#especially as someone raised catholic

[sylvianfoxart]

I want my art to be Hozier-coded not in a ‘ooh bog man’ way, but in a ‘discussing important socio-political concepts in a beautiful and incredibly meaningful way while using a long history of other meaningful media to express such concepts even to the extent of taking media that may not have originated for that purpose and using it to further illustrate one’s point for the sake of one’s audience’

[bucketsofmonsters]

The Witch’s Apprentice - Part 4

cw: demon summoning,  prolonged isolation, more tags will be added as the story continues

male demon x afab reader

Word count: 4k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4  Part 5 Part 6  Part 7

You woke up wrapped in Lucien’s arms, his tail coiled up your leg. 

You couldn’t get up if you wanted to. Not only were you trapped by a cuddly demon, your exhaustion was overtaking you. Your limbs felt like they were made of lead and your brain was attempting to lull you right back to sleep. You were convinced you could sleep here forever if you allowed yourself to. 

Which was exactly why you needed to get up. This place was dangerous, you couldn’t let yourself get too comfortable and completely succumb to it. 

As you started to rise, the demons arms around you tightened, pulling you closer to him. 

“Lucien,” you tried to call out but your face was smashed into his chest and instead it came out as an incomprehensible mumble. 

It was still enough to wake him, his grip on you loosening as he came to. 

You slipped out of his grasp, although his tail followed you to your new position standing beside him, curling right back up your leg. 

He looked up at you with a smile. “What are you doing up so early?”

“How long did I sleep?”

“Not long. Maybe fifteen hours.”

Your eyes widened. “Fifteen hours?”

“Relax, you needed the sleep. I wouldn’t have let you sleep forever, I only do that to the annoying ones.”

“Glad to know I was in such safe hands,” you said with a roll of your eyes and a playful smile. 

You looked back at him expecting to see that same wry smile as always on his face but instead his face had gone stony, his eyes darkening. 

“You have a decision to make,” he said, all the teasing gone from his voice as he rose to his feet, towering above you.  

His black eyes bored into you, asking you to make a choice about something, what it was you weren’t sure. 

“I don’t understand,” you said, searching for clues in his face but it looked nothing other than weathered and exhausted. 

“I’m being summoned. Time plays differently here but I can only stretch away from it for so long. So, what will it be?”

It didn’t feel like much of a decision at all. 

“Well, that means I’m going back. Of course I’m going back, what else would I do?”

“You could go somewhere else.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere. Anywhere but there.” His voice was low and breathy, almost sounding as if he was pleading with you. 

“She’s my friend. That’s my home.”

“It’s your prison. You're free now, you’re out and you’re asking to go back.” His voice increased in volume as he spoke, hints of anger tinging his words. 

“Just because it is your prison does not mean it is mine. I want to go home.”

Creases formed between his brows and you couldn’t tell if they were from worry or anger. “And if I won’t take you?”

You reeled back at the suggestion, a bolt of fear running through you. 

You tried desperately to put more force behind your words, needing him to listen to you. “Take me back. Now.” 

In the back of your mind you were terrified that he'd leave you, that the unthinkable would happen and you’d be locked away from Eden forever.

He wasn’t surprised by your response. You could tell that much. If anything he looked overcome with dread, 

“Don’t say I didn’t try.”

His hand wrapped around your arm and suddenly you too could feel a distant tug pulling at the both of you. 

Without the adrenaline running through you this time, you got to actually see the change happen. The room around you faded away slowly, like a mirage you’d gotten a little too close to.

For a second you were nowhere. You didn’t even see black, just true nothing in all directions. Your stomach flipped and you leaned closer to Lucien, part of you terrified of being trapped in this void. 

And then everything faded back in and you were confronted with a familiar face. 

The second Eden laid eyes on you she grabbed your arm and yanked you out of the circle. You looked back apologetically at Lucien, the treatment feeling absurd after everything he’d done for you. 

Lucien’s gaze had hardened once more as he looked down at your witch. 

Eden’s focus wasn’t on him at all. Her eyes raked over your body, nails digging into the skin of your arm, like she was afraid you might slip away. Or maybe like she was afraid you might step back once more, back over the line she'd just pulled you from.  

“Are you hurt?” she asked frantically. “Did he hurt you?”

When she finally spoke, her voice was shaky and guilt pierced through you. You’d been off fucking around with your new favorite demon and she’s been panicking. You wondered how long she’d been like this, what she thought had happened to you. 

You pushed past her iron grip, throwing yourself towards her, arms wrapping tightly around her midsection. You buried your head in her neck, her familiar scent bringing waves of comfort to you. 

Her arms hesitantly wrapped gently around you but you could tell she was still looking up at him. 

As soon as your embrace loosened she pulled you behind her, putting herself between you and Lucien. Ultimately it was a futile gesture, he couldn’t reach either of you out here, but it seemed almost instinctive. She just wanted to put a barrier between the two of you and as much as you’d grown to trust Lucien, it made your heart swell. It awoke some unquenchable instinct, to throw yourself into danger to see if she’d come running. 

But there were more important things to attend to. You glanced around at the undamaged cabin, looking exactly as you’d left it. The only change was the new summoning circle beside the old one you’d broken. 

“You’re alright?” you asked. “They didn’t hurt you.”

Now that she had established that you were safe, she seemed uninterested in engaging with you. The question was ignored in favor of turning toward Lucian. 

“You’re a despicable man,” she said with a sneer. “What did you even gain? They’ve done nothing to you.”

 “You don’t understand,” you insisted, trying to get through to her. “He saved me.”

She regarded him with no less disdain at your declaration of what he’d done for you. 

You butted in once more, refusing to back down, not this time. “He didn’t do anything wrong, I owe him my life.”

Eden snapped, her head turning towards you as she stopped ignoring you. “We cannot do this right now, not in front of him.”

“When else? You said all he wanted was to hurt us and he saved me, how is that not substantial to you.”

“He did not save you,�� she shouted.

You drew back at her harsh words. “What? No, he did. I don’t know what happened here but…”

“How many times have I warned you about demon trickery? This is exactly why I wanted to be there, why you two never should have been alone. How long did it take before he managed to make you break the circle.”

“He didn’t make me do anything, he protected me!”

“There was no threat. This was all a mistake, I never should have shown you all of this, you’re not built for it. Trusting you with it was a mistake, I’ve gone soft on you.”

“You’re wrong,” you insisted, eyes flicking to Lucien looking for help. He stared back silently, watching you from the sidelines.

“Am I? Then why was there no one here when I returned?” Eden asked. “Why did this dangerous threat do nothing to the cabin? What explanation do you have other than what is right in front of you, what you refuse to see because your heart is bigger than your head.”

“To what end?” you insisted, refusing to back down on the issue. You were not the fool here. There were gaps in what happened, sure, but her story was not flawless either. “He’s done nothing to me. He created a ploy to what, keep me safe and bring me back unscathed?”

She scoffed. “I don’t pretend to understand the machinations of demons. But neither, frankly, do you. At least one of us understands that.”

“You’re wrong.” It didn’t make sense, it was based on nothing but faux ideas of monsters and you wouldn’t stand for it. Not when he’d just saved your life. 

Lucien chose that moment to butt in. “She’s really not.”

Eden looked up at Lucien with wide eyes, seemingly wondering how things had gone so badly that she was on the same side as a demon. 

Both turned against you, despite everything. 

When Eden turned back to you she looked a little sick, less confident than you’d ever seen her before. “You’ve done so poorly you turned a demon honest. I would be impressed if I weren’t so disappointed.”

“It doesn’t make sense. He was kind, he didn’t hurt me.”

“All in service of some greater plan, I’m sure. You’ve heard it from his own mouth now, surely you don’t need any more hand-holding. The truth is right in front of you.”

“But then why would he tell me?” Your eyes flicked up towards the demon, the one you’d put all of your trust in for days. “Why would you…” You trailed off, dread pooling in your gut, a sickening bile of betrayal bubbling up inside of you. 

Lucien refused to meet your gaze, his face stony and unreadable. You wouldn’t have noticed so much if it hadn’t been such a shift from what he’d begun to show you. 

But maybe those emotions were fake too, another performance he was putting on. Another trick you were too stupid to see through.  

You’d been wrong, dangerously wrong. You couldn’t trust your judgment anymore, never should have in the first place, it seemed. 

Eden seemed to take your silence as acceptance, quickly sending Lucien away, 

The second he disappeared she turned to you, some of that manic energy from when you’d first returned appearing back in her face. It seemed she’d been hiding it from him, keeping it just under the surface. 

Both of them seemed so good at their faux emotions, Eden’s confidence, Lucien's performance as your rescuer. Maybe this was a skill you were supposed to have, maybe you were the odd one out. 

Eden’s hands gripped your shoulders, fingernails digging into your skin once more, clinging to you like a lifeline. 

“What did he say to you, how badly did he get through to you? He’ll try to lead you astray, to put you in harm's path. He’s a liar, you can’t believe him.”

“He didn’t say anything, he was just… nice.” And he had been. You couldn’t see the signs of this scheme that they both seemed so convinced were obvious. 

You could tell Eden didn’t believe you. She rarely did even before all of this, you knew it would be a long long time before she ever did again. 

The pressure of her nails subsided, leaving a dull ache of pain where their imprints remained on your skin. 

She pulled you along a familiar hall and you didn’t put up a fight, still caught up in trying to make sense of everything. 

You barely realized what was happening until she was guiding you to sit on your bed, pushing your hair away from your face and looking down at you with sad eyes. 

“This wasn’t your fault,” she said. “I should’ve known not to let you near all this. 

The reassuring graze of her fingers against your cheek faded and you heard the lock on your door click. 

“It will stay this way until you show a sense of self-preservation, alright?” she called through the door. “I will permit a lot of things but I will not allow you to hurt yourself.”

You collapsed back onto the bed with a sigh and heard her walk away, not waiting for an answer. 

With nothing better to do with your time, you ran through it in your head over and over and over again. Hours passed and you just lay there, turning the events over in your mind. 

The signs they’d both pointed to didn’t track, they didn't lead to anything. You couldn’t combine them to a point where they would make sense. If this was a trick, why had he told you the truth when you’d been so convinced? If it was to harm you or Eden why did he keep you safe in his home and bring you back here? You might not have been the best bargaining chip but you would be a good piece of leverage against her and instead here you were, locked back in your room, where you are no longer useful to him. 

None of it made sense. 

Right up until you stopped thinking about him as Eden’s type of demon, an unthinking force of evil trying to do as much damage as possible. 

Because there wasn’t any other perspective you could see. He didn’t hurt you because he didn’t want to. He didn’t hurt you because he saw someone who was scared and alone and couldn’t help himself, just like Eden had done when she found you all alone in the woods all those years ago. He didn’t hurt you because, as much as he might protest, some part of him cared. 

And, once more, he wouldn’t hurt you. 

You were betting your life on it. 

You didn’t have the materials for a summoning circle in your room but it didn’t matter. All you needed to be able to do was get him in here, you didn’t need protection from him. 

Honestly, you didn’t want the protection. You were convinced that the warding gave him something to hide behind. As long as he was locked in there, he could claim that he was a monster, that he would hurt you given the chance. 

Take that away and you’d find out what he would really do, one way or another. 

The summoning spell wasn’t long. All you needed to get him here were the words, everything else was to keep you safe or to keep him bound. 

The second he saw you, his eyes widened. You could practically see the gears turning in his head as you smiled softly up at him, giving him a little wave. 

He did not wave in return. 

His gaze dropped slowly to the floor, staring blankly as the seconds ticked by. He seemed baffled by the blank floor beneath him, trying to comprehend what could possibly be happening as you waited patiently for him to react. 

Finally, his gaze rose to meet yours once more. 

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked. 

“Nice to see you too.”

“Genuinely, what is wrong with you? It's not a rhetorical question, I would love an answer.”

You shrugged. “I’m not sure. You should ask my witch, she’s got some theories.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” he insisted and you couldn’t help but think that he and Eden might actually get along if it weren’t for the fact he was a demon. They seemed to have a lot of similar ideas. 

“Well, nothing has happened yet. Do you intend on killing me?”

“I could do anything to you, you couldn’t stop me.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

The longer this went on, the more relaxed you became. This man had no intention of hurting you, that much was more than clear. 

“I should kill you right now,” he said with a growl, one that you didn’t even have it in you to pretend you found frightening. The both of you had long since passed that point. 

“Why?”

“Because I’m a demon. That’s what we do.”

“And yet here we are and I remain unharmed. So it seems demons are more complicated than that. Either that or you’re a shitty demon.”

He couldn’t seem to fight back a smile at that. “Yeah, well you’re a shitty witch.”

“I’m not a witch. A witch-in-training at most, although something tells me the training is not going to happen again for a very long time.”

“My bad,” he said, and you could almost detect a hint of sheepishness in his tone. 

“I know how you can make it up to me,” you said leaning forwards towards him from your seat on the bed. 

His head cocked to the side. “And how is that?”

“Tell me why you did it.”

He groaned. “You and your why’s. I’m not telling you anything.”

“Fine,” you said, “I’ll give it a shot then. Do you know what I think? I think you never imagined I’d break that warding. You were just trying to scare me or prove some point about me or whatever and then I broke the warding and you didn’t know what to do. I think I ruined your little plan and when confronted with someone who was scared and who trusted you, you helped them. Who wouldn’t?”

“Cute little story you’ve spun yourself.”

You shrugged. “It’s what I would’ve done.”

“You would’ve created a commotion to scare the shit out of a witch-in-training?”

“No, but testing someone? Trying to prove the very worst? Seeing when push comes to shove, what will people do? That’s not demon scheming.”

“Yes it is.”

“It’s really not. Seems more insecure than anything.”

That got a real hearty laugh out of him. “Oh, does it now?”

“At least that’s what my witch says when I do it. Do little tests and push at things to see if she trusts me. I mean, I’ve never made her fear for her life but she’s never trapped me and made me do anything so I think we have different levels of frustration.”

“She doesn’t believe in you,” he observed and you wondered if he was just now coming to understand that.  

You rolled your eyes. “Who would?” 

The question hung in the air and you could feel him waiting, wondering if he should answer it. 

You took the choice away from him, asking a question of your own in return. “When was the last time a human trusted you?”

“A long, long time ago, little one. Not to say I haven’t earned my reputation.” 

“I don’t know. You seem pretty trustworthy to me.” 

“You’d be surprised.” He looked down at the bare floor below him once more. “You know, there’s nothing stopping me anymore. I could take you away, let you leave this place.”

That caught you by surprise. “What? No, I… I can’t”

“Why? Because of the woods? I could take you right past them. There’s no way you’ve never wanted to leave. Come on, I could even take you back after, you don’t have to be imprisoned here.”

“This is my home,” you insisted. 

“What the fuck has she done to you? You could leave, right now, go anywhere. I’m offering you the world, one trip, no fees, no fine print. I never do that, you’d be a fool to refuse it.”

“She hasn’t done anything to me. She just wants to keep me safe.” At the end of the day, it always came back to this with the two of you, Eden forever being the wedge between you. 

“The little warden has you playing good little prisoner. I’m honestly impressed. And they call me manipulative.”

“Stop it. I know she’s wronged you but-”

“But? There is not but. She is a monster and you’re trapped in her web just as much as I am.”

“She is a good person.”

“Maybe you’re too far gone. I don’t know if I can help you.”

“I don’t need help,” you said. 

He opened his mouth to insist you did or tell you once more how much of a monster your savior was but you dismissed him before he had the chance. 

Without the warding, he could have stayed. He could have clung to this plane easily but he let you push him away and once more you were locked alone in your room. 

It took a long time to fall asleep. Your conversation with Lucien kept swimming around and around in your head. 

Eventually, exhaustion got the better of you and your room faded away to another familiar place. 

It hadn’t even been a full day since you’d left and Lucien’s room was just as vivid as when you’d been standing in it. 

He was there too, looking down at you with that hungry look he’d gotten in his eyes on occasion, when he thought you weren’t looking. 

“I’m glad you came back,” he said, walking over towards you, his hand moving under your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “It gets boring around here without you, I could always use a sweet little thing to play with.”

Your face warmed and you managed to stutter out, “I… uh…”

You heard a chuckle from behind you and dream Lucien dissipated in a puff of smoke as you stiffened. 

You whipped around to see Lucien again, a notably more real one, leaning against the wall. “Pity. I wanted to see what happened next. 

Your face burned, glad dream Lucien left before he could do anything particularly embarrassing. 

You folded your arms with a huff. “Are you just going to invade all of my dreams now?”

“Maybe. If they’re all as fun as this one was gearing up to be then you can sign me up.”

You clamored for a retort but came up empty, ending up just sputtering and then staring at him all while feeling as if your cheeks might melt and your heart might beat its way right out of your chest. 

He chucked again. “Relax. It’s sweet. Next time I’ll try and come in later, you could use some stress relief.”

You might actually spontaneously combust. “Please say you came for some reason other than to embarrass me,” you pleaded. 

He shrugged. “Just came to talk. Embarrassing you was an unexpected bonus.”

Next time you saw him in the non-dream world you were going to throw something at him.

“Talk about what?” you asked, desperately trying to change the topic. 

“We ended on bad terms earlier.”

Oh. That. You’d almost prefer he keep on humiliating you.

“Did you come to apologize?” you asked, trying not to sound too hopeful. 

But nothing could ever be simple with him. 

“You know,” he said,  “there’s lots of different reactions demons have when humans summon them, trap them, make them do their bidding, all that nasty business. Some get violent, some get tricky, some have given up and are just filled with despair, following along until they’re finally free. There’s no right reaction to this sort of thing, not really. But there’s one kind that we all hate, the real traitors. Because sometimes there is no fighting back, no despair. Sometimes they just happily fall in line. It’s certainly safer that way, I can’t fault anyone for listening, but to do it happily? And sometimes, eventually, they don’t even need to be forced. They just go along with it, anything for their little masters.”

“I don’t understand.”

“No, I didn’t think you would. I won’t push too hard, you’re clearly not ready for that, but you witch is a very, very bad person.”

“She just doesn’t understand you. I’ll make her understand.”

“At least you're going to try. That’s something.” He spoke with a halfhearted smile, his mind clearly elsewhere. You wished more than anything you could read him, that you could understand what was going on in his head. 

“Of course I am. And she will understand, I’ll make her see that you’re not a threat, that she shouldn't be summoning you.”

The sadness written across his face was clear, with hunched shoulders and a furrowed brow betraying him as he stared down at you. 

Finally, after staring intently at you, contemplating something as he mulled over your words, he said,“Thyme.”

“Excuse me?”

“You didn’t have enough thyme. That’s how I can get in here. Most witches use way more than necessary just in case but you tried to make it exact and it fucked you over.” 

“Oh. I didn’t want to use more of my witch’s stash than I had to.”

“One of these days someone crueler than me is going to come along and that mindset is going to get you hurt.”

“I’ve been fine so far. Why did you tell me, if I fix it you can’t get into my head anymore.”

He shrugged. “Figure it out.” 

“Is it an apology or another trick”

“What do you think,” he asked with a smile. He enjoyed this, giving you little pieces of information and seeing what you’d do with them. 

“An apology,” you decided.

“Your witch would call that foolish,” he informed you, as if you weren’t already intimately familiar with the idea. 

“She already calls me foolish, might as well trust my instincts if it’s going to happen anyways.”

“I don’t know what I’ve done to make you think I’m so good-intentioned.”

You laughed. “Yeah, because you’ve been so cruel to me”

“I tricked you,” he reminded you, as if it had just slipped your mind. 

“And then you took care of me when I proved you wrong.”

“An outlier. You caught me off guard.”

“How?”

“Because you fell for my trick.”

“Oh, is that so? Maybe your expectations of me were too high. Do you think me foolish now too?”

“Maybe. I’m not entirely sure what to think of you.”

The room snapped out of existence as you woke with a jolt at Eden banging at your door, some food having already been slipped underneath it. You considered asking her to bring you more thyme but thought better of it. You didn’t think you’d be needing it anytime soon. 

[dirtroadkiss]

something something ronan being catholic and gansey, adam, and noah being stand-ins for the holy trinity (gansey as the father, adam as the son, noah as the holy spirit)

*edit: the reveal of ronan being more than human/a dream entity in the dreamer trilogy and the implications of that-- how it would muddy up his relationship with his god and religion in general, reposition him from worshipper to worshipped-- or someone now on equal footing with his God, etc. he almost becomes the holy trinity himself, made up of the people he loved and made him/kept him human. in this essay I will--

*edit 2: god. and all of this being symbolic of how queer people who grew up religious have to separate themselves or deconstruct their relationship with their religion once they embrace that part of themself. having to choose yourself/your truth/ your happiness over what raised and informed so much of your life. finding something new to believe in through friends, others like you, and accepting loved ones if/when they leave/are excommunicated.

[shredsandpatches]

The Murnau Faust also got me thinking about how I feel like there's probably a really good book chapter out there somewhere on the Catholic aesthetic in Faust adaptations and I feel like it's probably also in German (I can kinda read German but still)

[cypheragent]

the weird thing is i was raised protestant but i think i was raised in like, the most catholic-flavored protestantism ever, despite my parents being certified catholicism haters. like all my hangups are far more catholic-coded than protestant-coded

[alteredphoenix]

A character study on Vlad’s descent into villainy and crumbling mental state, as well as how being the first (canonical) Halfa in history would have an effect on the state of religion, governments that claim to be separate from the church but in reality are not (because let’s be real, they’d fully take advantage of Vlad for their own ends), and the post-Pariah Dark Ghost Zone in particular.

[emoclownemoji]

HE DID NOT EAT HIS BROTHER’S HEART. WTF.

And it was raw…..

[cats-in-the-clouds]

my sister got engaged and we’re all really happy for her but my bitter rain cloud of a dad (who naturally she told last) is giving her a bit of passive aggressive grief about it despite her boyfriend being like the best man of our generation (presumably either because he’s not catholic or because my dad sees them as young dumb unemployed people who aren’t ready for marriage or because he’s mad he barely has any real love with his own wife or something). so like pray for us? i wish i knew what to do

[cookinguptales]

So… I’ve been turning all this over in my head since last night, and I wanted to make a post about vampiric transformation as sex, and how it’s being used in wwdits as a metaphor for sexual repression, sexual freedom, virginity, and cuckolding.

Before I even get into the obvious metaphors about virginity and cuckolding, I think we need to talk about the elephant in the room. Guillermo’s sexual repression and how that’s come to find an outlet in his vampiric longing.

Guillermo is highly repressed, sexually speaking, but I don’t think he’s asexual. He’s shown interest in sex several times, but in an uncomfortable “this can’t be for me yet” kind of way. He was clearly raised Catholic and has internalized a lot of that shame re: sex, especially gay sex. He wants intimacy, but he’s also internalized the idea that wanting these things is dangerous and shameful.

But… the vampiric world seems to symbolize all the things that Guillermo wants but cannot have. He wants to be strong, powerful, attractive, and sexually liberated. As much as their openness about sex embarrasses him, there’s a certain longing there, too. He didn’t just want to be handsome as a vampire — he explicitly used the word “sexy.”

A vampiric Guillermo is a version of Guillermo that gets to have sex. Loudly, proudly, and without shame. It’s a version of him that is wanted, that wants, and who gets to have the precise kind of intimacy he's always craved.

Now, how much Guillermo has actually done sexually is still up for a lot of debate in fandom, but I think that’s kind of immaterial. For most of the show, Guillermo clearly wasn’t having the kind of intimacy that he wanted to be having, and he only started to even begin to allow himself to seriously consider all that in s4, when he got a boyfriend and came out to his family.

As being gay and wanting to be a vampire. 

Guillermo is finally starting to own both his homosexuality and his vampiric life, and that means he’s finally starting to explore sex.

Now… At the end of s4, I talked about how Guillermo going to Derek in the finale had the air of a person who’d been fantasizing about losing their virginity in a certain way all their life — but then they finally give up on those dreams and hire a sex worker instead. There’s a resignation there in Guillermo that he couldn’t get it “the old-fashioned way,” he’s disappointed and jaded when it comes to intimate relationships, and now he’s tired of waiting for love and just wants a business transaction.

I wasn’t quite expecting for them to push that metaphor even more in s5! The money aspect was almost forgotten (Did… Derek even take the money? Why is he still cleaning toilets?) but the scene with Derek biting Guillermo was clearly a metaphorical virginity scene.

Guillermo’s nervous eagerness, his growing realization that this wasn’t actually the way he wanted it to happen. Asking Derek if he’d ever done this before and figuring out if he was “ready.” Taking off his clothes (that his grandmother got for him, even, that’s a whole meta post right THERE) and trying to make the vibe “right.” His insistence that though Nandor had never done this for him, they still had a caring and intimate relationship.

But… it was also a metaphor for bad sex. Many people lose their virginity in a way they don’t find satisfying, and Guillermo definitely seems to fall in this category. It was awkward, it was bloody, it hurt, his partner didn’t listen to him, they weren’t on the same wavelength, they didn’t connect, there was no emotional bond, and most importantly, he didn’t feel changed.

Like a lot of people do, Guillermo thought losing his virginity would change him. He’d be cooler, sexier, more powerful. His station in life would change. He’d become an adult his ideal form. But he’s still just Guillermo.

As he told Laszlo, as soon as he did it, he regretted it. He immediately knew that he’d been right, that this wasn’t the way he wanted to do it. He wanted to do it with someone experienced who loved and cared about him, who listened to him, and he wanted that person to be Nandor. But he wasn’t patient, he paid an inexperienced acquaintance for a one-night-stand instead, and he was left feeling deeply unfulfilled.

Most upsettingly, he immediately discovered that, like virginity, you can’t lose it twice. He can’t just have a do-over with Nandor now. He’s given something up that he can’t give to anyone else, and he’s going to have to live with the consequences.

Because like sex for humans, transformation has social implications in the vampire world. It can only be done in very specific situations. Guillermo seems to have grown up in a human world where sex should only be happening within a heterosexual marriage, and now he’s finding that in the vampire world, transformation is only supposed to happen between a master and familiar currently in a contractual bond.

So… him going to Derek and finding “outlet” in another relationship, so to speak, is effectively vampirically cuckolding Nandor. He’s given that honor to another vampire, which Nandor seems to find both vampirically humiliating and personally hurtful. It would in fact hurt him so badly that he would probably not survive it, in Laszlo’s words.

(There’s also definitely an element of an abusive “if I can’t have you, no one can” vibe in Nandor’s threat to kill Guillermo and then himself if Guillermo got what he needed from another vampire, but since when have we ever liked them well-adjusted?)

Guillermo is realizing that, as much as he’s been thinking of this in sexual terms, so have the vampires. He thought he was the only one who thought it was a big deal. He thought he was the only one placing intimacy and partnership and loyalty into this event. But now he’s realizing that as much as it meant to him, it might have even been a bigger thing for Nandor.

For Guillermo, vampirism-as-sex represents the idealized transformational aspects of losing your virginity. He’d built up this big event in his mind that represented his intimate bond with Nandor, he’d built up this idea that the event would change him, would make him better, would make him free. But he’s finding, like many first-timers do, that sometimes it’s not transformational. It’s just awkward and disappointing and the only thing that’s changed is that you ache in the morning.

He still doesn’t have the intimacy he wanted. He still doesn’t have the ability to be loudly himself. He still hasn’t been able to fully own his sexuality and ask for what he wants. He wasn’t ready. He didn’t enjoy it. He regrets it.

He also regrets it because now he knows it will hurt Nandor and the relationship they’ve built. Because for Nandor, vampirism-as-sex represents the societal aspects of sex. The rules people follow. The societal humiliation you feel if you’re cuckolded. The personal agony you feel when you’re cheated on. The sense that your home is broken if your partner goes to find satisfaction with someone else.

Guillermo, who has had to deal with societal disapproval of his desired type of sex in the human world his whole life, was viewing vampiric transformation as a way to be free of all that. The shame and the repression and the societal penalties for being himself.

But he’s just found himself in a mess of new rules, hasn’t he? Different culture, same struggle. And while the vampiric world has always symbolized a sexual liberation that both repulses and attracts Guillermo, he clearly doesn’t have as much freedom here as he thought.

So… to sum up, Guillermo always kind of thought of transformation as losing his virginity. He associated vampirism with sex, and he thought this would be his entrance into the sexual world. He wanted to have an intimate experience with Nandor, but eventually gave up on that and decided to pay for it — and then immediately regretted it, both because he found it personally dissatisfying and because it came as a betrayal to the man he loves.

The problem is that he thought he was the only person thinking of it as sex — he didn’t realize that Nandor does, too, just in a very different way.

Nandor was also thinking of vampiric transformation as this special act, and one that belongs only to him as Guillermo’s master/partner. He was thinking of it in intimate terms, but also in societal partnership terms. He’s thinking of his household, while Guillermo was thinking of things on more individualistic terms.

If only they’d both talked about all this shit even once. :’)

But that’s not how we do things here in Staten Island!!! We just long for things ineffectively, keep secrets, and fuck everything up!

(There’s also a whole thing here about how Nandor wasn’t keeping his side of the relationship bargain and that’s why Guillermo looked elsewhere in a moment of weakness, but I guess that’s probably a separate post. This is long enough already.)

[mypoisonedvine]

𝓹𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓬𝓮 | laszlo kreizler x reader

𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂 | being a traditional, well-behaved woman, you saved yourself for marriage. but the things your new husband has planned for you are... less than traditional, and might just show how poorly behaved you can be.

𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽 | over 9k

𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 | SMUT (18+ only!!), virginity loss, age gap (unspecific; laszlo is in his 40s, reader is probably 20-25), multiple orgasms/overstimulation, fingering, oral f receiving, squirting, shy/innocent reader, religious reader (but nothing tooo shame-y or anything), some innocence kink, a hint of medical kink?, slightly pervy laszlo?!?! (moreso he's just a wee bit of a weirdo and says some cringe stuff but like. that's just his vibe sorry)

Laszlo was such an impossible paradox of a man.  Especially compared to the sort of man you always thought you’d marry— what you’d been raised for, even.

An accomplished doctor, a successful and wealthy man of high social standing— a kind, sensitive, intelligent, and patient partner who made you feel beautiful and special and, for lack of a better word, fancy.  That part was exactly as you’d always imagined for yourself, though you had never really believed you could find someone so wonderful.

And then there was the other half of him, the pieces that even in your wildest dreams you would’ve never thought would make up your future husband.  First of all, he was quite a bit older than you.  Even your parents, who had always preferred for you to marry someone already established (as they put it) rather than your own age, were a little concerned that he was in his mid-forties, and only a year younger than your father.  Of course, that was nothing compared to their offense at his profession, and the subsequent open-mindedness he had towards people your parents would rather pretend didn’t exist.  Then again, Laszlo himself having his disability made him the sort of person they would rather pretend didn’t exist, though he’d managed to hide it relatively well.

Maybe they could’ve forgiven any of that.  It was the atheism that put the final nail in the coffin, unfortunately… and someone as brash and unapologetic as Laszlo had no interest in hiding his beliefs to appease your parents.  He hadn’t brought it up, of course, or protested to the crucifixes and cross-stitched scriptures on the walls; but when they’d asked if he was Catholic or Protestant, he told them directly that he was a man of science and didn’t entertain any metaphysical notions or, as he’d so thoughtfully put it, fantasies.

They instantly forbade the courtship and warned you never to see him again.  And maybe that was when he surprised you most— he was so romantic, so… dashing.  He took a carriage to your home and literally threw pebbles at your window, daring you to climb down the lattice and join him for a midnight adventure.  It was then he suggested that you marry him anyways— he had more than enough to take care of you after a disownment from your parents.  He promised to give you anything you wanted, to treat you perfectly, to spend every day trying to keep you as happy as you made him without even trying.

There it was again, the contradictory enigma of Laszlo Kreizler.  A serious, even stern man, proposing to you like a lovestruck teenager.  He had eschewed fantasies a few evenings ago only to turn around and ask you to jump headfirst into a fairytale.

You said yes, though.  You really didn’t think twice about it— you knew he would be good to you.  And you knew you’d never loved someone like you’d loved him before.

You wanted to run away right then and there, but he told you to go home for a few more days, to gather your things— he would send for them while your parents were out, and you could move in with him as soon as you were ready.

When you did move in, though, he seemed a little surprised that you asked for your things to be moved to a spare bedroom.

“Is everything alright?” he asked you softly, stepping closer to you as you crossed your arms over yourself nervously; you waited until you were sure Cyrus was out of earshot, carrying your bags away, before you answered.

“Yes,” you replied quietly, “everything’s fine.”

“It’s understandable if you’re feeling conflicted now,” Laszlo assured.  “Having just left your parents, and not knowing if you’ll see them again—”

“It’s not that,” you promised.  “Well— of course, I feel something about that, but I’m happy to be here with you.  That’s not my issue at all.”

“Then what is?” he pressed.  “I hope you feel that you can tell me.”

You sighed as he reached up to brush your cheek; his touch always soothed you, though it felt a bit different here, in his home.  Your new home.  “I just… wouldn’t feel right about being in your room, until we’re married.”

He nodded.  “Of course.  I shouldn’t have presumed.”

You smiled a little, though it was more out of nervousness than anything.  “I… I wondered if you thought my parents were the only reason that we never— that nothing had—”

“Shh,” he soothed, pushing your hair back from your face until you looked up at him.  “I don’t expect anything from you now.  Well, only that you do whatever you like to make yourself feel at home here.”

“And what… what will you expect from me once I am your wife, Dr. Kreizler?” 

Though you were a little afraid to, you met his gaze; his brown eyes seemed deeper than ever, and you were powerless to look away from them.  “What do you think is right to give me, when you are my wife?”

You sighed a little, feeling his hand on your cheek move carefully down to your neck, his gentle fingers brushing along the smallest part of your collarbone exposed by your dress.  Words escaped you; you wanted him to know that just because you wanted to wait for him didn’t mean you didn’t want him.  Even before, even when you first met him, your mind had supplied you with thoughts that sent you straight to the confession booth.

You wanted to be one with him in every way you could think of… you just needed some to come before others, to feel right with your own beliefs.  Even if you loved an atheist, and felt surprisingly little guilt for it, you were still religious yourself and wanted to honor God’s intention for marriage.  

Didn’t mean you couldn’t yearn for your soon-to-be husband, right?  It certainly didn’t mean you couldn’t enjoy the full benefits of physical intimacy when the time came.

But obviously, you were far from brave enough to say all that.  Instead, you found your hands wandering to his chest, following the pattern of his suit coat up to his shoulders, biting your lip without even realizing it.  He simply continued to watch you, and you got the feeling that he understood you better than you could explain it yourself.  One of the bonuses of being loved by an expert on the human mind, perhaps.

You were almost in a trance, not noticing how long you were spending just gently touching and holding him in this simple way— until you looked up and met his gaze again, and felt a little weak.  “Can we marry soon?” you asked softly, almost under your breath.  You hoped he wouldn’t tease you, you weren’t secure enough for him to mock your obvious eagerness, to call attention to your desire for him.  Thankfully, he stayed perfectly serious, because he was just as affected as you were.

“As soon as you like,” he replied earnestly.

It was probably for the best that Cyrus walked in to the parlor at that moment, and you instinctively pulled back from Laszlo, crossing your arms again.  “Your bags are in the downstairs bedroom, madam,” he informed you, “down the hallway under the stairs.”

You nodded at him as Laszlo responded, “Thank you, Cyrus.  That will be all.”

He left, and you looked at your fiance again, feeling a bit silly for what he’d seen in you a moment before.  But he smiled at you, and you figured he’d be the last person to judge you for any of that.  “I’ll give you a little time to unpack and freshen up, if you like,” he offered.  “I hope you’ll join me for dinner at seven this evening.  I believe we’ll be having quail.”

“Of course— thank you,” you smiled, watching him begin to turn to depart.  But for a second, he hesitated— like he didn’t want to leave you— and you prayed he wouldn’t kiss you.  It’s not that you didn’t want him to… you wanted him to more than anything.  He’d only kissed you once before, at the end of a particularly exhilarating night out together, and you hadn’t stopped thinking about it for a moment since.

So no, it wasn’t that you didn’t want him to kiss you.  It was only that, if he did, you knew you’d have trouble letting it be just a kiss.

Therefore, you were just as relieved as you were disappointed when he departed without incident.

///

A few days later, you eloped.  You hadn’t felt much urge to have a ‘proper’ wedding when no one you knew approved of the marriage anyway— they were all too deep in your parents’ pocket, unfortunately.  And even if anyone cared enough to come, Laszlo refused to be wed in a church (you thought maybe he would bend on it if you really begged, he was overall quite accommodating to you, but it wasn’t worth your trouble) and so it would’ve just been another scandal.  

Truly, you were just as happy this way— it was the happiest day of your life, really.  You left the courthouse as Mrs. Kreizler, wearing a stunning silver band he’d had engraved with your new initials and flowering vines all around in a swirling, whimsical pattern.  His band was simpler, but you loved it even more— just because it was his, and seeing him wearing it made your heart skip all day.

Anticipation for your wedding night only grew with every passing moment.  Laszlo himself was in the bathroom with the door shut— you heard the sink running, the various sounds of him preparing for bed.  You were just trying to get your heart to slow down, trying not to have any specific goals or expectations for the evening.  Today had already been perfect.

But, of course, it was hard not to imagine what was next for the two of you— your things had already been moved into his room.  A vanity had been placed in it as well, a wedding gift from Sara Howard (a friend of Laszlo’s you had become acquainted with during this whirlwind romance), and you were using it now as you prepared yourself for bed.  You were already in your nightgown, having changed after Laszlo left the room (not that you had to, but it felt more natural that way), and you were carefully unpinning your hair from its meticulous style.

As you concluded the final steps of your evening routine, you saw the bathroom door open behind you in your reflection; your husband emerged, wearing an embroidered silk robe that offered a view of a sliver of his chest— not very much, but more than you’d ever seen.  You didn’t notice the way your thighs pressed against each other more tightly; he approached you slowly, and you eventually turned to look at him directly.  With you still sitting on the vanity’s padded stool, he towered over you when he stood close… and as you lifted your head to look up at him, his hand brushed softly along your jaw.  You tilted into his touch just a bit, smiling at him while your heart fluttered.

“You’re so beautiful, mein Schatz,” he whispered, and you felt a little giddy when he talked like that— he’d only ever indulged you in his German after having a few drinks, so this instance caught you off-guard in the best way.  Not to mention he’d called you Schatz before— treasure, apparently, and a common term of endearment— but he’d never tagged it with mein before.  And you were his, truly.  You were glad he’d waited to say it until it was actually true (even if, in a certain sense, it was already true before).

He motioned, rather subtly, for you to stand up.  It seemed simple enough, but you felt a little shaky as you did it— a nervous excitement, like the kind you would feel before a piano recital or debutante ball.  Except those were all public engagements, and this was as private as anything could be.

Touching your face again, he wove his fingers back around your neck, his thumb cradling your jaw right in front of your ear.  And he kissed you— just like that, quick at first but then slowing down as you both sighed a bit.

You admired how easily he’d done it, and thank god for it, because you would’ve spent quite a while working up the courage.  This was different from the night you’d kissed him after a few weeks of seeing each other— it was very different from the kiss you’d shared at the courthouse earlier that day.  It would’ve made sense if there was a sense of neediness to it, as if he were making up for lost time or relieving all the anticipation for this night.  But really, it was all rather relaxed, at least on his part.  Like he had all the time in the world: which, you know, he did.

You, on the other hand… you were feeling a bit more out of your element.  Not that you weren’t enjoying this new one so far, it was just a little unfamiliar.

His hand floated lower and traced down your back— delicately, with the tips of his fingers brushing your skin through the thin fabric until chills started to run over you.  You gasped a little into the kiss, and put your hands on the patterned lapels of his robe; you didn’t actually push him away, but he pulled back as if you had, examining your face carefully for a moment.

You hadn’t needed him to stop, but you were a little glad he did: just a moment’s break from it all before it became overwhelming.  His fingers still traced gentle shapes on your lower back through the nightgown, and you found your gaze drifting to his chest, to your hands resting on it— and your own fingertips ventured into the exposed piece of his chest.  His skin was paler here, with a reddish-blondish patch of hair just starting to be visible.  You touched it, taking a quick and shaky breath, and wondered why something inside you tightened as you pet him here.  He was so… masculine.  His looks weren’t sweet and boyish, no: he was broad and strong (he would deny that one if you said it, but to you he was) and sharp around the edges, and it was something you never expected to excite you so much.

But you loved that you could still feel a bit of friction from his beard after he’d kissed you.  You loved the subtle scent of his cologne, how sturdy he felt under your touch.

Your hands drifted up to his face, fingers brushing through his hair slowly, and he smiled at you.  His hair was just a bit long for what was typical of men these days, and you enjoyed combing through the dark brown locks and noticing the little golden highlights in the dimmed light of the room.

The hand on your hip pulled you closer, pressing your body against his, and you tried your best to relax into the warm strength of his form while your heart kept racing.

When he kissed you again, he moved in slowly, watching your face before his own eventually met with it, and you fluttered your eyes shut as his lips gently pressed to yours.  This time, you found yourself leaning in for more, kissing him back with more passion; you let out a little dampened moan when his tongue brushed against your bottom lip, taking the next opportunity to gently move further into your mouth.  

He broke away all too soon, embracing you even tighter, pressing his cheek to yours.  And when you, in turn, wrapped your arms around him and pressed yourself against him everywhere you could… you felt it.

Even if you had very little knowledge about this sort of thing, you understood what that hard, curved shape was, pressed just above where your hip met your stomach.  You knew what it was, and your body did too— heat pooled at your core, every touch awakening you even more.

“Oh,” you sighed shakily, holding tighter onto him to just have something to hold onto.

“It's alright,” he whispered, soft words floating on his breath which tickled under your ear.  “It's alright, my darling, I won't hurt you.”

You hummed softly in return, nodding as his lips brushed over your cheek, then moved to your neck.  “I know,” you replied.  “I trust you, Laszlo.”

But you couldn't help but gasp when his tongue teased your pulse, his teeth gently grazing the most delicate places they could find.  His grip at your waist tightened when you whimpered.  “Is this pleasurable to you?” he asked softly; even such a formal statement made you shudder when he said it in that low, buttery voice…

You nodded, your back arching slightly to press yourself against him, but you felt him smile against you suddenly.

“I'd like for you to say it,” he explained, an unfamiliar darkness to his voice.

“It's… pleasurable,” you panted.  “When you kiss me there… it's like I feel every touch s-somewhere else—”

“Where, my love?”

“Here,” you sighed, grabbing his hand from your back and moving it between your legs.  He instantly cupped and rubbed your mound, and your knees nearly buckled from the pleasure.

“Mein Gott, you're so sensitive,” he observed, his own voice sounding a little strained, “I've hardly touched you.”

“L-Laszlo, just touch me more,” you pleaded.

Though he’d been so careful until that moment, he suddenly started to pull up the skirt of your nightgown rather hastily, nostrils flaring as he bent down slightly and worked to hoist the fabric up.  Finally, he got under it, but teased you by rubbing and groping at your thighs instead; under his breath, you just barely heard a growl before he began to kiss your neck again.

“Even if both my hands were strong, I'd wish for more to touch you with,” he mumbled against your skin.  “I'd still want to cover you entirely, reach every part of you at once.”

Well, you liked the sound of that, but one hand was doing you plenty of good already— especially when it slid back up to cup you again, making you sigh and moan as his fingers slipped through your folds, spreading your abundant wetness all around.

Desperate to return even a portion of the sensation he was giving to you, you placed your hand against the bulge in his trousers.  Though the shape and firmness of him made you gasp excitedly, he only let you rub it for a few moments before sighing and moving your hand away.  “Not yet, my darling,” he instructed.  “It's best if we take this one step at a time, for now.”

You felt a little silly, having to be held back like that, but you nodded.  He obviously knew better than you about all this.

It was almost too much, the way he was touching you: you had your arms wrapped tight around his shoulders to try to keep yourself upright, frankly.  And yet, for how overwhelming it was, you heard yourself saying—

“More, please,” you begged, “I-I need you, just give me more, please—”

“I will,” he promised roughly, “but not here.  I think it’s only right that I take you to bed, hm?”

If you weren’t all worked up, you might’ve made some witty comment about how at least the bed’s not too far or whatever— but no, you just let him guide you the few steps to the mattress, and you sat on it as you simply awaited further orders.  So little that he’d done to you, and you’d already do whatever he asked in exchange for continued attention.

You watched him roll up his sleeve— it took him a little while with the weaker hand, but you didn’t mind letting this moment last— and didn’t even notice the way your mouth had gone slack, you were nearly salivating.  “Lay back, darling,” he instructed simply, still looking at his sleeve as he finally folded it up to his elbow, “and open your legs.”

You obeyed, of course, and bit absent-mindedly on your lip as you slowly lifted your knees and parted your thighs.  There was no point being shy now, of course— and you were more than eager for him to get back to doing what he had been before— but you still felt a nervous hesitance that made your hands (and heart) shake slightly.  Something about stopping to get in the bed had brought a bit of sobriety to the moment, and you realized in retrospect how desperate you must have looked.  Surely he wouldn’t hold that against you…

He lifted your skirt again, up to your hips, and hummed lowly at the sight of your sex.  Your face burned hotter; you liked the way he touched it, but you didn’t feel entirely comfortable with him… staring at it.

Still, it was the sort of slight discomfort that felt oddly… good?  Yes, you were a bit embarrassed and exposed at the moment, but it felt wrong in that fun, naughty sort of way; it made your hips shift a little, presumably in hopes of some friction.  Thankfully, their wish was answered: his hand was on you again, pulling your lips apart, slowly exploring you until your eyes fluttered shut.

“May I touch you inside as well?” he asked— as if there was any risk of you turning that offer down.

“Y-yes, Laszlo, please,” you whispered, whimpering as you felt the tip of his pointer finger— suddenly it seemed a little thicker than you remembered— press up to your entrance and ever so gently slide inside.

“Just one to start,” he narrated softly as that one finger made your toes curl, only one finger making your hips twist and your back arch.  How could he do that to you so easily?  “And my thumb can help with this lovely little organ you have…”

His thumb circled your bud, and you shuddered all over— even inside— and instantly struggled to catch your breath.  “Laszlo, what… what is that…” you breathed, whimpering when he rubbed it again.

“Your clitoris, my love— you’ve never touched here before?”

He should’ve known you hadn’t— even if you had… explored yourself out of childish curiosity probably a decade ago, you would’ve remembered if it felt like this.  Shaking your head, you were surprised by his little growl.

“Your poor girl,” he cooed, something a little attractive about the slight condescension of it.  “You have so much to learn.  I can’t even imagine the things you’ve never felt before…”

He slowly moved the pad of his thumb up and down over the flesh, which only grew firmer as he continued.  “Oh!” you whimpered, hips rocking back against his touch— it was so wild of you, you thought, but you couldn’t really stop yourself.  He pressed harder and your whole body jumped.  “Fuck!”

He laughed a little, and your face got warmer.  “I’ve never heard you use language like that, Schatz, but it sounds impossibly adorable when you say it.”

“I-I’m sorry,” you began, “I couldn’t help it—”

“No, don’t apologize,” he insisted, “I’d rather you said it again.  Whenever you can’t help it, of course.”

You knew that Laszlo knew more than you about many topics, being a highly-educated man of great intellect, but you hadn’t expected him to introduce you to an entirely new body part that you’d been carrying with you this whole time.  If you’d figured out how to do anything like this to yourself, you might have spent your entire adolescence trapped in your room, so maybe it was for the best that you never put it together.

You weren't sure how any woman was meant to learn these things— you figured she wasn't meant to, unfortunately— but if she had a choice, you'd certainly recommend this method, provided she could find her own husband to try it with rather than borrowing yours.  What a visceral and beautiful way to learn how much that little organ could really do: Laszlo rubbing it with his thumb, with just the right amount of pressure to make a loud moan crawl out of you.

“The noises you make are just delightful, my darling,” he praised.  “Keep going, so I know what I should do.”

“Just do that,” you begged, “just keep doing that.”

“Only this?” he pressed.  “I shouldn't even add another finger?”

Of course, that was when he did— gently pressing his middle finger to your opening until it accommodated it, and you heard your own high-pitched whine in disbelief that you'd made the sound.  “F-fuck, that feels… Laszlo, you're so—”

But you interrupted yourself, because he did something so diabolical with his fingers just then.  He'd only twisted and scissored them inside you for a moment before curling them up, rubbing the most delicate place you never knew you had— just as he pushed down harder on your poor clit.  You felt ravenous all of a sudden, terribly overwhelmed but greedy for more.

“Please, oh god, please—” you started to beg before you even knew what you wanted.  He knew what you wanted, and he gave it to you: more.  It wasn't even very significant of a movement, and yet it turned your whole body into his plaything as you started to shake all over.

“You react more than I ever expected, my darling,” he cooed.  “I never dreamed how well you would respond to my touch.  I've only just begun and I think you're already nearly there.”

Before you could wonder where he was talking about, he pulled his fingers out of you carefully.  You heard yourself whimper a little, opening your eyes and looking at him worriedly.  He smiled, seeming to enjoy how much his interruption seemed to bother you; “Take off your nightgown, my love,” he requested plainly.  “I think I’d like to get a good look at you before I go on.”

Sitting up (and finding your head a bit more dizzy than you expected), you started by unbuttoning from your neck halfway down to your chest, before lifting the thin garment up over your head slowly.  You felt so strange doing this— undressing in front of a man— but your heart pounded with hope that he would enjoy what he saw.  Tossing the dress aside, you sheepishly bit your lip and waited for his assessment as his dark brown eyes grazed over your nude form.

He moved a little closer, his hand running up your leg and then around your side, reaching up to carefully cup one of your breasts.  You breathed deeply but unevenly, your chest rising and falling against his touch.  You were almost nervous that he hadn’t said anything yet, but the look in his eyes just became more and more clear; you whimpered under your breath when his fingers brushed over your hardened nipple, ever-so-delicately pinching it until your hips shifted a bit in response.  “How beautiful you are, my love,” he whispered, making you squirm again with just his words.  “Is it true you’re really my wife?  This lovely, delicate body that only I can touch and caress, laying next to me every night… I don’t know when I’ll really believe it.”

You had to shut your eyes for a second— you might be too brash if he kept on like that, praising you so tenderly.  “You could’ve been a poet,” you told him with a little smirk, blinking open your eyes again as he guided you to lay back once more, “if medicine didn’t suit you.”

“Oh, I’m no poet, Schatz,” he smiled in return, taking one more careful squeeze of your other breast before moving down to pet inside your legs again.  “All I am is painfully honest.”

His fingers slid inside you again, and you could’ve sworn he was rubbing inside you a bit more firmly than he had been before— thrusting a little faster, pushing a little deeper.  And all the while he was staring down at you, back and forth between your face and your hole, with a delicious darkness in his eyes.

It was still a patient endeavor, so much so that you never really noticed that he was getting a little quicker and rougher with it.  You really didn’t figure it out until you heard yourself choking out his name, groaning and gasping louder than you meant to— but you couldn’t suppress it very well, either.

You soon began to realize what he meant before with that nearly there comment, without even having any prior knowledge of what it could be… there was something instinctive about it, something totally natural.  You didn’t know what was coming, but you understood it; you knew you were on the edge of something and that if you could just get there it would be perfect.

Still, you couldn’t have known how much you would enjoy it.

You couldn’t stop moaning— it was this all-surrounding, ecstatic feeling, like… sinking into something.  Relaxing into something… something warm and soft and good.  Even a lifetime of religious repression couldn’t convince you this was anything but perfect.  Actually, nothing had ever felt right quite the way this did.

Your back arched rather dramatically, until you had a good view of the headboard upside-down; and he gave you few more fast, rough pumps of his fingers into your shaking body before slowing down to a stop and letting you rest.

Suddenly drained, you melted back down onto the bed with a long whine.  “How did that feel?” he asked, sounding a little formal about it, and you only could muster a little, exhausted laugh because what did he think you were going to say?  ‘It was alright, tickled a little bit, but I didn’t mind it.’

“That was… you… you’re so—” you began a few times, giving up to open your eyes wide when his fingers pet up and down over the seam of your lips, gently exploring you, making you quiver from how sensitive you’d become.  You weren’t even done recovering from the stimulation and he was giving you more; he seemed sort of absent-minded about it, the way he gently and repetitively slid up and down and up and down through your slick and swollen folds… but it was deliberate, you knew it was, because he smiled when you moaned weakly.

One finger pressed inside you again, and he watched your face closely and you shuddered.  You were just the slightest bit sore, and it felt like that one finger was more of a stretch than before… which seemed impossible, but with the erratic pulsing of your walls, it was a little hard to keep track.

You gasped sharply when he put the second finger in you once more, almost snarling a bit as he watched you react so strongly.  “Laszlo, I— I don't think I can do that again—”

“You can, I'm sure of it,” he encouraged, curling his fingers inside of you, which required a bit more force with your channel bearing down against him in response.  “It might even come faster this time, that little spot is all swollen now—”

Before he could finish that sentence, he proved it by circling the place, making your hips jump up as another whine eked out of you.  “O-oh, I— fuck…”

He smirked a bit, a delicious smugness to his expression, and the emotion looked much too good on him.  “See?  Just let me take control, my love.  I think you'll like what I do, if you simply let me do what I like with you.”

Fuck, that had to be the most beautiful thing you'd ever heard.  You were biting your lip to try to keep back the flood of terribly embarrassing things your pleasure wanted to say for you: you can do whatever you like with me; I'm yours; I'd do anything for you; don't ever stop, but also if you don't fuck me soon I might lose my mind, you know, things of that nature.  Instead you let out a muffled moan, and nodded to make sure he knew that he had your permission for whatever he thought was best.

And, of course, he’d been right about you: that you’d be even more sensitive after coming, and would be able to go through it all over again.  It only took probably a minute or two of dedicated, precise stimulation for the feeling to grow again… except it felt a little stronger this time, like it was building past the point that it had broken at before.  Maybe your tolerance was higher, or something?  You really weren’t qualified to say— all you could think about was this sensation, this tension, and the way he looked at you as you started to shake all over.

Your eyes fell shut instinctively, your shaking hands clutching at the bed under you; you felt sort of numb all over, except instead of everything being dulled and distant, it was only heightened.

“O-oh, oh, Laszlo, I—” you tried to warn him, words escaping you as the heavy, almost sharp feeling gathered tighter and tighter…

“Give into it,” he insisted, “it’s alright— I want to see it.  I want to hear you, I want to feel you when you come—”

His voice was getting darker, rougher, more demanding as he went on; and in the same way, his fingers’ thrusts into you became more aggressive.  “Fuck, I— I think I’ll— oh god!” you yelped.

“Yes,” he encouraged, “let go, darling!”

Your arms flailed around for a second before finding a lump in the sheets to grab onto tightly, your hips rocking against his hand, your head falling back in a scream; it was so intense, and so sudden, and you felt like the pressure that had been building broke so violently that it would’ve been painful without all the ecstasy running through your veins, numbing you inside and out.

You could tell that this one was different— hotter, warmer, wetter— but you had no idea what you’d done until the high had started to fade just a bit.

His hand slowed down to a stop, you heard him quietly catching his breath, and you blinked your eyes open… that’s when you noticed small wet stains on his rolled-up sleeve, and shiny fluid along his forearm— and a very proud grin on his face.

You felt your eyes go wide and your cheeks start baking.  He spoke up before you could even try to process what to say: “That was excellent, my love— I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so magnificent,” he praised.  “You’re incredible.”

You wanted to believe him, but it didn’t really offer much explanation.  “Laszlo, I… did I—?”

“No, darling, don’t worry,” he cooed, scooting a little closer on the bed as he pet the inside of your thigh.  “It’s natural— one of the… rarer ways that a woman’s body can respond to stimulation.  I’ve always found the concept fascinating, but until now, my knowledge was… purely theoretical.  Actually, I’d love to gather your perspective on the experience, possibly for a future research paper on the topic— but that’s an issue for another time.  There’s a more pressing matter I need to discuss with you.”

You raised an eyebrow, curious what matter could be discussed in a time like this.

“I… I'd like to try something else,” he announced, and you dropped your head back on the bed in a sort of defeat.

“Something else?!” you whimpered, still catching your breath from the last thing he had “tried”.  “What else could there be but making love?”

“That will be soon, I promise, I just… I can't resist such an opportunity,” he explained.  “Your scent is so erotic, and it's only grown stronger now that you’ve so generously covered my arm in your ecstasy.  And with anything that smells so delectable, one can't help but crave to taste it.”

You'd only heard about this before— sort of a dirty schoolyard secret, almost an urban legend.  The whole thing had always sounded odd to you, if maybe not as icky as you thought it was when you first had the concept whispered to you as a child.  You didn't realize it was actually something you might experience someday, assuming it was a practice reserved to the especially perverted.  Now that he was offering it, you found yourself biting your lip as you tried to imagine what it would be like.

“I'd like to pleasure you with my mouth,” he concluded, really spelling it out for you.  “Would that be alright?”

You weren't sure what to think of that, and yet you were already nodding yes.  This was your husband, after all— who else could you trust to do something like this?  Most of all, you did it because you wanted to please him.  Because he'd asked you for it.

He smiled a little when you agreed, and began to lean down between your legs.  Those deep brown eyes seemed to sparkle more than ever when he looked up at you, but his gaze couldn't stay with yours for long before he had to give a closer look to your cunt.  He carefully spread the lips with his fingers, humming at the sight.  “I wonder if it's even possible for you to be as delicious as you look,” he spoke quietly, and a needy whine caught in your throat.

It was just a gentle kiss to your clit first… then another, with his lips parted.  Then he started to ever-so-gently suckle at it, tongue softly petting it; he wasn't doing too much, physically, but you never could catch your breath while he was doing it.

You whined a bit when he broke away, looking down at him in search of an explanation but finding instead him looking back up at you with an indescribable look in his eye.

“How does that feel?” he asked, his voice rougher and darker than you'd ever heard it before, making you shiver gleefully.

“Wet,” you blurted out, making him smile a little, a small laugh on an exhale through his nose that made you feel a bit foolish in an unexpectedly pleasurable way.  “A-and warm… please don't stop, Laszlo, it felt so nice…”

He got back to it, a little more intensely than before, and your eyes rolled back when he really started to lap at you with his tongue— harder and wider each time, making you writhe from the intensity of it.

You couldn't even describe the sound you made when he pushed his tongue inside you.  He moaned against you in response to it, though, and thank God, he kept going.

He kept petting your thighs, even encouraging you when your legs clamped down around his head unintentionally; presumably that was his way of saying it wasn’t giving him any pain, which you were a bit concerned about, even if you couldn’t really stop yourself.  Sometimes you had the strength to meet his gaze, but most of the time you felt like you’d melt if you looked back at him— the way he was staring up at you was just too fiery, too intense, too beautiful.  

Just when you thought you were getting used to the pattern of his tongue’s movements on your clit, he gently pushed his two fingers back into your pulsing channel.  You were all tingly and sore inside, but a long, deep moan fell from your mouth as your back arched.

“Beautiful,” he praised, the word muffled by what he was doing— which he got back to more urgently than ever, twisting and thrusting his fingers inside you carefully at first.

“J-just like that,” you pleaded.  “Oh, Laszlo, I— I didn't know anything could… feel like this…”

You could feel the smallest smirk on his lips as he continued; even just being able to feel his smug smile there was such a lovely, erotic, totally novel concept to you.  

When he really buried his face in your legs, you could feel the roughness of his beard against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs and buttocks, and god was it the most beautifully filthy feeling.  It was really an excellent metaphor for the whole thing: the symbol of his maturity, the well-kempt facial hair itself a balance between his wildness and his meticulous self-control, rubbing raw your delicate and untouched skin in such an intimate place.  If you weren’t too busy shaking and crying and seeing stars on this bed, you might have appreciated the beauty in those parallels, but clearly you weren’t capable of thinking about it to that level of depth.

The stream of helpless praises you'd been trying to hold back earlier?  There was absolutely nothing stopping it from spilling forward now.  “You're incredible,” you blurted out, your hand holding tighter to the sheets beneath you.  “Laszlo— my husband— you… you must be the devil, o-or an angel or prophet— or something. You make me feel things, such incredible things, that I didn't even know—”

He opened his mouth wide around you, breaking the seal of his lips so he could speak against your skin.  “I'm just a man,” he promised, “I'm just a husband becoming addicted to his new wife's pleasure, that's all, my dear.”

As he started to do it again so suddenly, you reacted suddenly as well: your hand found his hair and grabbed it, and your mind was too far gone to worry about it being too aggressive.  Not that he gave any signs of annoyance— if anything it was the opposite, as he lapped at you harder in response.  

This, of course made your hips jump up— until his hand slipped out of you, grabbing them and pulling them down, keeping you still as he continued.  The simple show of dominance affected you greatly, another heavy pulse of pleasure hitting you suddenly.

“I-I'm close,” you whispered.  “Laszlo, I'm so close— and it feels so different than before— I swear, nothing's ever felt so— fuck!”

He hummed encouragingly, and your whole body rocked in time with the growing pressure.  His fingers sliding back inside you, seeming to curl even more than before, certainly added to the sensation.

Just as you were teetering on the edge, his teeth grazed impossibly-carefully over you, a sharp and raw sort of pleasure jolting your entire body.  Of course, you couldn't fight against that, and the feeling inside you snapped as yet another flood of pleasure ripped through your body.  Your ears were ringing but you still heard how loud you must have been, how totally wrecked and helpless your moans had become.  

It wasn’t as… aggressive of a feeling as the one that had made you… you know… but it was probably the most powerful in its own way.  The highest, the heaviest, the most whole.  You couldn't hear him moaning against you through all that, but you could feel it: a deep and bassy vibration that only heightened the feeling even more.  Your moans turned to cries and then sobs; it was too much, the feeling was spilling over inside you— you weren't sure how much longer you could take it all before you broke.

It seemed, however, that he broke first; he pulled away and sat up, leaving you both panting, sweaty messes.  

“God, you're so beautiful,” he sighed, grabbing you by the neck to pull you up into a filthy, heated kiss.  You surrendered instantly, grabbing into his shoulders with hands that were still pricked with pins and needles as your high dissipated slowly.  “I can't wait anymore,” he mumbled against your lips, “I need to be inside you.”

“Please,” you gasped softly— you'd been waiting for this all night, at least.  You'd never imagined yourself so eager, so desperate for it, though…

He made quick work untying his robe, leaning over you as he held tightly onto his cock and guided the swollen, leaking head between your lips.  Yes, even with desire coursing through your veins, a touch of anxiety was still present.  You just couldn’t imagine what this was going to be like, you could still hardly believe it was happening to you— and, though it was a bit crass to think, you were a bit surprised by the brief glance of his cock that you’d gotten.  You wouldn’t really know what was big or small or normal or abnormal when it came to that… you had nothing to compare it to.  What you did know was that it seemed much… thicker, than seemed appropriate to go inside you.  Of course you knew that a young woman’s first experience could be painful, you’d heard that bleeding was normal (if not expected, but that seemed a bit barbaric and certainly not what a progressive man like Laszlo was after) — yet, you still weren’t properly scared.  It was just the sort of anticipation that made you shiver and let out a long breath to compose yourself.

He groaned a little as he continued to rub against you, and you noticed the arm that held him up over you was shaking.  You could only imagine how frustrating it must have been to be giving you all that attention and not getting any in return for so long, and you could only hope he might take a little of that frustration out on you…

“Please,” you said again, quieter, as you looked up at him.  Thankfully, that was enough to make him press forward and slide into you all at once.

While his fingers had stretched you in such strange, sometimes overwhelming ways, his cock… it just fit.  It filled you exactly the way you needed— not too wide or too deep… though you suspected it would've been had he not prepared you so incredibly thoroughly.  And while his tongue has made you feel such unimaginable things, though his lips had effortlessly sucked ecstasy from your shaking body, having him inside you felt so simple and natural and easy.  

He hissed in his breaths as he moved— slow at first, but each one just a bit faster than the last.  Every movement stimulated all the places he'd already awoken inside you, and your legs moved on their own to latch around his hips while your head fell back with a satisfied sigh.

“My angel,” he groaned, staring down at you as each of his thrusts rocked you under him.  “I knew I— fuck, darling— I knew I'd have trouble keeping myself together when I was finally inside you.  Yet you're… you're even more perfect than I imagined.”

You smiled proudly, reaching up to hold his shoulders; he seemed encouraged by that, becoming just a bit rougher in his movements until your nails accidentally dug into his skin just a bit.

“I won't be able to last much longer,” he grunted, “but I-I can't stop.  I can't even slow down, I never… I've never lost control like this before.”

A shiver ran up your whole body, even seeming to make you clench inside— and he moaned in return, a beautifully pitiful sound.  

“I'm sorry,” he offered between panting breaths, and you barely mustered the energy to laugh. 

“Beloved, what do you have to apologize for?” you teased through a grin.  “Surely you're not worried that I will be left unsatisfied.”

“I would rather bring you to orgasm again,” he explained, “but I'm so desperate for you, I'm afraid I lack the patience for it.”

“I would rather pleasure my husband, for once,” you replied, “but you couldn't possibly feel what I felt, I don't think I'll ever be able to really return the favor—”

“It's no favor,” he insisted.  “Your pleasure is what I desire.  And a good wife gives her husband what he desires, no?”

You whimpered desperately, pathetically even.  “I'll be good for you, Laszlo,” you promised weakly, “I want to be a good wife to you…”

“You're a very good wife, my dear,” he assured.  “Look how much pleasure you've let me take from you, look how you've soaked our bed with your lovely nectar…”

You weren't sure which part of that aroused you the most… but our bed was a serious contender.

“And you taste absolutely divine,” he added, before kissing you again to let you taste it, too.  It was a sloppy and needy kiss, not precise and careful like basically everything else he'd done to you so far, but you loved it.  You loved any sign that he might be just as desperate as you.

Once again his speed and intensity picked up, until you could hear his skin hitting against yours loudly, and your back arched a bit at how perfectly dirty it felt.  His cock hit a spot deep inside you, and you sucked in a sharp breath.  “Laszlo,” you blurted out, and he groaned as he moved his kiss to your neck.  

“Keep saying my name,” he demanded.  “Tell me who your husband is— who makes you feel this way you've never felt before.”

“Laszlo,” you said again, “I'm yours.  Anything you want from me, it's yours.”

“Yes,” he agreed with a heavy sigh.

“Your wife, always,” you continued, and it made your own heart swell along with encouraging him: he moved faster, rocked deeper into you, and breathed heavy against your ear as your back arched from the erotic perfection of the moment.

“My wife,” he repeated, making you whine and nod and bear down on him with your walls.

“Yes,” you gasped, “yes— yours, I’m yours—”

“I-I can't hold back anymore,” he moaned, “I don't… I don't even know if I can bring myself to pull out before—”

“Don't,” you begged.  “I want it inside, Laszlo.  I want all of you inside me.”

“Oh, darling, mein Schatz, I—” he choked, but he never finished his sentence.  He just moaned louder and louder and fucked you faster and faster— until you were nearly screaming from how hard he hammered into you.

It stopped all at once; he pressed himself as deep inside you as he could, so deep you felt like you were struggling to breathe, and hid his face in the curve of your neck as he came inside you.

And for a long, beautiful moment, you just laid together; you were sort of halfway between awake and asleep, your whole body thrummed with emotions and sensations you never thought you could fit within yourself.  Time passed, surely, but you wouldn’t have known the difference.  His weight on top of you wasn’t too heavy, though it did keep you pressed into the mattress and sheets— not that you were going anywhere anyways.

You only really came back to reality when you felt small kisses trailing your neck; you hummed and squirmed a little beneath him, making you both groan as it stirred where you were connected.  He must have been a bit sore, too, though you felt like you’d been through quite a lot more and had a better excuse.

He moved again, just barely, and you winced as you held onto his back.  “Don’t go,” you whispered, afraid of the pain if he didn’t just stay still inside you.

“I have to, sometime,” he breathed in return.

“But—”

“I know, my love,” he cooed, “I’d stay inside you forever if I could.  But I’ll hurt you more if I don’t give you time to rest.”

Resigning yourself with a sigh, you nodded a little and scrunched up your face as he pulled his hips back.  It did sting, but it faded quickly once he was out— and the feeling was replaced with a warm, wet feeling that you realized must have been his seed leaking out of you.  It made you feel a bit dirty, but wonderful, too.

He laid beside you with a deep breath, his hand coming up to your face and turning it so you would look back at him.  You had to blink a few times to really see clearly, and even still, everything seemed a bit blurry around the edges.  The whole world seemed a bit softer, really.  “I love you, darling wife,” he told you simply, his voice soft but no longer a whisper, and he pet your cheek as he leaned in to kiss the bridge of your nose.

“I love you too, husband,” you cooed in reply.  “You’re so wonderful— a-and you’re nothing like I imagined, sometimes.”

“Perhaps I should have been more careful,” he offered nervously.

“No— that was perfect,” you promised.

“I meant the very end, there,” he clarified, his hand running down over your body and resting on your stomach.  “You might have wanted to wait longer… if you had a child so soon, you might wish we had more time just the two of us.”

Your heart skipped a beat as you realized what he meant.  “Oh, that…” you mumbled, smiling a bit to yourself.

“I fully intended to have my finish elsewhere, to lower the chances— I didn’t think I would become so… impulsive,” he sighed.  “I hoped to still control myself, but I’m afraid I wasn’t quite able to, once I was within you.  But I couldn’t help it, with the way you feel…”

“It’s alright,” you laughed weakly, “it’s not as if I were acting rationally.  I never… I didn’t think I could be so… so—”

A thousand words came to mind.  Unladylike.  Animalistic.  Desperate.  Insatiable.

“I didn’t think I’d ever act like that,” you said instead, voice getting a little softer as you felt a bit shy again.

“I knew you would,” he responded, making you look at him with wide eyes and warming cheeks.

“You— but I— I was always—!”

“Yes, you behaved very well each time I met you” he recalled with a proud smile, “always so sweet and well-mannered.  But I knew you had so much need within you, so much hunger… a being of pure instinct just waiting to take over when the time was right.”

Your heart skipped a beat— you felt a bit… accused by that statement, yet you couldn’t really deny it.  Even if you hadn’t known it before, it was clearly true now.  “How… how could you have sensed that?” you wondered.

He raised an eyebrow as he looked at you again; you loved the way he looked in that moment.  His expression was familiar, but the total lack of composure— flushed cheeks, sweat on his brow, messed hair— was totally new and quite pleasant.  “If you didn’t have any desire to misbehave, my darling, you wouldn’t have been going out with me.”

[blueskittlesart]

i get that people’s first reaction for the religious thing is often negative—being raised irish catholic i experience the same knee-jerk reaction—but that’s because we as adults are approaching the ideology from an adult perspective. we have our own associations with both religion as a concept in general, as well as the social phenomena around religion (and for this post specifically we’re talking about christianity more than anything else). kids don’t have that experience, and so while it might feel really uncomfortable to an adult listening to them speak with such a casual incorporation of it into their worldview, they truly wouldn’t see why that could be. and it’s only when it they’re older and it becomes the only point of perspective or logic for them that it’s truly a problem

EXACTLY. if you don't have a lot of experience with very young children it may be hard to conceptualize, but especially preschool-aged children are still learning LITERALLY EVERYTHING. like, I said the word "collision" when two of my kids ran into each other the other day and then had to have a like 10 minute conversation about what that word means and why I said it. Everything in the world is a new experience for them, including morality, storytelling, and social interaction. there's a specific, scientifically documented developmental stage (usually between ages 2.5-3) where they learn for the first time that they can lie. before that stage, they genuinely don't understand the concept that something can be fake, and it often takes even longer for them to understand that other people, especially adults, can lie to THEM, too. everything in their world is true unless proven otherwise, which can be a scary way for adults to hear religious concepts addressed, since among adults that kind of rhetoric very often goes hand in hand with radical beliefs or conspiracy thought. but for a child, it's just an age-appropriate way to conceptualize religion.

children of that age are also very self-centered in their thinking and largely assume that their lived experience is the same as everyone else's, and that anything outside their own little world doesn't exist. we almost all assumed as kids that our teachers lived at school. I once had a kid with lesbian parents ask me where my 'other mom' was. children I babysit for will very often be upset that I don't inherently know where things are in their house, because to them it's the most obvious thing in the world. they're still developing empathy and the ability to think from someone else's perspective doesn't exist yet. again, irt religion, when that kind of sentiment is expressed by an adult it's usually a supremacist or evangelical who believes that all other religions are inherently evil and their religion is inherently good, but that's not what it means when a kid expresses self-centered thought about their religion. it just means that they haven't yet learned that other people view the world differently.

[klerothesnowman]

The Sith are Nazis and it's never been subtle

This one ended up being really long. I spliced in some images when I could to break it up easier.

One of the things that causes the most friction in the world is the idea of morality. I know, that's the most water is wet statement ever said but I think people really miss just how much the nuance of morality goes over people's heads. Subjective, objective, relative, from a baseline we understand that there are different types of morality but I don't think people really grasp how much a persons personal morality can be wildly different to any another given person's, especially among people who share spaces like fandoms. Morality is shaped by personal experiences, there are personal experiences that are 99% ubiquitous among humanity like "Pain" that form the basis of everyone's moral compass, then there are the major cultural touchstones that no matter what your morality will be affected by, religion, nation, race, all that what have you. Everyone has an opinion on the Christian Church and that opinion is informed by your morals. People who have been abused by members of a church will have a very different view of the morality of a religion compared to people who have been raised Catholic compared to someone who was raised agnostic compared to someone raised agnostic and is queer compared to someone who has been raised Catholic and is queer compared to someone who has been raised Catholic and is queer and is also rich and so on and so forth you get it.

Morality is not a binary thing, and it's not a nine point grid either D&D, it's more like one of those circle charts that Jojo Stands get ranked on. You know the ones that always seem to show up in anime? I don't know what they're called. Except instead of a circle it's more like a ball, and everyone has this horrible looking 3D balls covered in bumps and spikes and dips and holes.

Why am I opening this ramble with a ramble about morality and religion? Because I'm on tumblr. When I decide I want to ramble about something I read the tags and see what the vibe is, see what people are saying about things. I'm not part of the "Fandom", I don't know the discourses, I see that there's Anti-Jedi and Pro-Jedi and "Stanikins" and all of these different labels and battlelines, and then I read about how people on either side are feeling attacked and harassed by people on other sides. I have no idea how real this is, I have no idea what kind of minefield I'm about to walk into. I'm just rambling about my thoughts and feelings about Star Wars because I like it and I'm a little extra aware that this one is going to ruffle feathers.

Because people are fuckin' worked up about Jedi. There are people who are making it part of their identity that they are anti-Jedi. And it's been happening for years, decades even. Because the experiences and trends of nerd culture has been pushing against systems and religion since I was a baby. Nerds being obnoxious atheists and smugly telling people "God isn't real" was basically the norm when I was a teenager, and before I was born nerds were dealing with being called evil and satanic. Nothing I'm rambling about here is new, in fact using D&D as a touchstone I think the current trend for nerddom's interaction with religion is ambivalence, despite faith and divine power being such an important part of D&D, there's basically zero interaction with divinities in 5e, and when there is it's hostile and has an asterisk against it. I'll do a ramble about this one day too

But the Jedi stuff is interesting to me, because there's a lot of directions people come at for it.

There's people who argue against just Jedi because they're a religion. There's people who argue the Jedi are slavers or kidnap children. People think Jedi are super beings who lord over everyone with their power. People think the Jedi force people to suppress their emotions and personhood. There are people who think Jedi are moral supremacists who silence and kill anyone who thinks about the Force differently from them.

I have some "Pro-Jedi" arguments to make but I'll save them for a different ramble, because this one's supposed to be about another group of people.

The people who think, from their point of view, the Jedi are evil.

The reason I rambled on so much about people being Anti-Jedi is because very often, these people end up being Pro-Sith. It's an obvious leap, if the Jedi are the problem then the people opposed to the Jedi might have the right idea. If your issue with the Jedi is that they disallow "Attachment", then here's the Sith who are all about Attachment. If your issue with the Jedi is that they suppress their emotions then here's the Sith who are always tapping into their emotions. There is an immediate appeal there.

Then there's the Sith Code, let's give it a read.

Peace is a lie, there is only passion. Through passion, I gain strength. Through strength, I gain power. Through power, I gain victory. Through victory, my chains are broken. The Force shall free me.

Pretty sweet, Passion is pretty positive, breaking chains and freedom. I can get behind that. The rest of Sith Philosophy is pretty swell too. It's about improvement through conflict. Your struggles make you stronger, makes you better, removes your shackles and lets you be free, but also recognizes that you will have to do whatever it takes to do so. The Jedi seek to wipe out the dark knowledge you attain, so you must sequester yourself and hide when you must hide, and strike when you must strike. It's stance could be summed up as something like... "The sacred mission of a Sith is to preserve the Sith Order's most valuable elements as you raise yourself to a dominant position, and all who do not are chaff."

There are people who are really into this. Like, really, really into this. They talk about how they apply this mentality to their real life. They describe themselves as Sith. There are also people who are only kind of into this, they think about positive Sith characters and make headcanons about the good things Sith do.

I need to stress, for those people, that what I am about to say is not hyperbole. I will provide sources.

The Sith Code and Philosophy is Nazi Propaganda. It is literally lifted from Mein Kampf. That quote I used to sum it up is a paraphrased quote from Britannica.com. That's Hitler.

The Sith Code was invented to be in opposition to the Jedi Code, its purpose is to twist a preexisting code to make you think the alternative isn't so bad and it uses codephrases to do so.

Passion, Strength, Victory, Chains, being Free, these are words that we have presubscribed meanings for, but what do they mean in the Sith Code? What IS Passion? What IS Strength? What IS Victory?

Most people I interact with see Passion as Love, passionate, exciting love, the exact thing the Jedi reject. But that can't be it, where's Palpatine's love? Where's Maul's? Where's Vader's?

Passion is obsession. The kind of obsession that will lead you to burning everything down if you don't get what you want. It's not letting anything stand between you and your goal, even if that thing is your goal itself.

Let's break the code down here.

Peace is a lie, there is only passion. We start with the obvious twist on the Jedi code, an immediate refutation of the Jedi's first line. It stands in opposition.

Through passion, I gain strength. We've already done Passion, it's a nice little dressing up of "Being a raging psycho"

Through strength, I gain power. Strength is often intermingled with power, but it's often spoken of interchangably with being able to set aside morals. The Sith isn't an amoral monster who just killed a bunch of kids, he's just STRONG enough to do what needed to be done

Through power, I gain victory. Power isn't a code word. Power is Power, Power is what it's all about and there's no hiding it. In the Sith way the only thing that matters is that you are powerful enough to kill your rivals and stand on top.

Through victory, my chains are broken. The Force shall free me. I think the notions of breaking chains and being Free is the cleverest part of the Sith Code's propaganda kit. It's still seeing use in The Acolyte and it's still convincing people that the Sith are right, even when the guy who's calling for freedom mercs a child then and there.

The Sith are not misunderstood heroes. They're Nazis. They're facist might makes right would be autocrats trying to convince you they're right so you'll validate them and prove them right.

Sith Philosophy is self defeating. Following the Sith Code means you need to define yourself on your conflict, meaning your conflict can never end. For all its claims of being free and breaking chains you can never be free of what drives you or you will lose the strength it gives you. To break your chains you need to hold onto them tight, and you can never let them go.

[squadmuse]

SFW ALPHABET

THE RAFAEL BARBA EDITION

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

It takes a while for Rafael to open up and be truly affectionate with you. He’s slower than most, but still a gentleman and spoils you whenever he can. As your relationship progresses however and as Rafael feels more and more comfortable with you & your relationship together, then he is extremely affectionate towards you and absolutely cherishes you. Cuddles, kisses, hand holding etc. you name it, when Rafael treats you like this, you’re The One for him.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

You and Rafael click quickly as friends and have a great friendship together. You’re an Assistant United States Attorney while he is an Assistant District Attorney for Manhattan, and can usually be found in each other’s offices having lunch and a catch up. He loves that you’re snarky and sassy like him, and unafraid to stick up for yourself & victims and survivors. Rafael is a great friend to have, he’s always a phone call away, with the greatest advice and shoulder to cry on if needed. He loves surprising you with tickets to a Broadway show, museum tours etc.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Rafael isn’t the cuddliest at the start of the relationship but he melts easily after a while with your hugs and cuddles. He isn’t used to affection unless from his Mami or Abuelita. Rafael loves hugging you from behind, cuddling on the couch or in his home study & office after hours.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Only when Rafael knows for certain that you are The One 100% will he want to settle down fully. He didn’t have the nicest home life due to his father and has had his heart broken by people he loved & trusted. As he has been a bachelor for years, Rafael is adept at cooking & cleaning but takes his laundry to the dry cleaners. His house is pristine, but he longs for the day that you & him are married with a child playing with their toys in the living room.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Rafael is a gentleman, somewhat old fashioned yet distant at first so he would likely break up with you face to face. He thinks it rude to do it over the phone or to ghost someone especially if they’re someone like you.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

You and Rafael are together for a while before he decides to propose marriage, as he wanted to be certain you were not going to break his heart or leave. You’ve moved in together after a couple of years and Rafael knows you’re not bothered by his wariness & past. Once he proposes, you marry within the year in a quiet close knit ceremony at the Catholic church nearby as a tribute to his Mami & Abuelita.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

As he was abused physically and emotionally by his own father and had his heart broken before, Rafael is gentle and kind towards you. He might be less so at the start, accidentally screwing up or putting work before you, but after a while Rafael becomes an open book to you. He’ll never ever raise a hand or fist to you, and he never curses or swears at you, but sometimes he does snap or bite when he’s stressed.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Rafael hates admitting it but he loves hugs, he’s so touch starved and loves getting to collapse into your arms after a long stressful day. He’s very gentle with his hugs, rubbing your back as you rest your head in the crook of his neck. Sometimes he hums a song at night.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

As said before, Rafael doesn’t say I Love You for a while but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t show his love for you. He struggles opening up, showing himself truly and being vulnerable with anyone, and when he gets to that point of being vulnerable & comfortable, then he says it quickly and doesn’t stop saying it.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Rafael does get jealous but it is down to the insecurities he has himself and not about you, he’s been dumped for other guys before and he knows how incredible you are that Rafael always wonders — why did you choose him of all people to be with, what is so loveable about him? Rafael will busy himself with work more often when he’s feeling like that, but he also gets possessive to an extent and makes sure to let you know how much he loves you.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Rafael Barba aka Makeout King. He is almost timid at first, scared that he might’ve crossed the line when he kisses you that first time. But his kisses are electrifying, intoxicating and downright sweet at the same time. When he’s fully comfortable with you, Rafael can’t stop kissing you and will kiss anywhere he can on you.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Rafael doesn’t have much if any experience with kids, especially babies. But he isn’t against them, and he loves getting to teach them things, whether it is some basic Spanish, a fairy tale book or some random facts. Rafael worries about hurting children, having seen how his own father acted and behaved. After a while, Rafael does get more comfortable around younger children as you have nieces, nephews and godchildren that all end up calling him Tío Rafa.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Rafael hates mornings, and only brightens up when you suggest showering together to save time… although you sometimes end up rushing out the door after too long in the shower together. In the kitchen, Rafael makes a beeline for the professional coffee maker that you bought as a birthday present for him and makes a very strong coffee for himself and a cappuccino for yourself. Usually, Rafael has prepared his briefcase & outfit the night before. You make sure he takes some actual lunch with him also.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Nighttimes are spent together either in Rafael’s study (he brings his work home now that he has you, not staying extremely late at the office) and you end up working together or talking about work, life and each other. Rafael gives you a massage while you pour him a small glass of his favourite scotch.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Rafael is very slow to open up and reveal things about himself. You met Lucia by accident, as you had dropped by his office at Hogan Place to talk/argue about a case that each of you were certain to have jurisdiction over, and there she was when you greeted him with a “Rafi amor…” - needless to say Lucia hated that Rafael had been hiding you away from her. You try so hard to make Rafael realise that his traumatic past doesn’t define him or who he is.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Rafael is usually very patient with you, and especially with you compared to others. He tries so hard to not get angry or even irritated by you, but when he’s had a bad day at work or having one, every single thing anyone does seems to annoy him.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Rafael has a giant brain and incredible memory, but sometimes when he’s stressed out with case after case, he does end up with things slipping his mind and he hates it. Rafael is also able to remember things you’ve said you have liked in passing or in conversation, even months back but he remembers it and buys you whatever it was.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Rafael’s favorite moment in your relationship was when he brought you to his Mami, Lucia’s home for the first time for Sunday lunch & dinner. You and his Mami got along instantly, and he was amazed at how quickly his Mami liked you as she was usually overprotective of him. It was that day, seeing you laugh and smile with his Mami, that Rafael knew you were The One and that you fit in perfectly with his family.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Rafael is very protective of you, and would have an armed escort following you around if he could. He’s had people blackmail him in the past and death threats against him, but Rafael doesn’t worry or care about himself, his main focus is you. Rafael likes knowing how protective you are of him in return, how much you love and look out for him.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Rafael puts a lot of effort into dates, anniversaries and gifts, only the best will do for you in his eyes. Both of you work as attorneys and have long hours, but Rafael will spoil you with an anniversary trip to Gstaad or The Bahamas, a nice bottle of champagne or wine, a nice pair of Christian Louboutin heels etc. Every day however, he does his best to be an excellent boyfriend or fiancé or husband and enjoys just being with you.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Rafael can get hyper-focused on work and ends up working himself thin and bare. At first in the relationship, he would prioritise his Mami & Abuelita over you and while it didn’t bother you, he did it a lot until he realised that you were upset. He works long hours too, and sometimes your hours don’t match up or your vacations either and Rafael is a man on a mission when it comes to his career and will at times, prioritise that.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Rafael Barba is very vain. He has his hair and beard styled & trimmed perfectly, has complimenting colours in his outfits with ties matching pocket squares etc. and he hates it when he starts going grey (but slowly comes to love it too when you let him know how hot you find it)

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

When Rafael has let you into his life, his heart and soul, he feels very incomplete without you there and wonders how he became such a man — but he realises it is because how he loved you, you are & were his soulmate.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Rafael loves taking you dancing, and shows off his move to you on the dance floor. It helps his anxiety and insecurity by showing off, doing fancy little moves to impress you.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Rafael doesn’t like anyone who is demanding, too high maintenance or clingy, and he doesn’t like abusers or alcoholics. Also anyone who doesn’t respect his position, his Mami & Abuelita is out the door ASAP.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

Rafael can be found some nights asleep at the desk in his study, and you always wake him up as you know he needs to sleep in bed because of his back. He also loves that you have a ton of cosy blankets & quilts on the bed, it seems to help him sleep much easier.

[fallenneziah]

Sexually repressed Catholic Johnny, and reader being the one to take his virginity.

Cw: Readers gender or anatomy is not identified, anyone can read this, Religious themes, blow jobs, NSFW, MDNI! Not beta read, just a brain blurb.

Johnny was raised Catholic, his parents weren't ever particularly strict, but Johnny had made up his fears in his head. What from weekly confessions and his teachers keeping a particular eye on him. Throughout his life in the church, he was labeled as one of the trouble kid because of his ADHD, despite being devoted to his Catholic practices. Those of which included not having sex before marriage.

Johnny had always been taught that amongst everything else, sex wasn't something to be taken lightly. There was no thrill in knocking strange women up or adding as many one night stands or dates to his roster as he could. And he lived by that.

His family was important, but when he left for the military, he was lying if he wasn't tested. There were many beautiful women and men back where he lived that he definitely lusted after in secret. But he really wanted to keep up the impression of a good catholic boy for his parents. Especially since he was their only son, and already considered one to keep an eye on in his congregation.

And then he met you. Johnny had found himself with no personal preference for men or women, but meeting you seemed to click something in his mind that he couldn't fathom. He wanted to be with you. Not just be with you, he wanted every inch of you.

He was like a pathetic puppy, chasing you around on an invisible leash until you finally got the hint. He was cute, real cute, and he was as committed to his job as they come. So one night after some drinks, you invited him to your room. He wasn't too drunk, sober enough to know if his parents ever knew they'd be very upset. That and the religious guilt started to fill when you sat on your bed and invited him over.

He shuddered, unsure where to put his hands and what to do. He'd never kissed, he'd never held someone so close before. He came over clumsily and pressed his lips to yours, a lot of teeth, not a lot of gentleness. He was desperate, his first impression of your lips was warmth, something he wanted more of.

Your fingers gently tugged his Mohawk, pulling him back from the rushed kiss with a gasp. "Easy, take it easy..." You whispered. He exhaled heavily and slowly, but desperately kissed you. Your lips melted against his like honey in milk, pressing up against you and letting his hands tentatively roam to your belt, excited to get them off you.

Your tongues meet, and his cock is harder than a rock, your arms wrapping around him and unbuttoning his vest, throwing it to the floor. His heart pounds in his ears, his face is feverish and the butterflies that burst in his stomach are overwhelming. He can't tell if it's from your honeysuckle lips or the way you're touching him.

He brushed your hair back and tilted your head into him, chasing the warm depth of your mouth, sloppily folding into your arms as he lost himself in the feverish pounding of his head and his cock.

His cock strained against the fabric of his pants, the underbelly of his cock grinded against your knee through the harsh fabric, making for an erotic feeling sending zings of electricity up his spine.

"Oh fuck... You're so good." He whined, sloppily kissing down your neck and over your collar, unbuttoning your shirt. You groaned in reply, gasping at the rush he was in. You'd never had someone so... Hungry. So desperate for a mere taste of your skin or a grasp at the soft flesh of your body.

He's seen porn a few times, all his non-religious friends would talk, he tried every cliche move in the book. When he had your shirt open his warm mouth was eagerly taking one of your nipples into his mouth. The erotic and guilty driven thrill he felt was unlike any other in the world. It was a high he couldn't understand, a feeling he'd never forget.

Your moans and gasps from his tongue sucking your perking buds made pre-cum leak a wet spot through his cargos. His cock was pulsing and throbbing, full of neglect and hot pain.

He pulled away from you briefly and let you push him back against the bed, to undo his pants. He watched you with wide blue eyes as you wrestled his pants down and took his cock from the confines of his slick, sweat-stained briefs.

The head was pulsing, leaking from pain and bulbous from neglect. "Holy hell, John..." You whispered before giving his cock a lick. He inhaled sharply and shuddered. "Oh yes... Fuck, lick it... Please, please..." His small pleas for pleasure come out in breathless pants as your attention to his cock shoots up his abdomen and down his legs, making his mind feel full of static.

His head fell back as you took his cockhead in your mouth and slowly went down over the pulsing, fat veins of his length. His eyelashes fluttered and his face filled with feverish heat. "Father forgive me ... Oh fuck..." He whispered, reaching a hand out to hold on to you while you went over his length.

Your warm lips tightened around his cock and his length twitched violently in your mouth. You pulled up and spat on his cock, stroking it and then going back down. John whined and groaned loudly. "Oh fuck... Oh fuck I'm gonna cu-mm." He shuddered as he watched you. You batted your eyelashes and he groaned when you didn't attempt to leave him. "Oh, right in your throat too... Oh fuck..."

He groaned and bucked his hips up desperately, feeling like this could be the next best thing to heaven. "Oh fuck-!" He whined, his legs shaking as he bucked his hips into your mouth.

You choked and tried to hold him down by his hips, feeling his cum spill into your throat. His balls tightened further and he came hard, to the point he felt boneless and heavy in his own skin.

He leaned back against the wall and panted as you slowly pulled off, choking and swallowing his cum. "How'ya feeling, John?" You gently rubbed his shaking thigh, feeling the tense of muscle beneath your gentle touch. He was sensitive all over. He shakily breathed, "Ah nae ken..."

You slowly crawled up next to him, his head was spinning a mile a minute when your lips came back to his. He wrapped an arm around you slowly and slowly kissed you back. He felt like he wasn't really in this moment, with you, doing this. His heart pounded and he could feel his pulse in every crevice of his body.

You finished stripping off your clothes and let him see you in your entirety. He brushed his hand across your stomach and waist, seeing your body. "This ok?" You asked quietly, shifting back in order to give him some room to prepare.

"Yeah... You're gorgeous." He whispered, trying to snap himself out of it. In his brief moment of post but clarity the glaring weight of his family and his church fell on him. As if any second the Reverend would come barging in and see him with a fellow comrade. But as soon as you kissed again the guilt in the pit of his stomach felt slightly easier to bear.

"Should we pause?" You asked as soon as you saw the expression on his face. "No... No." He reached up to bring you back in. "Don't let me back out." He pressed you back into the bed and kissed you as his fingers found their way to your lower half. He was unsure what to touch, where to go or how to act.

His fingers dipped in and out from your warm entrance, pushing himself further inside and feeling how insanely tight you were. "How am I gonna..."

"You'll fit." You assured, with such confidence it was like cold water over his back. "Ok..." He breathed in and eventually dripped a little of your lube onto his cock.

Using leftovers from his fingers he followed your words, listening to your beautiful moans, full and unprovoked as he learned the ins and outs of your body. It was thrilling, seeing the way you reacted and arched away from the sheets. Your toes curl when he pressed against different spots. He was a quick learner, and he knew you like this.

Before long, he had his cockhead kissed against your weeping entrance. His balls, full and tight aching from the burn of his last orgasm, at the prospect of this one.

He remembered the burning feeling of his knees on their rug in their prayer room, now kneeled between you, his body bare, not married, not dating... He slid his cock against your entrance. He groaned loudly in unison with you, the chorus of quick cries and flashes of fire across your pelvises as he struggled to nestle his cock inside you.

Johnny gasped and groaned as he slid in and out from your tight entrance, gripping your hips for leverage as he slowly worked himself in and out of you. "You feel so good..." He panted and looked down, watching your body as you took him. Reaching his hand down to give you a teasing little tug.

Your little squeak, followed by an adorable moan made his cock twitch violently inside you. "I... I don't know if I'm gonna last..." He grimaced and leaned over you to kiss you up and down.

"It's ok... Just... Keep going until you can't." You encouraged as he picked up the pace, soon fucking deep inside you, his balls slapping heavily against your skin. He cried and moaned in desperate little pleas for release, until his cock was pounding against that knot inside you that made your eyes cross.

"Shit! Right there--!"

Johnny groaned and worked his hips into you double time, his orgasm rising like a wave ready to crash down on him at any given moment.

He screwed his eyes shut as his last moments were not about to be ruined by what his family might say. He fucked harder into you, the headboard groaning in protest against his frantic gyrating until he was cumming hard.

He had no time to warn you, struggling to pull out as his cock twitched and spilled inside you. "Oh fuck - fuck-" He pulled out, the last of his cum shooting across your pelvis. He shook, gasping for proper breath. "Sorry... Sorry..." He looked down at the sloppy mess he made, half in you, half out, leaking down across the sheets.

You shuddered out a breath, your own orgasm having wracked your body a moment or two after his. "It's fine. It's fine..."

Johnny slumped next to you, his knees shaky and he wrapped his arms around you. "Thank you... For letting me do that."

"Yeah, any time..." You whispered.

[kortsitron]

Corruption

✮ PARING Hobie Brown × Trans Male! Reader

✮ WARNINGS/TAGS reader realizes he's trans, pre-transition reader, religious themes, christianity, fluff, angst, supportive! hobie, reader is referred to as a girl/daughter in some moments, hobie and reader are both young adults, gender dysphoria, toxic parents, abuse, transphobia, cursing, reader is referred by she/her by his parents, happy ending

✮ SUMMARY A stranger comes to your town and helps you realize who you are

✮ A/N  If you know me, you probably know my opinion on Christianity and religion in general, but I won't lie, I kinda like the religious themes. Especially when it's about being taken out of it and realizing that the world has so much to offer once you leave it. I guess it's my type of thing since I have been raised as a catholic little ‘girl’ and now I hate religion with pure passion after having it shown down my throat for years when I was younger. One more thing, if you're not comfortable, please do not read this. I am aware there are people who can be triggered by any of the things mentioned in the warnings/tags. If you decide to read this, I hope you're going to enjoy it! <3

In a way inspired by confessions by @eyesxxyou

ao3 masterlist requests

You were such a perfect girl in everyone's eyes. Always so nice and polite, obedient towards your parents, in church every Sunday. You were so feminine, so lovely. Always wore those pretty dresses and skirts of yours, along with the necklace with virgin Mary on your pretty neck. And your gorgeous long hair. You were a perfection to everyone around you.

But you didn't feel perfect in the slightest.

You felt so wrong for some reason you couldn't quite name. Your body felt like a cage you couldn't get out of and you didn't know why. All you knew was that you wanted to cut your hair, hide your body under some baggy clothing and yell at everyone who called you a girl. But obviously you couldn't do that, no matter how much you wanted to. You didn't want people to look at you weirdly, to call you a freak. 

So you decided to stay quiet, knowing that nothing was going to change because you were too scared to do it on your own. Scared of judgment and scared of being abandoned. 

All you did was pray that your sinful fantasies would simply go away. But instead of them going away, something else happened. Like the prayers from the depth of your heart have been heard and finally answered.

You saw him after the Sunday mass, as you were standing next to your mother while she was talking with someone else. He was nothing like you've ever seen before. Those piercing glistening in the sunlight just like the spikes on his vest. The distressed pants with patches and chains. And those heavy boots. He was the definition of perfection, definitely not to those around you, but for you without a doubt.

You have caught eye contact with that beautiful stranger. His stunning brown eyes stared into yours as he smirked at you. He probably thought you were just a pretty girl, you assumed. After all, why would he think differently?

“Do not look at him.” Your mother scolded you, grabbing you by your shoulder and turning you to face her. You could see the disgust on her face. You’ve never seen her with that kind of grimace on her face. “I do not want to see you near him. I can already tell he's no good.”

She didn't say it, but you could already tell she saw him as the embodiment of everything that was sinful. And the last thing she wanted was her precious daughter to stray from God's path.

You glanced at the punk for the last time before your mother said that you were going home. He still watched you. He wasn't sure what it was about you that made him want to get to know you. But something inside him told him that you needed him.

Since then you saw him around the town, but you didn't dare to come close to him. You felt a rush of excitement in your stomach every time you saw him, saw that smirk of his. You didn't have anyone who excited you the way he did. But he indeed did excite you, but you couldn't even talk to him, being scared your parents might yell at you.

Everything changed when you were peacefully reading the bible on the bench next to the church. It was so warm and sunny, so you picked a spot under a tree. Your hair was made into a long braid that was getting more loose without you noticing. 

You then heard someone sit next to you. You looked up from the bible to see him. That beautiful punk, smirking at you shamelessly. He looked even better up close. 

“Hello, luv. I'm Hobie.” His voice was lower than you thought it would be. But it sounded so good, so smooth you could almost melt. His eyes looked from your face to the bible you held your hand, then back to your face. You started wondering what was on his mind. “What's your name, hmm?”

You bashfully told him your name. You weren't sure how to act. Was he expecting you to pretend to be this perfect girl everyone perceived you as? Or maybe he was finally someone that could let you be yourself? Either way, you were scared to find out.

He chuckled at your bashful reaction. Your cheeks got pink so quickly. You were just so adorable. And so… innocent. But you had a feeling he could see right through you. See that all of this was just a facade and under all of it, there was a real you, trying to get to the surface. Trying to be free.

“Have you ever listened to punk rock?” Hobie asked out of nowhere. You blinked. You? Listening to loud, unapologetic music? You could never do that. At least not without worrying about being judged.

Finally you shook your head and his smirk widened. “Darlin’, we have to change that immediately.” He saw you shake your head even more. 

You heard about punk rock. The unapologetic and loud music for brutal men who have abandoned God's ways and all the rules. At least that's what you have been told by your mother. “They are good for nothing but corrupting the minds of pretty girls like you. And I cannot let that happen.” She told you and you wondered if Hobie was that type of punk. The type to ruin you and corrupt you.

“I-I can't. I am not allowed to listen to that kind of music.” You looked down at the bible in your hands, you couldn't look Hobie in the eyes. You expected him to think you were weird for not being allowed to listen to what you wanted. But all you wanted was to avoid conflict.

Hobie's face went from confusion to smirk again. “Oh please. I can see that there's a little rebel hidden behind those pretty innocent eyes.” So he indeed could right through you.

You nervously played with your hair, wanting to both agree and refuse. And in a quick moment, your beautiful braid was untied. “Oh no.” You watched your hairband fall onto the grass. Hobie noticed it too. He moved and grabbed it, quickly cleaning it off from all the dirt. “Allow me.” He spoke so softly. You weren't sure if you should allow him to touch you in any way, but he just wanted to help you tie your hair, right? 

You decided not to overthink it, sitting with your back facing him, so he could tie your hair. You didn't expect it, but he was so gentle with your hair. No harsh hair pulling. His fingers parted your hand so nicely before he began to braid it. You almost melted.

And soon, you had your pretty braid again. Not as perfect as you could have done it, but it was still really nice. “Thank you so much, Hobie.” You said quietly before excusing yourself and saying you had to go. His eyes softened, he only nodded, asking if he could talk to you again. “I hate to say it, but I can't be seen with you.” 

Hobie sighed, his fingertip tapped at his lip ring, he seemed lost in thoughts. “And if we meet in secret?” He looked down at you, you were so short compared to him. “You can come over to my place, no one will know you were with me and I could show you some of my world.” He spoke so proudly when he mentioned introducing you to his world. And even though you technically shouldn't be meeting him, you were more than curious. So you agreed at last.

Obviously, someone saw you with Hobie. Your parents weren't proud of you for talking to him. You had no other choice than to lie, just like you did when it came to who you really felt about yourself. 

Yes, I like this dress. 

Yes, I like those shoes.

Yes, my hair is so pretty when it's so long.

Yes, I am a girl.

You had to lie, even though you wish you didn't have to. But you hoped that at the end of the day, when you were praying before going to sleep, God would forgive you for lying to everyone around you. He would understand, right?

So, as always, you lied, telling your parents that Hobie asked for some help because he was a newcomer and didn't know the town very well. Your parents weren't happy you talked to him, but knew, or at least believed, you were too good and polite to refuse to help him. They didn't think twice about it, allowing you to go to your room. They didn't mention Hobie braiding your hair, so you just assumed they didn't know about it, so you decided not to mention it either. It was better to keep your mouth shut.

You were careful when the day of visiting Hobie came. You told your parents that you went to study the bible at your friend's house. They didn't suspect a thing. You made sure no one could see you as you made your way to Hobie's apartment. And soon enough, you were in front of the door of his apartment.

You knocked lightly, heard the sound of locks being unlocked and then the door finally opened. You saw Hobie and he looked at you with that same softness like the last time. But this time he rubbed one eye with a cotton pad. You had a look of confusion on your face when you saw that.

“Come in, luv.” He moved so you could come inside, but instead of looking around, you watched him.

“Are you… wiping off your makeup?” The question sounded so stupid in your mind. Men weren't wearing makeup… right?

Hobie chuckled softly before going to the bathroom to wipe the makeup off more precisely in front of the mirror. You saw a few small eyeshadow palettes with bright eyeshadow in them, along with eyeliner and even two lipsticks. Even you didn't own that much makeup, you barely had any makeup since your parents didn't want you to paint your face like a whore.

“Yeah. I have been to a small party outside the town, so I wanted to look me best.” Hobie explained, before throwing a dirty pad into the bin. He then turned to you, it was obvious that you never saw a man wearing makeup before. You've never seen someone like him before. He allowed himself to check you out, you had a long skirt and a cute top that matched the skirt so well. “I am guessing you never wore the kind of makeup I usually go for?”

His hand grabbed one of the eyeshadow palettes and gave it to you, so you could see the inside better. You didn't think much and opened it. You hand one makeup palette and it was mostly light browns, one a little more glittery eyeshadow and two light pinks. But Hobie’s? It was so colorful. Red, blue, green and yellow. All of them so bright and pigmented.

He smiled when he saw your reaction, he felt excitement in his stomach. You looked stunned. “Why don't I finally show you that punk rock?” He left the bathroom and you followed him. His apartment was a little messy. Posters on every wall, some chokers and other jewelry scattered in some places and some clothes laying around. But his room was even better. It was so… him. You could see the room scream Hobie. Even more posters, a guitar. It might have been a little messy, but it had so much character.

Hobie moved to the old cd player and in the matter of seconds, the loud music played. Black Flag on full volume. At first you weren't sure what to think, but soon, you started loving it. You stopped caring about anything when the music played, banging your head to the rhythm. At first a little shyly, but then you were more confident about it, not caring if you were going to mess up your hair. You looked so happy, you felt so happy. It has been since you felt like that.

Even since Hobie came here, he finally saw your smile, the real and sincere smile on that face of yours. But he saw it falter when Can't Decide by the Black Flag started playing.

Sun's coming up and I can't decide

To spill my emotions or keep them inside

Go for a drive, go to the store

I'm looking for something that can't be bought there

I always wear a smile

Because anything but a smile would make me have to explain

And they wouldn't understand anyway

And they wouldn't understand anyway

I conceal my feelings so I won't have to explain

What I can't explain anyway

It hit so close to home, you almost started sobbing. Hobie saw it immediately and turned the music off. He sat next to you, one arm around you while he rubbed your arm with the other to comfort you. He barely knew you, but he was so concerned about your well being already. “What happened, dove?” He asked so quietly, almost as if he was scared he might make you start crying just by asking.

But you weren't ready to admit what has been going inside your head for months. And he could see that so well. A few tears went down your cheeks so you asked for a tissue. You smudged your makeup a bit, but luckily Hobie was able to fix it with the only brown palette he owned, the one had forgotten about since he never used it.

You gathered your things and apologized. “Don't apologize, luv. Just know you can come and talk about what's going on in that pretty head of yours.” You only nodded before leaving. 

Your parents weren't home by the time you came back, they were probably in the neighbor's house, talking and eating how they did once in a while. Probably praising you how good and obedient you were, and how they were happy to have a daughter like you.

And after that situation at Hobie's place, it became harder to pretend. It became hard not to cry when you were called a perfect daughter, pretty girl and beautiful woman. You couldn't wait any longer, you had to talk with someone about it. And the only person who would not judge you was Hobie. 

It has been a while since you talked to him. But you came back, trembling, looking like you were about to start crying at any given moment. Hobie didn't think twice, he just let you in, sat down on the floor while he seated you on his bed. His calloused hands found yours and he caressed them gently in order to comfort you.

And finally, after all this time, you opened up about what has been on your mind for all those months. You explained how you felt trapped in your own body, how you hated being seen as a girl and how much it hurt when you were called and seen as one. How much you just wanted to be yourself.

Hobie's eyes softened, his hand touched your delicate cheek as his thumb stroked it. You didn't flinch away from his touch, instead you leaned into his hand, enjoying the way he touched you. “Darlin’, I think you might be trans.”

“I might be what?” Your nose was already stuffed from all that crying, making your voice sound funny. Hobie sighed before his lips curled into the soften of smiled. 

“Trans, hun.” You still looked confused, but he wasn't going to blame you. You've been living in a place where you were too scared to be yourself, you couldn't name your feelings even though you have been feeling them for months. It was obvious these people weren't talking about things like that, at least not in the way that would make you want to explore those feelings.

“It's uh, it's when your body doesn't match how you feel on the inside. Like you, you have been born as a woman, but you don't feel like one, don't you?” You shook your head, of course you didn't feel like a woman. Thinking about yourself as a woman didn't feel right. 

Hobie got an idea. “Why don't you go to the bathroom and take all of that off? I'll bring ya some clothes and then you'll tell me how you feel.” He helped you with making your way to the bathroom and closed the door after you. You took off the dress, standing in nothing more than your underwear. It felt a bit less suffocating to not be wearing that stupid dress.

Soon, you heard Hobie knock on the door. “I have some stuff I think might look good on you.” You covered yourself with the towel that was near you, not wanting for Hobie to see your body. But he didn't even peek in, instead he held the clothes for you, letting you grab them before he quickly closed the door behind him.

You looked down at the clothes. Some distressed jeans with patches and studded belt, white shirt with some graffiti, which you assumed was decorated by Hobie himself and even some hand warmers to match the outfit.

You had put on the outfit and left the bathroom, only to see Hobie waiting for you. His eyes sparkled when he saw you. And he could see it in your face that you felt better. He looked so excited for you.

But you still had that long braid. “Let me…” Hobie murmured before you felt him touch your hair again. You weren't sure what he did exactly, but when you stepped in front of the mirror, your hair looked so short. It wasn't perfect, but you loved how your hair looked, way more than it looked in a braid, ponytail or any other hairstyle you were used to. You looked like a boy, and you were so happy.

At that very moment, you knew you couldn't go back to how your life was before. You couldn't go back to wearing dresses, praying to the God that probably never listened to you and did not care about you. You could no longer pretend that you were the perfect girl you were seen as until now.

Hobie's hands grabbed you by your shoulder. “Do you want me to call by a different name?” He asked, glancing at your reflection in the mirror as he rubbed your shoulders. You thought about it for a moment, before looking up at him and speaking up. “Do you think [Name] would suit me?”

Hobie chuckled and nodded. “Definitely, luv. Definitely.” He couldn't help himself and softly kissed your cheek. You were surprised by the sudden affection, but you enjoyed it.

“I want you to cut my hair. I want it short..” You said so suddenly, your voice was a little shaky, but you couldn't wait anymore. You have wanted to cut it for a while and you didn't want anyone else other than Hobie to do it. He was surprised by you. He didn't expect you to want to do it now.

“Are you su–” 

“Yes, I am sure.” You cut him off, you didn't want to be mean, but you couldn't wait any longer. “Please… I don't want to go back to what was before. I don't want to pretend to be someone who I am not.” You begged, you sounded so desperate. He couldn't say no to you when you sounded like that.

“Okay.” He said, giving your shoulders a squeeze before he took you to the bathroom. He brought a small stool and seated you on it. He grabbed a scissors, untied your hair, looking at it for the last time before he started cutting it. You squeezed your eyes shut, your stomach swirling with anxiety, as you listened to the sound of the scissors cutting your hair.

Snip! Snip! Snip!

You felt your hair, your hair that you got so many compliments on, tickling your arms and neck before it fell down on the bathroom floor. “Done.” Hobie said, his voice was flat. It made you worry. Did you look bad? Did he mess up your hair? Was it a mistake?

He brushed the cut hair off of you, before you stood up and looked in the mirror. It was not perfect, but it still made you feel good. You started sobbing immediately. “Dove? Are you alright?” Hobie asked, worried and a little panicked.

“I've never felt better.” You sobbed out and he sighed, relieved that you liked it. He hugged you tightly, being so glad to see you happy with who you were.

But it couldn't go on forever. You came home pretty late, still wearing the clothes Hobie gave you earlier. And in the hoodie he gave so you wouldn't be cold while coming back home. You knew confrontation wouldn't be something you were able to avoid . And you knew it wouldn't be a light confrontation either.

Your parents were sitting in the living room. As soon as you closed the front door behind you, you heard your father call you by the name you no longer wished to be called by. You took a deep breath, pulling a hood over your head before you entered the living room. Your parents eyes were immediately on you, your mother gasped loudly.

“What the fuck is that!?” Your father yelled, he stood up and grabbed you by the hood and yanked it off your head. He intended to grab you by your hair, but there was nothing to grab. Your lovely long hair was long gone and there was nothing they could do about it. In a way, that made you proud.

“What have you done to yourself!?” Your mother shouted with tears in her eyes. You've never seen her crying and you didn't expect her to get so emotional. She always seemed so cold. “Where's your hair? Your dress?” She's never been so panicked. “What will we say to the others once they see that your hair is gone? What will they think of us? What will they think of you?”

There was this need to apologize, turn the time back and never let yourself explore who you really were. But you weren't going to let this need win. You have been obedient for way too long. You were pretending for way too long and now? You were tired of it.

“I don't fucking care what are they going to think of me!” You shouted back. Both of your parents were startled by the fact that you just cursed. They never heard you curse, nor did they hear you sound so confident. “I have been pretending to be someone who I wasn't me for way too long. I am not going to let you decide about how I am anymore!” 

Slap!

Your father slapped you so hard you fell to the floor. Your cheek was all red already. You and your mother were both shocked. Your father was about to take his belt off and start beating you, but your mother stopped him. “I am sure there's something we can do instead of beating her up. People will notice and they might think we were the one to cut her hair off. We can buy a wig until her hair grows back.”

“I am not growing it back and I am not putting the dresses back on.” You hissed. Maybe you shouldn't have done that, but you ripped off the virgin Mary necklace off your neck and threw it.

Your parents were more than shocked at your action. “She must have been corrupted by that punk!” Your mother cried out. “What are we going to–” Your father lost his temper. Instead of beating you up like he initially planned, he grabbed you and threw you out the door. “I no longer have a daughter!” It was the last thing you heard before he closed the door.

Soon, your father started throwing your things out the window. All those gorgeous dresses and skirts flying out the window. Before you were terrified to even slightly rip them and now? You didn't care that they got dirty, they stopped mattering to you. You only waited for your father to throw your phone. You wanted to catch it, but it fell onto the concrete, the phone screen broke, but luckily for you, you still were able to use it. You grabbed some more important things that your father had thrown and then made your way to Hobie's apartment.

He was concerned, but both of you knew it was better that way. If you stayed, nothing would change and everything would go worse. More praying, more femininity, more pretending. But you weren't going to stay with your parents, luckily Hobie said you could stay with him.

You were laying with Hobie in his bed. You were so lost in your thoughts and he could see it clearly. Hobie laid on his side to face you, the tips of his fingers brushed against your jaw to get your attention. You turned to look at him. “You okay?” You put your hands on your face and sighed.

“I'm fine. It’s just… I've wanted to be myself for a while and I…” You paused for a moment, not looking into Hobie's eyes. In a way, it all felt unreal. Usually, you would now be in your bed, reading the bible or praying. And now, you were laying with a man you didn't know very well, but he gave you everything you could have asked for. Acceptance, help and hope. 

Your eyes finally met his again. “I didn't expect that it would actually happen. I thought I was going to be everyone's perfect girl until I die, but you came into my life and changed everything. Thank you so much for that.” You smiled at him, you were so grateful he came into your life. He smiled back at you and leaned to kiss your cheek.

“You're very welcome, luv.” 

You both left the town as quickly as you could since that happened. Now, it has been 6 years since the day you met him. Everything has been truly perfect since then. Your transition was going well and you recently had your top surgery.

And Hobie? He was with you the whole time. During the first appointment at the doctor, he helped you take your first testosterone shot and he held your hand both before and after the surgery.

Life couldn't be more perfect and you never felt more perfect.

taglist: @sk3llly

[apenitentialprayer]

i know that as a catholic you just have to believe with what the church says but i really dont like the belief of the original sin, i feel like its such a horrible thing to believe about yourself and about other human beings too

There are actually ways of legitimately dissenting from less essential Church teachings in a way that leaves you in good standing with the Church; I'm not sure if Original Sin is one of those things, though, to be honest.

But, anon, I'm going to offer another perspective here, starting from a quote (perhaps ironically?) from my favorite heretic. One of the things that James Carroll believes is that Original Sin has been given a bad wrap. In Constantine's Sword, he says:

I referred to Augustine’s assertion of the idea that the human condition implies a perennial state of finitude, weakness, and sin, all of which will be overcome, even for the Church, only with the end of time. [...] Augustine is thus regarded as the father of a severe, flesh-hating, sin-obsessed theology, but that dark characterization misses the point of his insight. His honest admission of the universality of human woundedness is a precondition for both self-acceptance and the forgiveness of the other, which for Augustine always involved the operation of God’s grace, God’s gift. Only humans capable of confronting the moral tragedy of existence, matched to God’s offer of repairing grace, are capable of community, and community is the antidote to human woundedness. Augustine sensed that relationship as being at the heart of God, and he saw it as being at the heart of human hope, too. This is a profoundly humane vision.

I wish I had understood the spirit of this quote when I was in high school. I remember learning in my World History class that Islam teaches that all children are born good, and then the world makes them evil. And I remember my teacher asking how that compares with Christianity, and I raised my hand and said that Christianity teaches that all of us are born evil. Because I believed that at the time. And, really, the whole framing of that question was wrong and gave really simplistic representations of what Islam and Christianity teaches, but I don't think we're alone in having internalized that understanding, anon. And that's a shame.

I thin it's important to remember the worldview that the doctrine of Original Sin is actively defending us against; there was an idea, that gets called "Pelagianism" (the poor guy it got named after may not even have believed it), that said that humans were capable of being saved on their own, by their own power. Someone on this site recently asked what people's thoughts on Pelagianism were, so you can read my thoughts here. But to keep it short and sweet, I think Original Sin is an important doctrine because it saves you from the need to be perfect.

There are ways to treat Original Sin that I think are certainly unhealthy, and I think the doctrine can be a source of anxiety and fear. But I also think, very deeply, that Original Sin should be a reason why we treat ourselves and especially our neighbor with kindness and understanding. I can look at myself and say "What I do, I do not understand. For I do not do what I want, but I do what I hate. […] For I do not do the good that I want, but I do the evil I do not want" (Romans 7:15, 19). And I can say that because I know I am ontologically wounded; that all of us have our weaknesses. That while we may still be in the moral wrong for committing a morally wrong action, our wills are compromised in a way that causes us to incline towards the comfortable and the easy rather than the good.

I wish I could go back in time and tell that class that Christianity does not teach that people are born evil. I wish I could go back and tell them that it teaches that we are born in a state of dis-integration, that we are wounded beings yearning for wholeness; alienated beings seeking everlasting belonging; beings lost in darkness, seeking the light. But I can say it now: the doctrine of Original Sin doesn't have to be an occasion to think you're depraved and without value, but it can be an invitation to come to terms with your own woundedness, because doing that (to use the words of Lutheran theologian Nancy Eiesland) "opens a space for the inflowing of grace and acceptance."