#three religious rebels

[tarjapearce]

Heathens (Pt. 2)

Priest! Miguel O'Hara x Nun! Reader

Art by @mar_mar0u in X

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Religious topics, Corruption Kink, Oral in holy places (Male receiving) Fingering, implicit Breeding kink, Angst, violence (Whipping, and other physical injuries) Character background, sexual and mutual pining, power dynamics, not proofread.

Summary: Father Miguel is growing tired of his beatific life.

A|N : reblogs and feedback fuel me :'). Thanks in advance.

Previous Spanish Version

Miguel tried, tried with all his might to fool himself. It was one of those things he excelled at like no other.

The war won't reach us.

He'd always mumble to his coworkers back at the machinery factory. A place he was designated after failing thr recruitment's medical tests. On purpose.

He faked his eye sight terrible and a slurred speech enough for the doctors to deem him a failing specimen that wouldn't last for more than days, in a war that had brought nothing but calamit to everyone involved.

People barely spoke to him at the factory, which played off perfect. He did his job, none bothered him except for reaching things too far of reach, and he got home safe.

A lanky man that slowly but surely developed his brawns within the heavy duty line. His job was to fix and assemble motors that would end up in cars, planes, ships and whatever medium used to destroy the enemy.

Part of Nueva York was already destroyed. The echelons in society blurred to the point of subduing everyone under the same category in the neighbor states. Refugees.

The church played an important part as they took as many as they could under their beatific walls.

Miguel wasn't a devote believer, but respected the business enough to help whenever they required it in his little town. Anyone who helped others in need had his respect.

If the church needed a new roof to harbor in more refugees, he and other men would make it. The innate feeling of helping and guiding others was something the Church's Father always complimented.

He explained Miguel what would he do in case he turned himself to God and follow a path of holy life. But no matter how much the Father spoke, his ties to the world and it's pleasures were too much to give up.

Miguel had all the qualities of being the perfect Father, but how could he consider such thing when the woman underneath him, writhed while clawing at his back, and begged the heavens above for him to not stop? Begged him to plow harder within her drenched and spasming walls over and over?

A Father would never do that. He didn't care if he was called basic for wanting sex. He didn't care if he was called greedy for wanting a nice car and a little property in a secluded area in the outskirts of Roeville.

And he definitely didn't care if he was called thoughtless for wanting a little family in the admist of chaos. Someone to get home to. Cause again, a Church's father would never. They could never do such things. If anything, he'd fulfill the lord's command of multiplying one day.

He was more than happy as he was, living a relatively innocuous life.

The war won't reach us.

A lie he fed himself to the point of turning it into his personal mantra. And when none else that those three words came into the town, in the shape of armored rebels, destroying everything he had worked for so hard, Miguel knew a decision needed to be done.

He took the remaining survivors out and guided them away from cruel eyes that wouldn't doubt into recruiting them into their madness.

He might have escaped the elite pass to a major scale war, but he often forgot about the opposition. The opportunists that would gain power in the right hands of ignorant and bloodthirsty people.

The rebels had gone town to town, forcefully recruiting men to join their barracks, to fight against a new order that promised nothing but their rights removed.

Miguel didn't want to know shit about it.  He didn't want to partake in a war he didn't start. He didn't want to leave the commodities life had served him so far. In fact, as he guided the people through the frozen river, he begged his neglected friend above to allow him to keep a rather easy life.

But rebels caught up to him, killing those that dared to run away, gaining the immediate end for treason to a cause they've never pledged for. A bullet ricocheted on the six year old boy propped on his shoulders, falling immediately to the glacial waters.

Miguel didn't doubt and pulled the kid out, despite feeling his bones freezing and numbing, and hauled him to the ground. If blood loss didn't kill him, hypothermia would. There was little he could do but offer the child a few words of consolation as he held his feeble and trembling form, drowning in tears; feeling the short life escaping warmly through his fingers.

Shouting, screaming and a couple of shots was all he could discern before an armored man pulled him by the collar, making him drop the boy's body to the ground and kneel. The tip of the man's weapon rested a bit too intimate on his head.

"P-Por favor!" (Please)

Miguel mumbled in between nervous pants snd clattering teeth as his hands rose in defense.

The man interrogated him, in spanish. Where was he from, where were the rest and what did he do. And like an epiphany, his mouth spilled the words not even in his wildest dreams he thought pronouncing.

"Soy... Soy un Padre, de la Parroquia San Buenaventura. Sólo vine a ayudar." (I'm a Father, from San Buenaventura's Parish. I came here to help.)

Said parish had been visited during his childhood and possibly long forgotten and non-existant by now, everything he knew about holy endeavours was thanks to his reluctant catholic upbringing. And it was enough to prolonging his stay in this realm.

"Porqué huiste entonces?" (Why did you run away then?)

"No quiero morir." (I don't wanna die.)

The man scrutinized his soul, but the words had came out his plump mouth with such conviction, it left no room for doubtsto those that wouldn't hesitate in shooting at the minimum sign of lying.

Miguel could be one of those people that could say undoubtedly God has a dark sense of humor. Cause none other than the leader asked him to bless him and his weapons to then take the reduced and mourning group to the nearest church.

And now, almost a decade and holy studies later, he preached the mass to people in town. Donned with the holy robes that would screech with condemning words if people ever knew what crossed his mind every time he laid his eyes on you.

His little lamb. His ever delicious little lamb, awaiting to be corrupted by none other than the wolf himself.

Cause that night, back at his den, corruption had ruled over both of your minds. Not only he had shown you what pleasure was and how you could achieve it on your own, but promised more.

More of him exploring places of your body none had the blessing of doing so before. More of him tasting those areas you only though of a single purpose, but his tongue had proven multi-task. More of that debauchery ritual where you'd finally be his.

With a heavy heart and little words beyond see you soon, you left to your duties, back to the reality. Leaving him alone with a painful and raging boner. Screaming for him to not neglect it that way ever again.

And he tried. By God he was trying to not pull you to a nearby storage room and taste you again. His whole body turned into this needy mass of nerves whenever you stared his way a second too long.

The remaining innocence in you, edged him into fisting his hand around himself and pump into oblivion at night before sleeping. His mind took a recent knack for torturing him.

It reminded him of the first months into his chastity vows, and how close he was into breaking them with a woman that was beyond willing to satisfy her own curiosity regarding priests, but war, his cruel friend; acted as the main motivator to remain within line, since it still waged outside and men were still needed outside to die.

And no matter how many gorgeous women paraded under his radar, his vows remained intact.

Until you showed up, drenched in his door, in dire need of help. Not only had you shaken every promise he was trained to believe, to their very core. But ebbed him to his old sinful ways.

The wolf's pelt was growing too large within the sheep's robe he had disguised himself with, in order to run from a fate that was nothing more than a premature death.

The parishioner's voice snapped him out of his darkening thoughts, he dictated a penance and an absolution prayer, not really caring for the man's sins, cause he was worse. He closed the confessional window and stood to open the door.

Only to find the reason of his impure thoughts before him, sitting on the floor, polishing the altar's candle-snuffer.

His dark pupils were blown wide as your hands stroked with gentle moves the handle. How such mundane task turned his gears for the wrong turn was the proof of your power over him.

His groin twitched when your hand circled around the brass bar and moved up and down the rag to remove as much dust as possible, pumping softly.

"Sister."

His voice came out in a husky mumble he tried to keep in his usual deep tinge. But his composure cracked as soon as you turned around and stared back with those beautiful doe eyes of yours.

He gulped.

"What are you doing, pequeña?"

"Sister Leanne sent me to polish the altar's tool as a punishment for the missing vegetables in the inventory."

You mumbled between nervous laughs. And he chuckled. Of course Sister Leanne would do that. As gentle as the woman was, she didn't hesitate into applying discipline the way she saw fit.

She needed to set an example, even more when she was about to be ascended to Mother Superior or Abess.

"I apologize."

"Whatever for, Father?

"I can't deny part of it it's my fault. As I lead you astray from your original tasks."

A flush crept on your cheeks as soon as your mind flooded with the remnants of that night.

"It was the rain, Father. Not you."

"I thought I told you to not call me that when alone."

"I'm sorry. Some habits are hard to kill."

"And remove."

You swallowed a thick lump. His eyes were already undressing you with his red-ish gleam.

"I... started to wear less layers."

May God have mercy on his soul, cause his need gnawing at his flesh certainly wasn't having it. His chest puffed with a deep inhale

"You were right about them. They're... They're heavy to wear. Makes it impractical for almost everything."

He nodded knowingly as an idea popped in his already tainted and corrupted mind.

"That's true. Robes makes it heavier and slows you down."

"I thought the cassock was lightweight? "

He shook his head and offered you his hand for you to stand up. A hidden invitation to his wicked game. You took it.

"It is when done with the proper materials. Otherwise is heavy." He led you inside the confessional. And closed the door as soon as you were in. Cornering you against the hefty oak doors.

Your breath hitched as soon as his hands placed yours on his chest. A pleased purr rumbled through upon the contact.

"Heavy isn't it?" You nodded while feeling the smooth and thick fibers of cotton, stretching all over his chest underneath your fingertips.

"That's why I don't use layers underneath."

Heat begun pooling in the pit of your stomach, "You don't?

He didn't have to instruct you verbally to confirm such thing. His eyes guided your hands through the map of his body to finally stop inches above his tightened crotch.

His heart crinkled with utter delight upon seeing your eyes widen and blink while admiring him. Hardening even further at every second you weren't touching him.

"It's alright. Don't be ashamed. Knowing one's body is crucial to identify where some sins come from."

He sat at the chair, his throne, with his legs sprawled, the cassock tightened around his well sculpted and worked legs, tightening enough to outline the silhouette of his awakening cock.

The confessional was custom built, and given his height, two people could fit in. And what better use for it than having you inside with him. Trapped between his neverending legs.

"Would you know what to name a man's anatomy, pequeña?"

He removed the fabric belt around his waist to then unbutton the lower part of the cassock. Revealing a set of lighter pants, trapping his erection underneath.

Your eyes shamelessly remained on the happy trail leading to the growing bulge between his legs. Curiosity was definitely taking a choke hold on your brain. Although built big enough for two people average sized, you had to crawl closer between him.

"I believe it's called a... c-cock."

"A cock, yes." He nodded proudly, "And how would you know such thing, Hm?"

He beckoned you closer, holding your chin gently while at it.

"T-There's an anatomy book well hidden in the library. I don't wish to remain completely ignorant to my surroundings, Father."

"Ah, I see." He let the father calling go for this time, cause the surprise in your face was everything a man could get when about to perform one of the most lascivious of acts.

He took himself out, letting his erection to sprung in it's full glory before you.

"Does it looks like the one in the book?"

You shook your head softly. His flushed and engorged tip, twitched upon feeling your breath oh so close to his velvet skin.

"At all."

The rich fragrance of clean soap and woody incense remained in his skin.

"You're allowed to touch."

With a new gulp on your throat and hesitating hands, your fingertips grazed  his tip. Earning a little hiss from him. Finally feeling other textures that wasn't his calloused hands.

Curiosity made you take him firmer around the base, his hands enveloped yours and guided you to stroke him, up and down.

Your cheeks flushed even deeper while watching his face contorting in pure bliss. It reminded you the way he looked at you as he was devouring your now tingling flesh.

"Does it feels good?"

He nodded through hazed eyes, urging you to move your hand faster with his own, setting a tortuous tempo.

"Oh, very. Very good." he nodded and panted breathlessly, nails clawing at the cushioned part of his seat.

"Then... why is a sin?"

As much as he wanted to quench your learning thirst and instruct you through it, he couldn't care less about what was a sin and what not. But he could satisfy said interest with a more practical example.

"Open your mouth." He talked as he took his hefty cock and beckoned impossibly closer.

Your clothed chest rested inches away from his inner thighs. Lips parted open and when his tip rubbed between your lips, your tongue moved on its own and swirled on his slit. Earning a shaky whimper from him.

"Dios..." His head was thrown back as you took his whole tip inside. The warmth your lush mouth offered couldn't be compared. His hips bucked and you groaned when another inch was pushed in.

"Keep going, pequeña." He husked as he slid a hand underneath your headdress and took a gentle hold of your nape. With enough pressure he guided you up and down pushing as much cock as he could into your mouth, withdrawing carefully whenever you gagged.

The soft saltine taste bursted all over your taste buds, singing in delight. You were tasting a man. The proper way. You hummed approvingly.

Once more he took himself by the base and slapped your awaiting tongue a couple of times with his tip before pushing in  again.

His shaky groans turned into deep and raged pants the more your cheeks hollowed around him, licking and sucking in a pace that had him thrusting his hips softly and melting. His hands didn't know whether to claw or hold on whatever surface they had underneath.

The wet and sloshing noises from your mouth made him dizzy, and your hand squeezing his balls gently wasn't helping. Seeing your eyes filled with the same unmarred lust as his, corroded any rational and holy thought our of his frying brain.

You were dangerous. Oh, so dangerous he could mistake you for the very snake that temped Eve back in Eden, cause your tongue swirled and tasted in the right places like no other, despite being your first time.

And by God, he knew you weren't made for a holy life. You couldn't. He refused to believe you were made for such simple and boring life when you were sucking his demons out with such artistry, he couldn't feel but jealous at the sudden thought of someone else teaching you such things.

No woman had achieved such feat on him before by using solely her mouth.

"Sigue, por favor-" He gulped and bit his lip before a loud moan could escape him. His eyes tried to keep on front watching you, bobbing your head up and down. (Keep it going)

If your mouth was delicious, he couldn't help but wonder, how your insides felt.

Would you be drenched? Would you be tight for him? Would you take him as well as your mouth did? Of course you would. You were using your mouth only and left him yearning for more than that.

His teeth bared as his pants turned even more raged and blown. The soft kisses alternated between kitten kicks and unabashed lapping, bending not only his will, but the urge to hold you in place and have fun with your mouth.

The sight of you being bold and taking him in a go completely, made him explode with an acute, shaking and broken whimper.

"Mnnfuck-" He held you in place while he squeezed the very last drop of his hot cum down your throat. All while you looked at him with drunk, pleasurable eyes as you swallowed him.

His chest heaved and his hand rubbed over his face, awash with raw need. But you didn't stop there.

A low humming rumbled through, reverberating through his skin. Sending another wave of jolts down his spine. His head was spinning a second per hour

"W-Wait..." but you didn't listen, you kept tasting and his teeth clenched, "E-Esperate-" He blabbed and choked, his trembling hand took a firm hold of your headdress and pulled his limping cock out your mouth with a squelching pop.

But your tongue sought him, hungry and hypnotised by his taste.

"Stop- Oh Dios... S... Stop-" you whined as he hunched and rested his forehead against yours, putting his throbbing cock back to it's confinements. His breath fanned over your mouth and kissed you deeply. Drowning any furtive and remaining moans.

His tongue swirled over yours, luring it only for a mischievous suck to be delivered, tasting himself in the process.

"Please" You clung to him, body doused with fire, and his nose heaved deeply, still recovering from what you provoked within. His eyes remained shut for a second, to then seizing you with a tender look.

"Not yet, pequeña."

"Not yet. Then, when?!" You whined impatiently, "If you don't want me anymore just say it!"

He understood your frustration, he really did. With gentle hands he cupped your face.

"I do want you." He pecked your lips, "More than this pretty head of yours refuses to believe. But we must wait."

"I don't want to!" You sniffed and he kissed your head once again, soothing your frustration with feathery kisses. Then he stood and picked you up easily in his arms to finally sit you on his chair.

"If I am to claim you, is cause I'm taking my time to destroy every bit of your mind, understand?"

His hands immediately stirred up the skirt of your habit up to your waist, proving your words true of you wearing less layers, leaving your thighs and cunt bare to him as they were parted and placed on each side of the chair's arms.

With a serpent-like motion, he swept his tongue over his lips, awash with prurience when his gaze remained in your drenched entrance. Drooling and glistening, begging to be taken.

There was something he couldn't truly explain when he had you like that. It played too many good tricks in his dazed mind.

As much as he wanted to bury himself to the hilt, he couldn't. He didn't want you to be marked by a whip and shunned before the whole church as a heathen.

He didn't want you to bear with Cain's mark and be despised by the whole community just cause you gave into a natural need.

Two of his fingers coated in your slick, to then rub ever gently at your needy and throbbing nub of nerves. Gaining him a soft coo.

"I need to take my time to posses every bit of you, dear."

Your mouth gaped and whimpered as he slid inside with a sloshing fwop. Walls immediately etched to his fingers, squeezing him and urging to go deeper.

"You think I don't want to take you right here? " He kissed your lips and then your jaw

His thumb rubbed in slow but firm strokes, applying enough pressure to have you a blabbing mess and tidal waves of pleasure quenching your body's primal need.

His fingers hooking and wriggling inside only earned him a renewed groan. Your hands clutched at the surface behind you, as his fingers delved deeper, meaner and faster. Your frame shook with every stroke he delivered in your weeping walls.

He had to cover your mouth at the lewdness spilling out nonstop of it, to focus on the increasing wetness he provoked in your slurping hole.

A shaky whimper was muffled the more he pumped his fingers into you, grazing that sweet and exquisite spot that got your body trembling and your walls contracting around him in a wicked and debauched symphony. Your head was thrown back, too heavy with lascivious thoughts to function properly.

Mouth parted to whine and eyes remained shut, unable to digest the obscene display of prowess by his fingers. Your tightness increased by every second, signaling your need for release.

"Come"

An order. Disobeying was out of the question. A specific thrust had your spine arching and your soaked hole exploding with something so devastatingly delicious, it had you panting and mewling in heat as you drenched Miguel's hand and forearm completely, he kept prodding and poking at that gummy spot within you. Your nails clawed at the seat, trying to anchor your floating soul to your body.

"Oh my God!" You hiccuped in a garbled moan.

His palm kept your stuttering hips under control, his eyes remained at the spasming muscles within you, trying to keep his fingers inside, sucking, squeezing and milking him.

"Tan perfecta." He crooned while pulling out gently to lick and slurp his fingers clean and kiss you with all his might . (So perfect)

Too enraptured in your taste to hear the approaching steps until too late.

"Father O'Hara?"

The voice from the other side of the wall made both to freeze in place. Your eyes went wide and his grip on your panting mouth tightened.

"Are you there?"

Miguel placed a drenched finger in his lips.

Closing your eyes shut, you both awaited for whoever that had arrived to leave, and once the steps could no longer be heard, he released you.

And you gasped and panted for air and he smirked. Admiring with wickedness at his creation. He could already taste your little cries and whimpers for more of him. And damn him if he was lying if his mind didn't come up with the vilest of fantasies, like defiling you in the altar, at everyone's sight, so they could know the real him and show everyone he had claimed you and what they were missing.

He helped you on your feet and wipe away the thin layer of sweat covering your face with utmost care.

But that side was reserved to none else but you. His beloved lamb.

"Soon, I promise. Okay?"

He kissed your lips deeply, sealing his words with a promise. He was a man of word.

You'd have to wait a bit longer.

----

The dull ache in your lower belly announced your period's arrival. Asking the head of the medical supplies and writing your name in a book was a subtle way to keep the youngsters and  women in fertile age in check.

Given the few past experiences with nuns suddenly getting pregnant, security when it came to outings increased. Same for the Parish. Another guard was hired to keep the morning shift in case men came to lurk around.

The parish had a reputation to have beautiful nuns under the roof, even if older.

But since you had your period, no harm approached. You could see a little proud smile in Sister Danielle as you fetched your supplies for the week. Teas, pads, some painkillers and a brand new addition, moist towelettes from the city.

"If you run out of them, come again, alright?"

With a nod, you went to the bathroom and changed. You washed your hands and walked back to where Sister Leanne was, to tell her about your condition.

Cause in truth, you felt tired, pained and exhausted. Your face lit up upon seeing her.

"May we speak?"

"Not now. Discipline calls me."

Quirking a brow you looked at her while watching a trail of nuns behind her. One with a slender guava stick, another with a bucket in water, and the other with a rope.

"W-What's going on?"

"Come and see."

You weren't the only one that followed them. A group of nuns giggled, as they whispered hushed secrets to eachother.

Your fingers wrapped around your cross while following the rest, like a dutiful sheep.

To your surprise another nun was held as her sleeve was slit open, on both arms. The woman cried for mercy and soon she was pushed forward before the circle of nuns and Miguel that showed up alarmed.

"You have sinned!"

Sister Leanne begun with a commanding voice. even though Miguel was the Father, he had little to do with the nun's management.

Your mother figure pulled the crying woman's arm, showing a bruising a couple of inches away from her elbow.

"This woman has corrupted her body, the temple of Jesus Christ! With contraceptives!"

A collective round of gasps were heard through the nuns. Contraceptives, same as sex were the highest forms of faults within the Parish. Specially within the convent.

"Not only you poison your body with mundane pieces, but break your vows, just to obey your flesh's whims." Leanne spat with venom.

The poor woman was tied up against a post. Her habit was torn in the back, to expose her temporary unmarred, milky white skin. She begged for forgiveness as water was doused over her.

The first hit made you look away and cover your mouth, a sudden fear rose in the back of your throat.

His need of waiting was more than reasonable now.

This was one the motives why Miguel hadn't taken you yet. And seeing the poor woman writhe in pain and beg for her life, made you remind him of his words.

You had been so neck deep in wanting him that had forgotten completely about the consequences of your forbidden meetings.

The women's cries and pleas were muffled by the aggressive whistle the stick did everytime it swung to strike down and mark her over and over.

Your gaze locked with Miguel's briefly. His eyes said it all.

Now you understand?

As quickly as your eyes met him, you tore your gaze away. Too afraid of the possible lash out for simply looking at him.

A surge of cramps and the newly reached levels of stress had you folding over. His face fell upon the pain in yours. The supplies in your hands were self explanatory. Periods weren't something new to him, after all he took care of the women under his unit in the factory cause the rest was too stupid and scared to do something.

And as much as he wanted to approach and see if you were alright, he didn't want the situation to be mistaken for something else and draw unnecessary attention towards you both.

He felt a coward, but it also fueled his hate for the life he chose in order to save himself.

Once the punishment was finished, the woman was untied and taken to the infirmary. Sister Leanne looked at you

"What is you wanted to talk to me about?"

"My period."

"What about it?" Her voice accused with a frown, still on edge.

"I just asked Sister Danielle for my supplies." She heaved, relieved.

"Good. Good." She sighed and rubbed her face, "I want you to know that I'm not proud of the things I must do. But someone has to."

"I know."

"Please don't ever dare to betray me that way, okay?"

The stung in your chest just bloomed deeper with guiltiness.

What if I'm already doing it?

You nodded, gaining a hug from the woman that raised you, in order to ground herself from the sudden rage that took over her emotional panel of control.

Would you whip me too? Would you make me bleed?

"Go rest. I'll get you some food, alright?"

---

It had been days since either of you approached each other. The raw display of consequences of a failed secret affair was the culprit of the distance that grew wider and wider between the both.

It was a forceful reminder of what laid ahead if you ever got caught. Miguel knew how much the new Mother Superior loved you.

He always heard at dinner with the higher ranks the endless stories about you as a teenager. Precocious and daring. Nothing alike to the tame and demure woman he had already tasted twice.

Would she hate him for corrupting her little and perfect sheep? Absolutely. Maybe would whip him too if she could.

The thought alone made him chuckle.

The silence on both ends made him reflect in so many things he thought long forgotten.

A child's random laugh during a baptizing had brought to life that buried yearn. The way the little human stared at him with a toothless grin on their face sent his heart into a frenzy.

In fact, he always reminisced in the many families that paraded proudly on church. Displaying their affection, laughs and others that only echoed in the solitude of his residence outside the Parish.

There was none waiting for him, no little human screeching in happiness upon hid arrival, and no partner to share his daily adventures on his modest job. There wasn't nothing like that for him.

Just endless hours of praying, visiting the sick, bible studies, hypocritical speeches on how people act and behave with those around him and how to not succumb into the temptation, like he did.

He was the biggest hypocrite under the heavenly roof and everyone adored him. Congratulated and asked for tips on how to be more like him.

If he could, he'd say drink a beer every day and fuck a lovely woman whenever time allowed. But instead his mouth spilled the most ridiculous things such as keep your mind focused and away from trouble.

But he wanted trouble. He wanted that trouble to mewl and writhe underneath. He wanted that trouble to squeeze him to death as he came inside. And definitely he wanted that trouble to swell with his child.

Ten years in this lie had been more than enough for him. War had been long gone, everyone had moved on in the city. Mostly had families. But he...

His hand pinched the bridge of his nose.

Secularisation wasn't an option, since his name was already in many churches and abbeys and running away would imply to spend most of the savings he had done so far. Priest life paid shit, but if this neverending lie had taught him something, was to be more financially wise. And thanks to that, he could afford a home somewhere in the rural areas, away from prying eyes and judging glares.

He had enough of the white rectangle around his neck and the stupid golden ring on his finger dictating how to live his life. Even though God had granted him his wish of having a simple life, he didn't want it anymore.

He wanted it his way. And as entitled and selfish as the thought was, he deserved a forever break from his duties. He knew what he wanted.

He knew what he needed. And he needed you. He missed you. He wanted you to be his problem.

At first he thought it was the lack of contact and other people to talk to, but seeing you so scared back at the public whipping and your need to know more about the world, only reinforced his decision into making you his.

He could take you see places and explain things if you wanted. He could take you anywhere you wanted to. He could please you the times he saw fit without the fear of someone spying or you getting hurt by those that pledged a servitude oath.

Miguel knew what the nuns did to those that ended up pregnant and he wanted you safe. He had seen the underlying longing of knowledge in your eyes and see what was beyond those sacred walls.

Her period

His brain soared alive with the idea.

How many days had gone since you got it? Twelve days?

And if there was something he knew by heart is a woman's cycle. Ironically he used that knowledge to avoid getting his hookups pregnant, even if he used a condom. And now, he was using it for the opposite.

In two days you'd be ovulating. And you had returned early from a sudden trip due to sickness.

He didn't know if to thank God or his luck for such delicious coincidence.

But what if she decides to stay?

No. You wouldn't. You couldn't be so blind to do such thing. His plan was foolproof.

With the gears turning, he set his plan into motion.

----

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#t writes✨ #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #Heathens #priest au #priest miguel #Spotify

[teapartyprincess4two]

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

I’ll Play Your Game- M. Sturniolo

pairing: GoodGirl!reader x BadBoy!Matt

classification: angst, fluff

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

inspiration: request^^, 18 by Anarbor

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

You had two options; Chris or Nick.

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

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

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

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

It was the perfect plan. What could go wrong?

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m ready.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

MASTERLIST

A/n:

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

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

-L.A.M.B👼🏻💗

#teapartyanonreqs✨💗 #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #nicolas sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo angst #chris sturniolo imagine #matthew sturniolo headcannons #matthew sturniolo x y/n #matthew sturniolo oneshot #matthew sturniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo imagine #matthew sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt x y/n #matt sturniolo x you #christopher sturniolo fanfic #christopher sturniolo x y/n #christopher sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut #sturniolo imagine #Matthew sturniolo angst

[iwillberunningfromdemons]

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

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

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

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

#dune part two #dune part 2 #dune movie #dune part one #dune film #denis villeneuve #timothée chalamet #paul atreides #rebecca ferguson #lady jessica #zendaya #chani #sff #science fiction #frank herbert #dune

[city-of-ladies]

Women warriors in Chinese history - Part 2

(Part 1)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#history #women in history #women warriors #warriors #warrior women #china #chinese history #asian history #historyblr #qing dynasty #19 century #18th century #Wang Cong’er #hong xuanjiao #su sanniang #qiu ersao #tang sai'er #asia #Zheng Yi Sao

[cosmicghoul99]

An interesting Hannibal theory I think you should know about

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

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

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

Or this one from Bedelia:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Will: Did God feel good about that?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I hope it was interesting ;)

#hannibal #nbc hannibal #hannibal lecter #will graham #hannigram #just a little analysis #i'm sleep deprived so apologies if this makes no sense #i just really wanted to share

[mandos-mind-trick]

Lollipop

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

Pairing: Crosshair x reader

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

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

MASTERLIST

You’re doing it on purpose. 

He wholeheartedly believes it. 

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

You’re certainly not shy. 

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

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

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

Even if you do drive him insane. 

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

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

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

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

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

Good enough to eat. 

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

He hates it. 

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

“No.” He says simply. 

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

***

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

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

Which he does. 

A lot. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What would they think of him now? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe this partnership isn’t so bad after all.

Taglist:

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

#star wars #star wars fic #the bad batch #the bad batch fic #crosshair x reader #tbb crosshair x reader #bad batch crosshair x reader #x reader #the dark side fic

[no-saints-around-here]

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

Yandere Shiba Family, Yandere Sano Family with BabyShibaSister!Reader

Masterlist

‎‎

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tainted.”

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

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

‎‎

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‎‎

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

He needed to find you, and soon.

‎‎

‎‎

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‎‎

‎‎

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

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

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

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

“I was- I wanted to buy ice cream.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just Izzy?” 

“Izzy-nii-san.”

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

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

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #yandere tokyo revengers x reader #yandere tokyo revengers #tokyorev smut #tokyo revengers smut #tokyorev x reader #tok rev #shiba hakkai #shiba taiju #shiba yuzuha #kurokawa izana #izana x reader #taiju x reader #taiju smut #izana smut #hakkai x reader #yuzuha x reader #mikey x reader

[ultrone]

⣷♱🪽🕊️

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

─ ౨ৎ ‧˚ some hcs

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#𓏲 📂 ⋮ my works .ᐟ #laura lee x reader #laura lee x you #laura lee x y/n #laura lee blurb #laura lee headcanons #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets x you #yellowjackets x y/n #yellowjackets blurb #yellowjackets headcanons #laura lee fluff #yellowjackets fluff

[presleyanswrites]

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

free falling - J.M.

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

a/n thank you for this baby

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

word count 1.5k

warning(s) swearing, grammar

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"you wanna go somewhere?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you start laughing and jj admires your beautiful smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"pope actually wanted you first."

your mouth drops open, "what?"

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

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

he snickers to himself as you look in his eyes.

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

tags/idols @cafekitsune @theblackcatwitch4 @kardamenaa @drudyslut @abbyheartsyou @midnightstaylorswift @theblackcatwitch @gillybear17 @kraekat29 @wingsofoceann @drewstarkeysbae @aesthetic-babyyy @yeet-skeet321 @cal-flakes @theblackcatwitch3 @windandoceanobx join my taglist♡ masterlist

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[eretzyisrael]

by Benny Morris

The drift of the Times article is that the innocent Arabs of Palestine just sat back and watched, as suffering victims, as the Zionists, Israel, and some international actors, principally Great Britain, did their worst.

This is pure nonsense.

Throughout the 1920s, ’30s, and ’40s, Palestine’s Arabs consistently rejected all proposals for a political compromise and flatly demanded all of Palestine, “from the river to the sea.” And they did not restrict their activities to roundtable discussions. In April 1920, May 1921, and August 1929, Arab mobs, whose passions had been whipped up by religious and political leaders, attacked their Jewish neighbours and passers-by in Jerusalem, Jaffa, Hebron, and Safad, killing dozens in what amounted to a succession of pogroms. (The New York Times studiously avoids this word, referring to them only as “assaults.”)

Emily Bazelon informs readers that the first bout of violence took place when the 1920 Muslim Nebi Musa festivities in Jerusalem “turned into a deadly riot,” in which “five Jews and four Arabs [were] killed.” Neither she nor any of the panellists mention that an Arab mob attacked, murdered, and wounded Jews or that the crowd of perpetrators chanted “nashrab dam al-yahud” (‘we will drink the blood of the Jews’). Nor does she tell us that the crowd shouted, “Muhammad’s religion was born with the sword,” according to eyewitness Khalil al Sakakini, a Christian Arab educator. After three days of rampage and despoliation, British mandate security forces finally restored order, killing all or most of the four Arabs Bazelon mentions in the process. The findings of the subsequent British investigation are included in the July 1920 Palin Report, which states: “All the evidence goes to show that these [Arab] attacks were of a cowardly and treacherous description, mostly against old men, women and children—frequently in the back.”

During the May 1921 pogroms, which encompassed Jaffa, Hadera, Rehovot, and Petah Tikva, dozens of Jews were killed, and women were raped. In the efforts to restore peace, British security forces killed dozens of the attackers. Leading contemporary Zionist journalist Itamar Ben-Avi wrote: “The Islamic wave and stormy seas will eventually break loose and if we don’t set a dike … they will flood us with their wrath … Tel Aviv, in all her splendour … will be wiped out.” 

The August 1929 riots were deliberately incited by the mufti of Jerusalem, the country’s senior Muslim cleric, Haj Muhammad Amin al Husseini, who was soon to emerge as the leader of the Palestine Arab national movement. He and his aides told the Arab masses that the Jews intended to destroy Al Aksa Mosque on the Temple Mount and build a (third) Jewish temple on the site, and that they had “violated the honour of Islam and raped the women and murdered widows and babies.” The resultant riots started in Jerusalem and quickly spread throughout Palestine. Dozens of Jews were massacred, and many Jewish women were raped, in the area around Jerusalem, and in Hebron and Safad. The British High Commissioner, John Chancellor, condemned “the atrocious acts committed by bodies of ruthless and bloodthirsty evildoers … upon defenceless members of the Jewish population [with] … acts of unspeakable savagery.” The British Shaw Commission, which investigated the multiple pogroms, concurred.Israel’s Perilous Moment, Then and NowHerf tells the complicated and often surprising story of the internal political struggles in Western capitals, as well as in the halls of the United Nations, that erupted at the end of the Second World War.QuilletteSol Stern

Bazelon comments that in 1929 the “Palestinians rebelled” against the British and “violence first broke out over control of the holy sites in Jerusalem.” (Throughout the New York Times piece, Bazelon uses the phrase “violence broke out,” instead of explicitly stating that the Arabs assaulted the Jews, though she does concede that in 1929 Jews were massacred in Hebron and Safad). The Canadian Derek Penslar of Harvard University, one of the three Jewish panellists, explains that “Muslims thought … that the Jews were planning to take over the Temple Mount” and recommends to readers Israeli historian Hillel Cohen’s book Year Zero of the Arab–Israeli Conflict: 1929, which argues that the Jews and the Arabs were equally to blame for the violence of that year. Indeed, Cohen writes that Jews—not Arabs—initiated the cycle of murders in Jerusalem that set off the countrywide violence. Penslar’s sympathies seem clear here and elsewhere—as when he remarks that “Many Zionists wanted to believe that they represented progress,” the implication being that he thinks otherwise.

#new york times #media bias #israel #palestine #benny morris #emily bazelon

[littjara-mirrorlake]

Daily Life in the Phyrexian Spheres (Facade to Furnace)

Because we've heard about praetor politics and planeswalker battles, but tragically little about life for the average Phyrexian. What does that look like? Fantasy worldbuilding thrives on the mundane, and this series hopes to expand on that starting from the outermost three layers.

The Facade is largely uninhabited by humanoid Phyrexians, though creatures like Zenith Chroniclers benefit from consistent exposure to the suns and thrive plentifully. Phyrexian civilians or even praetors' agents may use it as a neutral ground for traveling, though Mirrans tend to avoid it for the unpredictable landscape and hidden pitfalls with deep oil pools. Occasionally, religiously inclined Phyrexians will embark on pilgrimages to monuments of spiritual significance before they crumble again, and researchers may chart the movements of the suns.

Mirrex, too, is sparsely populated save for wanderers, outcasts, and the occasional Mirran Resistance holdout. Phyrexians seeking to escape their roles without open rebellion often flee here. Some secondary bases of the Phyrexian rebellion are located here for their proximity to the Furnace. Occasionally praetors will send their enforcers here to sniff out rebel strongholds, but efficacy is generally low and it's rarely considered worth it. Mirrex, after all, is viewed by most Phyrexian authorities as an inconsequential wasteland, all but drained dry of its resources. The few who hide in Mirrex are more than happy to encourage that assumption.

The Autonomous Furnace is the outermost population center and the main home of the Phyrexian rebellion. Misfit Phyrexians from all spheres are drawn here as a result. Mirran refugees also cluster here, taking advantage of red Phyrexians' avoidance of or even sympathy to their cause. The rampant policing and surveillance of the other spheres only rarely reaches here, and when it does, it is swiftly thwarted.

The culture and attitude of the Furnace varies wildly by sector, as furnace bosses control large areas and go largely unchecked by Urabrask or other superiors. Working conditions range from surprisingly decent with a good amount of self-directed time to back-breakingly brutal with constant oversight. Commoners live in rickety habitations at or near their work areas.

Many sectors are openly rebellious, and a few remain vehemently loyalist, but the vast majority of Phyrexians here aim only to do their own work and stay out of any and all drama. (The work done, and who receives its final products, depends on the local boss's allegiances.) "None of my business" is the presiding mantra here, and residents are reluctant to either snitch on passing Mirrans or aid them too directly. Some, though, are driven by forbidden curiosity about humanoid ways of life and may furtively peek at Mirrans while working.

Generally, a red Phyrexian civilian's circle of concern is small; they care primarily about the quality of their own work, their creative pursuits, and their immediate social relations. Politics is often shunned, save for that which immediately threatens their livelihoods and homes--which increasingly translates to anti-praetor, anti-authoritarian, or even anti-Phyrexia stances (though the latter is rarely voiced even among dissidents).

As the Furnace steps further and further out of line with Phyrexian dogma, underground, creative subcultures have begun to form amongst artisans and rebels. Primarily working with metal and sculpture, such artists create statements about Phyrexian life, political commentaries, and calls to revolution. The population as a whole often appears too busy or apathetic to pay these artisans much regard, but their influence runs deeper than it seems at first glance, with increasing numbers of people choosing to redefine what being Phyrexian means to them. Self-modification serves as a tantalizing promise of a future Phyrexia without enforced hierarchies or roles. Urabrask actively encourages and supplies the artists of the Furnace, particularly appreciating displays of destruction that spawn new beginnings.

#mtg #magic the gathering #daily life in the phyrexian spheres #new phyrexia #phyrexian #worldbuilding #autonomous furnace #quiet furnace #mirrex #glorious facade

[tamamita]

whats the difference between the groups of Muslims? what are they fighting about.

In short, there are three major denominations of Islam, and various sub-branches, but I won't go into the latter.

Sunni, literally standing for those who follow the traditions of the Prophet, are Muslims who believe that politically, the Prophet's companions, Abu Bakr, Umar and Uthman were successors of the prophet, and the ones to establish the Rashidun Caliphate. Sunni Muslims base most of their traditions on various companions of the Prophet. The concept of Adalat al-Sahaba maintains that any companion that was present during the Prophet's time is a reliable person in terms of how they narrate traditions, thus establishing a multitude of hadiths from them. Although Sunni Islam (as a separate branch) didn't exist at that time, it became the standardized version of Islam when the Shi'as and Khawarijs rebelled against the Umayyads and the Abbasids, seeing the birth of the four schools of Sunni Islamic jurisprudence to counter their theological principles.

Shi'a, literally partisans of Ali, hold that through traditions and scriptural basis, Ali, the brother in law to the Prophet had chosen him to be the leader of the Muslims upon the latter's death, as a result of various events that took place, the Prophet's household were treated unfairly and the repercussions of these events subsequently led to their martyrdom, which is an essential pillar of Shi'a Islam. Due to their rejection of Abu Bakr, Umar, Uthman, and various other companions, they do not accept their chains of narrations in hadiths. Shi'as ultimately reject the concept of Adalat al-Sahaba, because traditions can not be accepted from unjust people. Most Shi'a Muslims (Twelver and Ismailis) put extreme emphasis on the Prophet's family and the line of Imamate through Ali and the Prophet's daughter, Fatimah, believing that only the Imams have the right to interpret the Qur'an in its esoteric and exoteric nature due to their infallibility, thus giving them absolute authority over the Muslims. Ali's tenure as the caliph saw much turmoil and ultimately led to his martyrdom. The subsequent death of Ali marked the end of the Rasidhun caliphate and transitioned into a monarchy with many of the Shi'as experiencing centuries of oppression.

Ibadism, a branch of Islam stemming from an extremist group called the Khawarij, they are a group of Muslims who did not agree with Ali's agreement to engage in arbitration with an opposing force that waged war against him over the caliphate. This led to a group of Muslims in Ali's army to defect, believing that judgment belongs to God alone, thus separating themselves from the rest of the Muslims. This group is known for their extremist approach and theology of Islam, but was quickly surpressed as they harassed innocent Muslims. The only remnants of the Khawarijs are the Ibadis and are relatively peaceful, albeit with some strict religious beliefs. They have their own collection of hadiths, but much of it is very close to the Sunnis corpus of traditions. They make up the majority of Muslims in Oman.

[howtofightwrite]

Why do some armies, militias, or rebel groups commit war crimes at much higher rates than others? If you're trying to go beyond designating good guys and bad guys by authorial fiat, what are some of the fail-safes you'd want a fictional armed faction to have to minimize their My Lais as much as possible?

So, an important warning on this, I'm mostly writing this off-the-cuff, and I'm not doing a lit review at all. So, if you're looking at this as a scholarly work, please consider this a rough draft at best. Also, somewhat obviously, the subject matter here will get pretty dark.

Unsurprisingly, TW for war crimes, and terrorism. Though, I'll try to keep this clinical.

The short answer is multiple factors with no individual one ever being universally true. I'm going to break down war crimes and atrocities into two general categories: Planned and Unplanned. This is because these spring from distinct factors.

There is another possible dichotomy, distinguishing between war crimes of action, and technically illegal behavior, such as the use of munitions or weapons that are legally prohibited, but are not directly associated with any atrocities. Examples of the latter could include deployment of chemical weapons against valid military targets, or even military buildups in violation of previous armistice treaties. For example: the Bismarckand Tirpitz were floating war crimes, simply by existing, and violating existing treaties (I'm not 100% sure which treaties off hand, and the legal status of these battleships is a little more complicated than I'm suggesting.) In general, I don't think this is what you're looking at, but it's worth remembering that war crimes cover a much wider range of topics that just atrocities committed against civilians.

Planned atrocities are intentionally executed by the faction, these are often deliberate strategies employed by those organizations. This can include things like terrorist attacks, or deliberate targeting of civilians and civilian infrastructure to demoralize enemy forces or the civilian population itself, these can also be employed to erode public support for ongoing military actions. Of course, in some cases, the deaths are the primary goal, and any effect on morale is incidental.

Unplanned war crimes and atrocities occur incidentally, often as a result of failures in the chain of command.

This isn't a strict dichotomy, a group may have policies or strategies that can lead to war crimes through insufficient discrimination (in this context, discrimination refers to the concept as it exists in Just War theory/doctrine, which is to say, discriminating between civilian and military targets.) For example, a faction who intentionally bombards military targets in a civilian population center (read, a town or city) would probably fall more on the unplanned side of the spectrum, in contrast to a faction who simply firebombs the entire city.

When it comes to planned atrocities, ideology is probably the biggest factor to consider. Particularly how their ideology regards the people they're killing. This can take a few really horrific turns, but if you have a group with no regard for human life, and no concern for international law, then you're likely to start seeing war crimes coming fast and heavy.

It's easy to simply designate these groups as, “the bad guys,” but that really undersells how subversive some of these thought processes can be. Unfortunately, the line between terrorist and freedom fighter is a question of perspective, and even groups you'd normally be sympathetic to may be responsible for some horrifying acts, which they justify to themselves by othering their victims. (Usually this othering is based on religious, ethnic, or political affiliation. Though, it can be any combination of the three.) A group of rebels may not have any qualms about “collaborators” getting caught in their attack, even if those people are considered guilty by simple proximity.

A classic examination of this is Battle of Algiers (1966), it's an excellent film, and absolutely worth the watch if you've never seen it.

Unplanned atrocities and war crimes can often lead back to two compounding factors: discipline and morale.

Discipline comes with a massive, “citation needed,” sticker, because it's not completely predictive. Nominally, well disciplined armies can engage in unplanned war crimes. Some of this ties into the second factor, morale, but some of it is independent of that.

Some of the difficulty with discipline is opportunistic crimes (such as looting), which can then spiral out into worse atrocities. In these cases, you're looking at the individual discipline and morale of each soldier combined with a lot of contextual factors, but that doesn't translate smoothly into a generalized model.

The simple model would be that low discipline forces are more likely to engage in opportunistic crimes. They're more likely to evaluate their current situation in relation to how it can potentially benefit them, and when you combine that with the chaos of war, it is a recipe for unplanned atrocities.

Morale is a little more complicated than discipline. In theory, troops who are suffering from low morale  are more likely to engage in unplanned atrocities. (While it's a gross oversimplification of the background factors, this is an apt description for the Mỹ Lai Massacre. Nominally disciplined soldiers, suffering from flagging morale, who incorrectly identified the villages' civilian population as collaborators, and started murdering people.)

However, in practice, morale can be a double edged sword, low morale creates a real risk of soldiers ignoring orders for personal gain, or engaging in illegal behavior out of desperation, however, a sharp increase in morale can also result in lapses leading to criminal activities. The primary example of this would be victory looting (which is a war crime, in case that was unclear.)

In theory, morale and discipline should slot together fairly cleanly to create a single spectrum, but the reality is a lot messier.

In the case of many irregular groups (such as militias, resistance groups, and rebels), the actual forces will be a coalition of different groups that may not see eye to eye on things. In this environment, it's basically impossible to effectively police the different factions within the group. And, unfortunately, history shown that these kinds of coalitions tend to purge their less radical members as they consolidate their power. (The only case I can think of where the radical and terrorist elements were shed by the more mainstream factions would be the IRA. In almost every other case, victory filters for the most ruthless.)

Importantly, coalitions like this tend to be regarded as a single entity by non-members, with the actions of each individual group reflecting on the coalition as a whole. The major exception here is with advanced analysis, where someone who is very well versed in the political or strategic details may be able to explain the different groups and how they fit together. But, for general public opinion, the coalition may as well be a single faction.

Coalitions like this are almost certain to have members who have no qualms about civilian casualties, either due to indifference to collateral deaths, or by identifying civilians as acceptable targets. This can cause problems for these groups as they alienate less radical members of the population. In extreme cases this can even result in recruiting difficulties, and the terroristic elements can cause problems for any peaceful negotiations with outside powers.

These terroristic elements, and atrocities in general, can bolster support against a faction. In some cases, these radical elements can become more of a detriment to the coalition as a whole than its real foe.

If you're hoping for a way to prevent this, there really isn't one. These kinds of coalitions are, “opt-in.” Worse, some radical elements are likely to spin up from existing members. In theory, these internal radicals can be a discipline issue, but in some kind of rebel group, they really won't have the resources to fight a war on multiple fights, especially not against themselves while their, “real,” foe is hunting them.

Radicalized organizations (whether they're part of a coalition or not) are also dangerous to their, “allies.” This is because they can provoke an escalated response from their foes. In many cases, if a group has proven that they're willing to deliberately target civilians, it will provoke a more severe response from their foes. That can come in the form of simple retaliation strikes, or could result in enhanced security and greater scrutiny. Finally, these organizations can provoke the emergence of radicalized organizations among their foes. For example, an renegade rebel cell with no qualms about civilian casualties could become the justification for an authoritarian regime's military to create death squads and deploy them in territory that the rebels operate in, taking a scorched earth approach.

While it's not frequently discussed in fiction, cultural differences can also result in, unintentional hostilities, which can also provoke escalation. At the very least, this can provoke resentment against foreign forces, which ensures that any rebel group would have a continual supply or recruits.

So, the original question you asked was, “how do I avoid this?” And, unfortunately, the answer is, “you don't.” Wars are horrific and messy, and unfortunately, the only way to avoid these kinds of horrors is if everyone agrees to, “play by the same rules.” In an asymmetrical war (such as with a rebellion or resistance), that's not possible. The, “legitimate,” government wouldn't view the rebels as a legitimate military force, and if the rebels operated openly they'd be arrested and executed. From there, the fuse is set.

-Starke

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#how to fight write #Starke answers #tw war crimes #tw terrorism #writing advice #writing reference #writing tips

[city-of-ladies]

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

Her father’s heir

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

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

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

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

A warrior among warriors

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

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

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

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

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

Meritocratic policies

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

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

A warrior to the end

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

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

Further reading

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

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

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

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

#rudrama devi #13th century #history #women in history #women's history #historyedit #women's history month #india #indian history #queens #powerful women #women warriors #warrior women #historical figures #herstory

[ziracona]

Okay but what I can’t get over is when you meet Anders, and he explains Justice, he says his anger and hate corrupted Justice and overwhelmed him—changed him—and he’s miserable and guilt-ridden and full of so much self-hatred and fear of hurting someone he loves again and certainty he will, that he takes THREE YEARS of being in love with Hawke who is actively pursuing him, before even considering risking a relationship.

And I fucking believed him. I thought ‘That makes sense. Spirits are influenced by how they’re believed to be (a great example being the awful things that happen to poor Justice on a Rival!Path in DA2), and their environment, and what they’re pushed to do. He’s clearly not a demon, which tracks, because that only happens to a spirit corrupted completely away from their core being, and Justice and Vengeance aren’t antonyms—they have solid overlap. So, it’s more like he’s unstable and a little bit shaky in his sanity, dealing with this, but still very much a spirit and himself—just also sort of unwell.” It made sense. I really thought Anders would understand what was going on.

It wasn’t until beating the whole fucking game and having complete context, that I was able to look backwards and realize that’s entirely wrong. In Awakening, Justice has /exactly/ the same personality as in DA2, just more stable and calm and curious, less unwell and fractured. That’s what I said before? No, not exactly. What I mean is, Justice pushes Anders in Awakening to consider a more active role in defending Mages. He’s forceful and passionate about doing the right thing—hell, when you meet him, he’s championing a bunch of humans in the Fade to save them from a demon by force. He changed, yes. But it wasn’t his personality. It was his stability.

Anders’ feelings of anger and hate and desire for justice and vengeance didn’t hurt Justice at all; those feelings are all just ones. It was his fear and guilt that did. It was the way he’s been raised his entire life by the Chantry to consider himself dangerous and violence dangerous and action dangerous, and caring too much, fighting back, standing up, using magic to fight back, all dangerous and bad. It’s his /fear/ that he is wrong and bad. It’s his religious trauma over his own existence biologically as what he is. Justice didn’t change. Anders was afraid of what he and Justice did—were able to do—what Justice did to protect him. And immediately assumed he was the monster and he was at fault, because as much of a rebel as he is and as much as he believes Mages are not monsters and deserve to be free, like basically all minorities who had to unlearn the bigotry they experienced their whole life, he has not been able to stop applying to himself rules he long ago stopped apply to everyone else in the world.

And that fear, that belief Justice had been warped and hurt by him, and schism in his own mind about not just what Justice means, but what it means as it relates to him and what he’s allowed to do and want, and it making him evil as a person to pursue even if he thinks it’s right, /that/ is what warped Justice. That’s why Justice is unstable and unwell and their relationship is fractured and strained, despite caring for each other, and Justice’s overwhelming desire to help Anders. Anders is terrified not of Justice, but of himself. And in retrospect all of this is made so clear by his two paths in DA2.

Since gaining Justice, Anders was immediately attacked and almost killed by another Warden, and had to flee, and it was bloody. He ran to Kirkwall and kept his head down, struggling to help as a doctor for refugees in the slums, risking freedom and life every day by practicing magic as an apostate. He’s utterly alone. He spent years fleeing the Circle and being dragged back. As a youth, he fell in love, and they separated him and his boyfriend and took him to another tower. He kept trying to escape. He was left in solitary confinement for an /entire year/ after his seventh escape. The wardens saved him, and he had a home and freedom for like 6 months in awakening, then the Wardens bowed to the Chantry’s demands and initiated a Templar to follow him literally everywhere like a prison warden and that hard earned freedom and community was lost. He saved Justice’s life by letting him live in his body, but in doing so was proclaimed an abomination and almost killed on the spot by the Templar Warden, and fled, alone again. In Kirkwall, he isolated himself to try to keep others safe, and spent his time healing. Then he meets Hawke, and goes to save his first love from being made tranquil, only to find the Chantry is using their own church to bait him, and he has arrived too late, Karl is gone, and he is nearly made tranquil himself, then forced to kill the only person he’s ever loved when Karl regains his person for seconds and begs him to do it before he’s a mindless slave again.

From here, he spends the next 7 years helping heal Hawke’s team, smuggling Mages out of Kirkwall to save them as part of an Underground Railroad, championing mage rights and protesting, writing manifestos, healing refugees and the poor, and doing everything in his power to make the world better. No one in Hawke’s party, except determinately Hawke (and determinately Bethany as well, before, well), takes him and the plight of Mages seriously. He’s treated as an extremist and an annoyance and over the top for regularly talking about the fact that, you know; his minority group literally is being killed in the streets and turned into mindless slaves for the church every fucking day, and no one is stopping it. He becomes more and more desperate and isolated and the situation gets so bad, Justinia has ordered an Exalted March to purge Kirkwall, and Meredith has sent for the Right of Annulment to kill every mage in the circle, about half way through Act 3. And still, no one does anything. He’s completely alone, even in just, fucking validating the severity of the suffering and death and injustice they face.

If Hawke treats Anders like a monster, like an abomination, and Justice like a demon? Over the course of those 7 years of being dismissed, abandoned, and outright attacked by the closest things he has to friends, he becomes less and less stable, more and more lost to the Chantry fears he’s a monster, less sure of himself and his identity, more alone, and confused, and broken, and hopeless. Pulled in too many directions and giving up in despair and trying to fight at the same time. And Justice gets worse. He becomes believed by everyone to be a demon, until even Anders is uncertain and afraid of them both. And then Justice is torn between hurting Anders, and letting innocents die, both of which go intrinsically against his nature as a spirit, and what happens to Justice is what happens to any spirit forced to be and forced to act outside of its nature: he begins to be warped into a demon.

If Hawke is a friend to Anders, and he is not alone in his fight for his people. If Hawke helps him, and reassures him, and he is able to stabilize his mind and emotions and realize he’s not a monster, and his cause is just, he and Justice stabilize together, and no longer have even the issues they do in Act 1, because his warped view of justice and his fears are overcome, and with Justice’s sense of self not constantly threatened, the problem is removed. They both get to be happy, and well, and cohesive. It empowers Anders to see he’s right and just, and to make hard choices rationally, and find who he is and what he wants, with great assurance and passion, and Justice to retain who he is and stay a spirit, while both help the world.

And anyway it just makes me extremely upset that Anders even with all his conviction and belief, has still had such fear and guilt over his very being drilled into him by the Chantry, that he truly believes he’s the monster in his relationship with Justice, and a danger to everyone around him, and it’s the Chantry the whole time. It always has been.

#dragon age 2 spoilers #dragon age 2 #Anders #Anders dragon age #justice dragon age #da justice #da anders #I kinda lost the thread for a moment there getting distracted about the plot structure as a whole but my point stands and it’s VERY upsettin #chantry what /haven’t/ you guys royally fucked at this point? anyone? anythjng? at all? #spoilers #I wish he could blow it up /again/. some poetic justice that bomb is basically where Karl stood #if you reblog this post with Anders negativity I will /kill/ you

[czortofbaldmountain]

Lightrising

Luciferian Winter Holidays

Celebrating the stories of the Heavenly Rebellion and of the Garden of Eden, Lightrising - the renewal of light at the Winter Solstice - is perhaps the most important festival in my developing liturgical calendar. This year will be the first time I'm celebrating it, so it will be a kind of experimental celebration, but I decided to share my ideas here.

EDIT: to make things clear, the holiday is created by me.

[Image description: the post begins with four black and white drawings, illustrations of Paradise Lost:

The rebel angels falling, Michael commanding the triumphing angels loyal to God

Lucifer speaking to the Fallen, raising his spear belligerently

Lucifer flying to land on Earth, a sphere among the stars

Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, Eve giving the fruit to Adam

All pictures by Gustave Doré.]

The holiday lasts seven days, each dedicated to an event or motif from Luciferian mythos:

The Day of the Rebellion

Start: the dusk two nights before the Solstice Night

End: the next dusk

Theme: Rebellion in Heaven, the struggle for justice and liberation.

Celebration ideas:

Bless and light a Lightrising Candle. Any candle big enough to not burn out too soon will do. Let it burn for a while to symbolize the fires of rebellion. Remember fire safety. Before, you can have some fun decorating your candle!

If your practice involves acts of transgression and reversal (for example an ex-Catholic saying Credo in reverse), now is a good time for that. While such things can be helpful for those with religious trauma, make sure to be gentle with yourself and don't overdo it in a way that would hurt you.

Seeking out ways to help someone disadvantaged by the toxic system we live in (though remember it's always a good time for that!)

The Day of the Fall

Start: the dusk one night before the Solstice Night

End: the next dusk

Theme: the Fall

Celebration ideas:

Instead of lighting the Lighrising Candle, cover it with a dark cloth until the Lightrising Dawn.

Shadow work and cathartic activities.

You can wear something to signify mourning.

Lightrising

Start: the dusk of the Solstice Night

End: the next dusk

Theme: the Fallen rising again. Survival, persistence, hope, and renewal - even in face of Hell.

Celebration ideas:

If possible, the Lightrising night is a good time to hold a vigil.

At dawn you can again light the candle you lit on the Night of Rebellion and let it burn for a while. If you were not holding a vigil, you can just do that when you wake up.

Magic for healing and regeneration.

The Day of Pandemonium

Start: the dusk one night after the Solstice Night

End: the next dusk

Theme: fallen angels becoming demons and making Hell their own. The story of the building of Pandemonium.

Celebration ideas:

Making offerings and giving thanks to the demons in your life. Taking time to spend with them and appreciate them.

A shared meal with them.

DIY and upcycling.

The Day of the Serpent

Start: the dusk two nights after the Solstice Night

End: the next dusk

Theme: Lucifer as the Serpent and the bringer of knowledge to humanity.

Celebration ideas:

Did you know that in the Christian tradition, the Christmas tree was often associated with the tree of Eden? You can easily subvert and adapt it for your practice, and even make your own decorations!

Decorating and blessing fruit to be offered and eaten on the two following days.

Studying philosophy (or other things!)

The Day of Eve

Start: the dusk three nights after the Solstice Night

End: the next dusk

Theme: Eve as the mother of humanity, and her decision to take the fruit of knowledge and share it with Adam.

Celebration ideas:

Sharing a meal with Eve, Adam, and the Serpent. Eating the fruits you blessed the day before.

Discussing or, if alone, just reflecting on what you learned yesterday.

Sharing knowledge with others. For example, if celebrating in a group you can do short talks about things each of you is knowledgable about, or if solitary you can make a post on Tumblr!

The Day of the Earth

Start: the dusk four nights after the Solstice Night

End: the next dusk

Theme: humanity leaving Paradise. But it's not a sad holiday. As the Day of Pandemonium is dedicated to the demons of Hell, this day celebrates being human on Earth.

Celebration ideas:

It is a great time to spend time with your beloved people and do things that bring you joy. If you celebrate with others, you can incorporate the tradition of exchanging gifts on that day.

Animals count as earthly loved ones too! If you live with an animal friend, maybe give them a special treat?

The Day of the Earth is also a good time for ancestor veneration, and to make offerings to your local land spirits - including local folk devils.

[image description: a divider with the sigil of Lucifer made by @peculiar-666]

If you want to take inspiration from this, feel free to do so, as well as to share what you're doing and tag me so I can see!

#czortposting #lightrising #winter solstice #luciferian #luciferianism #theistic luciferian #theistic luciferianism #satanic #left hand path #lucifer #lucifer devotee #luciferian holidays #luciferian witch #luciferian witchcraft #occult