powers wasn't really in the cards in season one, but Brennan works very well and very caringly with what he has to establish as canon.

Kristen was looking for a reason to drop Helio from the get-go. His frat boy appearance and non-answer to a nearly impossible question didn't truly matter at the core of her feelings. She wanted an out from the prison she was trapped in with the Helioic faith, even if she didn't realize it fully. She had tension with her mom and her ideals from the scene one! She wanted to connect with people the church actively shunned. Helio was never the true problem.

Now, gods are shaped by their worshippers. So on some level Helio is shaped by people with shitty ideals. But there's still a foothold of good, especially if there are out and proud gays in heaven. Especially if Kristen Applebees of all people is the chosen one.

When you have worshippers misinterpreting your whole deal, going with Sol's shitty messaging and transferring it onto you and using it for bad things, what can you do as a god? Because you ARE what they say you are. So how can you fight back?

Well. You make your chosen one someone that embodies your true heart. Someone that can actually turn the tides of your worship.

There is an emphasis on tracker reinventing and revitalizing her religion. Changing it for the better. Taking the old and not tossing it out, but making it better.

Isn't that what Kristen struggles with the most? That's what she needs to learn how to do.

Tracker also established that she can worship multiple gods when she helped with Yes?. Kristen doesn't need to settle for one even if she (fingers crossed) brings Kassandra back.

Because the season opened with the slow apocalypse of endless night. Endless daytime would end similarly. There has to be a balance. They are two sides of the same coin. Day and night. The surety of the sun and the doubt of the shadows.

Kristen wants both. And she can fucking have it if she decides to.

Ally once said they appreciate that the enemy is always the church. Organized religion. Kristen is perfect for disorganized religion though. Chill frat boy vibes and anxious doubts and the ultimate message of 'just do your best'.

I think religious trauma is a compelling, close to the heart topic for a lot of people. And some turn away from religion entirely and wash their hands of it. But some people don't. Kristen is a cleric. She can't. She wants a god, she wants answers, and she just can't find them in the established community she was raised in. That doesn't mean the core of her religion was wrong. The church was. So you take the religion and you harness it in a way that means something to you.

Maybe Kristen being desperate enough to invite Helio back into her life is what this has all been leading to.

She can remake a god. She's done it before. Because Kassandra was good at the core. Maybe Helio can be too.

#dimension 20 #kristen applebees #junior year #fantasy high #fantasy high junior year #i come from a religious upbringing and am very much not religious as a result #but dang people from a traumatic religious upbringing that maintain belief in the god but not the toxic teachings are very cool and valid

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silverity · 16 days

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i'm gonna make my painful contribution to The Discourse and say i do not see the harm in women reclaiming female centric spirituality.

i am not a religious person nor do i want to become one but spirituality is also about culture, community and celebration. i would much rather women celebrate nature, the female form, and "divine femininity" than patriarchal phallocentric religions. that "divine femininity" is used pejoratively has always tickled me considering we live in a world hooked on divine masculinity. the old matricentric religions are really the only form of female culture devoid of male-centric worship we can grasp at, since men have dominated our belief systems for thousands of years. and women learning about the old religions is the best way to unravel the myth of the male creator, and realise it is really women who are the closest thing to a "god" on Earth.

there's also an element here, which i think is deeply capitalist, patriarchal, and a little racist, of people considering the connection to & celebration of nature as somehow primitive. i think that the lifestyles most of us live now, with none of us knowing anything about the land around us is actually very infantile and regressive for humanity as a whole. the ways of life we consider "primitive" (primitive communism, matrilineal societies) are really what we need to find ways to return to post-capitalism. they were in tune to nature, sustainable, and much more communal & equal. how can nature be primitive or ascientific when science *is* in nature, and the practices of these old societies were early scientific discoveries & practices. as a Black person, my community is often trying to reclaim our lost practices. it makes sense to me that women would try to do so too.

#i think most of the people posting against this are not understanding what is meant by spirituality #it's not necessarily beliefs in spirits+magic #imo it's something quite sensory #i don't wanna celebrate things like magic & witchcraft personally but #i am looking to replace the christian holidays with nature centered holdiays (the wheel of the year - samhain etc)#radblr

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kakiastro · 9 months

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Astrology Placements Observations

This is just from my own personal research after studying lots of chart. So don’t come for me

Mars Virgo people are the true freaks. Virgo rules over acts of service, these are the people that’s going to know every little thing about your body and how to please you!

Aquarius moons are either social butterflies or very introverted

Mercury 3h or 6h knows what the are talking about okay! Mercury is at home when it’s in these houses.

Pisces Venus/Venus 12h people are prone to attracting narcissistic people in love. These people want to see the good and idolize what their partner could be. You all need to start seeing people for who they are at moment. Stop looking at them red flags like carnivals flags and start seeing them as stop signs.

Libra rising has been through some things in their love life. your love life has been a battlefield due to having Aries 7h. The day y’all start learning the word NO and setting boundaries with people then it’ll get better

Taurus Mercury people love to cuss and cuss a lot. You guys are really good at it too! Tell me I’m not the only ones to notice this?😅

Mars 1h people may have been in lots of fights growing up. You may be prone to having lots of accidents as well, be careful around knives.

Saturn 9h may be skeptics when it comes to religion or spiritual topics. You guys need to see some proof before it happens. On the flip side, you can be religious and firm in your traditional beliefs.

Jupiter 4h can indicate someone moving around a lot to different city or countries. You guys have to have new experiences in your lives

Aries 10h can excel in any chosen career that they choose to be in. The key to success is having the passion to want to do it

Venus-Saturn aspect- people have a timeless classic look about them. They may dress from a different era.

Saturn 7h doesn’t always mean you’re going to marry late in life. It could mean that your partner is older than you, or you can be older than them. They could be mature, they could own a business, your partner could be a past life connection and it coming back this lifetime to fulfill that duty. The same can be said with the Venus-Saturn aspect

Pluto-Venus aspect goes through the biggest spiritual growth through love. They’ve been through some painful experiences in love but out of that came lots of growth.

Venus-Uranus aspect has a very unique fashion aesthetic

Mercury-Uranus aspect has a restless mind, you guys have a million things you want to do and say. You guys may talk fast too.

Scorpio are only “obsessed” with their partners or anyone is when then they genuinely love you to the core. Other than that, I promise scorpios don’t be thinking about y’all like that😅

Mars Cancers people anger scares me more than Mars Aries folks😭don’t ever get on these people bad side.

Saturn 10h peeps, you guys will get the public recognition and respect you deserve the older you get so hang in there

Chiron 1h don’t be so hard on your physical bodies, you guys are beautiful okay!

#astrology community #astrology #love astrology #knowledge #astro observations #advanced astrology

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mollysunder · 8 months

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Lunari Heritage in Zaun

This is gonna be a reach, but from the little we've seen of Vi and Jinx's mom and younger Silco, I'd guess they were both from the same ethnic group.

In a place like Zaun, where the people are left with scraps, any piece of jewelry sticks out. Vi's mom and Silco are both wearing similar pieces of jewelry. Silco's bracelet could likely be fitted as a necklace since it twice wraps over his wrist. Neither are wearing anything of high quality, but the necklace and bracelet in their respective pictures seem decently maintained if not worn. That's when I thought, these are probably heirlooms.

In fact they looked pretty similar too, but in smaller scale of the princess's own pendants. I wouldn't bring this up if it weren't for the fact that Piltovans prioritize elaborate art-deco aesthetics, the more elaborately geometric the better (Councilor Shoola). So you would assume even the simplest jewelry would be a square pendant or a straight line. But no, big plain circles, and then I remembered we saw that before, on the princess Ambessa killed. Big bronze circles.

And when we look at young Vi , you notice that she's wearing jewelry too. A simple necklace with a green (it looks green) gem. And I realized that the princess's necklace was also adorned green gems.

I'm pulling from scraps, but it's interesting that small things these Zaunites have to adorn themselves (though not for long with the time skips) are similar versions if not simpler version's of the princess's.

At first I thought this meant that many of the cast were actually of Ionian descent. But then in the Princess's scene a thought kept coming back to me, "Why is Mel wearing purple?". Mel, a skilled diplomat from a young age, typically wears the main colors of the nations she hosts and is hosted by. White for Piltover, Black for Noxus (Ambessa), and always with her signature accents of gold. So if Mel followed her mother to Ionia ,where green is a culturally significant color, why purple? It's because Mel and Ambessa weren't in Ionia, they were in Targon fighting the Lunari.

The Lunari are Rakkor tribal people in the Targonian region who worship the moon, and are persecuted for it by the Solari, the religious order that worships the sun. While technically Mt. Targon is influenced by Mt. Olympus and Greek mythology aesthetic, that's more the case for the Solari. Overtime the Lunari aesthetic has been mixed it's originally nomadic culture with East Asian influences. The prominent colors of the Lunari happen to be turquoise, silver, black and purple. It was such a little thing to remember but it made me see connections I hadn't thought about.

Suddenly everything starts to connect. The bronze coins represent the 3 moons that exist in Arcane's Runeterra. How do we know there are 3 moons, because the Valdiani piece Jinx stole was depicting their planet. In the Valdiani there are 3 orbits circling the Earth, meaning 3 moons (or satelites). Now the engraving on the gold of the princess's necklace makes sense, because it's supposed to resemble the gates at the peak of Mt. Targon. The pendant itself is shaped like the mountain with the gates fitted at the top.

Frankly, it works for the Princess to have been Lunari and waves of descendants of the Lunari to arrive in Piltover and end up in Zaun. In Arcane, Piltover was created as a safe haven to escape the Rune Wars 200 years from the start of the show. Even after the Rune Wars ended the shipping port has likely seen waves of migrant labor and refugees from the ongoing crisis that occur in Runeterra (*cough*Noxus*cough*). It's likely that many of the current generation of Zaunites are of mixed heritage of the various fleeing people's.

It creates a whole new dynamic of the ways in which Piltover's laws, their Ethos, strips the people of Zaun from their identity and reducing them to tools for the mines. Magic is inherently a part of religious ceremonies and religion in general in Runeterra, especially for the Lunari. How do you practice your religion in a place that has banned the means by which it's conducted? There must have been more people like the Lunari who didn't have a problem with their magic, their problem was that they were being persecuted.

The remnants of family keepsakes brought over as communities fled were clung to as best as possible especially as they had to let go of part their spiritual identity. But even that doesn't seem to have lasted either. Vi doesn't keep her necklace, her mother is dead, so lost is her necklace, and we never see Silco wear his bracelet. They could have been stolen, or at best, hidden for safe keeping, maybe Enforcers get suspicious at the hint of mysticism and suddenly they want to talk.

Finally, maybe a little less related, it is interesting how prominent Piltovans and Zaunites take on day and night aspects. The sun shines over Piltover at their best, begins to set at times of uncertainty. While in the cover of night with moon above, the strongest Zaunites strike hardest. One more thing, it is interesting how Arcane's Jinx has taken on darker tones of purple rather than stick with neon pink. I always have to go back and look at a reference to remember that her pants are purple-er than I recall.

Update: I wanted to include that the large doodle Jinx made on her cup actually looks similar to the Lunari's sigil. And the sigil remains on the cup into the timeskip, also the center moon is made smaller within the crescent like in the necklace. I also noticed Jinx's cup later has more violent bomb imagery around it.

#arcane #lunari #zaun #silco #vi arcane #jinx arcane #mel medarda #there's a lot to think about #for everyone including mel #piltover #arcane theory #arcane meta #arcane speculation

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keshetchai · 4 months

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Do you ever just get obsessed with how cultural Christians (esp atheist or agnostic ones) often openly choose to maintain Santa Claus for their kids?

Like think about this with me:

A group of people who don't actively align themselves with religious life, religious institutions (churches) or other traditions, and may even be total atheists STILL sometimes choose to do Santa Claus for their children, because THEY had Santa Claus as children.

The parents give their child a folk demigod (lesser deity?) of outsized importance to children SPECIFICALLY, and teach them the demigod is definitely totally real. They maintain this active belief as long as possible through childhood. They may encourage and actively engage in this belief with their children moreso than anything else involving the religion it comes from (aside from perhaps, the easter bunny). They know Santa isn't real, does not exist, and is a fiction.

They know their children will learn this demigod is a lie. Subconsciously or consciously, the child then learns that Santa Claus is really only as real as the parent intention to make him real, and the child belief in that truth. The child grows up. Knows Santa is a fiction. And then they make Santa for their children too, because that's the only real thing about Santa — parents knowing it's a fiction and then passing it on anyways.

I just like...am deeply fascinated by this unique cultural training of accepting that the Santa deity isn't dead or anything so extreme, and even though he's made up, he is still extremely important and the fiction gets passed on while explicitly knowing and acting upon the fiction. Parents have to be Santa, they can't just encourage belief and sit back. No no, they must actively CREATE Santa's existence for the belief to work. And they do this willingly!

It's not that I think believing in a myth is unusual in any religion (like we don't need to believe hundreds of thousands of Israelites fled Egypt all at once to observe passover or even to think some Hebrews did flee Egypt and the legend developed from there, or w/e), so much as like, this is an incredibly obvious and well known one that every adult Knows 100% is Not Real, not even based on any kind of reality or possible actual legend, Santa doesn't have all those powers, he does not come to your house or get your wishlist (prayers).

No adult has a pure and genuine belief that Santa is a real being who visits and brings children gifts.

I just want to study everyone who actively is like "I don't believe in God or go to church but like, I'll obviously still do Santa for the kids, that's fun."

(Regina George voice: so you agree? Religion doesn't need to be grounded in imperial facts of science in order to provide substantial benefits to people, foster positive emotions and connections within communities, and for people to derive meaning from it? It doesn't matter if God is real, if you yourself make the benefits of God being real happen for yourself and others?")

#if youre an atheist who doesnt do santa this isnt about you so dont get worked up #santa claus is important religious training wheels for cultural christians #also i feel i should say this but im actually anti-modern santa claus because of capitalism and classism #but the love and parental lying isnt my problem lol

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elaci · 2 months

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──────── I think loving Ellie Williams is very much comparable to having blind faith in an unproven religion. Some will torment, try and expedite your loss of faith by unravelling the contradictions in your theology: 'she isn't one to love', 'she's not a forever type of girl', 'she's too broken', 'too shadowed', 'too lost'.

And though they may not be wrong, Ellies woes are a sediment that erodes her bones down and feed voraciously off her heart and soul. She is difficult to love; harsh in her ways and seemingly unable to open up in any capacity. She'd rather lose your devotion entirely than expose the gory mess of her open chest cavity; sins and sorrows alike a wrathful parasite inside of her.

She is not all-loving. She is not tolerant. She does not forgive. Ellie is the figurehead that strikes you when you're down on your knees begging for the warm embrace scripture has promised you. She is the quiet cold of an empty chapel that evokes tears often misinterpreted as religious experience. Yet, they are only tears.

Your adoration falls on deaf ears, even in the most intimate of nights; she is immune to your worship. She does not hear your prayers for connection, for love- she's lost herself, how could she bear to guide you? She is anything but holy, scarred from years of personal conviction and loss- she does not feel worthy of your praise. She is not righteous, not without sin- she is the temptation that seeks out the most lost of souls and devours them whole.

The sceptics may be right in their agnosticism: maybe your theology is baseless. It thrives under the gaze of doubt, it's the tendrils of something uneasy you feel constrict your soul when your back is turned. It's learning to accept her past as an ugly thing than try to give it meaning she disproves: its learning to love the grey of lead rather than whim it gold.

And though those without faith may not see: there is a religious love plaguing Ellie's most tender wounds. It manifests in her eyes, in the guarded moments you see the most vulnerable parts of her. It manifests in late nights spent watching you sleep, hoping with everything she has that there isn't a god to take you from her. It manifests in the fact that she now, after years of feating the bitter end, has reason to fear death.

It's your faith that breaks Ellie. Your blind devotion, that ache in your soul that says 'this is real'. Your love, which must be persistent and unwavering, is both salvation for her soul and a harbinger of change that she can't ignore. You learn how to embrace her jagged edges rather than file them down and she, in turn, comes to terms with the steady, holy, undeniable faith that is you.

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie williams x you #tlou2 x reader #the last of us #ellie x you #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams tlou #the last of us 2 #writeblr #writers on tumblr

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teecupangel · 3 months

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Altaïr: Wait, When did I get a cult?

Malik: Better question- where’d you get the kittens?!

Desmond: More important question- Why are we in Renaissance Italy!!

Ezio: ???

When Desmond accepted his death, he expected to die.

Did he believe in the afterlife?

Not really.

The Farm had never been religious and all those lessons about how the Templars used religion only served to make Desmond ignore it altogether.

Not because he was appalled by the Templars’ ways or because he didn’t believe in a higher being or something deep like that.

No.

He avoided religion because it was boring.

To be more exact, after hearing the same lessons about the connection of the Templars to religion, it became boring.

Just another reminder of his life on the Farm.

So no.

Desmond never thought about the afterlife.

He always assumed he would die and that would be it.

Kaput.

End of story.

Whatever disappointing story he had, anyway.

It might have been disappointing for someone like William Miles but it was a nice one for Desmond. His life in New York felt like a dream. It wasn’t always a happy dream but it was…

Nice.

It felt real.

He felt real.

So when he woke up in one of the Assassin Tombs in Italy, Desmond knew he was alive.

He felt real.

He had to alive.

Then he heard two more people slowly get up and Desmond wondered if this was the afterlife.

Why else would Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad and Malik Al-Sayf be waking up in the same place as him.

When he learned that they were in Renaissance Italy, his first thoughts had been about Ezio. He wanted to find him. He wanted to see him. To make sure he was okay.

He had woken up too late though. The same day as the execution of his father and brothers… in Venice of all places.

He could, theoretically, go to Monteriggioni and meet with Ezio there but… Altaïr and Malik weren’t fit to travel. Something was ‘strange’ about their body, like they weren’t use to it. And it wasn’t just because they had their left ring finger. Malik admitted he could feel the pain of losing his arm over and over again. Altaïr’s body would give up after a few minutes and he seemed to be moving through sheer willpower (or stubbornness… both, it was always both with him) so their priority was to find a secure hideout that wasn’t a tomb.

It took an entire day for Desmond to get enough funds to buy them a small house in Venice and a change of clothes (pretending to be a foreigner who wishes to learn from the great artists worked enough to make the tailor less suspicious… a bit). Desmond didn’t bother to hire any servants and focused on helping Altaïr and Malik get used to their new bodies.

They both remembered up to their deaths and that left countless scars inside them. Altaïr theorized that they need to get use to their new bodies because they had been used to their weakening old bodies. Their new bodies seemed to have been created with the idea of them in their prime.

Before the failure in the temple underneath Jerusalem…

By the time Ezio entered Venice, he had already heard about them. The strange three men who kept to themselves, assisting the thieves of Venice for a price.

Most of the time the price they ask for was information.

Sometimes, they would ask for an IOU, their way of saying the thieves owe them a favor. They mostly used those favors to get the thieves to distract certain guards or to be bait.

Ezio heard from Mario that he should make their acquaintances and greet them before doing any missions in Venice.

It was their turf after all.

He did not expect their home to be a warm one.

… with lots of cats.

Too many cats.

“Altaïr! Who is this?!”

Ezio stepped inside the open doorway that led to the inner courtyard where he heard the shouting. A man wearing simple white robes held a black cat by the armpits in his arms, glaring at another man who was sitting underneath the great tree in the middle of the courtyard. Four cats were sleeping around him and he was petting another cat that was curled on his lap absentmindedly.

“That one followed me yesterday. Ask Desmond what to name that one.” The man named Altaïr-

Wait.

Altaïr?

“Stop bringing more cats! We spend more for their food than we do for ours!”

“Hello?”

Ezio turned around to the sound of the voice behind him. He didn’t even notice him approaching Ezio from behind.

The man standing in front of him holding a small stack of books smiled at him as he said, “It’s nice to finally see you, Ezio.”

“My name Desmond Ibn-La'Ahad. Welcome to our bureau.”

#desmond altaïr and malik create a bureau by accident #the cats follow altaïr whenever he takes a walk #or stalks the rooftops #or help desmond with the grocery #anytime altaïr goes outside #cats follow him #desmond names the cats with names of people he knew #ask and answer #assassin's creed #desmond miles #altaïr ibn la'ahad #ezio auditore #malik al sayf #teecup writes/has a plot #fic idea: assassin's creed

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ataraxiaspainting · 2 months

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There’s a Certain Slant of Light.

Yan (Soulmate) Chrollo x F Reader.

Synopsis: Something is different. But what could it be?

Warnings: Yandere themes, the reader is unwillingly a Spider and from Meteor City, mentions of religion/religious imagery, implied drugging, manipulation, and unhealthy relationships.

Word Count: 1k.

i’ve been seeing a lot of chrollo being paired with a phantom troupe member reader and i just think that the concept is very interesting! :D

credits for og art piece here!

*~*~*~*

Your sword, while having the ability to stab and slice just about anything, is still by far the most frail weapon at your disposal. It is a slight sadness that fills Chrollo’s mind, then, once he realizes this. The feeling is small, minuscule, just like most of the other emotions Chrollo’s heart cannot beat with, the blood that flows through his veins frozen with the concept of what he wants to be. He feels next to nothing as if he were a walking corpse, a prisoner who has just been released from the deepest depths of hell, not once being able to see twinkling eyes and shining stars. Light is a concept unknown to people like him, and people like you, foreign, as alien as a coup made of peasants storming a palace larger than ten of their villages combined.

Your two true weapons are your lips calling out his name, and the thin red string that connects your little finger and your fate to his thumb and his future. Despite the thread being wispier than that of paper, it has a will stronger than one forged in diamonds and never had to be a carbon crystal to be so. Chrollo is thankful for it, more so than he is for most things that he would rather leave in the past. It has linked you two together for so long and has been the key for chaining down your animosity towards him whenever he had gone too far. All he had to do was tug, and you would be right back wherever he had placed you. But even diamonds can shatter when a love made in a less-than-fortunate childhood turns more and more into hate.

This entire act is like a balancing beam. He must not be too loud, but also not be too quiet. He must always have cards up his sleeve for any potential mishaps down the line. Inside one hand is the key to your freedom, but inside the other is the key to a false route to such fantasies, the trap of reality. Even Chrollo does not know which is which, for he is a dreamer himself at heart.

“Good morning, sir,” It is a rare sight, you yawning, your posture nowhere near how put together it usually is. “How are you today, sir?”

“Very well, thank you.”

“I must have been quite exhausted last night; my apologies, sir.”

“I told you if you ever wanted to take a break here, you are more than welcome to.”

“I’ve always declined such an offer for a reason, sir.”

“Just as I’ve always told you that you may call me just Chrollo for a reason, [First]. I think I haven't heard you say my name without an honorific since we were both still children if my memory serves correctly.”

“...”

The provocation of the past seems to hurt you more than him it seems, from how you flinch at the word children, and from how he smiles at your discomfort.

“We are not with the rest of the Troupe right now, it is quite alright if you want to relive prior times, wouldn’t you say?” He asks, and with his eyes appearing to look back at his books, he sees yours darting around the room, looking for an escape route.

They move left, to the tables at the back of the sitting room which hold lamps and framed photos and paintings. Then right, to the fireplace and the large but still solitary couch, covered with leather and embroideries. Then up, to the crackless and spotless white ceiling, and then down, to the wooden rosewood planks of the floor.

“I saw a book in your satchel. Crime and Punishment, hmm?”

“Yes. Please do not say how ironic it is, sir.”

“Very well.”

To you, perhaps the room feels deathly still. To him, it feels like the scene right before the climax. Slow, steady, full of tension and dread. Though Chrollo will never let the curtains that cover your very soul close ever again. It would not be hard to get them to open up again, you have known each other for so long after all, but regardless he needs you to stay within the palm of his hand forevermore. Only then will he be able to feel something so warm and soft once more.

Oh, how he wishes that he could open the floor below you and trap you there. But he cannot. At least not yet.

“...Where is my bag?” At your question, Chrollo pulls his thumb towards him, and you move accordingly. “It is not in the room.” You continue, your eyebrows furrowing as you attempt to resist. “Sir?”

Desperation. Then a hand raise and a pause.

“Stolen treasure from the last meeting.” Chrollo begins curtly. “A contact list full of people I have not permitted you to speak to. Keys to a car that is not mine.” He proceeds to say. “Tell me, [First], what is all of this, hmm?”

Something akin to a mix of a horrified chuckle and a choking sound emerges from your throat as if his hands were squeezing and squeezing until you burst. He sets the book he was reading down, and without his hands covering both the front and back of it, you see the title, the synopsis.

“Crime and Punishment, hmm?” He repeats, and for the first time in what must be a few years, he sees you terrified, shaking, and near to tears. “A clever way to code your plan.” Chrollo crosses his legs. “By the way, it is an hour or so past sunset by now.” He hears a small gasp from you. “You missed your flight a long time ago, sweet thing.”

“...I… I…”

“You were planning on leaving us, weren’t you?” When you don’t answer, instead looking straight towards the door, he raises his thumb again. “I know you never wanted to join the Troupe, per se, but still… this hurts.” He pulls and pulls, and being forced to be a puppet for the umpteenth time since the soulmate string has appeared in Chrollo’s vision, you are placed where he wants you to be.

Close to him.

#author aya #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere hxh #yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo x reader #yandere hxh x reader #chrollo x reader #yandere hunter x hunter x reader #yandere chrollo lucilfer x reader #yandere chrollo lucilfer #chrollo lucilfer x reader

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lupuslikethewolf · 1 month

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i've seen iceman's complicated relationship to religion. i've seen ridden with southern bible bumping trauma hangman seresin. what about bradley bradshaw’s guilt- and grief-ridden catholicism? hm?

some of his only memories of his father are at midnight mass and singing carols on christmas, and not the fun ones, but the ones that shined a light on the lord and filled his words with devotion. even back then, when baby bradley had no idea what 'worship' was, his daddy did it and it made him feel so happy and so warm inside.

then im sorry and it was a training accident and an american flag folded into a pristine triangle. after that his momma couldn't stand going into church. they stood outside and listened to the sermons from the road and visited daddy's grave with flowers and prayers and i-miss-yous but bradley eventually forgot where their regular pew was and what the colour their pastor's hair was and what the wine (grape juice) tasted like. but he wore the cross. he always wore the cross.

and after momma died he stopped going all together. maverick wasn't religious. bradley told himself the reason he missed it was that he missed visiting the house of the lord, but really it was because maverick had other connections to nick and carole bradshaw, but bradley only had the church and now he doesn't even have that. sure, he's fine, but his dad’s cross hangs low on his chest like a brand because ever since dad died he's never felt the same devotion. now, his prayers aren't for god or christ, they’re for his momma and his daddy and he lies to himself that they aren't. and blasphemy is a cardinal sin.

then he looses maverick too. he floats around for years and forgets how to say his hail marys.

he re-applies for the academy and thanks the lord for the first time since he was a child that he got in. he follows in his father's footsteps and find a new church. he goes every sunday. he says grace. he does everything a proper christian should. honour thy father is written into every action he takes.

because his god is still his father. his holy spirit is still his mother. his christ is still maverick. he’s still sure that his prayers never reach their lord and saviour. and blasphemy is a cardinal sin.

#it physically pained me (english-indian) to write mom i cant lie #cw religion #bradley rooster bradshaw #mhm love me some religious trauma #nick goose bradshaw #carole bradshaw #pete maverick mitchell #top gun 1986 #top gun #top gun maverick

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journeytothewestresearch · 6 months

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PSA - Don't Treat JTTW As Modern Fiction

This is a public service announcement reminding JTTW fans to not treat the work as modern fiction. The novel was not the product of a singular author; instead, it's the culmination of a centuries-old story cycle informed by history, folklore, and religious mythology. It's important to remember this when discussing events from the standard 1592 narrative.

Case in point is the battle between Sun Wukong and Erlang. A friend of a friend claims with all their heart that the Monkey King would win in a one-on-one battle. They cite the fact that Erlang requires help from other Buddho-Daoist deities to finish the job. But this ignores the religious history underlying the conflict. I explained the following to my acquaintance:

I hate to break it to you [name of person], but Erlang would win a million times out of a million. This is tied to religious mythology. Erlang was originally a hunting deity in Sichuan during the Han (202 BCE-220 CE), but after receiving royal patronage during the Later Shu (934-965) and Song (960-1279), his cult grew to absorb the mythos of other divine heroes. This included the story of Yang Youji, an ape-sniping archer, leading to Erlang's association with quelling primate demons. See here for a broader discussion. This is exemplified by a 13th-century album leaf painting. The deity (right) oversees spirit-soldiers binding and threatening an ape demon (left).

Erlang was connected to the JTTW story cycle at some point, leading to a late-Yuan or early-Ming zaju play called The God Erlang Captures the Great Sage Equaling Heaven (二郎神鎖齊天大聖). In addition, The Precious Scroll of Erlang (二郎寳卷, 1562), a holy text that predates the 1592 JTTW by decades, states that the deity defeats Monkey and tosses him under Tai Mountain. So it doesn't matter how equal their battle starts off in JTTW, or that other deities join the fray, Erlang ultimately wins because that is what history and religion expects him to do. And as I previously mentioned, Erlang has royal patronage. This means he was considered an established god in dynastic China. Sun Wukong, on the other hand, never received this badge of legitimacy. This was no doubt because he's famous for rebelling against the Jade Emperor, the highest authority. No human monarch in their right mind would publicly support that. Therefore, you can look at the Erlang-Sun Wukong confrontation as an established deity submitting a demon.

I'm sad to say that my acquaintance immediately ignored everything I said and continued debating the subject based on the standard narrative. That's when I left the conversation. It's clear that they don't respect the novel; it's nothing more than fodder for battleboarding.

I understand their mindset, though. I love Sun Wukong more than just about anyone. I too once believed that he was the toughest, the strongest, and the fastest. But learning more about the novel and its multifaceted influences has opened my eyes. I now have a deeper appreciation for Monkey and his character arc. Sure, he's a badass, but he's not an omnipotent deity in the story. There is a reason that the Buddha so easily defeats him.

In closing, please remember that JTTW did not develop in a vacuum. It may be widely viewed around the world as "fiction," but it's more of a cultural encyclopedia of history, folklore, and religious mythology. Realizing this and learning more about it ultimately helps explain why certain things happen in the tale.

#sun wukong #monkey king #journey to the west #jttw #Erlang #Erlang shen #Buddhism #Taoism #Chinese mythology #Chinese religion

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themidnightcrimson · 1 year

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religion ࿏ wm

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

words: 5.6K

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

this post is for 18+ only. minors dni.

masterlist.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That is what the verse says.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #marvel #lesbian #lgbt #wanda maximoff x fem!reader

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racefortheironthrone · 6 months

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Was the Comics Code as bad as the Hays Code?

That's a really good question!

I suppose it depends on what you mean by "as bad" - are we talking about the overall impact of the Code on American pop culture or are we talking about the actual content of the Code and what it banned and/or mandated in terms of artistic expression?

I've written a little bit about the Hays Code here, but my main focus was on subtextual judaism in Hollywood generally rather than what the Code was and what its impact on American cinema was.

So what did the Hays Code actually include?

One of the few positive things you can say about it is that the men who devised it were quite clear and forthright about what would and wouldn't be allowed, in comparison to the vagueness and inconsistency of the modern MPAA. So here's the list of what couldn't be shown:

Pointed profanity—by either title or lip—this includes the words God, Lord, Jesus, Christ (unless they be used reverently in connection with proper religious ceremonies), Hell, S.O.B., damn, Gawd, and every other profane and vulgar expression however it may be spelled; (You'll notice that the Code is very much a snapshot of the transition from silent movies to "talkies," with the discussion of how profanity is spelled as well as produced via "lip.")

Any licentious or suggestive nudity—in fact or in silhouette; and any lecherous or licentious notice thereof by other characters in the picture;

The illegal traffic in drugs;

Any inference of sex perversion; (i.e anything having to do with LGBT+ people and culture. For more on the impact of the Hays Code on the LGBT+ community, see the excellent documentary the Celluloid Closet.)

White slavery; (the 1920s version of sex trafficking, but with added racism!)

Miscegenation;

Sex hygiene and venereal diseases;

Scenes of actual childbirth—in fact or in silhouette;

Children's sex organs;

Ridicule of the clergy;

Willful offense to any nation, race or creed; and (this one was really honored in the breach more than the observance when it came to nations, races, and creeds of non-dominant groups in society.)

The following things could be shown, but "special care be exercised in the manner in which the following subjects are treated, to the end that vulgarity and suggestiveness may be eliminated and that good taste may be emphasized:"

The use of the Flag;

International Relations (avoid picturizing in an unfavorable light another country's religion, history, institutions, prominent people and citizenry); (again, depended a lot on what country you're talking about.)

Arson;

The use of firearms;

Theft, robbery, safe-cracking, and dynamiting of trains, mines, buildings, et cetera (having in mind the effect which a too-detailed description of these may have upon the moron); (I guess the idea was that the MPPDA believed very strongly in the idea that media could affect people's behavior through imitation, but the use of the word "moron" gives me eugenics vibes.)

Brutality and possible gruesomeness;

Technique of committing murder by whatever method;

Methods of smuggling;

Third-Degree methods; (i.e, torture)

Actual hangings or electrocutions as legal punishment for crime; Sympathy for criminals; (this was a big one; Hollywood had done very well from gangster films, so a lot of creators had to do some careful threading of the needle to keep the genre alive. One dodge that they came up with was that they would have a duplicate "final reel" in which the gangster would have their inevitable comeuppance, and then remove the final reel when the censors had left the theater. Very popular with white rural teens.) Attitude toward public characters and institutions; (again, Hollywood shifting from being anti- to pro-establishment.)

Sedition;

Apparent cruelty to children and animals;

Branding of people or animals;

The sale of women, or of a woman selling her virtue;

Rape or attempted rape;

First-night scenes; (i.e, wedding nights)

Man and woman in bed together; (hence the eventual TV practice of showing married couples in separate beds in the 50s)

Deliberate seduction of girls;

The institution of marriage;

Surgical operations;

The use of drugs;

Titles or scenes having to do with law enforcement or law-enforcing officers;

Excessive or lustful kissing, particularly when one character or the other is a "heavy".

So in general, we can say that the Hays Code was extremely sex-negative, very concerned about crime and anti-establishment thinking, sexist, racist, and homophobic, and in general afraid of offending anybody.

So what about the Comics Code Authority?

So this is what the Comics Code looked like in 1954:

Crimes shall never be presented in such a way as to create sympathy for the criminal, to promote distrust of the forces of law and justice, or to inspire others with a desire to imitate criminals. If crime is depicted it shall be as a sordid and unpleasant activity.

Policemen, judges, government officials, and respected institutions shall never be presented in such a way as to create disrespect for established authority.

Criminals shall not be presented so as to be rendered glamorous or to occupy a position which creates a desire for emulation. In every instance good shall triumph over evil and the criminal punished for his misdeeds.

Scenes of excessive violence shall be prohibited. Scenes of brutal torture, excessive and unnecessary knife and gunplay, physical agony, the gory and gruesome crime shall be eliminated.

No comic magazine shall use the words "horror" or "terror" in its title.

All scenes of horror, excessive bloodshed, gory or gruesome crimes, depravity, lust, sadism, masochism shall not be permitted.

All lurid, unsavory, gruesome illustrations shall be eliminated. Inclusion of stories dealing with evil shall be used or shall be published only where the intent is to illustrate a moral issue and in no case shall evil be presented alluringly, nor so as to injure the sensibilities of the reader.

Scenes dealing with, or instruments associated with walking dead, torture, vampires and vampirism, ghouls, cannibalism, and werewolfism are prohibited.

Profanity, obscenity, smut, vulgarity, or words or symbols which have acquired undesirable meanings are forbidden.

Nudity in any form is prohibited, as is indecent or undue exposure. Suggestive and salacious illustration or suggestive posture is unacceptable.

Females shall be drawn realistically without exaggeration of any physical qualities.

Illicit sex relations are neither to be hinted at nor portrayed. Rape scenes, as well as sexual abnormalities, are unacceptable.

Seduction and rape shall never be shown or suggested.

Sex perversion or any inference to same is strictly forbidden.

Nudity with meretricious purpose and salacious postures shall not be permitted in the advertising of any product; clothed figures shall never be presented in such a way as to be offensive or contrary to good taste or morals.[16]

You'll notice the similarities when it comes to the Codes' attitude to sex, sexuality, crime, and symbols of authority - so to answer the first part of your question, I would say the CCA was pretty similar to the Hays Code (in part because Charles F. Murphy, who drew it up, was deeply unoriginal and basically cribbed off the Hays Code throughout).

However, there are also some significant areas of difference that have a lot to do with the unique circumstances of the 1950s moral panic over comics. See, in the 1950s, superhero comics were considered deeply uncool and old hat - they had been huge in the 40s during the war, but by the 50s the biggest genre in comics were horror, crime, and romance comics (with cowboy comics bringing up the rear). To quote myself from another post:

"This gave rise to a moral panic in the 1950s, although more accurately it was part of the larger moral panic over juvenile delinquency. The U.S Senate established a Juvenile Delinquency Subcommittee of the Judiciary Committee in 1953 to investigate the causes of juvenile delinquency and comics became a major target. While Wertham’s book is best known today for its assertions that Batman and Robin were teaching young boys to be gay and Wonder Woman was teaching young girls to be lesbians, the main focus of the Subcommittee [edit mine: and Wertham's academic work] was on horror and crime comics for their depiction of sex, violence, and “subversive” attitudes to law and order."

The CCA made it impossible to publish two of the most popular genres in the industry for a generation (the CCA relaxed its stance on horror stuff a bit in the 70s, which is why Marvel trend-chased werewolves and vampires the moment they could get away with it), which not only scrambled the medium (and potentially created space for the Silver Age of superhero comics to flourish) but drove the former titan EC Comics practically out of business. (Indeed, William Gaines of EC Comics believed that the CCA had been specifically worded to drive him out of business.)

So in some ways, the CCA was worse.

#subtexual judaism #cultural history #film history #hays code #comics #comics meta #comics code authority #cinema

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