#and by being aggressive about being against religion pushes good helpful people away

[solsthiems]

Leftists get comfortable with religion and religious people. No shut up do it.

[callme-barnes]

Besitos

*Pictures are not mine*

Summary: Demons can be fun, at least you know you can be. When you go out to claim a soul as yours, Bucky finds you and it only adds on to the fun.

Pairing: Demon!Bucky x Demon!Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: SMUT (Demon!Bucky is a sin), oral sex (f! receiving), rough sex, slight daddy kink, blood kink (if you squint), talk of religion (not much), dirty talk

IF YOU ARE A MINOR PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT! THIS WORK IS FOR THOSE 18+ ONLY!

A/N: Again, this work is 18+ only!. Do not repost my work anywhere! This is a one-shot based off of a series I really want to put out at some point. I've been having a tough go of it and this work Ade me feel better to write. Please do not judge my smut writing as I am still pretty new to it. All mistakes are mine. But otherwise please enjoy and feel free to interact with me if you liked it! Enjoy ladies & gents!

___________________________________________________

Y/N watched from the comfort of a dark corner at the bar at all the bodies dancing underneath the strobe lights of the club. It had hit its peak at about 1 in the morning, and it was the right time for you to strike the target you had come here to find.

His name was John, a pretty good looking man by human standards. Tall, dark and handsome as you once would’ve described him. Had a beautiful pregnant fiance at home by the name of Lily who was ready to give birth to a handsome baby boy any day now by what you could gather from Lily’s pleas for help. You had overheard her one night, crying herself to sleep as she prayed to God to help her make sense of her situation. She was stuck at home, waiting for a man who would go out and have fun with his friends. And other women.

She had prayed for clarity, safety and a change of heart for him. And strength and courage for herself. To be able to keep her fiance and to change what was wrong with her. Of course nothing was wrong with Lily. She was pregnant, ready to burst at any second. She was bringing a life into this world, risking her body and her health and for what? For a man who refused to change his way of life because that’s what he had grown accustomed to? Or in his words, “To be a slave to a family?”

You had found yourself in that situation once, praying to God for a man that couldn’t give a shit less if you had dropped dead. As long as he maintained his freedom and habits all was well. Instead the man you had grown to love had left you for a cute petite brunette, claiming you had been smothering him with your “jealousy” and your “excessive” calls when you only wanted to be with him.

Your praying touched upon deaf ears of course and it was then that you realized no one was out there to protect you. You were on your own to deal with the hardships of your life.

Until you met him. James Barnes.

He had been your savior when you were ready to give up all hope. Bucky, as you’ve grown to call him, had given you strength and a new life. A life devoted to taking what you wanted and not being sorry about it. A life devoted to him. But that was a tale for another time.

That’s how you ended up appearing to the poor young woman. Sat in her bed, in pain both physically and emotionally. You had appeared before her dressed in a beautiful black dress, the slit high up your thigh and a pair of your favorite black stilettos. She had been scared. As she should have been. Your power emanated before her, putting her in a trance before you disappeared into the shadows, sending her a small devilish grin.

You set your plan into motion when you saw him headed for the restroom area. He was intoxicated beyond his logical mind, which was just the way you liked them. Downing the remainder of your drink, you made your way to the back area, the sea of people splitting as you walked past them making a direct walkway to your destination. When you stood in front of the mens room, those who waited in line stared with hunger. Intensity. Desire. Your hand reached out to touch one of their gawking faces before sending him a wink and walking in after John. The light cheering on the other end of the door made you smile as you locked it behind you and walked towards the sink counter. You perched yourself on top of it, the red lights casting a hellish glow across your skin.

The stall door opened and you felt your insides twist in anticipation as John walked out, his eyes blinking to focus and his hands holding onto the wall for stability and guidance.

Showtime.

You watched as John made his way to the sinks before finally realizing he wasn’t alone, stopping just a foot in front of you. Your leg shifting up to cross over your other, the slit in your dress falling to either side to give him a nice little peek of your ass.

“Hey there handsome”

You were laying it on thick sure, but you weren’t going to lie, you were excited for this one. It hit a little too close to home for you and you were practically bursting open at the seams.

“Who...who are you?”

“I’ve been watching you all night you know. Trying to muster up the courage to approach you and talk to you”

He almost immediately dropped his guard, his vibrations shifting from reserved to open and ready. Good.

“Well hot stuff here we are. And you found me, here all vulnerable. Naughty girl”

You smiled at him as you stood up, your heels clicking on the tile as you reached over to grab his shirt and pull him close to you, pressing your body up against his own.

“Oh I can be very naughty”, you said and leaned up to kiss him. Your tongue slithered against his own, your pace slow waiting for him to respond. Which he did and quickly. His hands reached out to rest on your ass, his hands squeezing and bringing you in to rub against the hard on he was sporting. You sent him a small moan in response, obviously fake but that only spurred him on further.

His hands reached down to just underneath your ass before you pushed away from him and moved to perch yourself back up on the counter making sure to make a show of opening your legs to invite him in.

“I’ve been really lonely. I haven’t had a man in so long baby”

He was entranced by you, his focus resting on your open thighs and practically foaming at the mouth.

“You know how hard it is to find a single honest man in this city? I noticed you weren’t wearing a ring and you came here by yourself. Are you lonely too?”

This was it, the opportunity for your prey to make amends. You weren’t completely heartless, you had been human once. You had made mistakes too, so you always gave them a chance. Yet 99% of the time, they failed. So you got a chance to have some fun. Your eye contact didn’t falter as you ran your hand down between the valley of your breasts, the other trailing up to reveal the lacy thong you were wearing.

“Fuck...yes I’m....I’m so lonely”

There it was. The opportunity you were looking forward to because let's face it you knew this piece of shit was too set in his ways to repent. You sent him a smile as your fingers began to rub at yourself over your panties, letting out a small moan to coax him in.

“You wanna fuck me? It’s been so long since I’ve had a real man fuck me good”

He closed his eyes, letting out a shuddering breath before walking over and settling himself between your open legs, his hands grasping at your thighs, “Fuck me Johnny boy”

You moved up to kiss him again, this time more aggressively as your innocent facade began to slip away.

“Now I know there’s a God”

You stopped yourself from laughing or scoffing as your hands moved down to rub at his cock through his jeans, watching him as he tore his lip open with how hard he was biting down and you leaned up, making sure you pressed your body against him to give him one last little feel, moving your lips to his ear

“No God here John. Only me”

As you made your way to unbuckle his pants he hesitated a bit and you leaned back “What’s wrong baby? I thought you wanted to fuck me? Don’t you want to?”

“Yes I...fuck I do. Did you ask my friends my name? I don’t think I ever got yours?”

You watched a shadow move from behind John and before you could respond you saw him. Coming out of the shadows looking as handsome as the devil himself. Bucky.

“What does it matter? Don’t you just want to get inside me?”

As you spoke you made eye contact with Bucky from behind John’s shoulders as you leaned back and opened your legs up to give him a view. You smirked to yourself as Bucky’s demeanor changed and before John could get another word out you watched his eyes widen in fear, finally catching onto Bucky in the mirror’s reflection but by then it was too late. Bucky’s hand had reached into John’s back and grabbed onto his heart, squeezing tight before John collapsed lifeless onto the floor.

You watched him, standing up and looking down at him before shifting to Bucky with a smile, “That was my soul to take”

Bucky watched you, his eyes darkening in discontent “I really wish you’d keep your hands to yourself when taking your souls babygirl”

You leaned against the counter and shrugged, “Where’s the fun in that? Besides, how else would I get you all riled up and angry?”

Bucky was in front of you in a blink, his hand wrapping around your throat as he pressed himself up against you. The proximity of the man in front of you made you melt, your body immediately submitting to him as he stared at you. If you had a soul you were sure he’d be looking into it.

“Is that what it is? You like when I’m angry and jealous?”

You fluttered your eyelashes at him, “You’ve been so busy baby. I’ve had to fill the void with what I could take”

That didn’t make him loosen his hold or react, he just kept staring at you as if to say it was your move now and who were you if not an amazing actress.

“We both know I belong to you. And I wouldn’t want to fuck anyone else but you”

You moved your hand to grab onto his own that was pressed against your neck, leaning down to take two of his fingers into your mouth and began sucking on them. Bucky’s chest rumbled with a growl as he stood before you mesmerized, his dick twitching against his black dress pants he had on.

“I brought us an audience daddy,” you said when you pulled away from his hand a small trail of spit following your lips “You know how much I love it when people hear us fucking. It gets me so wet just thinking about all those guys out there wanting to get in my panties while my one and only is fucking me stupid”

That had done it for him, he slammed you against the mirror behind you causing it to break and fall around you as he took your lips in his, kissing you sloppy and animalistic. You let out a moan and a smile in victory, pressing your body into him not caring if you cut your hand on the shards that surrounded you. Bucky grabbed onto the point where your dress slit ended on your hip and tore the fabric open, making you gasp “This is my favorite dress”

“I’ll buy you another”

His growl tore through you, going straight to your aching core causing you to begin grinding against his dick for some relief. You reached your hand up to lick the trail of blood from your hand that was cut open making a show of it, your tongue trailing against your finger before motioning for him to get close. You pulled him into you and kissed him, hearing him moan into your mouth as you shamelessly continued grinding against him

“I want your dick daddy. Fuck I want it so bad. Need you to fuck me please. My pussy is so wet for you”

Bucky reached down and tore your panties from your body, his fingers trailing along your slit and gathering your wetness onto his fingers before slipping them into his mouth, moaning in response “Fuck you know just how to get me going little one. Want me to eat you out you little minx? Do you want to come on my tongue?”

You whined as you nodded and lifted your legs, your heels propping themselves up onto the counter to open up for him “Please. Want to cum on your tongue daddy. Make me cum please”

Bucky kneeled down in front of your open thighs and wasted no time as he leaned in and began to lick at every crevice he could reach and even some you didn’t know he could reach. His tongue worked from your entrance all the way up to your clit, making quick work of it. You moaned out obscenely, your hand reaching down to grip his hair and pressing him further into you as you grind your pussy down onto his face. You pleaded and moaned louder as he sucked and licked at you, your heels falling onto his back and digging into his skin. He hissed in response but otherwise kept at it, licking and sucking and repeating until you felt that familiar twist in your stomach.

“Oh fuck...yes please. Please give it to me, make me cum for you daddy. Shit yes!”

You made sure to be as loud as you wanted knowing the audience that had gathered on the other side of the restroom door. Bucky hit that one spot on your clit over and over again, causing your toes to curl in your heels and your back to arch up dramatically. Your eyes rolled up as you came loud and hard, your body convulsing and your thighs squeezing his head as he continued to suck. You attempted to push him away as you felt your body become too sensitive which only caused him to pin you down harder on the counter as he continued

“I...I can’t. Wait….oh fuck”

But he was a demon possessed as he kept going before you felt yourself come again, harder this time as you gripped onto the sink the pressure causing you to snap one of the handles clean off. You felt your release flow out of you as Bucky pulled away and wiped his lips with the back of his hand “Shit I love it when you do that for me”

His shirt was wet with your orgasm and he sent you a smirk as he undid his pants, bringing his cock out as he stroked it. You watched him in awe as you smiled at him, your eyes just as black as his as he reached over to pick you up and slammed you against the nearest wall. You gasped, wrapping your legs around his hips to bring him close, feeling his cock hard against your core.

“Fuck me. My pussy wants you so bad”

Bucky smirked at you before lining himself up and pushing into you fully in one thrust. You let your head rest back against the wall, unable to form a sound when you tried to moan before he began to slam up into you. He fucked you like an animal, all teeth and hands and no emotion. The air of authority fell off of him and made you moan and squeal every time he slid past that spot inside of you. Your nails made work, scratching at his neck when you tried to hold on, at his back causing his shirt to rip open and at the upper part of his ass so you could bring him closer to you.

“I want another out of you little one. I want you to cum all over my dick before I cum inside of this tight pussy you understand me? You gonna do that for me baby? Gonna….shit, gonna give me another one?”

“Oh fuck yes daddy I’ll do it. Anything for you, anything”

He pounded into you at a relentless pace, the vibrations coming off of the two of you causing the lights to flicker in small space and the doors to the stalls to shake on the hinges. When you felt your third orgasm coming you leaned in to kiss him and bite at his bottom lip roughly. You graced him with the most pornographic sounds you had in you, urging him on before you came, your walls gripping onto him like a vice not wanting to let him go. Bucky groaned and let his head fall back before he gripped your hips and began to take full control, using his strength to pull you down on him harder to get into you deeper. The force caused you to slam against the tile wall as you held onto him for salvation.

“Talk to me baby” he said as he used a hand to grab your jaw and made you look at him, “You know how much I love hearing you talk filthy to me”

Your walls spasmed around him as you felt what could have been another orgasm coming as you kept eye contact with him

“Oh daddy, I want you to come inside me. Want you to fill me completely with your cum. I want to be able to feel you inside of me for days. Please give it to me, please cum for me. You make me feel so good baby. Give it to me, fuck give it to me”

Your words drove him to the edge, his hips stuttering as he pushed into you again and he spilled himself inside of you, his orgasm also spurring on another of your own. Bucky’s hands grabbed onto you and pulled you in tightly as he rode out his release into you, pulling out slowly and pushing any cum that was slipping out back into you. You had a dumb smile on your face and you kissed him and pulled away.

“Want to finish this somewhere a little more private?”

Bucky listened to you finally hearing the cheers on the other side of the door and he smirked to himself as he leaned in to kiss you once again and set you on your feet so he could adjust himself, “You really are a bad girl”

You hummed in response as you looked in the mirror and fixed your eyeliner a bit, stepping over the dead body on the floor and you looked down “Almost forgot he was in here”

Bucky chuckled to himself and moved to take a hold of your waist. “What did this poor bastard do?”

“He has a pregnant fiance at home. Figured someone should teach him about consequences so he could use it in his next lifetime”

Bucky let out a deep but loud laugh as he squeezed you to him, “Let’s get outta here”

You smiled as you moved to unlock the bathroom door and allowed it to open a bit before walking back to Bucky and shifting out of the bathroom. You stood right outside and when you heard screaming and commotion you grinned in delight before walking towards Bucky who was waiting for you.

“Thank you”

You leaned up to kiss his cheek and looked down at you with admiration, “What for little one?”

“For blessing me with a new life worth living”

Bucky smiled as you both made your way down the busy street, ignoring the looks you got at your obvious physical state. His lips kissed your temple and he pulled you closer into him, “You deserve it. Now, my place or yours?”

[twopoppies]

Hi, Gina! Long time listener, first time caller. I’m kind of looking for advice from a parent and I’ve always felt that you answer truthfully and with your heart, so I’m hoping you can help me out. (Please forgive me because I know this will be long and rambling.)

My dad and I have always had a very rocky relationship. There’s too much of a story to say, but it boils down to a lot of trauma on my part and a lot of failure on his. He’s fully aware of his actions and what they’ve done to my siblings and I, and he says he wants to change, but nothing has. He has a hard time taking responsibility for things, so even if he knows what he’s done, it always goes back to his hurt and how us kids being hurt has hurt him. I’m in my mid twenties now, and I’m at a place where I can see him for more than just my father and can see that he’s his own person that has made mistakes and will continue to do so. It doesn’t change much, but it has helped me distance myself from any further trauma. And I also want to stress that he is a good person, he just has faults, as does every other human being. It’s unfortunate that his faults have affected his children, but we have collectively and individually been working to heal ourselves from that. It’s all beside the point that I love him dearly and he still means the world to me.

I’m from a Christian and conservative family. Growing up with the beliefs my family had was always hard for me, and it wasn’t until a few years ago that I accepted that it was because I’m a queer bisexual woman (I kind of always knew but always pushed it away). My parents were never aggressively homophobic, but it was always clear where they stood on the LGBTQIA community: hate the sin, love the sinner. I fought hard against the subtle homophobia as a teen (I thought because of my gay friends) and I’ve only grown stronger in my beliefs since then. My family is aware that I’m not a conservative (they think I’m a liberal but little do they know I’m further left than that), but I do still consider myself a Christian, so they mostly think I still agree with their views (not going to get into the religion factor here more than saying I ask that no one attack or drag me for this, as I have a hard enough time being a queer person in the Christian faith).

I’m out to very few in my family: my sister, my step-siblings, my step-father, and my mom. My sister is my best friend, 3/4 of my step-siblings are also in the alphabet mafia, and I’ve always been close to my mom (parents divorced at 10, lived with mom mainly). Coming out to my step-father was kind of a mistake, but he’s accepting of me. My sister hasn’t shown anything but support, I never felt worried about 3/4 of my step siblings, but I still have to deal with some pretty outdated and homophobic things from 1/4 of my step siblings and my mom and step-father. A lot of it is simply because they don’t know any better, and I do my best to be patient with them, but I will admit that sometimes I get angry because I shouldn’t have to teach them. But some of it is definitely because they have strong beliefs pertaining to the lives of LGBTQIA people and it’s hard to deal with that. But at the end of the day, I feel so free being out to them, because I don’t have to hide such a large part of me anymore. So I don’t regret it, even if it’s frustrating and painful sometimes.

Now comes the hard part… knowing how my relationship with my dad is on top of knowing he has similar views to my mom and step-father, I haven’t come out to him because of fear of being pushed aside. It took a long time to even start repairing what he broke and I don’t want to damage the process. But I want to be free with him, too. We’re so alike in interests and hobbies and sometimes it’s so hard to enjoy those things together because I feel like I’m lying to him. I want to tell him who I am but I’m honestly so scared that everything will change and not in a good way. My birthday is coming up and he wants to treat me to a shared interest of ours, just us, and it would be the perfect opportunity to talk with him but I’m so scared that I can’t even answer him on what days I’m free. I plan on coming out to my brother, sister-in-law, and brother-in-law when we’re all able to gather for Christmas (no worries about them, they can’t be any worse than my mom and step-dad) and I want to talk to my dad first but I’m just terrified that’s it’s not a good idea.

I understand if this isn’t something you can relate to to give advice, but it’s been on my mind for months now and I’m kind of grasping at straws here and open to anything. I just want to be me without the curtains drawn.

- A

Hi darling. It sounds like you've done an amazing job of accepting not only who you are, but accepting the shortcomings of the people around you. I'm sorry you're still dealing with the homophobia and ignorance, though.

My first thought with your dad is to tell him in the way you've told me. You love him and you want to be around him and connect with him especially over the shared interests you have, but it's not possible to do without being honest about who you are. Perhaps you can say that you know he's been working hard to have a better relationship with you and your siblings, and because of that you think he's ready to really know important things about you that you haven't shared before. Lean into acknowledging his attempts at being a better dad and a better person... hopefully that will remind him of what the purpose of all of that was.

I do understand how scary it can be, though. I guess all I can say is that your own happiness and sense of freedom is at stake and you're not able to really enjoy your time with him with "the curtains drawn".

I wish I had something more specific to offer, but perhaps some of my followers will have some suggestions. I'm sending you lots of love. I hope you have the best possible outcome, whatever you decide to do.

[curechocolattymilk]

TES V OC Thingie

[Got tagged by @jessaryss​ ! ]

Pause your game! Wherever your OC is in their game currently, tell me about their story so far.

✧✧✧ General

Current Level: 56

Name: Jeer-Tei Perdes

Name Meaning: Literally got it from a name generator lol. But lore wise it was a name gifted to them in honor of an Argonian who served beside Tei’s mother during the Great War

Pronouns: They/Them

Age: Early 30s where they are story wise???

Race(s): Argonian

Place of Origin: Hammerfell

Pick A Theme Song For Them: oof that's tough... From a Crowded Wound or maybe even Firstwake? If you really played around w personal interpretation/the lyrics that is haha

✧✧✧ Locations

Where Did You Begin Their Game?: Argonian Assemblage, Windhelm (Alternative Start)

Where Are They Currently In Your Game?: Whiterun

What Are They Doing There?: Just finished attending a party held in their honor (Post Blood of Kings)

Homes?: Breezehome, Proudspire, Lakeview & Autmnwatch

# of Locations Discovered?: 274

Dungeons Cleared: 104

Misc. Quests Completed: 87

Favorite Areas and/or Locations: Falkreath / Lakewview Manor. Both areas are where Tei heads off to in order to collect their thoughts/feel some sense of calm.

✧✧✧ Main Quest

Are They Dragonborn / Do They Know It At This Point?: Yes & yes

How Do They Feel About Being Dragonborn: It's...complicated, being thrust into the role of savior by gods of the Cult, which in turn are followed by the folk who see you lesser than them. Tei already has a dislike towards the Divines, this doesn't really help lol

Main Quests Completed: 21

Where Are They In The Main Story Line: Alduin's dead, currently trying to ignore the Civil War as long as they can before the Empire forces its hand into forcing them to join their ranks

Dragon Souls Absorbed: In total overall? 147. The amount currently stored in Tei? 45

Words of Power Learned: 64

Shouts Mastered: 21

Favorite Shout: Firebreath / Dragonrend

✧✧✧ Combat

Most Used Weapon(s): Daedric war axe OR Dragonbone battle axe. Tei technically has both on them at all times during adventuring, alongside a shield, so which they used depends on the situation/which they grab fastest.

Combat Style: Two/One-handed tank. Main tactic is to rush in, cause as much damage/chaos as possible to shake up the opponent, & clean up what the ranged attackers of the party (usually Rumarin, Inigo and/or Lucien) weren't able to deal with.

Armor Type / Level In It: HEAVY ARMOR BABYYYYY (Level 100 + 35 extra points via enchantments)

# of Training Sessions: 99 in-game, lore wise its a lot of self-teaching/keeping their skills learned from Hammerfell sharp. Some of these are magic but lore-wise this doesn't happen cus Tei is not a magic user, save for shouts. I just did those in-game for exp OR so I can help Lucien raise his magic skills :'D

Who Taught Them?: In-game?? Fuuuck so many npcs. Lore-wise? They learned this from their schooling in Hammerfell, going off the canon-lore that it's p much expected for everyone to have a grasp on combat & weaponry! Though they did learn a few things from Kaidan & Anum-La.

Favorite Enemy Type: Dragons! Despite the fact Tei does not have the best magic resistance, it's one hell of a challenge they love to meet.

Least Favorite Enemy Type: Automatons, because of a bad experience with them as a child. Also Undead, because they were raised not to disturb them & it just feels so wrong having to fight them/go into tombs.

People Killed: 945

Animals Killed: 749 (Hunterborn makes hunting fun lol)

Undead Killed: 766

Automatons Killed: 105

Daedra Killed: 136

✧✧✧ Magic

Favorite School(s): None, actually. Destruction is okay though....they guess

Most Used Spell(s): Firebreath or Dragon Aspect. Tei doesn't consider shouts spells though. It's totally different guys shut up they ain't no smelly mage gods

Spells Learned: 9 in-game, mainly due to the spells you're kinda forced to learn for some quests/the ones you automatically know

Items Enchanted: 19 (Tei technically doesn't enchant, and wont next playthrough for sure I wont give in this time >:[ )

College of Winterhold Quests Completed: 8

Where Are They At In The Questline?: Main quest is done bcus i dont like seeing unfinished quests in my journal lmao. Tei's involvement is completely different from canon though in my take. Moreso was hired as a guard for the expedition & was, unwillingly, dragged into the rest of the mess. Is not offered the Archmage position, that went straight to Tolfdir.

Opinions on Magical Guilds (Arcane University, Winterhold, Psijics, Synod, Radiant Dark, etc.): As they get older, they tolerate the guild & magic users more n more, BUT, Tei grew up in an environment that frowns upon the practice of magic, & it shows. They mainly mistrust necromancers/illusionists & still hold onto that belief that reliance on magic, especially for combat, is a weakness.

Bold words for someone with shit magic resistance.

✧✧✧ Crime

Current Gold: 10,640

How Did They Acquire Their Gold?: Odd jobs, selling a lot of the items they made/harvested from smithing & hunting (jewelers are their go-to hirers bcus Tei is great at getting things like ivory), Dwemer ruin diving (they refuse to loot the tombs), also yknow....being part of the Dark Brotherhood helps

Largest Bounty On Their Head: 11,240

For...?: Unfortunately they did not stand down when they were being falsely accused of murder in Markarth. First time Tei called down dragons (Sahrotaar, specifically, Tei managed to get command of Miraak's dragons post-Dragonborn) to absolutely smite some fools.

Current Bounty: None! They're good at not getting caught/threatening and/or bribing guards. :)

Locks Picked: 15 i think?

Jail Time: 1, Cidhna Mine

Jail Escapes: 1, teamed up w the Forsworn lol

Murders: 28

Assaults: 307....In their defense people keep getting in their way during dragon attacks

Items Stolen: 37, most of them from the nobles of Windhelm

Thieves Guild Quests Completed: N/A (wont be doing this storyline unless i cant find a mod that'll let me get the shouts locked behind it)

Dark Brotherhood Quests Completed: 20

Where Are They At In Those Questlines?: DB is completed main arc wise!

✧✧✧ Relationships

Relationship Status: Married to two lovely fellas

Current Companions: atm? none

Housecarls: Lydia & Rayya

Friends (outside of party): Zora Fair-Child, Inigo, Lucien, Anum-La, Morndas, Aela the Huntress, Nazir, Babette, Scouts-Many-Marshes, Isobel, Madesi

Children: Khash, Chases-Starlight, Ram-Ku. (going of where Tei is now - Otero & Mei come around later on in Tei's story!)

Romantic Interest(s): Kaidan & Rumarin.

Sexual Orientation:

GAY

✧✧✧ Religion

Pantheon: Yokudan, with a hint of Hircine worship in there

Patron Deity(ies): From the Yokudan pantheon: Tei mainly views HoonDing as their main patron, but also prays to/pays respect to Satakal.

They are also Hircine's champion.

Daedric Quests Completed: 3 (Hircine, Vile, Dagon - the last Tei didn't really help, moreso pissed off)

Aedric Quests Completed: 1 if you count the whole Alduin thing I guess?

How Devout Are They?: Tei is rather devout, esp to their Yokudan patrons, praying or making offerings daily. They aren't the type to really push it in your face though, but have no issues answering questions one might have.

How Do They Feel About Talos Worship?: Deep down they acknowledge & admit trying to ban worship is terrible, but....Tei also lets their bias/experience with Windhelm, the Stormcloaks & especially Ulfric kinda cloud over this. If the Nords want their old ways so damn much, why fight for a divine from the Imperial Cult? Why not go back to the actual old ways? No, this isn't about worship, not to the men leading this so-called rebellion, they just needed something other than their racist bullshit to fool the common man into throwing their lives away for the nobles sitting comfortable in their thrones.

Also during their whole thing of getting into their role of dragonborn, they get a bonus 'fuck this dude actually' towards Talos, Ysmir, whatever the fuck he calls himself. (tldr; it sucks but good luck hearing Tei say that fully)

✧✧✧ Politics

Gray-Mane or Battle-Born?: Neither, ask them again they will punch you for the love of Ruptga they get asked that every time they enter Whiterun.

Stormcloaks or Imperials?: Also neither, Tei hates em both n think they can all choke. Unfortunately they were forced to join the latter due to, yknow, calling dragons & causing massive damage in Imperial territories during isolated fits of rage and the group being more aggressive in wanting something in return for "letting it slide"....oops

Opinion on the Thalmor?: Oh absolutely despises them, they loudly complained having to work with them during the CW & would go out their way to disrupt their plans/piss them off. Sneaking was an option they did not take during the Embassy quest, if it helps paint the picture.

Opinion Of Ulfric Stormcloak?: Tei doens't say they hate people often...but they sure as hell hate Ulfric. Again, their experience in Windhelm added to this heavily, how both the Dunmer & Argonians were treated like shit, with no help whatsoever from the Jarl or guards when the local Nords targeted them. It's still up in the air if I keep this for Tei's story, but I have it where they knew Chases-Starlight's parents, who were killed. When Tei went up & demanded justice/an investigation, only to be brushed off because it "wasn't a priority," it completely destroyed what little empathy or hope they had left for Windhelm as a whole.

Opinion of The Empire?: Cowards too weak to continue fighting back against the Thalmor, in their opinion, & holds these views they grew up with even when being strong-armed into aiding them. If anything they're at least attempting to use their influence to hint towards a rebellion against the Thalmor, but the Empire could also full-on dissolve & they could give less of a shit.

Civil War Quests Completed: 0

✧✧✧ Personal

How Are They Doing? Need Some Juice? A Nap? A Hug?: The whole event of Blood of Kings has fucked with their head, to say the least. It's the starting point of Tei's eventual spiral. So uh...yeah they're not sure how they're doing everything they knew about reality was kinda challenged & they don't rlly have anyone to talk to about it so its cool, its fine, its all good.

A nap is probably needed, not sure about a hug theough they're super flinchy rn

Days Past In Game: 196

Hours of Sleep: 846

Food Items Consumed: 1833

How Many Playthroughs Have You Done With This Character: Tei actually is an older character from the 360 days so uh...maybe 5 at most? This playthrough & their S:EC one coming up when the mod releases being the main ones focusing on their story

Overall How's Your Level Of Fun: Alright I would say! I just been stepping away from Skyrim more often lately to avoid burning out from it

Must Have Mods To Play This Character (for story or other reasons): Ordinator, Wintersun Faiths, Immersive Armors, Sarcastic Player Dialogue, 3DNPC, Inigo, Lucien Flavius, Kaidan 2, Khash the Argonian, Alternative Start, Leviathan Animations, Beast Race Body Paints, Beast HHBB, Apocalypse Magic, Deadly Dragons, Growl: Werewolf Overhaul, Pronouns, uhhh....idk what else without actually listing my current modlist lmao

----

And that's it for Tei! Anyone who wants to do this go on ahead!

[joannalannister]

Anonymous asked:

Hey there, Lauren! I love your blog and metas! I have a question for you, in terms of the book, could you tell me when and where Daenerys shows signs of being a tyrant or a fascist? I see lots of metas say that she is, but from what I've read, I don't see any signs of that? Sure, she kills her enemies, but what powerful monarch doesn't? I just feel like the fandom has a very biased and double standard hatred when it comes to her, and I would like your opinion! Thank you!

Before I answer your question, we need some sort of working definition of fascism. To achieve this, I would like to quote a disabled person who helped lead the fight against fascism for years, and who died in the line of duty:

Over a year and a half ago I said this [...]: "The militarists in Berlin, and Rome and Tokyo started this war, but the massed angered forces of common humanity will finish it."

Today that prophecy is in the process of being fulfilled. The massed, angered forces of common humanity are on the march. They are going forward [...] 

We will have no truck with Fascism in any way, in any shape or manner. We will permit no vestige of Fascism to remain. [...]

In every country conquered by the Nazis and the Fascists, or the Japanese militarists, the people have been reduced to the status of slaves or chattels.

It is our determination to restore these conquered peoples to the dignity of human beings, masters of their own fate, entitled to freedom of speech, freedom of religion, freedom from want, and freedom from fear.

We have started to make good on that promise. I am sorry if I step on the toes of those Americans who, playing party politics at home, call that kind of foreign policy “crazy altruism” and “starry-eyed dreaming.”

--President Franklin D. Roosevelt, July 28th, 1943 Fireside Chat

What did the fascist Nazi Party stand for in WWII?

Historically, there was no Nazi Party apart from their racial and social agenda. It was a party founded on racial distinctions, with a vision to dramatically transform their society. The Nazis disliked and persecuted anyone who they did not consider Aryan. They persecuted and killed Jewish people, homosexuals, Jehovah’s Witnesses, and communists, and they wanted to eliminate people with mental or physical ailments. The Nazis pushed women out of the workplace and actively promoted patriarchy. [x]

But where does GRRM come into this?

I wasn’t a complete pacifist; I couldn’t claim to be that. I was what they called an objector to a particular war. I would have been glad to fight in World War II. But Vietnam was the only war on the menu. [x]

GRRM’s ethical views are at their clearest and most concise while discussing slavery and dehumanization in his (most excellent and highly recommended) vampire novel, Fevre Dream:

I never held much with slavery […]. You can’t just go… usin’ another kind of people, like they wasn’t people at all. Know what I mean? Got to end, sooner or later. Better if it ends peaceful, but it’s got to end even if it has to be with fire and blood, you see? Maybe that’s what them abolitionists been sayin’ all along. You try to be reasonable, that’s only right, but if it don’t work, you got to be ready. Some things is just wrong. They got to be ended.

Some things are worth fighting for. Fascism requires opposition, some form of opposition, or it will steamroller all over you. 

My regret now is not that I stayed my arm, but that I remained aloof in my window while others protested peacefully outside. It would be naïve to think that those marching in neo-Nazi parades could have a change of heart from such efforts, but I am more concerned with those who are not marching for anything. We must convince the apathetic to care, and stop those who are walking down the path of hatred before it becomes too late.

--David Olin, The View from My Window, Berkeley 2018, written for the Elie Wiesel Foundation for Humanity 

Now, let me apply this to ASOIAF piece by piece. 

In every country conquered [...] the people have been reduced to the status of slaves or chattels.

This is Tywin. This is Tywin enslaving people as part of his militaristic campaign of aggressive force in the Riverlands. This is Tywin sanctioning the capture and torture of innocent people. This is Tywin “using” other kinds of people and disregarding the fact that they are human beings. This is Tywin enslaving Arya Stark. This is Tywin impressing people to work in his gold mines on a whim, as we learn in AGOT. This is Tywin reducing people to the status of slaves or chattels. This is Tywin. 

I don’t know how many different ways I can say it, but as I’ve said before and will say again: Tywin is the character in the ASOIAF books who most prominently espouses fascist ideology. 

There are other characters in the main series -- Roose Bolton and Randyll Tarly, for example -- who also exhibit characteristics of fascist ideology, but I would argue that it is Tywin who is the fascist poster boy of ASOIAF ... and it is also Tywin who is one of the main villains who is drawing humanity’s attention south away from the true threat of the Others, who wish to turn every living thing into their slaves and playthings. (Littlefinger also comes to mind.) Tywin is an unwitting general in the Others’ army. Tywin is fighting the Others’ Campaign of Dehumanization on their behalf. 

The Nazis disliked and persecuted anyone who they did not consider Aryan. 

Substitute “Aryan” for “Lannister” and this is Tywin. “a Lannister, and worth more.” It is Tywin who pushes an agenda of Lannister superiority and it is Tywin to whom non-Lannisters aren’t human, to the point that he had to marry his own cousin. He dislikes non-Lannisters so much he had to marry his own cousin!!!! It’s Tywin who passed down his obsession with blood purity to his children to the point that they literally have to fuck each other. It’s Tywin who puts his House (a proxy for his race) above the individuals in it; it’s Tywin who doesn’t care if Cersei and Jaime and Tyrion are ground to dust under his disgusting ideology as long as House Lannister reigns supreme. 

"Spice soldiers and cheese lords," his lord father called them, with contempt. 

This is Tywin. 

Non-Lannisters aren’t fully human to Tywin. This is fascist ideology!!!!

It was a party founded on racial distinctions

This is Tywin and Kevan, refusing to allow the Westerlings to marry into their family because of “doubtful blood”!!!!! (”Ser Kevan seldom had a thought that Lord Tywin had not had first.”) 

It was a party founded on racial distinctions

This is Tywin and his refusal to allow a betrothal between Jaime and Elia. 

they wanted to eliminate people with mental or physical ailments. 

This is Tywin and his hatred toward disabled Tyrion. This is Tywin and his refusal to allow a betrothal between Jaime and disabled Elia. 

The Nazis pushed women out of the workplace and actively promoted patriarchy.

This is Tywin. This is Randyll hating on Brienne of Tarth. (And you can bet your ass Tywin doesn’t approve of women with swords.) 

I don’t know how many ways I can say it: Tywin and others like him are the fascists. 

Tywin is one of the cold fucks the AGOT prologue warns us about in the very beginning: “the real enemy is the cold.” 

The central conflict of ASOIAF is between the living (the fire) and the dead (the cold), those who would recognize your humanity and those who won’t. 

It is our determination to restore these conquered peoples to the dignity of human beings, masters of their own fate

^^ This is Daenerys Targaryen ^^

Daenerys Targaryen is a freedom fighter who kills slavers in the books. 

Her breakup of the economic system of Essos (meaning SLAVERY) is more akin to a communist revolution than a fascist takeover imo. Daenerys associates herself with people of all races, all classes. She gives Missandei, who canonically has dark skin in the books, a place as one of her closest advisors. Unlike Tywin, Daenerys is not pushing an agenda of Targaryen superiority. 

Daenerys is not perfect. She does not always get it right. Daenerys has got some things wrong. But I don’t think there has been any other option for Daenerys. You ... you can’t just look the other way when evil men are crucifying children, and I truly do not think that non-violent opposition would change anything in Essos. “Better if it ends peaceful, but it’s got to end even if it has to be with fire and blood, you see?” 

Sometimes innocents like Hazzea have died on Daenerys’s journey. 

And I fully believe that more people are going to die in TWOW, and that Daenerys will hold herself responsible, whether she is or not. I know that TWOW will give all the antis of every character a lot of ammunition. TWOW is going to be a dark and depressing book. 

I think that Daenerys is going to reach a very low point in TWOW, just as Tyrion is nose-diving in ADWD, but I think that’s just what GRRM does with his greatest heroes. It’s the moment in a movie when the hero falls off the cliff, and the Evil Villain starts cackling maniacally and you think all is lost, and then you see the hero’s hand reach up over the edge and the music crescendos as the hero pulls himself up. Except the real villains that GRRMs heroes are battling are themselves. The cliff is a metaphor for our darkest impulses. 

Characters tell Dany in AGOT that “she is nothing” but Dany’s story is about proving them wrong. It’s about her finding her own dignity and worth as a human being out on the Dothraki Sea, and becoming the master of her own fate. As her story progresses, she helps others to do the same, helping people to rediscover their dignity, to regain their names (or take new ones), to find the humanity that was stolen from them. 

(This is why it’s so important to me that her story intersect with zombie!Jon, so that she can help a dead man remember what it is to be human and remember why it all matters. Because if none of it matters ... if a man can’t find a fuck to give, well, that’s Tywin Lannister, who was a cold dead man long before Tyrion shot him.) 

I brought up FDR in the beginning of this post. Although FDR died before GRRM was born, he was one of the great American cultural figures of the 20th century and I have no doubt FDR’s legacy was a formative influence on GRRM. And that’s the thing - so many of these, these great American cultural figures of GRRM’s life died before their work was completed: FDR, JFK, MLK, so many others... The promised land is somewhere ahead of us, despite the opposition making accusations of “crazy altruism” and “starry-eyed dreaming.” No one is going to drive us there and drop us off; we have to get there by ourselves, and the journey isn’t an easy one. It’s a place we have to keep striving for, working for. A dream of spring...

It’s not Daenerys’s destiny, I think, to rule humanity in the long term; Dany’s destiny is, I think, to make sure that humanity doesn’t, well, lose their humanity. To make sure that humanity doesn’t fall into eldritch slavery.

The Others would make us automatons in their icy, inhuman regime. The Others would steam-roller all over humanity, and take away humanity’s freedom to choose, as Tywin Lannister tries to do to his children, trying to take all of their choices away and control them completely. The Others would take away our self-determination, our freedom to choose good or evil, our freedom to be the rulers of our own fate. 

I don’t think it’s Daenerys job to be a ruler in the end. I think she’s fighting evil now so that other people can keep fighting that good-and-evil “human heart in conflict with itself” fight long after she’s gone ... I’ve never believed in a “Targaryen restoration” ending although I wouldn’t necessarily be opposed to it. 

Like Moses, Daenerys won’t lead us into the promised land ... we have to get there ourselves. 

And I’ve strayed from your question into a topic that’s more interesting to me because I cannot fucking belieeeeeeve that you are even asking me if the compassionate, caring, teenage-girl, sexual-abuse-survivor, messiah-figure Daenerys Targaryen is a fucking fascist when everything Daenerys “the fire is mine” Targaryen does is in narrative opposition to Certified Fucking Fascist Tywin Racist Lannister oh my god I cannot believe this is where we’ve come to as a fandom, I cannot fucking belieeeeeeve. 

Anon. Honey. Baby. I say this gently, with love: Whyyyyyyyyy are you reading “Daenerys is a fascist” metas? That didn’t even work on the show. 

When I googled “Daenerys Targaryen fascist” to try and figure out what you could possibly be reading to argue against it, the top result is an alt-right thinkpiece website about how dangerous Dany was all along in freeing slaves!!!! And the next results are people who think the iron throne actually matters when GRRM himself has said that the political war is a red herring. 

The endgame rulers don’t even particularly matter because what matters in the end is that humanity wins against the Others and we still have control over ourselves, what matters is for that human heart conflict to continue to exist inside ourselves and that we rule over that conflict inside ourselves. 

"We all must choose," she proclaimed.

Practice some self-care; go read Armageddon Rag, and remember this: TWOW is not going to save us. 

[politicotalk]

Cultural Identity in Canadian Politics

When I talk to foreign people about Canadian politics, they always come to me and ask me what the hell the issues in Canada can be. That place looks like paradise land. Is the biggest issue how to avoid having your car buried in a pile of snow, or how to teach mooses how to play hockey. All countries have their internal issues, including countries such as Canada, Norway or Sweden which seem to be perfect on the outside. I’m going to try to explain what the major issues Canadian Federal politics face, issues specific to Canada.

Indigenous people Indigenous people of Canada, also refered to as the aboriginal people, have been in the shadows, cast aside, for a very long time in Canadian everyday politics. Actually, since the arrival of European colonisers in the 16th century, they have been sort of cast aside. The first Europeans to come and stay were the French, and they had a lot of issues when they came. First off, they had scurvy; the indigenous helped them with that. Secondly, they didn’t know how to survive harsh Canadian winters, the indigenous people helped them with that. French and First Nations traded with each other and created alliances and systems of relations where both parties benefited from each other’s presence. French population grew in the mean time. The British came and settled, and the tables really started to turn after the American Revolution; a lot of people living in the 13 colonies were faithful to the British Crown and fled North to modern day Canada. This brought a complete shift in demography; all of a sudden, the indigenous (and French) populations were outnumbered by the British. First Nations were pushed out of towns slowly but surely. Come the 19th century, bad boy United States was a major threat. They had something called “manifest destiny”, where they saw the West as a baren wasteland in need of colonisation by white people. The Canadian government freaked out, because this meant they could encapsulate Canada and absorb it into the United States. Well, the Canadian government also looked at the west and thought “well fuck, bud, we gotta claim this land”, so they started building a railroad from modern-day Ontario to British Columbia, all the way on the Pacific Coast. There was a big problem though, you see, this area wasn’t a wasteland; there were a lot of First Nations living there, including aboriginal and Métis people. What did the government do? Adopt the Indian Act in 1876. Yeah, no joke, it’s literally called the “Indian Act”. This land these people lived on was full of natural resources, but these people would not cede to the federal government because fuck you. So the government came up with this stupid law. Indigenous people were forbidden from creating their own governments, hold religious ceremonies, hire lawyers or go against the government over land claims. From the 20th century, when education became an important thing for children, with the help of local religious groups, the government started opening what is called “residential schools” and this is brought on a clusterfuck of problems we are faced with today.

The government gave itself the right to take Indigenous children from their families and force them to go to these schools, where they resided. The parents had no say in whether these children were allowed to go or not. These kids had their heads shaved, were forced to keep short hair, banned from wearing any traditional clothing, speak in their native languages – instead they had to speak English or French –, practice their religion – instead, they were brought into the Catholic Church or any Protestant Churches – and they were banned from contacting their families. I mention hair, some people might thing “so what?”; well, long hair is really important in Native Americans’ cultures. It’s as if you were to tell someone from Bavaria that they were no longer allowed to wear lederhosen. The point of this was to strip these kids of their identities, make them white, and so they would cede their lands more easily to the government, so it could profit off of it.

I can’t tell you how badly that backfired. From the 90’s, these poor kids who were, for the majority, adults started to take the government to court for wrongful abuse made towards them, in claims of abuse done towards them. You probably know that the Catholic Church does not have the best record, especially when it comes to violence done towards children, and Ireland was on the forefront of the international stage years ago for allegations of sexual abuse done by members of the clergy towards children. Well, this wasn’t an exception for Canada. To further prove this, the bodies of thousands of dead children were found buried all around these ex-residential schools in 2020. This was orchestrated by the Canadian government AND the Churches.

Thankfully, the Indian Act, though it still technically exists, is kinda stripped. Aboriginal people have the right to assembly, have the right to practice their religion, speak their languages, practice their cultures, etc. All good right? Right?

Well, not quite, this comes to a second point that was brought up again in the recent elections. What would the candidates do in regards to clean drinking water for the aboriginal? To examine this question, we need to rewind, again (sorry). The aboriginal live, for the majority, on what is called “reserves”. They are lands that are under their local governments’ control, where they all live. If you went to Montreal, Toronto, or even Moose Jaw, you could turn on the tap in the kitchen and drink the water there, no problem. Well, the residences on these reserves, not only are in deplorable states, but they also do not have clean, running water. Canada is not the Sahara. We are not lacking water. Canada has actually the world’s highest amount of natural drinking water. Fly over the country and it’s rivers and lakes everywhere. Yet, these people don’t have running water? So this topic has come back several times in the elections over the last 20 years and no one has done anything.

This is barely scratching the surface of issues surrounding aboriginal people in Canada. These two issues were the ones that came up in the last federal leaders’ debate.

French people Canada is a multicultural country. As mentioned before, the French-speaking population has been in Canada for over four centuries now. They have also been marginalised in some ways, and several attempts to assimilate have been made, but to no avail. Today, the French-speaking population is spread over all of Canada’s provinces, but the majority resides in the province of Quebec, where the official language is only French. Several French speakers live in Acadia (in the East of Canada) in Ontario and in Manitoba. Only New Brunswick is officially bilingual. French people – especially the people of Quebec – have seen themselves as different from the English speakers. They see themselves as an entirely different nation (I should point out that I use the term “nation” in the sense of the term synonymous with “population”). Issues flared up in the late 60’s and lead to a lot of tension in the 70’s, where the culture really started to solidify, and lead to a referendum in 1981 and 1995 in regards to whether Quebec wanted to become an independent country. In short, both times, the answer was no. In 1995, the answer was very slim, with the results being 49% to 51%. The situation in Quebec is very similar as the one in Catalonia and Scotland. 1995 might seem like yesterday to some, but I will remind you that this was 26 years ago. Things change in 26 years. New people are made, old people die. The thought of independence is a far away memory in most people’s imagination, and the young people are pretty cool with not wanting an independent country. This doesn’t mean that all of a sudden, Quebeckers are cool with the federal government and kissing the flag; they still see themselves as different, but have come to accept their place in the country, as the government has accommodated more and more for the French language, and given Quebec flexibility over their governance. But you see, Quebec’s aggressive stance over its language gives the other French speakers the ability to continue existing; media, culture and academic content come largely from Quebec. Without Quebec, these other French speaking cultures fear ceasing to exist.

So what about today? Well, firstly, the health sector is governed by the provinces. This means that Quebec was mostly in control of handling Covid, and they want to deal with all issues surrounding this.

Another thing to mention, is that, most likely because of its catholic culture, Quebec is very left leaning. Most votes for the NDP and a portion for the Liberals come from Quebec, and barely any go to the Conservative. They are in favour of public health services, public education with low fees for higher education, help to families and issues talking the environment. Canada currently heavily relies on industries in the primary sector, especially the West. So if Quebec is so in favour of not allowing pipelines to be built, or not excavating for oil, this wouldn’t affect them so much.

In conclusion, this is what Canada has to deal with, long tensions amongst its three main cultural groups. Let me know what your thoughts are and what your country is tackling in terms of internal conflicts.

[lifeofresulullah]

The Life of The Prophet Muhammad(pbuh): First Migration, the Year of Sorrow, the Splitting of the Moon

Hazrat Umar- the Fortieth Muslim

(6th Year of the Prophethood, month of Dhulhijjah / 616)

The joining of Hazrat Hamzah, an incomparable hero, to the ranks of Muslims and the immigration of a group of Muslims to Abyssinia caused the polytheists of Quraysh to become lost in deep thought. A great worry and fear started to consume their lives.

They all had the same decision set in their minds: to solve the matter regarding Abu Talib’s orphan, Muhammad, once and for all.

The Quraysh organized their talks on this matter at Daru’n Nadwa. After their fiery and intense discussions, Abu Jahl’s proposal was accepted: “to annihilate Muhammad’s body.”

Who could dare to attempt such a fearsome murder? A possible vendetta administered by the Sons of Hashim was also a point of matter to be considered.

Some were even making bold promises. For example, Abu Jahl promised, “Whoever kills Muhammad will receive 100 red and black camels, this much gold, this much silver, etc from me.”

Nobody could find the courage to commit this appalling deed. However, there was someone from among them who did; he was tall, had an imposing build, and never bowed before anyone, He came forward and said, “I will do it.”

At one moment, all eyes turned towards this fearless man, who had come forth. They saw that he was Umar, the Son of Hattab. The Qurayshis were confident that Umar was more than capable; thus, they all said, “Yes, only you can do this. Let us see what you can do!” in unison.

Umar was fixed in his decision: he was going to go straight to Darul Arqam, find our Holy Prophet (PBUH), and execute his decision.

After Umar looked around in a furious manner with his eyes that had become bloodshot red, he went directly towards the Kaaba and circumambulated it. Afterwards, he walked towards Darul Arqam with deep feelings of animosity and aggression.

It was very obvious that he was on a mission to fulfill some goal. On his way, he encountered Hazrat Nuaym bin Abdullah, a relative who had become Muslim but concealed his faith. Hazrati Nuaym could not help asking questions when he noticed the apparent change seen in Hazrat Umar’s attitude: “Where are you going, O Umar?”

Hazrat Umar replied without showing any need to conceal his purpose, “I’m going to eliminate Muhammad, the one who has instilled disunity among the Quraysh!”

Hazrat Nuaym went cold all over upon hearing this dreadful decision and looked for ways to dissuade him from this idea. “By God, you are embarking on a very difficult affair. Muhammad’s companions never leave his side for the slightest moment. It is very difficult to find a way. Let us say that you were able to find a way and killed him. Do you think that the Sons of Abd al-Manaf would allow you to roam freely on the face of the Earth?”

Umar looked at his addressee sternly and asked “Or are you on his side as well?”

However, he received an unexpected answer: “O Umar, forget about me; return to your family and community. Your brother-in-law and uncle’s son, Said bin Zayd and his wife, your sister, Fatima, have submitted to Muhammad’s religion. Go and deal with them first!”

Hazrat Umar was bewildered and worried. He did not want to believe what he had heard. In fact, it looked as if he did not even find the need to investigate. However, he could not overcome the doubts that filled him; he changed his mind halfway down the road and went straight towards his sister’s home.

In the meantime, the altruistic Companion, Habbab bin Arat, was reciting the chapter Taha, which had just been revealed, to Hazrat Said and Hazrat Fatima.

Hazrart Umar heard this sounds when he neared his sister’s home. He furiously knocked on the door once or twice. When no one opened the door, he pushed against the door with his shoulder and rushed into the house with rage.

Hazrat Fatima had understood that the one furiously knocking on her door was her brother Umar; thus, she put away the pages of the Quran while Hazrat Habbab hid in a corner.

Hazrat Umar asked in a tone filled with much displeasure, “What was it that you were reading?”

When his brother-in-law replied with nervousness and worry, “It was nothing, we were just talking among ourselves”, Hazrat Umar’s anger and rage increased thoroughly. He held his brother-in-law, who innocently stood there, by his neck and said, “So that means what I have heard is true; you also converted to Muhammad’s religion, didn’t you?” as he hurled him to the ground. Hazrat Fatima attempted to save her husband. She also found herself on the ground after receiving a harsh punch. Hazrat Fatima understood that there was no point in concealing her faith any longer. She rose to her foot and shouted, “Do whatever you can, Umar! My husband and I are now Muslims. We have testified to Allah and His Messenger (PBUH).” She followed by reciting the Kalima  ash-Shahada, the affirmation of faith, and the room instantly rang with the magnificence of this oath.

It was an exemplary and heartbreaking sight. How could someone cruelly hit his sister and leave her drenched in blood for saying, “My Lord is Allah”? What hardened heart would not soften and what conscience would not come to reason in the sight of a person who continues shouting her cause despite being in a welter of blood?

Umar was suddenly taken aback. He felt as if his heart was fluctuating. He could not stand on his feet any longer; thus, he sat down. After thinking deeply for some time, he said, “Bring me what you were reading so that I can see what Muhammad says.”

At first, Hazrat Fatima was hesitant. She was afraid that her brother would attempt to defame the pages of the Holy Quran. However, Umar ceased her worries by saying, “Do not be afraid.”

Yet, she could only give the pages of the Quran to those who were purified and because Umar was still an adherent of polytheism, he was not considered to be spiritually clean.

Therefore, Hazrat Fatima said, “My Brother, you are not considered to be clean because you are an adherent of a faith that associates partners to Allah. Only those who are clean can touch it. Rise and wash yourself.”

Hazrat Umar rose and bathed himself by performing a full ablution (ghsul) over his body. Upon this, Hazrat Fatima took the pages of the Quran with the utmost respect and handed them to him.

Hazrat Umar was a scribe; therefore, he knew how to read and write (not many people during his time had these skills.) He began reading the page he held in his hands from the beginning to its end:

“Ta Ha. We have not sent down the Qur'ân unto you (O Muhammad SAW) to cause you distress, But only as a Reminder to those who fear (Allâh). A revelation from Him Who created the earth and the heavens on high.” 

Hazrat Umar both read and reflected upon these verses. He was baffled in the face of the timeless and literary eloquence of the Holy Quran. It was as if he was not the same Umar, who had firmly grasped the handle of his sword, intending to kill our Holy Prophet (PBUH). The insensitivity in his heart and the anger seen on his face had both disappeared. His eyes that had been bloodshot were now gleaming with light. His inner being was smiling along with his face. When he read the verse, ” "Verily I am Allah: there is no god but I: so serve thou Me, (only) and establish regular prayer for celebrating My praise” of the chapter, he shouted: “This is such a beautiful, honorable, and sublime remark! No remark can be sweeter and more beautiful than this!”

This expression was proof that his heart had attained both guidance and luminance.

Hazrat Habbab, who had heard Hazrat Umar’s words, came out from his hiding spot and said, “Glad tidings, O Umar. I hope the prayer that Allah’s Apostle (PBUH) made on your behalf will come true. Last night he prayed, “My Lord, strengthen Islam through either Abu’l-Hakam bin Hisham (Abu Jahl) or Umar bin Hattab.”

Umar bin Hattab and Abu’l-Hakem Amr bin Hisham (Abu Jahl): One of them (Abu Jahl) had proposed for the Master of the Universe (PBUH) to be murdered since that would have been the only way through which the Islamic cause could be hindered, whereas the other, Hazrat Umar, had accepted this proposal and rose to carry out this decision.

The negative perceptions that Hazrat Umar had previously held about Islam and our Holy Prophet (PBUH) had now completely shifted. He wanted to go to our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) presence and feel the warm embrace of his light as soon as possible. He asked, “Where is Allah’s Apostle?”

When he learned that our Holy Prophet (PBUH) was at Darul-Arqam, the outskirts of Mount Safa, he immediately set off on his way with Hazrat Habbab.

A watchman informed our Holy Prophet (PBUH) that Hazrat Umar had come with a sword on his waist. An air of worry and nervousness beset upon everyone with the exception of Hazrat Hamza. This great Islamic hero grasped his sword and said, “Let him come. What is there to be scared of? If he has come with good intentions, then we will welcome him with benevolence. If he has come with bad intentions, then we will dispose of him with his own sword.”

Smiles appeared on the Master of the Universe’s (PBUH) face as he watched the scene before him. He had received news that Umar’s heart had been embraced by the light of guidance. Without getting worried or nervous at all, our Holy Prophet (PBUH) said, “There is nothing to be worried about, let him come. If Allah desires beneficence for him, then He will deliver him in the right direction.”

The door opened upon this command. Umar, who was waiting in front of that door, entered with his imposing appearance and weapon. There was not a trace of anger that could be seen on his face; instead, his face radiated with a glisten of love. His eyes were searching for the light of both truth and reality. At one moment, he came eye-to-eye with our Holy Prophet (PBUH). It was as if he was going to pass out in the face of our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) grandeur. He forgot about everything. Our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) light-filled glances had deeply grasped Hazrat Umar under their influence.

After they looked at one another for some time, our Holy Prophet (PBUH) disrupted Hazrat Umar’s air of nervousness, silence, and worry by asking, “Why did you come, O Hattab’s Son, Umar?” Afterwards, he extended his hand and held his sword by its handle and prayed, “O My Lord, this is Hattab’s Son, Umar. My Lord, strengthen the religion of Islam with Umar, Son of Hattab (Umar bin Hattab).

Hazrat Umar’s soul had given rein to the Sun of Guidance. He answered our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) question by saying, “I have come to testify to Allah and His Apostle and what he has brought.” Afterwards, he recited the Kalima  ash-Shahada, the oath of faith, and became a Muslim. 

Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) and his companions were immensely happy. In unison, they all recited the Takbir loudly: Allahu Akbar… Allahu Akbar! (Allah is Great, Allah is Great!)

These sounds of Takbir that were heard on the streets of Mecca rang in the horizon and from there, rose to the skies as waves filled with light.

Hazrat Umar had become a Muslim, in fact, he became the 40th Muslim. From thereon, his bravery, courage, and strength were no longer in the way of disbelief. He was going to exercise these qualities for the sake of Islam. Umar, who had run forth to kill our Holy Prophet (PBUH) upon the decision of the polytheists, was now like a fan circulating around him. Now that Hazrat Umar had a perpetual power, which resulted from having faith, added to his valor, he would challenge and intimidate the polytheists from thereon. By receiving light and illumination through our Holy Prophet (PBUH), he would be known by the title, “Umar, the Just” in the world history.

Entering Masjid-al-Haram in Ranks

Hazrat Umar, whose real source of courage resided in his faith, could no longer stay put in his place. He asked our Holy Prophet (PBUH), “O Allah’s Apostle, whether we die or live, are we not in the true religion? When our Holy Prophet (PBUH) replied, “Yes, I swear by Allah in whose hand is my soul that you are”, Umar said, “In that case, why do we continue to conceal out faith? I swear by Allah Who has sent you with the religion of truth that I will bravely go to every assembly of polytheism and announce Islam without fear and hesitation.”

Upon this, our Holy Prophet (PBUH) set towards the Kaaba from Daru’l-Arqam, with Hazrat Umar on his right, Hazrat Hamza on his left, and the other companions (sahaba) following them from behind.  They entered the Masjid al-Haram with dignified steps.

The polytheists, who were expecting our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) head, were surprised when they saw this sight. They were looking at Hazrat Umar and Hazrat Hamza with scared and nervous glances. They were able to gather their courage and ask, “O Umar, what is behind you? What did you come with?”

Hazrat Umar replied, “I came with La ilaha illalah Muhammadur Rasullulah. Nobody should move from his place or else I will cut his neck.”

The polytheists became silent. It was as if their tongues were tied.

Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) circumambulated the Kaaba and prayed freely. The Muslims were also able to pray openly.

Hazrat Umar said,

“It was then that Allah’s Apostle (PBUH) gave me the name, “Faruq” for separating truth and falsehood.” 

Hazrat Hamza’s conversion to Islam followed by Hazrat Umar’s ensured Islam’s development, enabled Muslims to worship freely, and saved Muslims from the constraints imposed by the polytheists. In this regard, Hazrat Umar’s joining of ranks with the Muslims held an important place in Islamic history.  One of the companions, Hazrat Abdullah bin Masud made note of this importance, “When Umar became a Muslim, it was a conquest for Islam, an honor as well as a glory for the Muslims, His migration to Makkah was a victory, and his Caliphate was a mercy. Until Umar became a Muslim, we could not openly pray in the Kaaba’s courtyard.”

[funkymbtifiction]

What is your method on typing people for their Enneagram? Thanks a lot.

For real people you mean, or characters? For characters it’s harder since you can’t ask them clarifying questions and so must rely on what they seem to want and how they get it. And sometimes there’s a lot of guesswork involved. I’m still learning to tell the difference with fictional characters between certain types.

People... have tells. Things they seem to focus on. Things that matter most to them. Ways of getting it. Obvious underlining focuses. Pride in themselves (or, in the case of certain numbers, too much ‘humility’). You can even, if you believe in tritype, get a read on their second fix sometimes (for example, the 925/926 I know is mostly the peace-seeking, self-erasing 9, but I do see the eager-to-help, rush-to-give-you-things friend-making techniques of the 2). In a way, it’s easier for me to type strangers than those close to me, because ... I have a bias for or against them and know them too well, so I am factoring in way too much information and it’s clouding my judgment.

But in general...

You can tell a head type because they choose to step back and think before they react. They want to “think about it.” Or they have obvious fear-based statements or behaviors. You need a crowbar and grease to get anything out of a 5. 6s are obviously 6s (fearful but funny about it, self-deprecating, or in the case of a social 6, a rigid adherent to whatever party they feel holds their security in its hands -- a religion, a political party, a social group, even being anti-establishment but gathering ‘like-minded’ people around them). 7s are good-natured, whimsical, and somewhat flighty, often with commitment phobias. (I sort-of typed one of my writers at work I’ve never met in person in my life a 7 because reading over his material, the 7-ness bleeds through -- funny, irreverent, and it took him 25 years of living with the mother of his children before he finally asked her to marry him, coz #CommitmentPhobic).

You can tell a gut type because they are ‘instant reactors’ to situations, either in a defensive posture (making things stop) or pushing them further (making things happen / blow up bigger). The 1s rush in with strong right/wrong opinions. The 8s fire first, ask questions later and push people. The 9s are quick to diffuse arguments, back away, numb you out, or be passive-aggressive with their anger. If you talk to them, a lot of 9s will say things like “I’m not aware of when I’m angry... it can take a couple of days for me to recognize that’s what I’m feeling,” or even “I have lots of angry dreams.” I know of 3 different 9s in my life who confessed that -- it’s the only ‘safe’ place to exhibit their resentment or anger, since the real world isn’t ‘safe.’

You can tell the image types because they’re all about... well, you. How they want you to see them. What they want you to admire. The 2s are generous and giving and sometimes childish or seductive, but it’s all wrapped up in their pride in being an Important Person in everyone’s life. The 3s are looking to craft a persona -- they are already living out who they want to be in their head, or trying to actively work toward making it happen, or have workaholic behaviors, because “I am what I do.” The 4s are anti-YOU. “I’m not like you. I have better taste than you do. I need Higher Things.” They are also prone to melancholy or longing / envy and can be melodramatic. The 4 never met an emotion big enough, so they will increase it in an effort to sink into it.

Some people are harder to type than others, but I generally do the following:

- get an overall impression of them through watching them for awhile (some types look like other types, but under a crisis, the real person comes out)

- take note of their usual patterns of behavior and focus (one self-typed 9 I realized was a social 7 instead, because all the time she talked about wanting to escape, go on the road, see everything, and fears of missing out on things, feeling jealous when others got to do things/have experiences and she didn’t)

- ask them questions, not leading but to see what their answer might be; although in unscripted, unguarded moments of deep conversation, you can sometimes get people to open up about what they want out of life

- consider what their focus appears to be (the 6s on tumblr want me to check their typing work, for example, or rely on me as an ‘expert’ in MBTI -- and this holds true even for 6 fixers) and how they ‘get things done’

Sometimes people who send me asks have an obvious undercurrent of a number or unintentionally use language that suggest certain types to me, or they profess to be one number and... what they say does not support it.

You also have to be open to being wrong, since sometimes... you are. People can surprise you. In good and bad ways. My main problem is ... I have a need to understand everything and if someone doesn’t quite seem ‘right’ for their number or their type or something nags at me as being misaligned, I cannot let it go. I will work and work at it tirelessly, and drive myself crazy with over-thinking, especially if I’m trying to connect unknown behaviors with a number. (Is this optimism 9 or 7? If this person says they are a 2, why aren’t they ‘around’ when others need them? Etc.)

- ENFP Mod

[evilelitest2]

How did China become the way it is now? They went from dynasties to a communist dictatorship that targets Uighurs?

Well i will say, the Qing Dynasty (last dynasty of China) also did a lot of genocides against Nomadic non Han peoples on the frontier provinces (Despite being a non Han steppe dynasty themselves) , like China has a long history of that sort of thing.  But to answer your main question, this is really complicated but i’ll try to reduce it down to a few steps

Step one: The Qing Dynasty, last Imperial Dynasty of China, is chilling out being the Imperial power when the British Empire, in their endless addiction TEA basically gets a ton of the nation addicted to opium to force China to Trade with them, cementing their role as history more aggressive drug dealer.  When china is like “hey we don’t want to do discount heroin” Britain launches a series of “Opium wars” where they destroy the Qing army and force them to basically a accept these unequal treaties where Britain and the other European powers could basically run sections of most of the Chinese coastal cities, were immune to Chinese law, take Hong Kong for themselves (different story) and force China to enter unequal trade treaties. 

Step 2: In part to response to this, an unorthodox Christian sect starts a massive Revolution/Civil war called the Taiping Rebellion, which has the “FUN” distinction of being one of the most bloody war in human history...ever.  up to 30 million people die.  Remember this is happening at the same time as the American Civil War, whose highest death count only gets up to 1 million.   This does massive damage to Qing China, even though they win the war, and makes them super hostile to Christianity and western adaptations.  

Step 3:Japan, who is going through their own period of Modernization, decides the best way to reject Western Imperialism is to Imperalize Korea.  This leads to the First Sino Japanese War in 1895, who defeat China and start to take over chinese territory.  They take even more when they win the Russo Japanese War in 1905.  

Step 4:  The Qing rejection most attempts to reform the state (such as the Hundred Days reform) and instead attempt to fight all the Colonial powers...at once in the utterly disastrous 1908 Boxer Rebellion.  The Qing are semi colonized as a result and financially ruined and have lost the respect of the people. 

Step 5: Sun Yat Sen, the most prominent Republican (as in democracy) founds his resistance group to China based on the notions of China accepting westernization, modernization, a secular anti traditionalist goverment, nationalism, anti imperialism, and democracy.  The idea that for China to have a good future is to embrace a western style of nation state building.

STep 6: In 1911, a carelessly discarded cigerrete leads to an explosion which leads to a popular rebellion against the Qing.  Before anybody, including the rebel leaders themselves are ready, suddenly the Qing dynasty is gone leaving behind a massive Power Vacumm.  

Step 7: Sun, taking control of the state, founds the Chinese Nationalist Party, the Kuomintang or KMT.  They attempt to create a modern Republican Chinese Nation State but erm...

Step 8: A previous Qing General named Yuan Shikai attempts to overthrow the Republic and create a new Imperial Dynasty.  He fails and dies, but the civil war between him and the KMT leaves the KMT in control of only a few Chinese cities, and the rest of China breaks into a bunch of local petty fiefdoms with local military leaders just declaring themselves warlord and running China.  

Step 9: Sun is like “ok the democracy thing isn’t working out” and enlists the general Chiang Kai-Shek to help the KMT unify china.  Chiang starts to fight the other warlords, and when Sun dies in 1925,  Chiang turns the KMT into a military positivist dictatorship with the long term goal of unifying/modernizing China and then maybe becoming a democracy.  

Everybody Pauses for World War I

Step 10: Some Chinese intellectuals think that the new party should be founded on more left wing principles, and they found the Chinese Communist Party (CCP).  They ally with the KMT because they also want to modernize/unify China, and accept from the Soviet Union as well as other anti colonal forces

Step 11: Chiang (with the help of the CCP) does a pretty good job at defeating the Warlords and unifying China.  BUt Chiang then betrays the CCP and massacres most of them as well as left wing KMT members, and starts to adopt an anti Communist profile.  

Step 12: The CCP, now much more radical, sets up their commune and fights against both the KMT and the warlords.  But they lose and are forced to flee across the rural China as part of the “Long March”.  Most of the communists die but those who survive to arrive to the last communist hold out in safety, is the new communist leader and totally not a psychopathic murderer, Mao Zedong.  

Step 13: Chiang has mostly unified China, defeating or subduing most of the Warlords, and is slowly but surely destroying the last remnants of the Communist party, who have retreated to a few hold outs in the rural north.  The new KMT state is relatively stable but still a military dictatorship surrounded by enemies. Meanwhile Japan is going through its fascist phase and is gobbling up bits and pieces of Manchuria, but Chiang doesn’t think he has the strength to fight Japan until he has finished fighting the Communists.  

Step 14: Japans military on the Ground goes rogue and just sort of...invades Manchuria on their own.  Meanwhile Chiang is literally kidnapped and forced at gun point to declare war on Japan in 1937.  The KMT and the CCP make an alliance to fight against Japan jointly.  The Second Sino Japanese War has begun 

Step 15: Between 1937-1945, The KMT is almost entirely driven back to rural Western China by the Japanese, who spend their time committing horrific atrocities which the goverment still hasn’t apologized today (which is why the rest of East Asia hates Japan), including the absolute horrific Rape of Nanking (look it up).   meanwhile the CCP fights a few token battles but then hides in the north and slowly trains up their forces and lets the KMT and Japan fight it out 

Step 16: The US gets Japan to surrender and the CCP and KMT immediately go back to fighting each other.  However the economically ruined KMT isn’t able to defeat the far more disciplined CCP and is defeated in 1949.  The CCP declares itself a new country, the People’s Republic of China (PRC).  Meanwhile the KMT under Chiang flees to the Island of Formosa (Taiwan) and says that they still are the Republic of China.  The two Chinas then spend the the next 70 years pretending the other doesn’t exist

Step 17: Mao, now dictator of China, attempts to modernize the economy and centralize the state.  The good news is that the economy does recover.  The bad news is massive human rights violations and the massacre of a few million people.  The PRC while an ally of the Soviet Union, really is an independent communist state that actually can hold its own.  Mao gets involved in the Korea War against the US and while the PRC doesn’t win, they also don’t lose which establishes them as a world power.  

Step 18: However Mao very quickly goes off the Deep End and launches the “Great Leap Forward” possibly the worse economic policy in human history which leads to the death of up to 40 million people....whoops

Step 18: The PRC leadership puts Mao in a corner so he can think about what he did and try to restore order, but then Mao is able to launch a revolution against his own government with the students called “The Cultural Revolution” which is...the weirdest revolution ever?  Its like if a dictator lead a revolution against his own goverment...long story for another time.  The Cultural Revolution destroys mountains of traditional chinese art and culture, kills, arrests and harrassings thousands to millions of people, and just breaks the state, finally ending with Mao’s death in 1976. 

Step 19: With Mao’s death, the more moderate faction of the PRC takes over, purges the more radical members of the Party, ends the Cultural revolution and starts to semi liberalize the economy, leading to the weird communist/capitalist/mercantilism/Imperial hybrid China operates under today, including of course massive corruption.  The dictatorship because less intense and relaly less communist and they start to drift away from the Soviet Union.  Then in 1989 as the Soviet Union is collapsing, and their is a massive student protest against corruption and in favor of China becoming a more liberal democratic and socialist state.  The goverment after a few months of dithering, opens fire on the protesters and you still aren’t allowed to talk about it in China today.  Death toll varies but most non Government accounts put it at around 10,000.  

Step 20: China becomes a global super power, only behind the US and EU in power and turns their government into a major economic hub, though they keep pissing off their western allies with unfair business practices.  Recently however, the country has gone from an oligarchic autocracy to an...autocracy autocracy with the rise of their new leader, Xi Jinping, who has centralized authority and made the country a lot more oppressive and autocratic, while pushing aback against corrupt and dissident.

Step 21: Which finally brings us to the Uyghurs. Imperial China did this too, but the PRC really has a problem with the various non Han minority groups, doubly so for those who are Muslim and have separatist leanings. So the extermination of the Uyghurs really could be read as a continuation of how the PRC has treated the Tibetans, the Mongolians, and even Hong Kong over the last few decades.  This is part of their vision of China as being a centralized, modernize, secular, unified Nation State, which doesn’t really leave room for regional ethnic religions minorities, doubly so against those with a non Chinese language.  

That is the super simple version, Chinese history is super complicated.

[blues-fandom-bullshit]

Relib (Mutt) (R-eh-l-eh-b)

Creature- Kitsune

Element- Wind + Fire.

Wind elements wish to make the world a better place, just as sweet Relib wants. He’s an easily pleased, rather helpful monster who just wants to be helpful. At least, that’s him on the inside.

On the outside, he’s a fire. They are aggressive beings with a high expressiveness and adore being in charge. However, he is, both inside and out, with a passionate affection, wise mind, grounding to feelings, and a hold to fairness and generosity.

Traits-

Kitsune are a mischievous, prankster type yokai/spirit from japanese mythology.

They're a chaotic good species. They may seem malicious at times, but they're also guardians.

Kitsune are a wise species, depsite their playful natures.

The fox spirits also amake sure to stay to their debts, repaying them, and fulfilling promises.

They are very powerful creatures, influencing many everyday people.

Relib is a playful, yet serious; prankster, yet shy. He's wise, but also inexperienced.

Kistune can live over nine hundred years, but they are mortal.

_______________________________

At 7'6, 228.6, not counting his ears, Relib is one of the taller skeletons. 8'2, 248.9, with his long fox ears.

Relib, in his casual form, has red and black fox ears, with a matching tail. However, his large, puffy tail is split at the base. He's just over two hundred years old. (Around twenty.)

His elbows to his finger tips and knees to feet are fluffy with black fur that only reveals the squishy front of his bone palms.

On his face are dark orange and light orange markings, a pair of swirly lines on the sides of his sockets, from the area between sockets and nasal down to the corners of his mouth, a trio of fots in a vertical line going up from his nasal. At least, when he has all nine of his tails. Currently, all he has are the under eye marks and a small dot up above his nasal.

He usually wears a pair of baggy genie-like pants that end half fown his lower leg and dip kind of low at his pelvis. These are black, with an irnage hem.

A sort of long scarf decorating the waist of the pants, being buttoned onto the pants by a white button. This scarf wraps around to the back of his pants, and is orange to black with the end being white like his tails. Speaking of which, his tails are even bigger in his skeletal form, and fluffier.

His top is a cropped long sleeve that fans out from the elbow to the wrist, and the peive only connects to anither white button on his sternum head.

His shoes are black flats with grey toe edges. On his ankle is a golden shake, and other other is a black ankle bead bracelet with a charm in the end with tassels.

Powers-

Shifting- From fox to skeleton, and maybe human. Although, he can only stay human an average of a human lifespan at a time. This is the most basic and first taught skill to kitsune.

Fire manipulation- As it sounds. They can summon and manipulate fire. Relib prefers not to, however. He's not confident in his abilities.

Possession- A kitsune can possess and manipulate a human, but Relib prefers his own body.

Dreams manifestation- They can skillfully appear in dreams. However, the poor fox doesn't want to bother anyone when they sleep, as his anxiety tells him they don't like him.

Flight?- Its more of being able to jump really high, and then being able to slow his fall so much its more of hovering.

Invisibility- Kistune are yokai. If they're experienced enough and have enough energy, or want to, they can make themselves visible. Relib, however, cannot do this. He's more skeletal than kitsune, so he relies on stealth.

Illusion- They can make their vistims see something that isn't there, or true. He's only starting to study in this.

Claws and teeth- Less of a power and more evolutional factor if survival.

Enhanced- Bite force, speed, endurance, durability, hearing, sight, smell, stamina, strength, adaptation, temperature regulation, and instincts. Basically? Don't mess with a kitsune, especially around mating season if you value virginity, or your life.

Mind control- They can control their victims mind to see something they want, or forget. But, not remember.

Weaknesses-

Instincts- Stated before, their instincts are powerful. Especially around a mate, mating season, blood, or a threat.

Carelessness- This, alongside loving alcohol, is a reason many kitsune get caught in their human forms.

Dogs- Dogs can sense kitsune. Kitsune hate dogs, and fear them. Remember those fox hunting games with men and dogs?

Tails- Cut them all off, and they will die.

Hearts- Piercing them, or destroying, even stealing, is lethal. Please don't break this baby's heart.

Negative emotions- Kistune are susceptible to being overwhelmed by negatuve emotions, which outs them in a primal state of killing and destroying until the sorce is destroyed or they're far enough away.

Knowledge- They're constantly seeking this, especially in forms of magic, so this is an easy way to trap them. Not overpower, but trap.

Decapitation- This will result in nesr imminent death.

Bombs- Manage one into their gut, then.. Ka-boom.

Religion- String religious values can push them away if they're more malevolent.

Personality-

On the outside, Relib is an ill tempered, possessive, exaggerating skeleton. But, frequently, he'll stutter insults in a guilty voice, or tremble if you look over at him.

On the inside, however, he's a very sweet, charming yokai. He's the type to try to act suave by leaning against a door frame, only to miss it and fall and end up with his tails over his face and yoir full attention on him.

He's very awkward and shy, trying to be confident through his anxiety while also feeling guilty because he's stuvk between the fell brothers, and the horror brothers. It's basically violence all around.

He's very touch starved, needing attention and validation. He quickly latches onto someone who gives him this affection, but his loyalty will remain with his brother until feelings blossom, which will lead to him avoiding you.

Over all, he's a very sweet monster who just wants to give others love, but violence is really the only world he knows, so it's scary.

Backstory-

He doesn't even remember before the underground. That's all he's known.

After that hellhole, however, he Immediantly went to hiding as his instincts to humans and his brothers warnings.

He didn't really have any encounters with humans.. Until he went into town for a drink and was Immediantly talked about and almost jumped. Now, he sticks to more monster areas because humans truly do suck.

[chicagocityofclans]

Clarisse “Clara” Fields → Margot Robbie → Black Bear Shifter

→ Basic Information

Age: 229

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Straight

Born or Made: Born

Birthday: September 3rd

Zodiac Sign: Virgo

Religion: Christian

→ Her Personality Clara has for a long time played things close to her chest. She has built walls between her true feelings and those that she portrays in an effort to control her reaction and the reactions of others. Clara finds safety and comfort in control, and is deeply disturbed when it’s taken away from her. The rigidity in the way she communicates has contributed to the somewhat ice queen facade she portrays. She has strict rules for herself and the pack and expects them to be followed. She is difficult to persuade and may hold out just to prove a point.

Clara, in addition to controlling her reactions, also enjoys controlling the way her environment looks. She is always put together, and her homes and the hotel are always immaculate. Her cleaning helps control the anxiety she feels and having beautiful environments put her at ease. Clara is very protective of her pack and has dedicated herself and her life to helping it and its members be as successful and comfortable as possible. Clara often provides support for new members when they come to the city, even helping them find jobs at the hotel or in one of the real estate companies owned by the clan. She is generous and is comfortable in sharing her wealth. She is gracious and always willing to listen, and has a long standing passion for humanitarianism. Clara often goes on environmental charity trips and has dedicated a branch of the pack towards funding them.

→ Her Personal Facts

Occupation: CEO/Owner of Fields Hotels, Head of Clan Heavy, and Council Member

Scars: None

Tattoos: None

Two Likes: Matchmaking and Humanitarianism

Two Dislikes: Her personal space being intruded and People who shirk responsibility

Two Fears: Germs and Losing/Ruining her family’s legacy

Two Hobbies: Equestrianism and Hunting

Three Positive Traits: Neat, Protective, and Dignified

Three Negative Traits: Unbending, Controlling, Anxious

→ Her Connections Parent Names:

Garland Fields (Father): Clara loved her father more than anyone. She idolized him and was constantly at his side. She had her sights on leadership from a young age, and tried to soak up everything she could from her father. Clara took on more and more responsibility as she grew up, taking over the Fields Hotel and running it successfully at the turn of the century. It was at this point that Clara began to see some concerning signs in her father: aggression, random sporadic shifts, waking up covered in blood. Clara paid the human shifters $1,000 over that year to keep her father’s antics quiet. She could see he had hypershift and couldn’t bear to let his reputation be blemished. They went out hunting and Clara killed her father, using the excuse of dementia to cover his and her tracks. She still feels guilty over this at times and will direct her guilt into anger towards Asa.

Annabelle Fields (Mother): Annabelle died before Asa and Clara turned 50. They found part of her body in the woods about 5 miles from their house. It was obvious that hunters of some kind got to her. It deeply affected each member of the Field’s family.

Sibling Names:

Asa Fields (Twin Brother): Clara and Asa have always tended to butt heads, and it's only gotten worse since he has returned from being gone. Clara feels like he’s intruding on the system she’s built and dedicated her whole life towards. She also has a lot of resentment of him not returning home when Garland died. She was entirely alone grieving her father and has felt on her own since then. A part of her is happy he is back and wants to readily trust them like she did when they were kids. Both are damaged, and at the moment Clara is treating Asa as if he were a problem member in her pack.

Children Names:

None

Romantic Connections:

None

Platonic Connections:

Taye Black (Pack Member): Taye is one of the people Clara trusts most. He’s able to handle whatever needs handling and she has come to trust his calls in situations that she isn’t there for.

Bryce Holt (Best Friend): Bryce and Clara did not start out friends. She heavily blamed Clara for the exchange that Bryce’s father requested, and loudly shouted that whenever she could. Clara finally sat down and they began talking things out. Clara offered a fraction of her own experiences, and Bryce was willing to finally open up. Their bond grew after that, and Clara considers Bryce her best friend.

Patrick Perry (Pack Member): Patrick is one of Clara’s pack that she finds particularly exhausting. She has frequently seen him talking with the Mist family and believes that he is the one who has given them so much information on the supernatural.

Anna Johansen (Pack Member): Clara has only met a dozen or so panda shifters in her time. Typically they came to be matched and then returned to their homes, so Clara is delighted to have Anna with them. She is hoping to have her take interest in the real estate side of the business, and is glad that Riley is assisting with that.

Michael Johansen (New Pack Member/Interest): Clara has found herself enjoying Michael’s company. She’d met him briefly a few times before he asked to move his pack to the city. She was happy to have a whole new crop of heavies in, but was surprised when she found herself becoming close to the former alpha.

Ezra Schultz (Good Friend): Ezra is the longest remaining pack member in Chicago, having been with the Fields since they were originally founded in New Orleans. She has seen some of the signs for dementia in Ezra and is dreading the day she will have to take care of him. She has always found him to have a “true north” conscience and never knows where he will side in board meetings.

Hollis Sony (Good Friend): Hollis and Clara are close. She has repeatedly backed Clara when tough decisions had to be made and has always been a good sounding board for issues when Clara wasn’t sure what the best path was.

Nathan Cleirigh (Psychiatrist): They rarely get to the root of any of her issues, sticking generally to her compulsions and depression and grief over her father. They have never gone deeper, despite the fact that Clara knows that they should. It embarasses her too much to talk about her other relationships and opinion of herself.

Chris Bialar (Fellow Alpha): Chris and Clara have gotten closer over the recent years when they realized how much they have in common in regards to their packs. They are both facing dwindling numbers with an inability to replace them.

Nick Hamelin (Fellow Alpha): Clara used to think Nick hated her, as she was the constant center of his jabs, but when she confronted him he set her straight. They stay out of each other’s way, generally, and both care greatly about their packs. Clara does actively avoid getting on his bad side, as she knows what the repercussions may be.

Ellis Watts (Fellow Alpha): Clara and Ellis get along fine. They aren’t particularly close, but she respects how he runs his pack and the leadership that he and his higher ups show.

Percy McCormick III (Fellow Alpha): Clara has known Percy since they were children. He has always been a show man and is great at being a person that people think they should follow, but he isn’t a leader. However, no one has pushed against him in the pack, and she would never undermine another leader.

Isaac Baker (Fellow Alpha): Isaac and Clara have very different styles in meetings and they tend to clash. Isaac is short, arupt, and disregards the traditions put in place that have kept everything running smoothly in the first place. That being said she respects his willingness to stand up for his principles even if he is standing alone.

Scorpius Getta (Business Associate):  Scorpius bailed the Heavies out, for a steep price that Clara and her pack are still paying off today. However, he has always treated her and the deal with the utmost professionalism and respect, which Clara returns.

Dan Prior (Old Acquaintance): Clara knew Dan from when he was human. His parents were often in talks with her own, and she thinks they even considered the change before he “disappeared”. They still talk when she goes down.

Maxine Vanes (Liaison): Max is on Clara’s speed dial for whenever the rats cross the line with her hotel. She is often able to deal with it well enough where Clara doesn’t have to talk to Nick.

Talia Cleirigh (Former Business Associate): Talia used to put her and Asa to bed and stop the nightmares that they frequently had over their mother. She used her on and off until she made her deal with Getta. That was too private of information to allow someone to see. She still has temporary insomnia, but uses that time to check on the hotel and get other work done.

Hostile Connections:

Sam Thompson (Board Member): Clara has known Sam her whole life. They grew up together, almost like siblings. However, he has always been a challenging force throughout her leadership and recently she’s lost much of her trust in him. He holds the same resentment towards Clara that his father held for Garland. That they were cheated out of a position. It at one point caused Clara great anxiety and sleepless nights, wondering when he was going to challenge her. She finally decided to stop waiting around and began training to fight in her human physical form. She has continued to wait for an attack, especially after she had to kill Sam’s wife four years ago. For all that Clara dislikes Sam, she is incredibly impressed that he held on for his kids, and believes he is genuinely a good father, and even leader at times.

Eliza Meyers (Board Member): Eliza gets the short end of the stick, mostly due to her age. She is young and parrots whatever Sam says, which has led to Clara ignoring her opinion for almost the entirety of her being on the council. She has decided to let her take the lead in this new project of creating the indoor hunting ground.

Pets:

None - Clara has difficulty with animals being indoors, though this is an issue she is working on.

→ History

→ The Present

[mars-colony]

10, 21 & 43 for Dollie!

Thank you for asking! These are so fun to do.

10. Do they like children? Do children like them? Do they have or want to have children? What would they be like as a parent? Or as a godparent/babysitter/etc? Oh boy. This is a series of questions highly relevant to where i'm at in my fic so i'm super appreciative. So. Dollie loves kids. She always has. She's always been very good with kids. She would have been a super awesome elementary or pre-school teacher, and when she visits the school house in Diamond City or visits Vault 81 she always loves working with the kiddos.

Her relationship with motherhood is pretty central to the everything about her lmao. She's the sole survivor on a quest to find her baby boy. All she wants is to get her son back. And we all know how that goes. It effects her really deeply. She wants so much to have a relationship with Shaun, even when she learns the truth, but it isn't easy. He doesn't make it easy. She has a lot of mourning to do over the subject, and a lot to come to terms with. She felt like, when he was born, that she was always meant to be his mother, and so losing that, and losing so much time with him, really just shatters her entire heart. She's in a very bad place mentally following her first visit to the Institute. Despite all of this, would she want another child? More than anything tbh.

As a parent, Dollie is so very dedicated to her child. She wants to give them a healthy life, and see them grow to be emotionally equipped in ways she wasn't. She wants to give them everything she didn't have. She's patient and loving, and would definitely embarrass them, but she wouldn't coddle. She wants them to learn on their own, to make mistakes, to live life. And she will be there for them no matter what. There's very little they could do to lose her love (though Shaun tests this to some crazy extremes in canon, and she is forced to make some very difficult decisions).

She'd probably be the favorite fun aunt, or the best baby sitter. She loves to play with kids, to teach them, to learn from them. She is so very maternal.

21. Do they have a temper? Are they patient? What are they like when they do lose their temper? Dollie is a bottler. She bottles up all of her anger so that it won't bother anyone. She shoves it really deep down. Some people have an uncanny knack of bringing it all up, and shattering the bottle and she will go off. Poor poor Deacon. He is a master at pushing her buttons, at dredging up some of her worst memories. And it really really really doesn't help his case that his general joking disposition and those gorgeous blue eyes remind her incredibly of someone who much of that bottled aggression was directed at. With basically anyone else ever, Dollie is godly patient. She is practically a saint. But when that patience finally wears too thin... she can be aggressive, she isn't afraid to stand up for herself, to call someone out, to slash a raider's guts out to save herself, or to shout down a Brotherhood Paladin in full power armor. She can also make incredibly bad decisions, put herself in horribly dangerous situations, and just make a really big mess. And then suffer the consequences of her own actions.

43. Are they religious? What do they think of religion? What do they think of religious people? What do they think of non religious people? Dollie is not religious. She doesn't have much of a relationship with religion. She wasn't raised in any particular faith. She thinks everyone is entitled to their own opinions and faiths, but it doesn't hold much for her. She also doesn't tolerate people who use their religious beliefs to talk down to or act in prejudice against others. It won't be tolerated. She doesn't care if a person is religious or not. Are they good, are they kind, are they doing their best? That's all that matters in her book.

The Children of Atom creep her out in a big way because of the idk big cult vibes. She's also extremely critical of the Brotherhood for their Xenophobic beliefs and greatly self-righteous views of their own culture. But she knows when to hold her tongue. One of the fastest ways to irk Dollie though, is to chalk everything good up to some greater being acting mercifully. Want to piss her off? Tell her that everything happens for a reason, or that something is in God's plan. Take away the agency of her own actions, the hard work she puts in, by chalking it up to some higher power and she'll rip you a new asshole.

[heckinhacker]

Blood Moon!Aatrox x Demon!S/O - Insane between crazy.

word count: 1,608 requested: Yes!  - By Anonymous: “ Can I ask for Blood moon Aatrox fanfic plz? When he met the demon s/o but they're different from the other demons because instead of killing mortals, they tried to save them plz. “ warnings: Curses, violence, Aatrox being Aatrox. 

 You were standing on the podium, your arms raised to red as blood heaven, shouting at your own kind.

“And WHY do we have to sacrifice human lives for our own sake? Why is it everything about bloodshed?! Humans aren’t bad, they’re innocent, they can do no harm to us, so why do we kill them like animals?! They’re just like us - NO. They’re even better. THEY have emotions, they can be reasoned with, they connect with each other and we only have ability to think, but what do we get from thinking when we don’t use it! Everything we do is just kill, stab, get those guts out and make a new scarf, this is stupid!” 

You preached, you shouted to heavens and other demons looking at you like you’d lost your mind. There was solid moment of silence, before you heard this hoarse laugh. Pyke. It’s almost always Pyke. After his laugh which usually makes you go insane, every other demon burst in mad laughs too. Even The Kalista, this smart Kalista. You felt disappointment rise in your chest. You really wanted to hide right now. Somewhere, anywhere. You jumped off of podium and tried to fast-walk out of there. With no luck, of course, demons are really, really...jackasses. 

Thresh stood in your way, his mask and “hair” floating above you. You furrowed your eyebrows behind your mask. - What was that, [y/n]? I couldn’t quite understand because of your whines, you weren’t clear enough! - Right. You’re sure it’s because of me? You forgot your head from home, maybe that’s why.

Thresh’s red flame erupted around, eye-holes of floating mask filled with red light. Well, someone can’t handle being roasted. Thresh aimed his hook pretty quickly to your direction, but you gracefully jumped away, huffing. You wouldn’t like to fight with this sadist not now nor anytime, it’s better to flee and wait until  he calms down. You heard behind you screams of Thresh and louder talks of other demons. They’re stupid. Too stupid to understand. They never get through they thin skulls that thanks to people they exist. Kinda. God knows about “The First One”. Does he even exist? The progenitor every human and demon fear, The first demon ever who landed his feet on human’s ground. Funny. He sounds like some kind of “Adam and Eve” from human’s religion, like, you know? “The first one” ! But he’s alone, and he was made by blood moon itself. If he’d only show up...anywhere. Not like It’d be a good thing for you. We all can imagine he’d be an ass too, like everyone else was. 

The plan for the rest of the day was to lay down on some tree and take a nap, maybe find some animals to play around with, then wait ‘till the night when the monsters go apeshit. You just climbed up, took mask off so it covers only your eyes and managed to close them to rest, but then, loud explosion, maniacal laughs, terrorizing screams of your beloved mortals. No, not that again. You groaned, fixing your mask and jumping down to run to the village. Why are they on the streak again? Do they ever fucking rest?? You were there almost immediately, trying to protect the defenseless. Good thing your fighting weapon was shield. You did as much as you could, but little did you know - Aatrox was there.

You pushed Talon away from this poor man who had pass out from fear, shouting at him to ‘fucking stop’. When Talon wanted to jump up with a dangerous growl, Aatrox shouted with this demonic, echoed like by some other dimension voice who scared everyone around.”ENOUGH.” You, demons, people who tried to run away but fell down because they knees got weak because of terrifying shout that pierced their souls and minds. Your shield was dropped to the ground as you looked at this tall form of majestic horror in human representation. He was The Progenitor, The First One, That demon from which everything started. You gulped loudly, and he stared directly at you, his eyebrows furrowed. He’s a born leader, general of darkspawn army, leading for mortal’s extinction. - I… - What does you attitude mean? You’re not even that old demon. What were you thinking? - I just… - Enough of this nonsense. I’ll teach you a lesson, novice, while others can- - N-no, they cannot. - Can you repeat yourself? - They just can’t! CAN’T! - you shouted, looking amazingly dangerous while bending down to get your shield and furiously tap it with your little sword you promised never to use. - I won’t let this madness continue, no more! Aatrox threw his sword aside, which created thud way louder it should be. You could promise ground had shaken at this exact moment this enormous peace of ancient iron and brutally murdered souls had fallen down. He makes few steps towards you, you don’t move even inch, only take deep breaths. He brutally rips your mask off to look at your countenance. He squeezed your cheeks with one hand without problem, your faces way too close, your foreheads touching. - Do you still have courage to open your filthy, pathetic mouth? - I. Am. NOT. Afraid. Of. You. You didn’t even stutter, twitch, anything. This demon was not afraid, the youngest demon known was not shaken by mighty Aatrox. He was, indeed, surprised. How could you. How could you DARE to talk back to him. He was now holding you up by your throat. Even though you were already dead, you could feel suffocation. Your little coughs and struggling looked entertaining for other demons, but Aatrox told them off with one single glare. They vanished as soon as they appeared. - Apologise. - Not...in this...afterlife…- you coughed furiously. - and not...in the next...weakling…

Aatrox threw you like a ragdoll across empty field, your flight was over when you hit the wall, making deep hole in it. You-shaped hole. He approached you, took up his sword and looked down at you, like you were some bug. He put his surely oversized foot on your shoulder, pushing you deeper into building’s wall. - You’re brave. I like that. I expect more submissiveness next time, but consider yourself lucky. Now perish. - he threw you your mask back.

No matter how much you wanted to snark back some backfire, but only bit your bottom lip, stood up slowly and went away, limping. 

Aatrox would lie if he’d say he didn’t picked up any interest in you. Furthermore, he was thinking about you. He had no clue what has gotten into him, but it annoys the fuck out of him. Your pathetic face when he was choking you, desperate gasp after you were released, hateful look you shot at him when he stepped on your shoulder. The thought of this image sent shiver down his spine, he purely hated that. With passion. He decides to see your unmasked face again, to fight his own thoughts. To fight himself. He can prove he’s more than some human attachment. 

He got up, fixed his clothes, tightened up his man-bun and went off to the hardest war he had ahead of himself.

You can sense his presence right away, so his big figure heading to you was really no surprising, his aura was strong and steps pretty loud. He draws his sword in front of your face and you raise your eyebrow in amusement, as he demands the fight. - Draw your weapon. - Why…? - It’s a war, [y/n]. There’s no turning back. - Why would I start the fight I’ll for sure lose? But he forces you to take up your shield to protect yourself from his strong swing with the sword which is probably heavier than you with your shield in hand. You block the attack, pushing him back slightly, groaning. You feel the vibration off that hit in your bone, unpleasant feeling. You are angry at this moment, grabbing your little sword into your second hand. Not like it’ll help much against gigantic sword, but well, you didn’t thought straight. It’s like...you are against demon’s nature, but you’re one anyway, you have something from them, and anger had blinded your common sense. Aatrox was the first one even in this case. He was the first to trigger your demon nature. 

You charged at gigantic monster with such force he lost his balance for a moment, but helped himself with his sword. You use that moment to try and stab him under his ribs, but he kicks you so hard you fall back with loud thud. He takes a deep breath, rushes to you and kicks off your shield. After that, he steps on  your wrist, forcing you to drop this imitation of a sword. He throws his weapon away, kneels down, grabs your collar and kisses you forcefully. There was no hint of gentleness or pureness. It was pure - pure wildness and domination. You gasp in surprise, trying to kick him off or push him away, but there’s no use of that.

No matter how much you try to fight it, he kisses pretty damn well. You finally give up, closing your eyes and reciprocate the passion he somehow shared with you. When you were over - not because of breath loss - he looked at you, his eyes not full of aggression or fighting spirit. They were...as normal as they could be, not fully but had that hint of something else.

“I lost the war between us. I lost with the insane between crazy.”

[giireyes]

hello hello hello, i’m mini from the 6ix ! im a plant based, broke af media student that gets into one too many bus accidents when eating oranges and it’s been a hot minute since i’ve joined an rp this big, so - bare with me. also bare with my shitty gifs since i make them all from scratch. this ended up being a new muse for me so - bare with that too. i’m asking for a lot ! i’m sORRY DKFJGHDFKJGHD

emilia mernes. cis-female. she/her.  ／  angel giselle reyes just pulled up blasting nada by tainy, lauren jauregui & c. tangana — that song is so them ! you know, for a twenty three year old influencer/vocalist, i’ve heard they’re really -sarcastic, but that they make up for it by being so +humble. if i had to choose three things to describe them, i’d probably say karaoke nights with friends, watching the sunrise, and dancing in the middle of the street. here’s to hoping they don’t cause too much trouble ! 

BASICS !

Full Name: angel giselle reyes

Nickname(s): gigi, angie, gi

Age: 23

Height: 5′2 ft

Place of Birth: cordoba, argentina

Date of Birth: january 15th 1997

Zodiac sign: capricorn

Ethnicity: hispanic

Nationality: argentinian

Gender: cis female

Pronouns: she/her

Orientation: bisexual

Religion: agnostic

Tattoos: a black outlined heart tattoo behind her ear

Language(s) Spoken: broken english, spanish

Accent: spanish is her first language, so speaking in english she has an accent.

Family: francisco camilo herrera de luna ( half brother ! )

FAVOURITES !

Weather: summer

Colour: orange

Music: bad bunny, vincente fernandez, camilo sesto, celia cruz, jbalvin

Movies: the princess diaries

Sport: volleyball

Beverage: moscato, or rum

Food: alfajores

Animal: sloths

BIOGRAPHY !

*** . FIRST . tw : abandonment, alcohol, drugs

angel was born in cordoba - no not in spain, but in argentina ! her parents were two teens that weren’t ready for a child, so what did they do ? they gave her away, and they decided to call her angel because she was born in a church. her relatives found this a good thing, maybe it would give her some kind of spiritual help - and in some way, maybe it did ?

through the years, she was passed between relatives, living in different parts of cordoba, until she got into her pre-teens, hitting different parts of south america. at some point she was living in mexico with her tio - and then returned back to argentina, but in buenos aires to live with her paternal abuelito. it’s funny because she knows her relatives, but she never actually ended up having a relationship with her mom and dad. they just sent money, some clothes, but never bothered to call and text. bouncing between places distracted her, but of course it always felt like something was missing. 

living in buenos aires, angel started going by gigi - it was a much less masculine name than her original name, and people have already been calling her angie. gigi just fit the cake ! 

hennyways, she started a youtube channel, posting dancing videos of herself, that eventually led to vine, that went to youtube ---- that eventually led to tiktok. that’s right, she’s a tiktok-er, and she got really famous for being so, not just in argentina, but all around latin america.  

at 21, she joined a latin american tiktok group, where they’d post videos of themselves doing dumb isht - not just that, she started posting cover videos onto YouTube as well, so while she was famous on TikTok, she was earning notice for her vocal ability that she got recognized by sony music latin and w.k. entertainment. she was signed and asked to move to miami, florida. this was a step into the american market !!

now, her lito was COMPLETELY against it. he didn’t want her to be americanized. it sounded ridiculous to him since she barely spoke english, and everything she had was in argentina. except gigi had money in the bank - so what did she do ? have this big fight with her lito, and family. she’s ambitious and she’s gonna go whether anyone said yes or no. 

because of this fight - her entire family ended up disowning her. literally, she left her home after the fight, and came back to all her stuff tossed on the street. whenever she tried to go to anyone in her family, they all shut the door on her. there was no turning back, and gigi really ... didn’t have a choice at that point. she knew she was never wanted, but it hurt to know it was a reality from those you made a home with.

from that point on, gigi doesn’t talk about her family. 

she did go to miami. the first flight out with whatever she could stuff in a couple bags. gigi lived in miami for about a year, staying in the united states on a work visa - so yeah, she’s not a citizen. during her time in miami, she learned a bit more english - though her accent is still very much present and a lot of things are very surprising to her in comparison to back home. 

so far she has released one song with ana mena and nio garcia called el chisme. gigi still works hard on all her social media accounts while working in the studio, and constantly networking with those in the same industry as herself - even outside of it !

she moved to LA just before she turned 22, deciding she wanted to know a different place. staying in a place for too long was never her thing, but her manager thinks it’s a good idea anyway. 

PERSONALITY / WHO SHE IS !

what you’ll notice when first meeting gigi is that she always smiles - she has this thing about her where even if her life really does suck - some parts of it - she tries her ABSOLUTE best to be positive, and just giving off positive vibes. i mean of course if you piss her off, different story. 

if you annoy her, she’s passive aggressive - not even that, she’ll just straight up tell you you’re being annoying or something. it’d take a lot for her not to like someone - actually i lied, if you give off a bad vibe, she’d give you a look, pretend to be nice and walk away DKFJHGJDKFGH

sarcastic brat. nuff said. 

gigi isn’t really aware of her “fame” which is so funny. she’ll be out, and if there are people taking photos of her, she’d be very confused, telling them something like “guys im not famous, stop.” even tho ?? sis u r thriving what do u mean ???? 

she gets brain farts a lot - mainly because she thinks in spanish, and has to speak in english. catch her speaking in spanish randomly forgetting the other doesn’t understand. it’s just in her personality to forget sometimes, especially if she gets super excited. 

clumsy ass bitch. NUFF SAID x 100. she is the type to be talking to someone, and then find herself crashing into a door, or almost walking into a busy street. 

she’s your go to if you want spontaneous fun - not just partying, but even just to hang out. you’re bored ? gigi will take you to a painting class. 

she’s clumsy, not stupid ! which a lot of ppl will confuse. especially in clubs, where people will try to take advantage of her, and gi will play dumb up until she’s the one playing the game on them. a devil in an angel’s costume to pit it plainly.

she has issues, like many people ! especially because of her family. it’s a sore spot, and the only way to really forget is when she’s out in the club at night - and well, you know, all the bad things come out to play during those times. she looks to alcohol and drugs to keep her sane sometimes, even when it shouldn’t. it’s not something she talks about either, and prefers it to stay as hidden as possible due to her image being the sweet girl kinda type. 

i really hate that she falls in love 14987348957439 times a day. its cos she tries to see the best in people, and then gets hurt and DKFGHJFDKJGHDF GIRL NO, UR BETTER THAN THIS. it gets her into a lot of drama, i want to push her into a door. 

her happy place is by the beach when it’s quiet with a bonfire and maybe strumming an acoustic guitar. that’s where she’d go to get away from everything. 

she’s never seen snow, and doesn’t know if she’d like it. so that’s something. 

gigi has a fear of seagulls. they’re demons with wings. prove her wrong. i dare you.

she doesn’t like being called by her real name - not even angie. only close friends call her angie since it’s more personal. her brand is gigi, therefore prefers to be called that.

if you call her anything besides that, she may actually just punch you - doesn’t matter if she’s small !! 

THAT’S ALL FOR NOW FOLKS ! 

i’d add a connections part, but im a hoe for everything you got. let’s brainstorm together !

[lowkeyhockey]

cat and mouse (for a month or two or three) - freddie andersen

Pairing: Freddie Andersen/Single Mother!Reader

Mentions: Mitch Marner, Nazem Kadri

Warnings: Curse words, slight sexual innuendo, two POVs

Word Count: 6.5k

Credits: @hockey-reblogs beta’d this for me, and like. thank g od IDEK what i did to deserve her help and support <3

 Summary: Someone can’t wait to get on the ice, someone wants to meet up off the ice, and someone has an unexpectedly intense reaction to coffee. OR: a story of how you two met. 

 Writer’s Note: This is a standalone fic that’s a part of a bigger verse titled Can I Go (Where You Go) featuring [Y/N], a not-very single mother, Lila, your very opinionated daughter, and Freddie Andersen - a man very happy to be invited along for the ride. 

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

The first thing you notice upon arriving at the Mastercard Centre, your new training facility for the next five seasons (if your contract has anything to say about it) is the noise. The words sound about the same, shouts about cellys and sick dangles and benders and dusters, all the words North American players like to throw around to make it sound like they're from a generation older and greater than they are, but the pitch is - different. 

 A lot higher, for once, the voices a lot softer, and you're frowning even before you turn the corner to the Leafs' locker room. Mitch Marner and Nazem Kadri are standing near the doorway, Naz grinning in a way that you know from watching game tape means he's probably going to lay a hit on someone, and Marner looking - well - scared, but they're not looking that way at each other. 

Which, is probably good. Mitch is as new to the Leafs as you are, which means you'd probably have to take his side against Naz, and you've seen Naz's hits. Game tape. It's weird to think of them as teammates now, with how you've memorized the slightest shifts in their stances to figure out split-seconds before the recoil of their stick exactly where the puck is going to go, but you're good at dealing with weird. 

 Dishing it out, taking it. Part of hockey, and part of being a goalie. You're not good at, however - you're not used to - dealing with the sight that had apparently frozen Naz and Marner into caricatures of themselves. 

 About thirty girls, give or take, all of them minors, in green tartan skirts and hockey skates and green and white sweaters. You wonder if the Leafs are taking another PC shift on the ice crew, though the girls aren't even in Leafs colours. But then you see that half the girls are holding hockey sticks, and suddenly you're feeling just as worried - worried, not scared - as Marner's obviously feeling scared. 

You can't blame him, though. Kid looks about twelve, looks like a couple of the bigger girls could beat him up without breaking a sweat. He's probably worried about his voice cracking in front of them or something. 

 It's Naz who sees you first, shit-eating grin in full effect as he calls you over, but his voice is drowned out halfway through "Yo Andy, get over-" (which, thank you, but no) as a girl shouts, "motherfucker, get on the ice and I'll show you roughing." 

 And then you change your mind. 

 Naz cracks up laughing at the threat and you match Marner's smile, but a woman is there in the next heartbeat - this one, thankfully not in uniform, though you wouldn't mind seeing what she could do to a schoolgirl skirt - pinching the girl's nose in a way that you're almost certain isn't part of the school's disciplinary code. 

Or maybe it was. California didn't have corporal punishment, and it didn't have school uniforms either, and judging by the way you were looking at the woman - the teacher? - up and down and trying to picture her in pumps and tiny skirt and blazer, with maybe a green ribbon in her hair, it was probably for the best. 

The girl doesn't look like she's in pain or anything, so you wander over to the boys, trying to not make any sudden movements just in case the girls could smell fresh blood. "School trip, we're teaching them the ropes," Marner says to you before you could ask, and Naz's expression turns a little wry, his smile a little dry as he adds. "Private school girls, so make sure none of them breaks another nail or we could be looking at a lawsuit." 

*****

 You'd been helping one of the younger girls with her skates when you'd glanced up and saw Freddie Andersen - the Great Dane, the Ginga Ninja, the new goalie for the Leafs - approaching through a break in the cloud of girls, and you bite back a grin that was - okay, maybe a little mean. 

 But his furrowed brow-stoicism was an expression you knew well, from the faces of men who just didn't know what to do with a small army of girls - which, good. You girls can handle your own, which is a weird thought to have when you're on your knees in front of an apprehensive-looking sixth grader, but all the other girls had gotten each other laced up and strapped into protective gear and you wonder whether it was actually necessary for the headmistress to insist that the Leafs drop in to "show you the ropes", as it were. 

 It was a school in Canada, after all, and in Toronto to boot, where hockey wasn't so much a pastime as it was a minor religion. An open, accepting religion - you could be both practicing Christian, or Muslim or whatever and a Leafs fan. There was a reason why games aren't scheduled for the same time as Sunday Mass, or Friday prayers. 

 God and the NHL both knew which one people would rather attend. 

 But Branksome Hall's new to allowing hockey to be played and not just watched at the school, and having been a hockey fan for most of your life (not to mention a young and new teacher, which made you an easy target for assignments such as these) you were an obvious pick to get girls into the sport. 

 You probably won't have a school team this season, but it's always nice to get girls on the ice, and your girls could always use an outlet for their excess energy (not to mention aggression). 

 Brianna's all talk and you tell her that, giving a last, gentle tug on her nose before she pushes you away, laughing, and you turn to the boys just in time to hear the tail end of Nazem Kadri's words. 

 Which, ouch. But not at all wrong, and it's your turn to laugh, though Madame Mercier - who's just as suddenly by your side - is looking considerably less amused. 

 "Branksome Hall takes the health and safety of our girls very seriously," she says, her French accent - French, and not Quebecois, she'd remind anyone with a faux-haughty look on her face and a twinkle in her eyes - thicker than it usually is, and you jump in to alleviate the tension before the boys could apologize - or very pointedly not apologize. 

 "We do, but we also understand how dangerous skating and hockey can be, and the girls and their legal guardians have all signed the disclaimers we've passed along to your organization," you say with a smile - not the practiced one you hold in reserve for overbearing parents, because god only knew what you'd do if you ever ran out of those - but something easy and warm. 

 You'd been an athlete yourself, when you were in school, and you hadn't gone to a school like Branksome Hall, where the Board of Governors could up and decide to introduce a new sport to the school and then have the pull to have some of the best athletes in the sport go and teach it to the girls themselves. Never mind that it's still off-season, and that the boys would probably rather be in board shorts than hockey gear. 

 You're just you, a little messy, a little too casual, you have nothing of Madame Mercier's dignified grace as you offer your hand out to the newcomer. Frederik Andersen, who's all ginger scruff in the early light of day, brown eyes looking a little wary even as he takes your hand. 

 His hand's large, because of course it is, and a little rough, because of course it is, and you feel an impulse to sandwich it between your own for a full study. But a smaller hand covers the back of it before you could embarrass yourself, yanking both your hands down - 

 and you look further down to see Lila coming out from behind Mitch Marner's legs, all toothy grin despite the fact that she was clearly feeling ignored, and you laugh again. "Sorry about that," you quickly say, dropping the goaltender's hand and dropping to your knees to scoop up your little girl. 

 Mitch, sweet boy that he is, reaches out to tickle her sides, and you suppose you're thankful that he's learned his lesson about having his hands too close to her teeth. 

 "I'm [Y/N L/N], and this is my daughter, Lila." Lila frees one of the arms you'd pinned to her sides in an attempt to stop her from squirming out of your arms to give the man a wave, looking almost shy, and Freddie in turn - surprise fading into something that almost looks like shyness, too - reaches out to pat her head, as though copying his teammate. 

 God, if you were just unlucky enough the boys might come to see Lila as some kind of lucky charm to be fussed over or petted, like a team mascot in tiny human form. It seemed a little far fetched, but you know hockey players and how superstitious they could be, and you turn around to pass Lila off to your nanny before any of your dire predictions could come into fruition. 

 When you turn back around, Freddie's hand is still hovering in midair, and you can't help but raise an eyebrow at him, watching a flush slowly spread across his cheekbones as though in slow motion. He looks so dumb, looks something like a piece of art. You'd title it: hockey player vs social situations or something like that. 

 You squash the urge to paint him. 

 "Frederik Andersen, right?" you ask, because he hasn't introduced himself, and smile encouragingly when he nods, feeling like you were talking to one of your younger girls. 

 "Call me Freddie," he says, and you grin, turning to include the other boys in it. 

 "Freddie, Mitch, and Naz," you say as though to check their names, though of course you know them all. "Thank you guys so much for coming, I'm sure all the girls are going to love this. Now, are you guys ready to meet the next group of miracles on ice?" 

A little kitschy, a little corny, but Mitch is grinning back at you, and Naz is looking amused, though you suspect that with the latter that's pretty much his default expression. Freddie's not looking at you, though, and you follow his gaze to the near-empty corridor, wondering if he's looking for an escape route - but no, he's watching Emilie and Lila. 

And you feel - jealous? Emilie's very pretty, and she's so good with Lila, and you were only expecting two hockey players with you today and not three and - Frederik Andersen could do whatever he wants, really, it's nothing to do with you. 

Naz gives you a light punch on the arm, like you're a part of the team, though you're just a teacher for the group of girls he's been made to babysit. "Lets get at it, coach," he says, as he follows Mitch to the entrance of the rink, and you give Lila a small wave before following suit

Madame Mercier doesn't even own skates and she's not about to start trying it at fifty-two, and Freddie Andersen - you realise, then, that he hadn't even been wearing skates. He was still in his coat, for god's sake - he was taller than you even though you're in skates so you hadn't noticed. 

But then the girls are calling for you, tapping their sticks against the ice where they all stand in a loose circle on center ice, and you and Mitch and Nazem hurry up to join them. 

*****

 "Freddie," you repeat to the little girl, all brown, windswept curls and a grin that takes up about half of her face, and her hazel eyes look like they understand but all she does is blow a raspberry at you. And then giggle, like it's the funniest thing in the world, and maybe it is, because her nanny laughs too. 

 Emilie, she'd said her name was, in the same accent that the strict-looking teacher had.  The one that wasn't [Y/N]. You didn't even realise that you hadn't asked her name, and now she's ignoring the three of you, leaning against the glass like she's worried one of her girls might actually break another nail. 

"She's only three, Mr. Andersen," Emilie says to you, and that Lila decides to repeat, the lisped "three!" sounding jubilant in her voice. Emilie smiles down at her, expression so fond, and you can see why. "She has one month before she turns three," Emilie corrects herself, as though the one month makes a difference, and you nod a little dumbly because maybe it does. 

"She looks a little older," you say, though she doesn't. "She looks smart." And she does. There’s something assessing in her gaze, more curiosity than shyness or fear.

You've always liked kids, but they've always looked a little fragile, especially compared to you. And the kids you usually meet are excitable boys either starting out in or already playing hockey, eager to show the world that they have what it takes. 

And Lila's just staring at you with her large hazel eyes, squirming for a moment before she suddenly flops back, body going limp all over until her nanny relents and sets her down on the floor. Her little shoes squeak with each step, and you both watch her as she makes her way - just as determined as any young boy you've ever met - to the rink entrance. 

"Too smart," Emilie says with a smile, and you grin as Lila drops to the ground in a deliberate collapse, patting both of her hands against the ice. It looks like she doesn't want to walk in - she's ready to crawl in instead, but Emilie is on her in the next heartbeat, scooping her up and pressing kisses against her little face. 

"No, silly, your maman said to stay here," she tells Lila. 

 You take the chance to step in then and say, "I can take her in, she'll be safe with me," but the look Emilie shoots you is arch, a little too knowing, and you feel heat rise on your cheeks again. 

"If her maman wanted the little one on the ice she'd take her herself, non?" But her grin turns friendly again as she tilts her head to the ice, before swinging around so that Lila isn't pushing out of her arms to take matters into her own tiny hands. "Now go, before her maman wonders why I'm keeping you."

And you're fairly certain that this isn't in your schedule, that no one's expecting you to stay, but you already have your gear and skates in your bag and you wanted to get some solo training in before training camp, anyway, so. 

 You go. 

 *****

 He's easy on his feet, you realise with a pang. Quiet. You hadn't even realised that he was standing right behind you until Wei Yan slammed into his side, not hard enough to make him stumble, but enough to catch your attention, making you turn around with a slight frown. 

 She's not at all apologetic about it, grinning as she says, "inertia" as though that alone's an explanation, even though it isn't. Freddie's looking down at her like he doesn't quite know what to do with a fifteen year old girl suddenly attached to his side and spouting Newtonian principles at him, which, fair. 

 The girls love to show off what they'd learned in class - little teachers' pets, all of them, and you could relate - and usually, it makes you smile. It means you've done a good job. Nut somehow inertia is always the first thing they remember, probably because it allows them to do things like this, and you can't have them breaking the new Leafs goalie before he's even broken in yet. God knows the Leafs need a good man in the crease. 

"Goon," you shoot back at her, waving your hands like you're shooing off some stray chickens. And you might as well be - wherever Wei Yan led, the rest of the girls usually followed, and soon there'd be no one doing the skating drill you had set up. 

Mitch was in the far end of the rink, coaching most of the girls through puck-handling drills, and Naz is on center ice dropping face off puck after face off puck while girls battled for dominance. You could see his grin from here, delighting in the role he's getting to play in the chaos. 

 When Wei Yan doesn't move, leaning against Freddie's side and giving him a narrow eyed look that he seems intent on returning in full measure, you skate over to them to give her a gentle nudge. "Shoo, you know how hockey players feel about a hit on their goalie," you tell her, and she turns to face you, grin unnervingly like Kadri's.

 "There's no D-men on the ice," she points out, sly, and it takes Freddie by surprise - the laugh he lets out is over-loud, and it looks like the sun had broken out just over his face. 

 You're soon giggling too, more from the sound of his laughter than anything else, and Wei Yan skates away looking smug. 

 Silence stretches after that but it's not awkward, not really, the two of you watching as Wei Yan lands another hit - this time against Marie, who's a full head shorter than her and maybe fifteen pounds lighter, but she's so gentle about it that you can't help beaming. 

 They're good girls, and you're so proud of them, and you're so happy that the school's letting them have this outlet. 

 Freddie's apparently thinking along the same lines because when he breaks the silence it's to ask, voice light but sounding just a hint too serious to be properly teasing, "you went to all the trouble of bringing Lila to the rink and won't even let her skate?" 

You turn to him with brows raised, more amused and curious than annoyed by the personal question, and he smiles a little at you, as though encouraged by your expression. "Seems a little mean, is all," he explains, and you laugh. 

"My dad's a diehard Leafs fan," you explain. "He'd never forgive me if I didn't bring her. But she's still a little too young for skates. " 

 There's a beat of silence, and it looks like he's studying you now, as though he's memorizing the planes of your face the way you'd tried to memorize his hand, and you're already blushing - your gaze sliding from his eyes to his lips - when he asks - 

"Would he forgive you if you said no to the Leafs' new goalie taking you out for coffee?" 

And the colour's exploding over your face in full force, now, you could feel even the back of your neck getting warm, it's like you've never been asked out before. And you might be a single mom but you're only twenty-six and still attractive, still in full possession of a sex drive, thank you very much, you're clever and you're articulate and you're athletic. 

You shouldn't be staring up at him looking like you'd just finished a 5k on the treadmill, mouth in a flat line, arms crossed across your chest. 

 He shouldn't be looking down at you, looking somewhere between confused and mortified, but god that was such a pro hockey player question - I have money, I have fame, I can hit a puck really, really hard, wanna come home with me?

And he'd just been talking about your daughter - Lila, of all people, who absolutely doesn't deserve to be around more hockey players. Once burned and all that. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that," Freddie finally bursts out, and you shake your head. 

"Of course you didn't, Mr. Andersen, I apologize if there's been any confusion," you say, and you know you're using your stern teacher voice, and now he's looking down at you like he doesn't know who you are. 

 Which, of course he doesn't. He doesn't know why you're so opposed to - well, if not hockey players, then hockey players pulling what he'd just tried to pull. 

And you would have let it drop at that but he's moving just a little closer, brows furrowed, looking contrite. "I didn't, I'm not trying to use my position to ask you out. I'm just - I was trying to be funny." 

 He looks half- in pain is the thing, and you believe him. You can certainly believe he's not the best at being funny. You relax a little, make a show of untensing, giving him a small smile and putting a hand on his arm. " It's fine, really. It's just that I'm working - and I have Lila." 

 Not that Lila's really an excuse, with the full-time nanny Sid hired and pays for. But Freddie doesn't need to know that. 

"Can I make it up to you?" he asks, and he still looks like you'd kicked a puppy, and he looks softer than you're prepared for. But when he continues, words tumbling over themselves in the rush to be said, "I can get you tickets for the opening game, you said your dad's a fan and you can bring Lila -" 

 you shake your head, laughing. "I said it's fine, and my dad has season tickets anyway." Honestly, you think it's the biggest family heirloom your family has to your name. 

 He looks like he believes you, he looks like he's relaxed somewhat, and he looks like he's not some pro-athlete dick so you even tease him with an "I'm sure I'll come and see you sooner or later, see if you're any good," 

 and if it sounds like flirting it's possibly because you are, just a little. 

 But he's smiling back at you, looking like you'd given - well, not a puppy, but maybe a dear friend - CPR, and you find yourself smiling back. 

 And become aware, in the next moment, that the girls closest to you have stopped doing their drills, and are looking at the two of you just smiling at each other like idiots with expressions that ranged from surprise to delight.  Which meant that Madame Mercier was probably watching, too, even if you both had your backs to her - which meant you had to disguise what you'd been talking about. 

 "But if you still want to make it up to me," you say to Freddie, voice low, not waiting for him to reply before you skated to the girls. "Line up, ladies, Mr. Andersen's going to get in goal for you. Make sure you show off a little, eh?" 

And the sound of his laughter from behind you, the quiet swish of his skates as he moves to set up between the posts, makes you smile. 

*****

 You go to all the pre-seasons game you have the time to attend with your dad, and once with Emilie, though the poor girl ended up with a headache from all the noise. You - you were in your element, in your old Sundin sweater that still hit you about mid-thigh, usually with blue lines painted under your eyes even though it was just the preseason. 

 After your first game, a young man with a Leafs intern lanyard comes over to your seat with a puck and a kids' jersey, and you're frowning just a little until he tells you that they're both from Marner. You ask the kid to give Marns your number, so you can thank him personally, and when he texts you later that night he tells you that he's just excited to have someone wearing his number in the coming season. 

He's just a sweet kid, and you thank him about ten more times, and you take it to mean that you're going to have to bring Lila in for a game sooner or later. You'd enjoyed watching Marns while he was with the Knights, and you're definitely looking forward to rooting for him on the Leafs - and Freddie, too.

But he doesn't look at you. Freddie, that is. 

 Not during warmups and definitely not during the games, you don't think he sees anything but the puck and there's something almost magical about that degree of hyper-focus. 

It's the night before opening night when he seems to remember that you exist - and it's Marns texting you, not Freddie, and at first you ignore it because Marns has taken to texting you memes you can barely understand, though the girls at your school giggle when you pass it on to them. You won't let him contact any of the girls directly - it would be unprofessional for you to give away any of your students' numbers, and none of them ask you for his - but he seems proud of being the girls' favourite coach. 

 (The girls still practice at the Mastercard Centre, and you're the one chaperoning them more often than not, but with the season coming underway the boys are no longer obligated to show up - the school's hired their own skating and puck-handling coaches, and even a goalie coach though Melanie's the only one interested in getting between the posts, and she far prefers when Freddie's the one to help her.) 

When you finally reach for your phone, deciding that a social media break's allowed after three straight hours of grading physics papers, you're surprised to see a closeup shot of Freddie in his goalie mask - eyes narrowed and staring at you through the grill and phone, like he sees exactly what you're doing and he doesn't approve. It's a little intimidating, more than a little hot. 

You wonder what Marns has done to piss him off - and why Marns decided to send it to you - but the text that pops up after you reply with a simple "???" just says - "he's wondering why u haven't brought lila yet." 

 Which, weird. Also, flattering. Also, weird. You hadn't even been aware that he's noticed that you're there at all.

 "so he can eat her?" you shoot back, grinning a little down at your phone, and marns replies in the next instant with 

"maybe" 

then: 

"rude tho"

then: 

"y don't u ask him urself"

You shoot back a "he didn't ask ME himself", even though it feels at this point like you're two kids passing notes in class, and you're judging yourself for it hard when your phone dings thrice with more text messages. 

From Marns:

"can u imagine freddie taking a selfie"

and then:

several barf emojis, and you don't know why, because Freddie has a pretty decent face 

and 

from an unknown number: 

"Why haven't you brought Lila to any games?"

When your phone dings again, a few seconds later, you see several frowning emojis from the same number, and you hate how you can picture exactly, in your mind's eye, the way Freddie could be frowning at you right then. 

 You save his number under "F.And, L", knowing how hockey players - at least the ones you know - value their privacy, and you wouldn't want his number to get leaked if you somehow lose your phone. Marns is just saved under a frog emoji, and he seemed inordinately pleased about that when you'd told him. 

"Too loud for her," you send back to Freddie, and before you could think twice about it, you send Marns several sweat droplets emojis. You are a teacher - if anyone asks, you could say that you had no idea what they meant, you just know that that's what the kids are texting nowadays.

"Marns is going to be disappointed," Freddie replies, and you're disappointed - despite yourself - because he didn't say that he would be disappointed. 

Another two dings, another two texts, and it's Freddie saying "We'll have to get her in for a practice," while Marns just fills your whole screen with more barfing emojis. 

You shoot them both the okay emoji, and then tell them that you need to get back to work. 

 When you check your phone again before bed, there's two text messages, both of them from Freddie. 

The first: "Good luck with your work, and sweet dreams" 

And then a picture of him, light spilling over him from a bedside lamp, duvet halfway up his bare chest. He looks a little tired, a little shy, but he's smiling up at the camera. 

 A selfie. You wonder what else Marner has told him. 

 And you save the picture.

 *****

 The boys win the first home game of the season, and you couldn't make it because Lila's down with a cold but you send Marns a selfie of you and Lila in Leafs jerseys in front of the TV - you wearing Sundin's number and grinning wide, Lila in Marner's and opening her mouth to show him a mouthful of chewed-up mashed potatoes. You figure it's not too different from a picture of unchewed mashed potatoes, and besides, you're just happy that she's eating. 

 Marns sends back a shot of him flashing a peace sign, flushed with good spirits and (you're pretty damned sure) alcohol he's barely old enough to be drinking, and the way he angles the camera makes you think he's trying to hide the fact that he's in a bar. 

 Which, dumb, but you pass along the congratulations the girls text you to send to him, and there's almost thirty of them, and by the time you're done Freddie's message to you has been waiting for several minutes, unopened. 

 "Thanks for the congratulations," it says, even though you didn't send him one, and you giggle as you lean back to reply. 

 "sorry! had to pass on messages from mitchy's fans first, and there's a lot of them." 

 Freddie: "Yeah? And who were you rooting for?" 

 "david pastrnak," you reply, grinning to yourself as you did it. 

and then before he has time to get into a sulk: "guy has to be a superhero to have gotten one past you" 

 He doesn't reply anyway, not for a good half hour, and you switch the tv to a golf tournament with the volume on low, because of course that's what Lila falls asleep to best. 

And then, from Freddie: "Guess that makes me your kyptonite." 

 Which, okay, he isn't wrong. 

 You're not sure how to reply - you guess this means that he's at least a little bit into you, and he knows you're at least a little bit into him, and - you're not sure how to reply. 

 "you're not wrong," you text him. And then, like a coward, but at least an honest one: "i need to go and tuck lila in. make sure you drink lots of water before bed x" 

 And he sends you a goodnight text, tells you to tell him if Lila's not feeling better in the morning, as though there's anything he can do about it anyway. 

When you wake up the next morning, there's a text from Marns sent at around three am that says, "YOOOOOO WAS TAT SMOOTH OR WHAT" 

Which, okay, he's not wrong. 

 *****

 The boys go through a losing streak like it's nobody's business. Which, is disappointing, but it's the Leafs, and Toronto's a city that's grown accustomed to it. After a home win against Florida that they barely managed by the skin of their teeth (which, it's Florida) Freddie's on your doorstep instead of celebrating at some bar or another, or maybe sleeping the adrenaline off. 

You raise your eyebrows at him, don't move aside to let him in even though you'd known he was the guy at the door when you'd looked through the peephole, and you'd gone and opened the door anyway. He looked rumpled, exhausted, hair a mess but not covered in product - like he'd gone for a shower after the game and then left, not even bothering to swing by his place to change out of his game day suit. 

 And you're in your Leafs jersey still, it's practically a dress on you so you didn't bother slipping any pants on, and the TV's still quietly going over game recaps.

You know this, the look on him, even though you've never seen him this way. He racks up a loss, takes it all on his own shoulders, won't let anyone take some of his burden or even see any of his pain. You've lived this, just not with him, and you're not in the mood for dealing with a moody hockey player. 

It's Lila's birthday tomorrow, and Marns' already said he would come, and he's asked if he could bring some of the boys with him, too. He hadn't mentioned Freddie, and neither had you - Freddie's been on radio silence since the loss against the Hawks, third in a streak that didn't seem like it was going to end. That had been five days ago, which

You're a big girl, you can take it. 

 But you don't particularly want to expose Lila to it. 

 "Look, I know I've been stupid," he starts, the creases in his brow deepening when he sees you're not going to start shit, but he falls silent when you shake you head. 

"Don't make a martyr of yourself, Freddie." It comes out sounding short, impatient, you're a little tired yourself and it's late. 

 And it hurts, just a little, him showing up here and now like you're some kind of fair weather-only friend. You're not even a fair weather fan, or you sure as shit wouldn't still have your Leafs jersey. 

He looks confused, though, raising one hand to rest against the frame of the door, and leans in, like proximity would help. That, or he's too tired to stand straight, which. Idiot. 

 "You lost, and you went and licked your wounds in private. It's fine." You pause, consider that, and decide to go for something a little more honest. "Or it's not fine, I missed you, but if that's what you need to do to get your head on right for your next game then I can live with it." 

 You're a big girl, you've survived worse things. 

 "I'm sorry," he says, and you smile, because - that's one you've never heard before. And you didn't think he'd understand, either, how you needed an apology and not a self-lashing from him, because the latter's designed to make you feel sorry for him more than anything else. 

 Which, you already do. Idiot. 

 You open the door wider, but instead of letting him in you step forward to wrap your arms around him, feeling him do the same to you - one across the back of your shoulders and one around your waist, warm, solid weights holding you in place for a long moment. 

 "I know you were worried about me, I shouldn't have put you through that, all I needed to do was pick up the phone." He pulls back, then, to look you in the eye, and your right hand slips higher to settle on the nape of his neck, to keep him there. 

 "Idiot," you tell him, but you're grinning, and in a moment he's grinning back. "You can come on in. I'm almost done getting things ready for Lila's birthday party tomorrow." 

"Can I help?" he asks, but you brush the offer aside, leading him through the hallway and into the living room, where you give him another push until he's settled on the couch. 

 "Beer's in the fridge, if you want, and Lila's already in bed. We have a spare room if you'd like to use it." He looks a little concerned at that - and, yeah, maybe you are being a little too forward - but you flash him another grin. 

 "What, you're making it up to me, right?" You ask him, voice teasing. "So you're going to do all the barbecuing for the party tomorrow."

He smiles back at you, but then the smile slowly fades, and he says again, sounding like he has to, "I'm sorry. I needed time to myself, but we're - friends, and- " 

 "You shouldn't have gone full radio silence?' You shake your head, amused, but Freddie's still looking at you like you might throw a temper tantrum, so you move to sit on the couch beside him, stretching out your legs so that your feet rested in his lap. 

Physical contact helps. Open communication helps. The slow massage he was giving your left foot definitely helps. After a few minutes: "I was upset, but it's just five days, Freddie. I've gone into radio silence for longer just because I had an assignment due." You give him a nudge with your other foot and he takes the hint, switching feet. "We're still friends," you tell him, the emphasis on the last word unmistakable, and you watch him colour up a little. 

 "Are you free next weekend?" He blurts out, like you figured he would, and you shake your head, biting back a smile. 

 "Nope, I'm chaperoning a school dance." 

 "Can I chaperon with you?" 

And there's no biting back the laugh you have to let out at that, hand covering your mouth so it doesn't wake Lila, and Freddie's looking halfway between amused and embarrassed.

 "The school isn't usually okay with having strangers attend our private school functions. Why don't you come out for coffee with me instead? Say, after your game on Tuesday, even if you lose?"

 The smile he gives you is something like watching the sun coming out, or maybe you're just feeling warm, but either way you'd have liked to be closer to him. 

 And then - voice teasing - "last time I asked you out for coffee you tried to snap my neck." 

 Which, fair, and you shrug a little even as you shift closer, so that you're sitting on the seat beside his on the couch, your bare thighs across his lap. His arm slips down from where it had rested along the back of your couch to around your waist, which. Feels nice. "Nah. Last time it was this kinda arrogant Ducks trade who'd asked me, and I wasn't even sure if he's any good between the posts." 

 A misstep, maybe, because his brows are creased again, and you have an urge to smooth it out with your thumb so you do just that. "So you want to go out with a good goalie," he says, something so uncertain in his voice, something sad in the way he looks down as you as though braced for the worst. Idiot. 

 You kiss his cheek, because you can't help it, then the corner of his lips - pulling back before he could kiss you properly, grinning a little as you drop one last kiss on the tip of his nose. "Yeah, but I'm hoping that's not all you're good at." 

[thecrownedbeastarchive]

Unholy (Priest!Michael LangdonxReader) 

Author’s note: This was a Millory fanfic I wrote a few months back. I edited it to be a Michael LangdonxReader fanfic. I thought you all would enjoy it! More fanfic to come thanks to your requests. 💜

Warnings: public masturbation, blasphemy, domination, bondage, nsfw 

You were a faithful churchgoer. From your first breaths to now, your parents had instilled in you a sense of dutiful religion. The first thing you’d done after moving away from home was find a local church; and you found a perfect one in The Cathedral of Our Lady of Purity. The congregation was warm and welcoming, you felt at home instantly. The church leaders were devoted men of God, upright and holy. You believed they were the perfect shepherds to your soul. All except for one. A tall, young priest by the name of Father Michael Langdon.

Your trepidation had no basis in outward appearance. He was by all accounts a calm, disciplined man who took great care for the disenfranchised and delivered the most impassioned sermons you’d ever sat under. He was charismatic, helpful, walking in a regal dignity one expects of a representative of Christ. Perhaps it was his looks that so unnerved you. Often when looking upon him at the altar, you would compare him to the stone and stained glass angels encompassing the sanctuary. His golden hair would glow from the streaming sunlight, casting a halo around his head. His face was artwork, not one feature ill placed or imperfect. His eyes were blue as the heavens, and could hold you fast in your place like a command from God himself. His lips…You shook your thoughts away. Father Langdon had plagued your mind for three months. You would scold yourself, commanding your body to free itself from carnal desires; but the image of his mouth, his body, his manhood hidden under black trousers you wanted to see free and throbbing-Oh God! This was your reason for going to confession today. You’d been neglecting it, but now you knew you couldn’t give allowance to your sins any longer. The Cathedral was as grand and opulent as any; white columns, golden holy imagery welcoming the searching soul. There was a smattering of people, elderly men and women praying, some deacons milling about. The left door of the confession booth opened and a middle aged man stepped out, tipping his hat as he passed you. You entered the booth, making the sign of the cross upon sitting down, and took a deep breath, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been 3 months since my last confession.”

Your blood chilled when a familiar dulcet voice came from the other side, “I would have pegged you for more of a faithful confessor than that, (Y/N),” the voice chuckled.

Your legs tensed as you instinctively fidgeted with the hem of your skirt, “Father Langdon…”

The lattice of the window separating you still allowed the general shape of his blond locks to peek through, “I’m sorry, I know that’s not an appropriate thing for a priest to say at confession. I just hate how formal this has to be. I consider us friends, (Y/N),” his voice inexplicably dropped to just above a whisper, “Don’t you?”

You swallowed, your chest thumping, “Yes, but would a friendship at all impede this sacrament?”

His silence made you clarify, “I mean, for there to be bias on both sides.”

He hummed, a vibration that made your breath catch, “As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another. There is no one better to confess to than a friend.”

The booth was suddenly cramped, musty. Your throat dry like a desert.

“The Lord has also given me a unique talent,” he continued, “an ability to discern the darkness of human souls. Those hidden sins, forbidden lusts that wake them late at night,” his tone was penetrative, “cause them to writhe upon their bed. I can unravel their mysteries and bring them to the light.”

You closed your legs even tighter, desperately ignoring the pulse between them, “I don’t have any dark places.”

“None?” He played with every word like a cat with its prey, “If we say we have not sin, we are a liar and the truth is not in us.”

You cleared your throat, the heat beneath your skirt begging for attention, “I meant, of course I have a sinful nature, but I simply don’t possess as deep a dark place as you speak of,” you dug your nails into your thigh, “I’ve never been one to contemplate on sinful things.”

A tense silence hung in the booth before he spoke, “I can sense that in you, (Y/N),” he finally said, “A purity of heart. Yet surely you didn’t come to confession to brag about your own holiness.”

Your voice trembled, barely leaving your mouth, “Of course not.”

His smile was dripping off his tone, “What is thy sin?”

You closed your eyes, imagining it were any other priest, pushing through with gritted teeth, “I have been assaulted by the Devil in more…potent ways than ever.”

“Are these the Devil’s sins, then?” He interrupted.

You paused, caught off guard, “No, Father, they are mine.”

“Then claim them, (Y/N),” his voice was a whisper, cajoling, tender, “Tell me that you have committed sins…and have taken great pleasure in them.”

Your mind felt hazy, “I have allowed my mind to be filled with perverted fantasies against a fellow Christian.”

“How often, my child, have you dwelt on these fantasies?”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say his tone was…desperate, “Months. I have welcomed sin into my heart and mind, and have let my imagination run wild.”

“Where does it run to, (Y/N)?”

“Lusts of the flesh,” you dodged coyly, “unbecoming to a young woman of faith.”

“Speak them,” he commanded.

You nearly jumped at the sudden change, “Father Langdon?”

“Tell me of your lusts,” he demanded again.

Your voice was so tiny, your heart leaped into your throat, “I don’t think-“

“Sin can only be absolved once it is fully confessed, (Y/N),” you heard him moving, his form leaning closer to the window, “Tell me of your desires. This fellow Christian, as you call them, what do you think of them doing when your imagination takes hold? Are their lips upon yours? Delighting in the sweetness of your mouth with a chaste kiss? Or are they hungry? Ravenous as their tongue dances over yours? Do they bite your lips, drawing beads of blood before licking them clean?”

Your core throbbed at his words. Your mouth hung agape, shallow breaths escaping.

“Are you naked?” Even the way he spoke the word was sinful, “Have your clothes been discarded on the floor in a heap, leaving your sensitive, aching pussy exposed to their lustful eyes?”

Every inch of your flesh was hot and riddled with goosebumps. Not simply from what he said, but how it was as if he’d plucked your own thoughts from your mind and was reading them aloud.

“Are you against the wall?” He stifled a little moan, “On your knees? Spread out on silk sheets, a delicious morsel all for the taking, for devouring? Tell me, (Y/N),” it was like his voice was right next to your ear, “tell me everything that’s in that slutty imagination of yours. Confess every sinful perversion you’ve dreamt about committing,” he chuckled darkly, “the ones you long to have committed against you.”

Your fingers slipped under your panties as if of their own will. You massaged your pulsing clit, your folds already wet with desire.

He continued in agonizing detail, his cadence falling into a steady rhythm to which you pumped two fingers in and out of yourself, biting your lip to detain your ardent whimpers.

“Do you feel their teeth on your soft skin, greedy fingers toying with your hard nipples? Where is their tongue? Is it licking your wetness, spreading it over your lips, or teasing your needy slit? Are their lips gently wrapping around your clit and sucking? Can you hear,” he paused on each word, tasting them, “the slick…wet…sounds? The growling need as they gorge themselves on your perfect, sweet, delectable cunt?”

Hot shame flooded you, but you kept going…faster, harder. What would those poor congregants think if they knew you were making such a filthy scene for the priest?And yet that made your desire grow.

“Can you feel them slide up your body, their hard cock pressing against your soaked thighs? Can you taste yourself on their lips? Do you taste good, (Y/N)?”

An obscene noise almost freed itself from your throat, but you placed a hand over your mouth.

“Do you wrap your legs around their waist like an eager little slut? Are you begging, whining to have them slam their thick, throbbing cock into your pussy over and over again until you cum all over it, screaming?”

His voice was thick with need, “Do you feel yourself stretching around them, taking in every inch? Do you like being filled?” He paused, “Answer me, little lamb.”

Barely trusting your own voice, you whispered, “Yes, Father Langdon.”

You could hear the satisfied grin behind his words, “Do you want to be fucked aggressively? Do you want me to use you as my plaything, my own personal whore to pound my cock into? Do you want to please me?”

You felt yourself climbing towards the edge, “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

You sounded so pathetic, “Father Langdon,”

He changed pace, as if sensing your closeness; gently guiding you towards your orgasm, “How about I take you slowly? Whisper blasphemies in your ear while I slip in and out of your yearning pussy? Tell you how you feel like Heaven around my dick. Worship you like an idol, sweet hymns escaping my throat in my moans because you feel so fucking good. My ultimate praise spilling out inside you, anointing you as mine.”

The word was like a signal, releasing your tension as you rode the high. As you came down, your breathing slowed, and your mind gained back enough sense to panic over whether or not anyone outside had heard.

“Does that sound like your fantasies, (Y/N)?” He sounded so casual now, returned to his calm, disciplined self.

“Yes, Father Langdon,” you muttered breathlessly.

“Are you sated?”

You removed your fingers from your panties, quickly searching your bag for a tissue to wipe them on, your face painted red, “For the moment, yet they seem stronger than ever.”

He laughed, “Such is the nature of man. Perhaps we could discuss your sins in further detail at a later time.”

You froze at the implication, and scorned how it made a new wave of excitement crash over you.

“Find a way to…absolve them in a more tangible way.”

You sniffled, “Yes, Father Langdon.”

There was a knowing, excited lilt to his voice, “Peace be with you, (Y/N).”

“And with you also,” you returned quickly, stepping outside the booth and trying to hurry outside in the most inconspicuous way possible. Perhaps it was your own anxiety, but you were sure a few squinting glares were thrown your way.

You had never felt more out of place than at Mass the following Sunday from your sinful encounter at confession. Every utterance of holy Scripture burned on your tongue, the wine of communion soured in your stomach. Even your outfit, a draped white blouse and black skirt with heels felt more scandalous today despite wearing it hundreds of times before. you sat at the end of your usual pew, legs pressed together tightly and hands folded demurely in front of you. Your eyes darted everywhere, terrified that somehow the other congregants could read your mind; because all you could think about was Father Langdon’s dulcet voice as he uttered deliciously sinful words right inside the four walls of the holy of holies. Without a single touch, he’d ravaged you so completely. The hymns you sang erupted from constricted breath as you imagined him slipping his elegant fingers between your legs and bringing you to ungodly bliss. You felt hot to the touch beneath the glass stares of saints and angels. You were thankful another priest delivered the sermon today; grateful how utterly boring he was, how completely dispassionate. One of Langdon’s beautiful orations would have been a detriment to your ability to stay calm. When the service ended, you gathered your purse and hurried towards the exit, desperate to feel the chilly winter breeze.

“(Y/N)!” The voice stopped you in your tracks, “Always a pleasure to see you,” Langdon commented sincerely, walking up to you with his hand outstretched for a friendly greeting. You didn’t accept it, and words spilled out of your mouth hastily, “Father Langdon, I want to apologize for what happened at my confession. I should not have let myself give into temptation so eagerly, and in my sin I led you astray. I pray you can forgive me.”

He cocked his head, offering you a playful smile and sympathetic eyes, “Oh, (Y/N), there’s nothing to forgive.”

Your lips parted in surprise, “But…”

He motioned for you to walk with him a bit further away from the crowd, which you did reluctantly, “Human nature is such a fickle beast. If you tell it not to do something, it desires it all the more. The fruit never looked so appetizing until it was forbidden,” he looked at you, “Have you ever read Oscar Wilde, (Y/N)?”

You shook your head.

“Brilliant writer,” he stopped, your eyes meeting, “Perhaps my most favorite quote from him is, “The only way to get rid of temptation, is to yield to it.” I must confess that quote alone influences more of my theology than some parts of Scripture,” he admitted sheepishly before giving a wink, “But that can be our little secret.”

Heat bloomed in your chest, “I’m afraid I don’t really understand.”

He spoke with his hand, the member gliding gracefully through the air, “Consider what happened at your confession as an extreme form of penance. Getting the sin out of your system, freeing the mind,” he smiled, “As long as it is taboo, it dominates your mind, but when you are allowed expression, you dominate it.”

As irregular as it was, you took some comfort in the holy man’s explanation. Though, the ugly head of jealousy peeked through as you thought of anyone else being “helped” by him, “Has your extreme form of penance worked before?”

His eyes lazily rolled over your figure, smile turning impish, “Are you asking whether or not I’ve made other congregates cum like you?”

Hearing him say it aloud, even so intimately quiet, caused familiar panic to jolt through you; along with a sharp pang of desire.

“No,” he chuckled, “My methods would have me removed from the Church.”

Confused, you tucked your hair behind your ear, “Then why…?”

“Why you?” He finished for you, gazing at you with an admiring look, “You’re different, (Y/N). There’s an aura about you, I don’t see any pretense in your faith. You’re…genuine,” he stepped closer, sending a trail of goosebumps down your spine, “Hypocrisy is such a rampant plague among the faithful. In you I see the true image of God. Divinity given human hands.”

You blushed further, if it were possible, “I’ve never seen myself as anything special like that.”

He took your hand between his, the comforting warmth intoxicating, “Then you do your Creator a great disservice, for he made you with a crown upon your head,” he looked away for the first time, as if embarrassed, “And, well, I was also purging my own sins in that confessional.”

Your heart jumped, “I didn’t think you thought of me in that way.”

He laughed, low and gentle, “I’ve thought of you in every way, (Y/N).”

You had a flashing thought of him pinning you against the pew, but threw it away. “And if you are willing,” he continued, letting go of your hand, leaving a trace of abandonment, “I’d like to make good on my offer for us to discuss this in more detail.”

Your mind demanded you say no. What kind of woman were you to be alone with the priest you lusted over?

“How so?”

He held his hands behind him, “Are you free on Friday night by any chance?”

You knew it was the decent thing to say no, “Yes, I am.”

“How about dinner at around 6-6:30? I promise I’m just as good a cook as I am a preacher.”

You nodded, “That sounds great.”

He looked so pleased, “Wonderful, let me tell you my address.”

You stared at yourself in the mirror of your bathroom for an hour; your makeup, your dress, your hair, even practicing how you would say hello. “Good evening, Father,” you smiled at your reflection before shaking your head. Too formal. You gave a toothy grin, nearly bouncing on your heels, “Hi! Thanks for inviting me.” You groaned, cringing. Too peppy. You took in a deep breath and said pleasantly, “Hi, Father Langdon. Thank you for inviting me.” You sighed, frustrated with yourself, and shut off the light, heading into your room. You grabbed your purse and keys, taking one last glance in the mirror before leaving. You didn’t know what to expect his house to look like, but it didn’t come as a surprise as you pulled into the driveway. It was a modern Victorian home, painted black. A small garage sat adjacent to a set of stairs leading to the door underneath an archway. Three windows gazed over the garage in a semicircle overlook, the glass giving a peek inside. It wasn’t gaudy in any way, but it was most certainly gothic set against the starry sky. You locked your car and cautiously mounted the steps, ringing the silver button doorbell; a pleasant chime emanating from inside. After a few moments, the door opened; Father Langdon’s gracious tone welcoming you. “Hello, (Y/N).” He was everything you expected from the feet up, black boots and pants; but it shifted once your eyes drew up. He wore a black shirt, sleeves reaching to his wrists, a normal solid collar around his neck, but his shoulders and collar bones were exposed through mesh, stopping just above his chest. His smile was genuine, under eyes framed in black eyeshadow. He was a vision of something so feminine, yet radiating with power. You were hit with a bout of shock. A strange feeling formed in your chest, confusion, desire, fear all swirling together. You mumbled a hello under your breath. “I’m so glad to see you.” You managed a squeaky, “You too.” He stepped back, extending his arm, “Please come in.” You stepped inside the little parlor. Cylindrical lights hung from the ceiling, bathing the cream walls in a gentle hue; an ornate black staircase leading to the second floor. “You look beautiful,” he commented looking over your simple dress. You breathed for what felt like the first time since seeing him, “Thank you. You look…different.” He chuckled, “I like playing with expectations,” he quirked an eyebrow, “Do you like it?” You gulped, “I do, it looks…” you held yourself back from saying ‘sexy’, “Good.” He smirked, as if reading your thoughts, and invited you to the dining room. Dinner went by normally. You talked about life. How you were fairing in college, how your family was doing back home, etc. He never went into too much detail about himself, even when you would ask. He only told you that he had moved to the city after his ailing grandmother died and that he’d been a minister for five years. Nothing else, he was strangely guarded for how sociable you knew him to be at the Cathedral. Afterward, you’d moved to a small sitting room, where he poured two glasses of wine. He handed you the glass and settled into the leather chair, taking a sip, “So, tell me, if we may get down to business, pardon the expression,” he laughed, “what attracts you to me?” You stopped, your lips parted over the rim of your glass. He grinned sympathetically, “Come, there really is no point in being coy about it. And that is why we’re here,” he sipped before setting it on a small table next to him, “To exorcise your demons, so to speak.” You swallowed a too big gulp of the wine before nervously fingering the stem, “You’re…very attractive, charismatic, charming,” you glanced up at him, “you command a room.” He hummed, intertwining his fingers, “Have you often had attractions to authority figures in your life?” You thought of your youth minister back in 9th grade. He was a cute, recent seminary graduate; you became his favorite student to gain his attention. Guys your age just didn’t appeal to you all that much. “Some.” “Do you like being dominated?” He asked it so brazenly, it hit you like a slap to the face. You shrugged, stuttering, “I…I guess I have a proclivity to…follow the rules.” His voice became a commanding growl, his controlled expression never shifting, “That’s not what I asked.” Heavy heat settled between your legs at his tone; you yipped a response, like following an order, “I like the idea of it.” His hand rested under his chin, his eyes burning with curiosity, “Why? Is it being helpless?” You shook your head, your voice maintaining a tinny as you confessed, “Not helpless. Just the idea of being corrupted,” you looked him in the eyes, “Of an attractive older man taking an innocent and dirtying me up. Letting go of certain standards that keep me so rigid.” A low, pleased note rumbled behind his smirk, “Are you a virgin, (Y/N)?” You cleared your throat, “Technically I suppose, I’ve never been…penetrated.” your face was red, “I let one guy finger me, but it was kinda uncomfortable.” He tilted his head, waiting for you to explain. “Like, he was kinda rough and he sorta blamed me for not cumming.” That made his lip curl into a snarl, “What a stupid, useless boy.” Your pulse pounded in your ears, breathing becoming shallow. He remained a vision of calm confidence. He gripped both arms of his chair, leaning closer, something dark coloring his eyes, “What makes you wet?” A spear of cold shock and yearning pierced your core, “I’m sorry?” His smile grew, slightly shaking his head, as if at a young child’s antics. He leaned back, looking like a king on his throne, “What makes,” his tone was languid, “your gorgeous little pussy hungry for a big cock to pin you down and own you?” You released an audible gasp, your body trembling. You swallowed hard, “What you just said.” He nodded, “Dirty words. What else?” You felt entranced, his icy eyes stripping away your inhibitions, “Things that are forbidden, things that would make me seem like a whore.” “Hmmm…” He bit his lower lip, moving his hand; his fingers practically danced from his chest to just above his belt, “It’s quite forbidden for anyone, let alone a priest, to touch themselves while another looks on.” You watched his hand glide to his crotch, palming the growing bulge, licking your lips at his tiny groans of pleasure as he played; his knuckles were white, gripping the leather, “Do you like that?” You nodded, a bit too eagerly. He giggled, a breathy evil sound, “What’s the dirtiest thing you can think to do right now?” Your voice was thick, “Crawl on my hands and knees and grind on your cock.” He let out another chuckle as he bit his lip again, his hand palming the black fabric of his pants faster, needing more friction, “You naughty little sinner, wanting to seduce a man of the cloth like that,” he sneered, “Shame on you.” You set your glass on a counter, dropping to your knees and crawling to him slowly, your eyes wide and reverent. He held out his hand to beckon you, and you sat on his lap; releasing a choked moan as his bulge bucked against your wet slit through your panties. Your hips rocked slowly, earning you a needy groan from him; his hands grabbing your ass, “Oh, temptress, what man beset by you could resist?” He pulled you closer, making you move a little faster. His lips left wet kisses on your neck, your skin soft and flushed under the attention of his mouth. “The things I want to do to you,” he growled. His tongue licked a stripe from the curve of your neck to your ear, softly biting it, “Will you let me purge you, (Y/N)? Will you let me cleanse you of all these filthy lusts?” Your hands clutched his shirt, your head thrown back; you intended to grind out every frustrating urge he made you feel. Without warning, his hand was at your throat; gripping just tight enough to cause your eyes to be taken over by fear, then lust. “You’re such a pretty little lamb,” he muttered, his other hand sliding up your body to cup your breast, “straying from the flock of the faithful to play with the wolves,” he chuckled, rubbing his thumb over the now hardened nipple through the dress fabric, “Such a bad little saint. But you crave the wolf, don’t you?” His lips hovered just above yours, “You want to feel that wild, uncontrollable passion, you want to be left gasping, aching, the wolf’s fang marks left in your skin. So when your good shepherd finds you, you’ve been dirtied, defiled,” he tightened his grasp, “claimed.” You moved your hand to brush over his clothed cock. He wrenched you closer, your warm breath passing between your lips, “And even when you’re back safe and sound in your little pen, you’ll be thinking about the wolf and how fucking good he felt. Because no one has ever touched you like he did.” You looked like a frightened deer, doe eyes filled with desire. “Get on the floor.” You slipped off of him, your bare knees hitting the carpet. “Take out my cock,” he commanded. You undid his belt and pulled down his pants, freeing him. Hunger overtook you as you wrapped your lips around the head, sucking gently. He gasped, “Eager little slut.” You massaged his balls, taking more of him into your mouth. He groaned, fingers threading through your hair. You gripped his thighs, gagging as he hit the back of your throat. He moaned and began to roll his hips, fucking his cock in and out of your mouth. Drool poured down his shaft as you moaned gargled noises around his thickness. Tears pricked at your eyes as you pulled back, his dick making a wet pop as it exited your mouth; a strand of saliva still connecting your bottom lip to his head, now red and leaking. He caressed your cheek as you dragged your tongue over each ridge, lapping up his precum. “Come here,” his raspy voice demanded.

You propped yourself on his knees, your eyes falling to his full, beautiful lips. He tipped your chin with his forefinger, “Oh, would you like a kiss?”

You responded quietly, “Please?”

He cupped the back of your head, bringing your foreheads together, your lips centimeters apart, “How adorable, my little lamb,” he tugged a fistful of your hair, “Maybe once you’ve earned it.” His gaze focused on your glossy mouth, “Although,” he leaned in to graze your bottom lip with his tongue, “I’d love to taste your adoration for my big cock in your pretty mouth.” He pulled back with a tiny smirk, “But patience is a virtue.” He delivered a swift, hard slap to your ass, your tiny yelp making his cock jerk. “Follow me.” Father Langdon’s bedroom was as sleek and dark as the rest of his décor; but the two main attractions were the three overlook windows you had noticed outside, and the large bed draped in red silk sheets and a black leather bed frame; two decorative pikes on either side of the headboard. You couldn’t help but eye the bed with curiosity, finding that the priest hid darker undertones of his personality in his most intimate places. “Take off your dress,” he ordered. You nearly jumped, turning around to see him taking three red cords from a little black box. He paused, meeting your eyes when you hesitated. He smiled gently, raising an eyebrow, “Please?” You stripped slowly, letting the dress pool around your feet. He looked you over. “Oh, (Y/N),” he responded breathlessly, twirling the red ties between his graceful fingers, “Heaven couldn’t create a more perfect form.” You blushed, your thighs were slick with arousal as he beckoned you forward; laying the ties neatly over the box. His fingers lazily dragged down your bare stomach before slipping just inside your panties, “How about I relieve some of your tension while you strip off my clothes.” You bit your lip, starting to unbutton his shirt; your blood boiling in anticipation. He moaned as his finger slipped inside your heat, his fingertip lazily rubbing your clit in slow, wide circles. Your knees nearly buckled beneath you; desperate noises breathily rising from your throat. Your hips moved with his rhythm, slipping his shirt off to hang from his forearms. Your hands softly drifted over his toned chest and broad shoulders, nails digging in when his fingers explored your dripping core more enthusiastically. He growled impatiently, snatching his fingers away to remove his shirt. He slid down, wrapping his arms under your thighs; forcing you to hold onto him tightly as he carried you to the windows, pinning you against the middle pane. “I can see practically the whole neighborhood from this view, (Y/N),” he latched onto your neck, sucking and licking up to your ear, “Let’s give any nosy neighbors a show.” His fingers slipped your panties off, throwing them aside. The cold glass stung your bare skin, the scandalous nature of your position pouring hot, depraved passion into your veins. His thumb pressed into your clit with fast, flicking strokes while he moved two fingers in and out of you with unrelenting speed. “I’ve dreamt about this sexy, virgin pussy since I met you,” he groaned in your ear, “I’ve stroked this thick, hungry cock for you every. single. night,” he repositioned to get a better grip on your ass, “Sometimes I’d stare out from the pulpit and fantasize about sinking my throbbing dick into you right there at the altar,” he sighed out a dark chuckle, “Fucking you before God and everyone. Making vile worship pour from your lips and gush around me.” He snarled, curling his fingers inside you, “God, you make me so fucking hard.” You clung desperately, unable to keep up with him; his bulge shoved tightly back into his pants reaching to grind just outside your entrance. “You like knowing that, don’t you?” He angled his head to lift up your bra with his teeth, his tongue seeking to violate your hardened nipples, “You like knowing that while I’m up there preaching about purity and chastity,” he surrounded your nipple with his lips and sucked, making a filthy wet sound as he released it, “That all I can imagine is pounding your hot, horny little hole until I cum inside you.” You choked out a pathetic whine, “Michael, just fuck me already!” It was jarring how quickly he could stop. His eyes glared into yours, soaked fingers pulling out to roughly grasp your chin, “What did you call me?” Terror spread in your chest, “I-I-“ “No,” he pressed down on your bottom lip with his thumb, “I didn’t ask for an explanation,” his expression was aflame, “I asked what you just called me.” You trembled. “Say it.” “Michael,” you answered weakly. “Dear little lamb,” he shook his head disappointedly, “I show you an ounce of mercy, and you think you can use my name so casually, simply command me to do your bidding?” He leaned in, his whispered voice like a razor, “In this room, there is only one god; and he demands respect.” You gulped, “I’m sorry, Father Langdon.” “Oh no, you’ve lost that privilege,” he moved his hand to grip the nape of your neck, “You may call me sir, until I decide you’ve been good enough. Is that clear?” There was no hesitation, “Yes, sir.” He hummed, “Now, I’m a merciful god, my little saint,” he applied a tighter pressure, “but you’ll have to pay due penance if you want me to bury this thick cock in your cunt and save you from your greediness.” Your cold terror was melted, warm lust still coating his bulge. “Get on the bed and face the left.” He dropped you to your feet and watched you crawl onto the mattress, sitting perfectly still on your knees. He brought over one of the red cords, “Hold out your wrists.” You obeyed silently, and he tied you to the pike, not too tightly, but enough to remind you that you were at his mercy. He walked back around to the other side, taking his sweet time; making you wait, your humiliation exposed to Heaven and his eyes alone. You felt like you should be ashamed, insulted at how he debased you. But it only made the need in your pussy throb harder. The palm of his hand connected with your skin, the sting making your cry out in surprise as you tried to bite back a delighted smile. “Stick out that perfect ass.” You leaned over a little farther, presenting before him. You could feel the mattress buckle as he climbed up behind you, pulling your thighs closer and spreading your legs, one hand firmly on your ass, and the other stretched underneath to cup your breast. You barely had time to react to his warm palm on your skin before he dragged his tongue up the full length of your opening. You gasped, gripping at the cord. He lavished every inch of your needy, saturate flesh with long, deep stripes; devouring you viciously, your cries of pleasure riling him up. You heard the rustling of fabric as he slipped off his pants, fully freeing himself. You sighed as he rubbed his pulsing head up and down your slit, bathing it in your cum. “You taste delicious, my little lamb,” he slid his body over yours, his chest against your back; you barely restrained yourself from bucking against his hard cock pressed between your cheeks. “Are you sorry for taking my name in vain?” He nuzzled next to your ear. “Yes, sir,” you breathed. “Do you feel that hard dick?” He thrusted slightly, parting your cheeks further, “Do you want to feel like a really dirty whore?” Shakily, you answered, “Yes, sir.” His smile brushed against your neck, “Would you like it if I put my cock in your perfect ass?” Your mind reeled. It was filthy, wrong, sinful- “Yes, sir, please do that.” He kissed your shoulder, “Say it, (Y/N), we’re well past guarded language.” You almost screamed, begging him, “Please, sir, put your fucking cock in my ass.” He seemed to genuinely pause, taking in your words, before laughing, “Ask and ye shall receive.” He kissed down your spine, sitting up on his knees and positioning his cock right over you, taking fingers full of your juices and slathering them into your asshole, gently massaging it open. You braced yourself against the pike, already aching at the touch. You felt his soaked head stretching you out; you groaned, a slight burning sensation quickly replaced by delicious agony as he gently worked himself in, telling you how tight and perfect you were. He built up a slow, steady rhythm, which you took notice of with a pang of endearment. He wrapped his arm around your waist, using his other hand to caress your hair, “You’re being such a good girl,” he hummed, “such a good, filthy girl.” He pulled out slowly, your body feeling empty, less grounded to reality when he did. You felt the bed shift again as he stood to retrieve the two other ties. When he was in front of you, you looked up at him under innocent, submissive eyes, your lips red and swollen from your biting them so hard. He smiled, tucking messy, sweat-soaked hair behind your ear, “Come up here.” You furrowed your brows, but lifted yourself up to meet him. He pulled you close, breathing out, “You earned this.” He brought your lips together, oddly chaste; simply delighting in your kiss, the feel of your mouths meeting in a covenant of longing. He released the kiss, rubbing your cheek with his thumb, “Are you ready to cum?” You nodded, “Yes, sir.” “Michael,” he corrected, “I want you to be able to scream my name.” He untied your hands, “Lay on your back for me and stretch out your arms.” Once you had, he tied both wrists; one to each pike, and your ankles together flat against the bed so you were in the position of a crucifix. He straddled you, running his hands all over your body, “My beautiful, spotless lamb.” He parted your thighs once more, indulging in the way your tied legs kept you tightly around him as he entered you. It wasn’t long before he decided to forego the gentleness and began pounding into you against the bed, much to your relief. His cock slipped in and out at a frantic pace, the sound of your hips crashing together, wetness dripping between them, your skin slick with sweat and arousal. You were whining pathetically, wishing you could dig your nails into his back with each thrust hitting the exact perfect spot. He pulled your hair back to expose your neck, biting hard enough to puncture the skin. You cried out his name, like honey on your tongue, your breath catching in your throat, as you drenched his thick length. He lapped up the droplets of blood and around the forming bruise, moaning into the open wounds as your fluids soaked his mouth and cock. He hooked his arms under your legs as you fell back, gasping from your pleasure. “Look at me,” he snarled pounding harder, even faster strokes. You met his gaze, your eyes glassy and inundated with pleasure while his burned with dark lust; his chest and throat rumbled with deep, gravelly growls as he came. He roared like an animal, baring his teeth and sinking them into your neck once more. You squealed at the flash of pain, but welcomed his warm wet tongue soothing the abused skin. You moved your hips in tandem, slowly now, your slick heat mixing, each movement massaging it further into you. He took two fingers and gathered your cum, holding it front of you. “Open your mouth.” You obeyed and he spread his messy fingers over your tongue. “Hoc est enim corpus meum, this is my body,” he whispered before placing it on his own tongue and taking you in a passionate kiss. He pulled out, chest heaving deep breaths as he untied you. Your arms immediately wrapped around him, leaving reverent kisses on his skin; he did nothing to admonish your eager affection. You lay there exhausted, wordless. He finally gazed into your eyes, kissing your forehead. “I was right. You did feel like Heaven.”