#i myself am agnostic but that's not the point

[wizardnuke]

i love dnd..i love playing heavy utility/support/backfield and i love having three to six attacks in a turn and an insane ac. at heart im a support player ill get my hands on whatever we're missing in a group

[magpod-confessions]

Atually, going off another ask I saw on here about Basira... As much as I love her, something about fanon interpretation of her just kinda. Irks me.

Let me preface this by saying I am (mixed) arab.

At no point (to my knowledge) is Basira ever hinted at to be muslim, and a lot of her behaviour and actions would be considered haram.

Idk, I guess it just bothers me that every time theres even a vaguely middle eastern/north African person in media, they get hc'd as muslim, and shown wearing a hijab if theyre fem. I think people forget that there are christian arabs, jewish arabs, hindu arabs, buddhist arabs, hell even zoroastrian arabs, or just atheist/agnostic/nonreligious arabs like myself. It's just. Idk, it rubs me the wrong way.

Also too ig I just hardly ever see anyone vaguely resembling myself in media too :/

Like dont get me wrong theres nothing wrong with headcanoning a character as being a hijabi or whatnot but. Idk man.

.

[l3tm31nn0w]

At His Mercy

Mr. Reed (Heretic) x fem reader

You’re a PhD theology student wasting time at religious convention, bored out of your mind until you meet a charismatic older man who shares your interest in religion and blasphemy.

Warnings: p in v sex, religious trauma, age gap (reader is of age, nearly 30), degradation, oral (m and f receiving), overstimulation, wax play, religion used in an erotic way

(I have never written fanfic in my LIFE that’s how down bad I am for this man, forgive me if this is a mess lol)

You walked up to the mediocre coffee station for the third time that morning, preparing to stay awake through another dull lecture. It was day two of the Colorado Theology Conference and you had lost patience halfway through day one. You had hoped for more academic and agnostic speakers, but so far you’d heard nothing but actual Christian pastors and priests rambling on about the state of modern religion. For Christ sakes the keynote speaker was a goddamn prosperity preacher! You had to stay as long as could to please the big wigs at the university, each program had to send a PhD candidate for “professional development” and this was all they could find for religious studies. Lucky you.

As you poured the burnt coffee into your already stained styrofoam cup you glanced around the table trying to spot the little creamer cups to no avail. “Are you fucking kidding me?” You said under your breath, clearly louder than intended. “Well there’s always sugar!” You whipped your head to the direction of the voice, fearing youd get scolded by some pastor for daring to curse. The voice, a posh British accent that felt out of place in this cursed convention center, belonged to a middle aged man. He had a kind smile that reached his blue eyes effortlessly. He produced three small sugar packets and handed them to you. “I wish I could drink it black but I can’t handle the bitterness.” He chuckled as you mixed the packets into your cup. You smiled back at him and squinted to read his name tag, delighted that pastor was missing from his name. “Thank you Mr. Reed, I’m just glad to see a man that’s not a preacher in this room.”

His eyes traveled across your body and you almost called him out but he spoke before you could say anything. “I take it you’re not a woman of the cloth yourself, I hate to judge a book by its cover but I doubt many Christian churches would want that on display.” He pointed to the tattoo on your sternum. You giggled and relaxed, realizing he hadn’t been in ogling you, he’d simply been looking at your tattoo. He was the first person this weekend to look at it and smile, most had sneered at you once they realized what it depicted, not that any of them really knew beyond thinking it was a demon. “I know it’s not a good look for an old man like myself to be staring at a young ladies chest, but indulge me” his posh voice lowered with the last words and you felt yourself growing unexpectedly warm. “That fellow there” he said point towards collarbone “is Asmodeus, yes?” You looked up at him, realizing how handsome he really was up close. He had a classic attractiveness to him that no doubt made him popular when he was younger, but there was a bookish innocence to him even at his older age that drew you in. His instant recognition of the demon on your chest must’ve made you visibly light up because he beamed a smile right back at you. “You’re the first person to actually know who he is this entire weekend! I’ve gotten lots of comments but I’m sure you can imagine they were less than kind based on the crowd we have here.” He raised his eyebrows and nodded, enthusiastically agreeing with you about the overly zealous convention goers.

Relieved to have met someone with a more academic background you blurted out “I’m Y/N! Please sit with me during the next lecture? I think I’ll die if I’m stuck sitting between anymore church moms or worship leaders.” He smiled again, making the crows feet surrounding his blue eyes wrinkle up. “Absolutely Y/N, but only if we can sit in the back and whisper nasty jokes about whatever nonsense is being said on stage.” You laughed, a genuine laugh, and began walking towards the ballroom where the next lecture was taking place.

“So what brings you here Mr. Reed? You must be an academic if you’re not a Bible thumper like all these people. Forgive me for judging a book by its cover as well, but you must be a professor?” He certainly looked like one with autumnal colored cardigan, grey slacks and large clear rimmed glasses. “Oh goodness no, you flatter me! I’m just an old man with an interest in religion. I’ve been studying it for decades at this point. I’ve been to quite a few of these things, but usually they’re filled with academics not religious nuts. I think this one was advertised a bit incorrectly. I’m guessing you’re on your way to being a professor though?” He quiered back at you. “Yes, I’m getting my PhD in religious studies. I’ve been into religion as long as I can remember as well, I guess not as long as you. Oh god sorry that was rude!” You blushed a bright red realizing you’d called Mr. Reed old. He simply laughed and said “Darling don’t apologize for having eyes, I’ve clearly got a few decades on you! You must be what? 30 at most?” The blush from early only deepened at the pet name. Attempting to gain composure you coughed and replied “30 in April!” “Trust me, I’m ancient history compared to you.”

The two of you settled into the back row of the ballroom and you nodded toward the speaker, a Baptist minister who looked like he’d been alive during the crucifixion. You lowered your voice to a whisper “well not as ancient as HIM.” Mr. Reed stifled his laughter, a challenge you both attempted and mostly failed as you whispered back and forth for the next hour.

After the lecture the two of you slinked out the back worried you’d get a talking to for being too loud during the lecture. You looked at the paper schedule from your pocket and sighed “the damn keynote is next. I don’t think I can handle that grifter.” Mr. Reed grimaced in agreement. He looked down at his watch and then up at you. “Would you allow me to take you lunch darling?” There was the pet name again and with it came a flush in your cheeks. You chewed your lip, deliberating it. You were supposed to sit through the scheduled lectures and bring back notes for your thesis team, a way to prove the university’s investment in professional development wasn’t wasted even though it most certainly was in this instance. You looked up at Mr. Reed, studying his expression. You wanted to know more about this mysterious religious enthusiast full of dirty jokes who got excited by demons. Surely he had stories that would be more impactful than that prosperity preacher! You lied to yourself saying it was purely academic when in reality the heat pooling in your stomach was getting hard to ignore. You’d always fancied older men, but until now it was always talk. Always a day dream. Here was a handsome older gentleman who had a lot in common with you who was seemingly flirting without being creepy. You couldn’t let this chance pass. “It would be my pleasure! Let’s get out of here.” Your new companion’s face lit up and he guided you out the door of the convention hall. “Don’t laugh at how cliche this is, but there’s a rather good English pub down the road how does that sound?” You tightened your scarf around your face and nodded, a slight giggle escaping at that suggestion coming from the posh accent.

After a couple of blocks you’d reached your destination and settled into a booth at the back of the dark, cozy pub. “Can I ask a personal question that may be slightly uncomfortable?” Mr. Reed posited. You were becoming slightly infatuated and really had nothing to lose at this point. “I’m an open book, ask away!” “What is your reasoning for getting our good friend asmodeus etched upon your lovely collarbone? I know you’re far too smart for the standard answer of “he looks neat.”” You knew this would be coming the second he had recognized the demon on your chest. If you were going here, you wanted to play with him a little. “Well Mr. Reed, I can answer that, but first I need you to tell me what you know about Asmodeus.” Your older companion smiled at you dangerously and began, “Well, he’s present in all the abrahamic religions, usually as a demon king. He’s closely associated with the Angel Raphael. And, forgive me for being so crass, I hope this last reason may have motivated your tattoo: in the late Middle Ages the Malleus Maleficarum posited that he was the demon of lust.” His final word went straight to your core. You were almost dizzy from the rush of endorphins hitting you, sure it was hot that was boldly and blatantly flirting with you, but his knowledge of all the things that interested you the most may have been even sexier to you. You smiled coyly. “It’s your lucky day then Mr. Reed. His association with lust was absolutely the motivating factor.” He grinned at you and gave a look suggesting he wanted you to elaborate. “I was raised Catholic. My parents were all about it, we were constantly volunteering at the church. So at one point in high school me and this friend, Gabe, are put in charge of cleaning out the sensors. One day I walk in and see the parish priest trying to put a move on Gabe and I put myself between them. I tell the creep I’m running straight to the diocese and to my parents to get his ass fired. Well by the time I get home my mother is SCREAMING at me calling me a whore of Babylon, a jezebel. My father won’t look me in the eye. Turns out the creep priest had called my house and told my mom he caught me and Gabe fornicating in the church office and that Gabe told him I let all the other high school altar boys take turns with me. Obviously none of it was true, I was a virgin and Gabe was in the closet, which father creep knew and probably used to get Gabe to fall into line with his story. For the rest of high school I was the Catholic school slut and that came with all the cat calling and groping you can imagine. You’d think that would break my spirits when it came to religion, but it had been with me so long I couldn’t let it go. I didn’t believe the way my family did, but the stories, the imagery it all meant so much to me. So I fuck off at 18 and go to college in a different state for theology. Turns out I’m good at it. I graduate with honors. I get into a top choice masters program. I graduate from that program with honors. I know I’m hot shit and I feel like I’m hot shit and that I’ve come a long long way from being the Catholic school slut so I find the perfect image of Asmodeus and get him smack dab in the middle of my slut chest. Because he’s more than lust, he’s power, he’s danger. It’s a shame though, I spent so much time with my head in a book I never got to live up to my alleged Catholic slut persona.”

The second you finish your story your confidence falters and you feel your cheeks flush. You cannot believe you just shared all that with this man you’ve only known for a few hours. Mr. Reed broke the silence by quietly saying “You’re extraordinary.” You could tell he was being sincere and it made your heart beat faster. If he kept this up your old reputation may come true. “Well now you know my edgy religious trauma backstory, let’s hear yours!” He chuckled. “Well I can’t say I was ever accused of being the town harlot, though I don’t think I’d fit that part visually anyway.” You rolled your eyes at him, sick of his subtle self deprecation. He had to know he was handsome. Sure, he was old enough to be your father, but his age suited his features. The lines around his mouth and eyes came to life when he smiled. His greying hair was touseled in that messily attractive sort of way. The large glasses that sat in his face added to the sexy professor vibe he gave off. “Honestly I’ve got no tragic backstory. I’ve just craved the connection to a higher power since as long as I can remember. I wasn’t raised religious so as soon as I could read I started searching for the one true god. There’s so many religions is exhausting. Each of them have their own special qualities, but there was always something that let me down. I learned literally as much as I could. I’ve collected so many books and artifacts that my house looks like a damned theology museum. Then I found it. After my years and years and years of searching. I found the one true religion, the one true god.” He said those final words very seriously which contrasted greatly with his general quirky demeanor. You let out a little gasp. “So you’re not agnostic or an atheist then? I just assumed the way we were talking with each other you were agnostic like me!” “I was the picture of agnosticism for many many years. I don’t know what my discovery makes me. There’s no way to describe it.” Ok, now you were a little nervous. Was the handsome academic before you secretly a cult freak? He clearly sensed your discomfort and lightened the mood. “Enough of that though, you’re not some religious nut who needs to be convinced. I respect a solid agnostic. It’s good to be open to anything.” You smiled back at him, feeling just a bit more at ease.

You continued to chat about yourselves and various religious facts and oddities as you ate. Eventually you exited the restaurant and realized how long you’d been lost in conversation. The sun had begun to set and you weren’t quite ready to leave your new companion. His assertion of knowing the one true religion wouldn’t leave your mind. An old building across the road caught your eye. You looked over to Mr. Reed, his nose starting to flush pink with the cold. “Humor me?” You said as you stuck your gloved hand out to him. He smiled and placed his much larger hand in yours. You pulled him across the road and into the old stone building, a rundown yet still beautiful Catholic Church.

Despite your distaste for your family and your upbringing, you always felt a warmth and a comfort inside a Catholic Church. This one was small, but still had all the hallmarks of a cathedral: stained glass, wooden carvings of the stations of the cross, a giant crucifix of Christ in all his gory glory dead center of the aisle. You always found that there was a certain blasphemous sensuality in the depictions of Christ. Maybe you weren’t beating the Catholic slut allegations after all.

As you guided Mr. Reed into the church you paused to anoint yourself with holy water, old habits die hard after all. He skipped the water but followed you as you trailed around the church, your eyes on the architecture and decor, his eyes never leaving you. You finally settled into a few towards the front near the donation candles. The two of you were the only occupants and you closed your eyes, savoring the moment. Eyes still closed, you rested your hand on his and whispered “Thank you for seeing me. Nobody has ever seen me the way that you have.” You were met with silence, but his larger hand covered yours. After a continued moment of silence you opened your eyes and turned to him. “Please. What is this one true religion you believe so much in? I have to know. I can’t fathom parting ways and never knowing.” He looked at you very seriously. “Are you sure you want to know?” “Please.” You whispered desperately. “Ok, then close your eyes again.” He said in a hushed tone. You did as you were told and you felt him brush a strand of hair behind your ear. He leaned in close enough that you could feel his lips graze your ear and whispered “Control.”

Your entire body felt as if it was engulfed in flames. You squeezed the hand that still remained in your grasp and your eyes fluttered open. His gaze was hungry. You stared directly at him and said, louder than any of your previous conversation in the church, “Mr. Reed I think I’d like you to take me to see that theology museum you mentioned earlier.” “Of course darling.” In stark contrast to the way you had lazily lead him by his hand into the church, he quickly lead you out with his hand pressed firmly onto the small of your back. The old woman working the volunteer desk shot the two of you a puzzled look, she had no doubt assumed you were father and daughter until she saw the way his hand rested just above your ass.

He whisked you back to the convention hall parking lot and opened his car door for you, ever the gentleman. He had asked if you’d driven to the convention and if you wanted to drive separate, but you had ubered from your modest student housing. The two of you continued to make conversation as you had all evening, Mr. Reed even mentioning specific artifacts he would show you when you arrived at his house. Despite this the sexual tension was thick and heavy in his small sedan. A small part of you was screaming to yourself that this was insane and reckless, going to a second location with a man you just met today. But you had secretly wanted your day to end this way nearly the second you met him. His course whisper of the word control had sent you over the edge. All you do is think and decide and it gets so fucking exhausting. The idea of turning yourself over to him to do with you as he liked was just too good to pass up.

He pulled up to his house and opened up the car door, leading you into his house. You couldn’t help but smile as you walked in. It was adorable. It had the soft welcoming quality of a grandparents house. You wouldn’t dare say this aloud for fear of making him self conscious about his age. “Oh Mr. Reed your house is lovely! It’s so cozy!” You exclaimed. He smiled at you and then noticed you were shivering. “Cup of tea to warm you through?” He asked. You nodded and he disappeared into the kitchen. You settled onto a couch and before long he returned with two cups of tea. As he handed you yours his fingers brushed your hand for an extended moment and it sent shocks through you. Much to your embarrassment he noticed and winked. You drank your tea and continued to talk aimlessly until finally he said “Would you like to see some of my collection?” You nodded enthusiastically. Sure, “seeing his theology museum” was a ploy for him to take you home and fuck you senseless, but you also were dying to see his collection and he knew it.

He grabbed your hand and guided you down a dimly lit hallway into a large office. It was chock full of books, artifacts and paintings. You could’ve lost hours in here. He had things from just about every religion you’d ever heard of, there were probably a ton that you had no clue about. He let you wander around for a moment then retreated into a corner, returning with an intricate crucifix. “I think you’ll love this one, I saw how you looked at the one at the church.” He handed it over to you and you brought it close to your face to inspect the detailed paint job. It was a wooden carving, probably late medieval or early northern renaissance. The paint had faded, but the details of Christ’s wounds still shone a bright red. You rubbed your finger absentmindedly up the naked torso of the figurine and you felt Mr. Reed’s breath on your neck. “I watched you look upon the lord in that church and could tell your thoughts weren’t so holy. Is that your grand rebellion against your upbringing? Fantasizing about fucking Jesus?” You whipped around and faced him, your lips nearly touching. His pale eyes bore into you and for the first time this evening you were genuinely speechless. That serious, almost scathing tone from back at the church had returned. “How many times have you sat up late at night and touched yourself looking at him while you study? Do your droll professors know you’re soaking through your panties when they’re running through their slides?” Your face had to be deep red at this point and he was clearly relishing in your embarrassment. “When was the last time you got fucked y/n?” You looked away from him and that was all the answer he needed. “At what point today did you start imagining me fucking you?” He asked smugly. You thought back, trying to pinpoint the exact moment your thoughts turned to sin. “When you pointed out my tattoo. I thought you were checking me out, but realized you were genuinely curious about the tattoo. You knew what he was.” His eyebrow raised, seemingly pleased and shocked at your answer. “I thought you were handsome from the moment you handed me the sugar packets, I have eyes after all, but your intelligence is what sent a fire through me.”

You felt brave and brought your hands up to his hair, rifling your fingers through his soft greying locks. He closed his eyes and hummed an approval. After you broke the seal by touching him, he finally placed his hands around your waist and pulled you towards him, your chests flushed against each other. Your lips were barely grazing when he whispered

“Behold, you are beautiful, my love;

    behold, you are beautiful;

    your eyes are doves.”

Who was this man? One second he’s degrading you, the next he’s holding you tenderly quoting the Song of Solomon.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he broke the small gap and kissed you. It was a a chaste kiss, perhaps revealing he simply talked a big game and he himself hadn’t had a lover in some time. That was fine by you, there was something alluring about breaking him in. You went in for another kiss, hotter and heavier than his, your hands gripping his scalp, a moan building in the back of your throat. You broke the kiss and began placing kisses across his face and neck, settling in to craft a hickey on his right side. You left his neck with a pop, satisfied by the red mark left behind. You whispered into his ear “and when was the last time you fucked, Mr. Reed?” He brought his hands up to your face, pulling it to look him in the eye. “I must confess darling it’s been quite a minute. Once you reach my age the options slim out. I’m also not one to just stick my cock in whatever makes itself available. You, my dear, are special. And if you’ll let me, I can show you that while it may have been awhile for me, I promise you I’m not out of practice.” You answered him with another kiss. He smiled and released you, causing you to frown at the lack of contact.

“Give me just one second!” He called back to you as he began running around his office. He began putting together what you could only describe as a nest in the middle of the floor laying blankets and pillows around. He grabbed your hand and guided you to the floor. “Now darling, will you let me show you how a man treats a lady? I doubt those piddly little boys you’ve messed around with had a clue how to make your body sing.” His words went straight to your core. The idea of an age gap alone always turned you on, the allure of an experienced, tender older man who knew how to treat a lady. You let him lay you down and said “I’m at your mercy now Mr. Reed.”

He lay next to you and resumed kissing you passionately. As he slipped his tongue into your mouth he began slipping his hand under your sweater. “What a good Catholic slut you are!” He mused, pinching one of your nipples. You rarely ever wore a bra, especially under your thick winter sweaters. You let out a soft moan in response. He massaged your breast further and you stifled another moan. “Darling it’s just us, you can do better than that. “O come, let us sing to the LORD; let us make a joyful noise”” He tweaked your nipple at the end of the quote and you moaned deeply, both at the stimulation and the persevere use of a psalm. He pulled your sweater off leaving your chest bare, the cold air hardening your nipples. He wasted no time taking one into his mouth, licking and sucking while he stimulated the other with his hand. It was all going straight to your core, you needed him to touch you where it mattered.

“Please” you huffed out. He brought his face close to yours and asked “Please what? You’re a big girl use your words.” Your face flushed, suddenly feeling a wave of embarrassment. You were never one to talk dirty or ask for specifics when you had sex, you always worried it would kill the mood. Deep down you knew this was part of the turn on for him though so you managed to sputter out “Please play with my pussy. I need it, I need it so bad it hurts.” He places a kiss on your forehead and replied “what a good girl using her words. How I could I ever deny you.” Despite the slight condescending tone, the use of “good girl” made you moan. He would remember this.

He brought his hand down to your jeans and rubbed through the thick material. It did practically nothing and you knew this was just another ploy for you to beg him using your words. “Mr. Reed please please touch me bare, please I need your fingers.” He smiled and began sliding your jeans off. He chuckled when he got to your underwear. “Listen I didn’t imagine I’d be getting lucky at the religious convention!” You squeaked out hiding your face. You’d absentmindedly thrown on a pair of boy short style underwear patterned with French fries. “Is it too forward to say suddenly I’m craving a McDonald’s?” You playfully kicked his leg and you both chuckled. “I would never allow a poor old man to starve.” You replied faux dramatically.

As he went to pull down your underwear he exclaimed “my god, am I this powerful? These are sopping wet.” It was true, he’d been turning you on for hours at this point and by the time you’d made it back to his little chapel your underwear was so wet it almost felt like you’d had an accident. “Then do something about it!” You huffed. He pulled the garment down your legs and you were finally laid bare before him. You had no clothes on and he had everything still on, down to the grandpa cardigan. Laid out in his office decorated like a church you felt like a sacrifice. That only turned you on more.

He pulled your legs apart as wide as they could go and gazed up your sex. Despite his academic cool guy demeanor, you were really beginning to see just how turned on he was. His face was flushed, his hands trembled slightly as they gripped your thighs. His erection was straining through his trousers, clearly large enough for you to have plenty of fun with later. He moved his hands from your thighs to your vulva and spread you open, sighing lustfully as he did. He took an index finger and rimmed it around your entrance, gathering your juices before bringing his finger in lazy circles around your clit. You moaned, a deep guttural moan. You were too caught up in the ecstasy of finally being touched to see just how much this affected him. He continued to slowly stroke you while he brought his lips back to your nipple, sucking and nibbling. The dual stimulation was heavenly. He brought his lips to your ear and whispered “Darling may I taste you?” You moaned at the thought and then, in a moment of theological clarity, caressed his cheek and replied “My beloved has gone down to his garden, to the beds of spices, to browse in the gardens and to gather lilies. I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine; he browses among the lilies.” He seemed just as turned on by religious quotation as you, his eyes widened before he slunk back down to your pussy, spreading it wide before feasting upon you.

He took an experimental lick from your entrance to your clit and you cried out. Clearly amused by your reaction, he focused on your clit, alternating between licking and sucking in a painfully slow fashion. You were moaning in a way you would’ve considered deeply embarrassing had you had the clarity to hear yourself: a high pitched whiny squeal that sounded like something out of a porno. This entire scenario, the dashing older man eating out the young bookish girl, was straight out of a porn so perhaps your wailing was fitting.

As you felt your climax build, he cruelly pulled away. “Noooo don’t stop please!” You whined, lightly kicking his arm. He looked up at you and you found that his gaze had shifted back to the confident, predatory one you’d seen at the actual church. He climbed up your body until you were face to face and he held your chin in a strong grasp. “Are you going to be a good girl? Because only good girls get to cum.” You nodded frantically. “You said earlier you were at my mercy, I’m going to put that to the test now. If you disobey me I’ll leave you crying on the floor with no release and no chance at getting my cock.” Your eyes widened, what on earth did he mean with his test? Your mind was too clouded with lust to question anything. You needed him. “Anything Mr. Reed I’ll do anything you want. I’m your good girl please let me show you.” He chuckled at your desperation. “Wait right here then my good girl, I need to grab some things. Something from me and something from you.”

He left you laying on the floor wondering what he could possibly mean by something from you. After what felt like ages he returned. In his hands he held an ornate candlestick with the Virgin Mary carved into the side. A deep red candle was affixed to the top. “This” he said setting the candle on the ground “is from me.” He rifled into his cardigan pocket for something. “And this is from you. I think most people would say good girls don’t carry this in their purse, but I would wager I’m not most people.” He produced a small black rubber ball with a small hole at the top. You stared at in, confused, and then realization set in. It was a vibrator. You had gone out to lunch with your roommate from undergrad a week ago and she had given it to you as a joke, calling it your date for Valentine’s Day. She’d been married with kids for 5 years at this point and constantly nagged at you to settle down so the vibrator was par for the course, a usual humiliation from her. At the time you’d rolled your eyes at her and thrown it in your bag forgetting about it. Your companion must have rifled through your belongings when you got up to use the bathroom at the restaurant. He sat down on the floor and motioned for you to come to him. “Lay against me pet.” He said patting his chest. You backed into him, your ass against his straining erection and your head leaning back onto his shoulder. It was almost too intimate a position for a one night stand. If that’s all this was.

“Here is what’s going to happen. I am going to take this candle, light it, and drip its wax down your delectable body. While I’m doing that I will be holding this vibrator firmly against your clit. Now I know I’m not some big muscle freak, but I am certainly strong enough to hold you down and I will do so. You will not cum until I give you permission. If you agree to this right now I will not listen to any pleas of stop or no, but I know that you won’t dare even utter those words.” Your heart was racing and you felt yourself grow even wetter, something you didn’t think was possible at this point. Earlier when you’d mentally imagined fucking your new friend you’d imagined he would kiss you and fondle your breast a little before fucking you in missionary. You’d never anticipated wax play and edging from an aging British amateur theologian.

“I told you Mr. Reed. I’m at your mercy.” You huffed out, snuggling your head into his neck as if to prove how serious you were about staying. “Atta girl” He said, placing a kiss on your forehead. He started by lighting the candle. Once the wax began dripping down to the candle holder he lifted it off the ground and hovered it above your naked body. “You, LORD, keep my lamp burning; my God turns my darkness into light.” The psalm slipped past his lips as the hot wax hit your breasts. It felt incredible, especially as he held you flush against him. His right arm held you firm in place against him even as his hand, which held the vibrator, snaked closer and closer to your core. Finally you felt the cold silicone divot pressed firmly over your clit. You shuddered at the contact, already sensitive from his fingers and mouth. He hit the button on the side of the device and it whirred to life. Just as the vibration began he poured more wax down your torso. The stimulation was already mind numbing. He began whispering passages from revelation in your ear, the twisted words of angels unleashing chaos on mankind only sending me further into your hedonistic frenzy. The Catholic slut had been fully realized. The vibrator attacked your clit you felt yourself teetering just on the edge of release, somehow holding out simply to please him, to serve him.

Tears began rolling down your cheek, not from the pain of the hot wax, but from the pure ecstasy this man was inflicting upon you. There was nothing left in the world, just you and him. His soft cardigan against your skin, his wispy grey curls tickling your eyes as you hid your face in the crook of this neck, his gentle voice in your ear. Suddenly that voice switched from revelation back to a passage from a psalm: “Deep calls to deep at the noise of your waterfalls. All your waves and your billows have swept over me.” Your entire body erupted into white hot light, your climax racking through your very being. Mr. Reed set down the candle and turned off the vibrator and brought you even closer to him, bringing you fully into his lap with his arms around your waist. You sobbed into his neck, so overwhelmed and overstimulated by what you had just experienced. “Oh my beautiful girl you are more marvelous than I could’ve ever imagined.”

Once you had stopped crying and come down from your orgasm a little, he tapped your side and helped you stand up. He guided you out of his faux church and down the hall into what you assumed must be his bedroom. He laid you down on the bed and left for moment, not without kissing you first. While you waiting for him you took in your surroundings. The walls were covered in a deep red floral wallpaper. The bedding was soft, though a little worn. He had more religious artifacts adorning his walls and shelves. You even spied Dan Brown’s Angels and Demons amongst a stack of books. You would tease him for that later. He returned with a large glass of water and handed it to you. As you sipped the cool water he started undressing, stripping down to a white tshirt and plaid boxers. You set the glass down on his bedside table and held your arms out to him. He climbed in the bed next to you and began kissing you fervently. His hands explored your body and despite the previous orgasm you found yourself growing slick with want yet again.

Now that he was freed from his trousers you reached your hand down and stroked his length through his boxers. He let out a delicious moan in response, his cool demeanor fully melted away and replaced with need. As you kissed him through his moans and continued to palm at him you wondered how long it had been since he’d been this intimate with someone. That’s really what was happening here, this was far more than a one night stand. You wanted to make him feel good, to elicit an orgasm that brought him to tears just like he had done for you.

Breaking the kiss you slid your hand under his shirt and gently guided it over his head. Once you’d removed his shirt you kissed him deeply, leaving his lips and trailing kisses down his chest. When you reached just above his boxers you raised an eyebrow, surprised to see a happy trail leading to your main event. You kissed along the patch of hair and slowly slid his boxers down. His cock sprung forward and you couldn’t help but moan a little at the sight of him. He was a good 7inches and decently thick. Circumsized too, so god must be pleased.

You began stroking his bare length and he shuddered. Leaning forward, you took his entire length into your mouth in one quick motion and he yelled. As you went to work he gripped your hair holding you tight in place. “Oh my sweet girl my good girl you make me feel divine” he sputtered out between moans. You loved how vocal he was and you couldn’t wait to hear him when he was inside you.

Suddenly his grip on your scalp released and he pulled your head off of him. Fearing you’d done something wrong you looked up at him with big doe eyes, waiting for a response. He pulled you up so that you were straddling him and brought your head to rest against his. “And the two shall become one flesh.” He whispered before pulling you into a kiss you could only describe as romantic. Sure you were both naked and your wet cunt was planted firmly on his rock hard cock, but there was something innocent and pure about that kiss. He scooted up against the headboard and pulled you firmly onto his lap, your tits right at eye level. He lifted you onto him and you both groaned in ecstasy as he entered you. Unable to control yourself you began riding him, needing to feel him go deep inside you. The sounds coming from your soaking union were obscene, complimented by your once again pornographic high pitched squeals and his guttural moans. He held you flush against him, your breasts smothering his face. He nipped and sucked at your nipples again, feeling the rush of warm wet slick it caused. “Imagine what your old classmates would think of you now, piercing yourself on an old atheist’s cock.” The dirty talk was back and you knew his voice alone could guide you to a second climax. “If god was real then he designed you just for me, he made your sweet little cunt ripe for my taking. MY perfect little Catholic slut.” He growled out the word “my” emphasizing the feeling you already held near and dear to your heart, you were his. With those words ringing in your ear you came hard and fast around his cock and he followed shortly after. You could feel his warm seed filling you and mixing with your own cum, dripping out of your weeping hole.

You both just held each other, his cock softening inside you. He finally pulled out and the two of you hobbled to his bathroom. He guided you into the shower and you both just enjoyed each other’s silent company as you cleaned off the evidence of your lecherous evening. You stayed under the warm water awhile longer after he left, just soaking in the steam. When you climbed out and began drying yourself off he re-entered the bathroom holding a pair of plaid boxers and a faded old Radiohead t shirt. “I get to stay?” You asked grabbing the clothes from him and pulling him into a kiss. “Darling if I had it my way you’d never leave.” You pulled on his clothes and climbed into his bed with him, falling asleep in his arms as if it was the place you were destined to be.

***

Four months later when you crossed the stage to accept your doctoral diploma, you beamed with pride and relief that for the first time in your academic career they didn’t call out the last name that belonged to your family who had thrown you out so carelessly. No, they announced you as Dr. Reed.

After a whirlwind month of romance and hedonism, Mr. Reed had proposed to you. It was insane, your friends thought, marrying a man old enough to be your father that you’d just met, but when they saw the two of you together the couldn’t argue. It truly seemed that you were two halves of a whole.

You were hired by the university you’d graduated from as a theology professor and you and your husband lived a blissful life. You opened him up more and would bring your friends around for dinner parties and game nights. He would still linger at your side like a puppy dog even as he grew more comfortable around people. The house you shared was always ooh’d and ahh’d at by company. Occasionally you’d be asked “what’s behind those twin doors in the office?” and you’d smile and politely reply “oh it’s just old storage there, nothing fancy to show off. In fact it’s a mess, I’d be embarrassed for you to see!” and your husband would squeeze your arm and smile at you, proud that you’d converted to his one true religion.

[bradshawsbitch]

son of a preacher man | rhett abbott x reader

disclaimer; this thot popped into my brain this morning as i listened to 'son of a preacher man' by dusty springfield, feel free to listen to it as you read. I myself am agnostic so if there's any inaccuracies-- *shrugs*. both characters are 20.

warnings; religious themes, 18+, smut, unprotected sex, p in v, creampie, female reader, afab!reader, corruption kink, innocence, dresses mentioned, attempt at masturbation, cunnilingus, mentions of sick parent, size kink(?)

summary; rhett abbott, the preacher's son, is the only one who had ever reached a part of you, a part of you you hardly knew yourself.

word count; 4K.

tagging people who might like; @hangmanapologist @sebsxphia @rhettabbotts @lt-bradshaw @roleycoleyreccenter

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Spring had come suddenly that year, the meadows waking from their long sleepy absence and blooming slowly with white and pale lavender wildflowers. The sweet fragrance that emanated from the very earth you walked on was intoxicating to you, more than happy to spend long afternoons amongst the meadow wildlife if time allowed it.

More often than not though, there was no time. Your father had fallen ill the past year, and his health had steadily declined as the raw winter chill seeped through the old wood of your house. Mother had needed all the help she needed around the house, with the sweet lambs you had out back, shearing them and spinning yarn from their soft fur.

You’d often work tirelessly at knitting sweaters, little socks and mittens for the church charity, or to sell on market days to help sustain the farm and your fathers medication. Sometimes mother let you knit out on the meadows, but most of the time she wanted you near her.

The one day you steadfastly looked forward to was Sundays. Sundays when the kind Reverend Royal Abbott would make sure to visit your family after Sunday service to read for your mother and your father, as your fathers health no longer allowed him to attend sermons. It was not so much Father Abbotts blessings that brought you feelings of elation and butterflies, no, it was more so the blessing of his youngest son. 

It was the one afternoon you were completely free from your mothers watchful eyes, and she always let you wander the meadows with the Abbott boy for as long as you needed - under the impression that the preacher’s son was offering you the lord's word as comfort for the situation that was impending. She always gave you a comforting and sympathetic smile as the younger Abbott took you for a walk through your back lawn, out towards the meadows, pastures and forests adjacent.

You and Rhett Abbott were the same age, and you’d always had such a soft spot for the cerulean eyed boy with longer hair and mischief twinkling in his smile and eyes. You knew his mother Cecelia often reprimanded him, and wished he was more like his older brother Perry who sported short, more respectable hair, and who had already married. 

There was something enchanting about him, the way your body and soul always seemed so in tune with him - how when he entered the room, your very being would vibrate with the need to be close to him. 

He was everything. Tall, broad, beautiful and kind. You were, according to yourself, rather plain. Never in your wildest dreams could you have imagined he would desire you in any way, until you noticed how he always made a point to accompany his father to your house on Sunday afternoons. In the beginning, he would sit near you as you listened to his fathers preaching. 

It was hard to concentrate on the words of the Reverend, when his son was running his strong hands softly across the thin fabric of your white, billowy Sunday dress. When he did it the first time, you’d turned to him in shock, only to be met with a sympathetic look as he opted to let his hand rest on your shoulder. It clicked in your mind then that he was offering you comfort. Taking in your surroundings, you saw your mother in tears at the preacher's words, and you bowed your head - only partly ashamed you’d been too busy taking in the scent and the close proximity of Rhett to fully understand Royal’s gruff voice.

His hand on your shoulder, warmth seeping through the thin and soft fabric of your dress made you inhale the softest of gasps. You wanted to melt into his touch and never leave, but you managed to sit up straight with your hands neatly folded in your lap that Sunday afternoon.

As they left that Sunday, Royal tipped his hat and bid your family farewell, as Rhett gripped your shoulder tightly again and spoke softly;

Everything will be alright.

You could tell Royal was proud of his son, thinking his wilder spouse had finally found the way of the Lord. Perhaps that’s why, as time went on, Rhett would make a point to speak verses of comfort to you when they visited. He kept touching your upper arm and shoulder, once venturing to rest his large palm just above your knee - but the surprised gasp you had let out had been so loud he’d had to pretend to swat away a fly as the elders turned to look at you.

Being good isn’t always easy, you tell yourself that night as you imagine Rhett’s firm touch all over your body, burning sensations flaring when you thought of his palm reaching higher up on your thigh. Your own daintier hand didn’t feel the same as you graced it up your inner thigh, your nightgown bunching around your hips as soft gasps spilled from parted lips, legs falling apart further and further as you thought of Rhett’s tall frame fitting in between them. 

Hesitant touches made you writhe in your bed, breaths coming in short gasps, but never truly getting satisfied. No one had ever taught you about your own body, had never told you what sort of feeling you were yearning for when your body burned and ached like this. 

A soft, longing, moan of the preacher’s son's name fell from your lips as you brushed against a spot that momentarily satiated the ache, but you lost it in your surprise that overtook you at what had tumbled from your mouth. That night you contemplated your actions, wondering if you were no longer a good girl in the eyes of the Lord. It surprised you that you felt little shame about your actions. 

After a whole week of chores, knitting and tending to your little lambs, it was soon Sunday again. You’d opted to wear your Sunday dress again, as you would any Sunday, but you had to admit you spent a little more time with the rest of your appearance. As Father Abbott and his son approached your abode, your mother sang their praises to you, gushing over how kind they were to come to your house personally to make sure your poor father’s soul could be salvaged.

“Good afternoon, ma’am,” Royal grumbled, taking off his hat and bowing his head before he kept talking “today, my son was wondering if he might have the privilege to preach to your daughter - he has expressed concern for how she might be faring in these dire circumstances.” 

Glancing up at your mother, you saw tears glistening in her eyes as she nodded “Of course, Father Abbott, we are so blessed to have you preaching to us who are a bit older - certainly, our daughter would be thankful to have a younger perspective upon her hardships,” she answered for you, and you could only bite your lip to keep your smile at bay. 

“Thank you, ma’am.” Rhett spoke, before he revealed what passages he would cover with you today. “Could we perhaps be allowed on the meadow out back?” Rhett continued, eyes flitting between your mother and his father “I find that nature can instill peace along with the Lord’s words,” he elaborated and your mother nodded, tears now glittering on her cheeks.

“My little lamb does love spending her time on the meadow, does it offer you peace my dove?” Your mother doted on you, as if she now at once understood why you were out there. You could only nod mutely, not entirely believing your luck as the elders made room for Rhett to lead you through your back lawn, your arm tucked respectfully in his arm.

Those first times, Rhett did take you for a walk. He would talk in soft, soothing voices, once in a while adding some passages from verses. Mostly, the two of you would talk of other matters too, and getting to know Rhett was exhilarating. He told you of the times he’d snuck out to the rodeo, told you how his friend had snuck him onto a bull that had bucked him off. He told you of the thrill, of how he’d felt so alive. 

You looked at him with starry eyes, and he looked at you with soft adoration in his eyes as he told you how he had always found you sweet. Had always looked out for you. Surprised, you gently argued that he had never talked to you much when you were in school together. 

He told you he would often try to sit near you, would always try to land himself in projects with you, but that their teacher thought he was a little bit of a bad boy, preacher's son or not. A soft smile made its way onto your face as he confessed these sweet thoughts to you, bowing your head downwards out of habit.

Feeling his rough fingertips under your chin made your head spin as he tilted your face up so he could see you again “you’re so sweet… so beautiful, little lamb” he whispered, cerulean eyes taking in your parted lips and your slightly furrowed brows. 

“Rhett,” his name was out of your mouth, breathy and pleading, before you knew it. His breath seemed to hitch, before he groaned your name, closing his eyes as he rested his forehead against yours - facial expression akin to fathers when he was in pain. It seemed as if his other hand was itching to pull you flush to his body, hovering in the air between you when the two of you heard Royal shouting Rhett’s name in the distance. Apparently the Sunday sermon was over.

“Rhett.” You all but whimpered, longing for his touch, for anything he would be willing to give you. The pained expression was back on his face as he looked down at you again, he gently cupped your face in between his large palms, letting his blue eyes devour your features before he spoke.

“Shh, little lamb, everything is alright. I’ll see you next Sunday, alright? I’ll try to see if I can come before that okay?” He whispered to you, and you nodded, watching as he smiled softly before letting his lips press a lingering kiss to your cheek before he straightened up and guided you back to your house.

Letting out a shaky breath, your mother appeared before you, letting you know which chores needed done before sundown. She took in your shaky state and asked if you were feeling alright.

“Preacher’s son had chosen some… very emotional verses today, I’m sorry mother.” The lie slipped almost too easily from your tongue, and your mother smiled sympathetically, offering you a small pat on your shoulder before she was off, singing praises about that preacher's son.

That week, Rhett appeared when you went to sell your knitted goods at the market, and he had taken his brother's place when you brought the pieces for the charity for the church. When he caught sight of you, those beautiful blues of his would look fiery and alive. His touches would linger, his words like sweet honey as he praised your handiwork. As he collected items for the charity, you decided to stay and help him for a while.

Soon enough, it was time to close the church doors, and it seemed as if Rhett could wait no longer. As the doors hid the two of you from the world, he whispered your name in desperation, cradling your face and neck in his large hands, tilting your head up.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped, and a soft, needy noise escaped you at his close proximity, at his words and the way he held you so delicately between his hands.

“Please, Rhett,” you breathed out, daring to let trembling fingers clutch at his white button-up, hesitantly pulling him to you. “Oh, my sweet little dove,” he groaned before his lips came down on yours in a slow kiss, his lips moving against yours in a way that made you dizzy. His warm, wet tongue venturing into your willing mouth, slowly caressing your tongue, swallowing your soft gasps. 

You had never been kissed like this before - it was intoxicating, and sent heat coursing through your very veins, down to your core. Rhett’s hand had slipped into your hair at some point and the sensation of his strong hold on you had a foreign sound leaving you, a sound you only made on those nights when you had tried in vain to replicate the fire coursing through you now.

The sound of a heavy door slamming, had Rhett pulling away, smiling down at you as he stole one last quick kiss before promising he’d see you that Sunday. 

As Sunday came, you felt daring in opting for the white dress that was almost sheer in its thin fabric. It was usually paired with a white bra and top, and sometimes a cardigan. Today, you had foregone both bra and top, covering yourself with your usual cardigan to not raise suspicion with your mother.

To your great surprise, there was a knock on the door before noon, long before the sermon in church was over. Your mother opened the door to see Rhett, holding a bible in one hand and a soothing smile on his face as he explained he had picked out a lengthier passage today, and that his father would come by later. Your mother looked elated as she called for you, ushering you out the door with the preacher’s son. 

As you caught sight of Rhett, that familiar ache burned within you, his very innocent touch on your elbow enough to have you leaning closer to him. 

Today he led you further away, down the far end of the flowery meadow, where a couple of trees shielded the spot from direct view. 

“Rhett-” you had barely finished his name when his lips crashed down on yours in a frantic kiss, his hands squeezing at your waist. “I’m sorry, little lamb. I haven’t been able to stop thinking of you,” he chuckled, gracing your cheek with the back of his hand. You smiled sweetly at him, leaning into his broad chest, letting yourself tuck your face into his warm neck as he held you.

“Rhett,” you tried again, biting your bottom lip as you wondered if this confession would have him fleeing “you… always make me feel funny inside,” you spoke hesitantly, feeling foolish for telling him. 

“Can you tell me how I make you feel, honey?” His voice was dark, and his grip on you had tightened slightly, his one hand guiding your chin from out of its hiding place. 

Licking your lips you looked into his stormy eyes “like my whole body is on fire… like, like I ache for you,” you furrowed your brows “I tried once, tried to… soothe it, but I- I didn’t know how, and it felt—“ you trailed off, embarrassed. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Rhett groaned, “you have no idea what you do to me, do you? Sweet little thing,” he murmured against your neck, where he started licking and kissing.

“I feel it now,” you confessed with a whine, and Rhett chuckled against your skin. “Mm, have I made you ache, little lamb?” He rumbled and you nodded “where does it ache, sweets?” He continued, his hands caressing your arms slowly. 

Licking your lips, you detached yourself from the warm comfort of Rhett’s embrace, slowly removing your cardigan to reveal your all but bare breasts through the sheer fabric of your dress. Not entirely knowing why, or how, your hands slowly inched up the length of your body, keeping eye contact with Rhett as your dainty hands palmed at your breasts, a soft moan escaping you.

“It aches here, Rhett,” you mewled, letting one hand run down the length of your stomach as you whispered “and here, too,” 

The growl that left the preacher's son was near animalistic, and his eyes burned with desire as you hitched your white dress up your thigh. 

“Teach me” you breathed out as your eyes fluttered closed, and Rhett’s tall frame embraced you, holding you against his hard form. His lips were all over you, kissing you, loving you. His larger palms soon replaced your smaller ones, massaging and palming at your breasts - his nimble fingers teasing your nipples in a way that had you crying out in the pleasure that coursed through you. You knew only he could soothe the ache, you’d known it must be so. 

“Oh, my sweet, sweet girl,” Rhett groaned against you, mouthing at your exposed collarbones before he let his lips latch onto your hardened nipple over the fabric of your breast, suckling, licking and nipping softly at it, only making you louder, mewling and crying out his name.

“Fuck, baby,” he spoke gruffly before he held you in his arms and guided you down on the flowerbed. “Don’t know if I want to teach you how to soothe the ache, baby,” he confessed as he continued to let his tongue wet the fabric of your dress. “Want to be the only one who can make you feel like this, the only one you give yourself to,” he moaned, switching to the other nipple and massaging the other in his hand. 

His moans were getting whinier as your hands found his long locks, his suckling becoming more fervent, his hips grinding into your soft thigh. 

“I’ll teach you next time, sweet lamb,” he grunted, pushing your dress up to rest by your waist, your glistening bare cunt a stark contrast against the flowers that budded around your body. Rhett moaned again at the sight, letting his two fingers slowly glide between your slick lips, taking in the soft moans you let out for him.

“Fuck I need to taste you,” he moaned, letting his shoulders rest between your thighs, groaning at how easily you spread yourself out for him. “So good for me, such a good girl,” he hummed, and the words sent fire coursing through your veins as you leaned on your elbows to look down at him. At the stroke of his tongue against your heat, your head fell back, a loud cry ripping from your throat.

“Rhett, oh my god!” You gasped, feeling his tongue swirl around parts of yourself you didn’t know could feel that good. As his wet muscle circled your entrance, you keened softly, canting your hips instinctively to get more. More of him.

“Chasing my mouth now, hm, sweet lamb?” He hummed, chuckling darkly as he licked a broad stripe up your cunt “Want to ride my face, don’t you, filthy girl?” His eyes burned into yours and at his words you couldn’t help the obscene moan you let out. Your body was on fire, your thoughts were starting to turn hazy as Rhett’s tongue brought your first orgasm crashing over your body. 

“Fuck, you look like an angel,” Rhett groaned as he took in the sight of your slick coating your inner thighs, your pussy glistening in the sunlight, chest heaving and breasts fully visible as the wet fabric clung to them - nipples hard at the chill of the wind. 

A whimper left you as he did, his body not touching you momentarily to rid himself of his clothes. “Rhett” you whined, and instantly he was on you again, kissing you, your slick shining on his chin as you tasted your essence on him. 

“I need you,” you gasped, feeling something hard and hot between your legs. Looking down you saw that Rhett’s cock was achingly hard, his thick head red and leaking. You didn’t think you’d ever seen anything more beautiful. A pitiful mewl left you, your hand grasping at the hair at his neck to force his mouth down on yours again, as Rhett started guiding his cock between your lips, circling your clit before catching slightly on your hole and repeating the motion.

“You need me to take care of you, sweetheart?” Rhett’s voice was strained, filled with lust and need. You nodded weakly “Please, Rhett,” you gasped, the sensations he brought you wholly heavenly to you. 

“That’s my good girl,” he whispered, caressing your cheek as you keened at his praise, his swollen head now sinking into your wet heat. “Oh” you gasped, whining at the stretch of his cock entering you. 

“Doing so well, little lamb - taking my cock so well for me,” he soothed, leaving an open mouthed kiss on your lips as his forehead rested against yours. “It hurts… you’re so big,” you cried, and he was instantly soothing you with kisses, stilling with only half of his cock entered into you. 

“Want me to stop, honey?” He murmured as he kissed at your neck. “No, please,” you murmured back, humming in pleasure as he dragged the front of your dress down to latch his lips onto your bare nipple, suckling and kissing at it, making you moan in pleasure as he pressed further into you.

“Rhett, Rhett-“ you babbled, soft cries leaving you as his hips finally became flush with yours. Tears were clinging on to your lashes, and Rhett softly soothed you, kissing at your cheeks and praising you. 

“You’re so tight, feel so good wrapped around my cock… you were made to take me, baby, made just for me,” he moaned as he thrust slowly into you, the drag of his cock inside you enough to have your breath speeding up, wrapping your legs around Rhett’s hips to push him deeper.

You didn’t understand why Rhett let out the longest and loudest moan so far at that, but you wouldn’t complain. His skilled hands were soothing aches all over your body, one landing on your lower abdomen as his shallow thrusts made you feel like you were floating on the clouds.

Reaching for you, he pressed down where he could feel the head of his cock “you’re so full of me right now, darlin’” his voice was husky “can you feel me?” He continued and you could only nod as you mewled softly.

“I love being full of you,” you confessed, soft whines and whimpers leaving you as Rhett brought you closer and closer to heaven. “Want you in me always, never want you to leave” you mewled, gripping at his biceps as his pace picked up. 

Rhett groaned at those words, soft curse words leaving his lips as he fucked into your wet core. “I’m gonna fill you up so good, sweetheart, have me drippin’ out of your cunt all day,” he grunted, leaving a sloppy kiss on your lips as he hiked your thigh higher up on his hip. His name almost slipped past your lips in a needy moan again, but you almost felt like you wanted to call him more. Something forbidden. 

“R-Rhett” his name still stuttered on your lips, and he was smirking down at you, as if he knew you were a bad girl with impure thoughts. Perhaps you’d always been bad. As his fingers toyed with a spot above where you were connected, you ascended to the heavens with the help of him. His name along with unknown phrases coming out in quick succession as you felt warmth fill you as Rhett’s hips stuttered and he cried out your name in a strangled gasp. 

Still inside you, Rhett let his body come down on yours, resting his head between your exposed breasts, mouthing at them softly. His hands caressed your sides lovingly as he told you he was yours now. And you were his. You’d given yourself to him, and you didn’t mind. You never wanted to leave this meadow - never wanted Rhett to leave you. 

As the sun warmed your bodies, and you’d placed countless kisses to his bare shoulders, Rhett helped you dress, smiling at his slick already painting your inner thighs. Pressing a lingering kiss to your lips, he asked you;

“Can you get away again tonight?”

[artist-issues]

You're my new favorite blog! You have no idea how I wish I could peck inside your brain like a chicken. 😭😂😂 I am a Catholic and a recovering agnostic. I struggle with letting go of my old way of life and philosophy constantly, I have been struggling with it since the day I decided to revert - that was back in 2017. (I think you would like to know my journey back to the Faith started after watching HBO's The Young Pope! 👌🏼) At this point I don't know if I'll ever be the person the Lord wants me to be, oh well, I'll die trying and I know that will mean something.

I just know I can't go back to being a non-believer, because as Carl Young said, now I don't just believe, I know. The irony is my struggle to believe in something I know to be objectively the Truth.

I have a question for you though, actually I hope for some advice from you. How do I reconcile with the reality that I haven't become who I dreamed to become (like career wise), but now that a new career has been shoved upon me (a career my parents wanted for me - and they valued safety and stability over "following my dreams" I suppose)? ...which isn't necessarily a bad thing, because it is an extremely noble profession and it pays quite well.

The thing is, as much as I try to accept my new career, I keep telling myself and to others that I'm doing this for my parents and not because I want to be here. I feel terrible about it. But, again, it's not like I am unfulfilled (I am unhappy though, but that comes with the work culture/environment, I feel like I am surrounded by 40+ year old teenagers); as a matter of fact, I do think I know - objectively - in my heart that this is exactly where the Lord wants me to be? But I keep fighting against it, keep struggling against this sense of vocational calling that I'm feeling towards my new job, instead I desperately wanna give into my want to go "live the life I want." Like throw this all away, get new training and start all over with the career I wanted all those years ago.

I want to be better, to be sacrificial like Christ on the Cross. I've always known I had a little depression (comes with my disability from a young age and this whole dream thing); I have been suicidal over this, I actually used to joke with myself that I'd kill myself if I don't achieve my professional goals by the time I turned 25. I will turn 30 this September and even though I haven't been literally dead, I feel like I've been in a vegetative state - mentally - ever since the day I turned 25. I hope that makes sense.

I started seeing a therapist 2 weeks ago since my mental health started affecting my new job - she did say I have depression and is trying to help me but I just don't know if I want to be helped at all, because I am unable to do the exercises she tells me (like create a routine, exercise well, write down good thoughts, etc.) I feel like I'm failing myself, my parents and, most importantly, my Heavenly Father.

I apologise if this is nonsensical, I apologise for dumping all of this on you - random stranger on the internet - but idk I felt like maybe you'd have something wise to tell me to knock some sense into me (without a bump to prove it hehe).

Thank you and God bless! 🥰

You’re very kind, and I’m glad you feel comfortable enough to share all this with me! I really never have anything good of my own to say, or any wisdom to offer, except what I “steal” from God…and I guess what I mean is, if I ever say anything helpful or good or true, I’m just the messenger. I didn’t come up with it. On my own I have zero wisdom or good things to offer.

Anyway, I was surprised reading this because I have gone through (been going through) a similar sort of mindset. I went to school for the career I dreamed about (still dream about) and I worked hard and I wanted it more than anybody around me (very Mike Wasowski in MU of me) and it hasn’t happened the way I planned, or in my timetable.

I mean, in all humility: I work with a studio making a tv show, but it hasn’t got off the ground yet, and I work for a company that writes movie reviews, but neither of those things pay my bills. I have a third job, working with therapists, that’s nothing like what I always wanted to do. That’s my “career,” but it’s not the career I’m passionate about and working toward. And I wonder if I’ll ever do anything “major” in the line of work I love and went to school for. And when I do, I have gotten into some really dark mental places.

Forgive me for not using the words “depression” or “suicidal.” I hate using those words because they’re overused and romanticized and flooding the culture. But more importantly I hate using them because the only thing I identify with is Christ, not any mental struggle I try to slither back into, like a snake trying to put back on old skin. I’m not my overthinking—I’m not my depression—I’m not my suicidal thoughts or emotions—I am one with Christ. Those are things inside me that are defeated and dead—the teeth have been knocked out of them. They just gum me from time to time. So I want you to know I empathize with you, but that’s my point and that’s how I want to answer you:

The only thing about you that really matters is Christ.

Who He says you are, what He has done and how He lived, which is applied to you because He said it is, by grace alone, through faith alone. No matter how you feel.

And I say that to you, as the answer, because I think you and I focus too much on what could be and what “should be” as if God has a set path for us, and if we don’t figure out what it is and walk it, we’ll have a less-fulfilling life. “If I stay at my therapy job and just work with teenagers and write on my blog for the rest of my life, I’ll be fine, but I won’t be as good as I could be.” Or for you. “If I stay in this career I’m in, the one my parents backed me into, I’ll make it, I’ll be fine, but I’ll never be as happy as I want to be.” We’re both thinking, every once in a while, “This is career is what God wants for me, and all my misery is coming from not submitting to it, and if I could just wrestle my contentment into place and give up the thing I want, and submit to what God wants, I’d be fulfilled.”

But how do we know any of those thoughts are true? How do we know God wants us in these boring old careers we wouldn’t have chosen—didn’t choose? Or, how do we know these boring old careers are what we’re stuck in because we didn’t take the plunge and work harder for our “dreams,” which were what He really wanted us to do? How do we know either of those things?

We don’t. We don’t get to know. That’s the point.

Because that’s not how God works. Not from what I can tell in the Bible.

“And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.”. Colossians 3:17.

Whatever you do. Not “the one specific thing you figure out He wants you to do.”

My mom described it to me once when I was in a really dark place trying to figure out what He wanted me to do, paralyzed with indecision, afraid He wanted me to do something I just didn’t want to do, like this: “God doesn’t hold out one flower and say, ‘this is the one I want you to have, so you can either take it or take something worse.’ God makes a field of flowers, and He says, ‘Which one do you want? Pick one, and do it with excellence for Me.’ Then just trust Him to make it good.”

It sounds like you’re in a career, but you are wrestling with whether or not to pick it, now that you have some autonomy as an adult, or to pick starting over. Well. Pick one. Just pick one. And trust God to take care of you. Trusting God looks like thinking it through with excellence, then making the decision—and making the decision means letting go of worrying about the thing you didn’t pick. “Take every thought captive in obedience to Christ.” Once you make a choice, make it all the way, and don’t let your mind wander anymore to “what if this blows up in my face? What if I should’ve stayed back there at the crossroads, or gone down the other path?” It’s going to be hard and God is going to take care of you, no matter what you pick. So don’t let your mind go to those places where you worry; acknowledge the worry, and every time, ask God to help you remember that He’s got you.

Because here’s the point, here’s the thing: He does have you. Because ultimately, your career really doesn’t matter. It doesn’t, it doesn’t, it doesn’t. Neither does your dream. Not ultimately. And now I’ll say “our” because I need to hear it too. Our dreams and careers are not the point of us, and our dreams and careers are not what God means when He says “I’ll take care of you.”

What He means is, “I’ve already taken care of you.” Because the most important thing isn’t our job or our dream. The most important thing is, we’ve been rescued out of eternally being trapped in our broken desires, and now we get to live for Christ, Who is the Way, the Truth, and the Life. That’s the major. And that truth is where our fulfillment is supposed to come from, what our lives are meant for, our purpose. As long as we pick one, and do it with excellence to make the name of Jesus famous, with that goal in mind, we’ll be emotionally fulfilled. We’ll be satisfied. Because that’s the goal. Not making movies, or whatever it is you want to do. Not having secure means of living. Just…living our lives to make who Jesus is famous. We can do that wherever.

So then the choice? It becomes a minor, not a major, and the pressure of “will I be happy?” is off, because happiness isn’t found in that stuff. And whenever I forget, and start looking for happiness in my dreams, goals, career, that’s when it all starts to feel dark and stressful and hard and crushing. Because it was never meant to give me happiness or fulfillment—that’s a need only Christ can fulfill.

Don’t misunderstand me. He cares what you do. He cared about every decision you make, and He does have a plan. But that’s going to happen anyway. So just pray, consider which option is a) wise to go for and takes care of the responsibilities God has entrusted you with, b) which option you genuinely want, when your wants are not influenced by fears, and then c) step out and do it in faith. And do it with the mindset of, “I’m doing this, and I’m not thinking about the alternative if I can help it, and I’m also not putting all my happiness-eggs in this basket, because even if it crashes and burns, hey, I’m still one with Christ and I can still make Him famous no matter what road my career goes down.”

I hope this helps. It’s a subject I’m hamster-wheeling around in my mind right now a lot—but when I just fix my eyes on Christ and think about how the most important things, the things that give real joy and happiness, are already and forever taken care of and I can’t mess them up—then can get off the hamster wheel and enjoy the life He’s given me, right now, today, without worrying about the future.

[xerserise]

Me, an Autistic ADHDer and all-around agnostic:

"I don't know what knowledge you have, and I don't want to assume, so I'll provide the information I know about it and the context of how I got that information, so that we have a starting point. No, I swear I wasn't trying to talk over you, dismiss what you were saying, or make myself the center of the conversation. Oh, shit, that makes me sound like a mansplainer. No, I really am trying to understand, I just need to find and resolve the root of my cognitive dissonance. What were we talking about again?"

[ginnymoonbeam]

Jotting down my 4 Minutes theories and musings as of ep 3, in order to sort it out in my head and be able to laugh at myself later.

Things I'm pretty confident about:

- The opening scenes of eps 2 and 3 are both in the future relative to the Tonkla/Win scenes we got this ep. At some point after this hookup, they'll find out who killed Tonkla's brother and Tonkla will kill him as we saw in the beginning of ep 2.

- Great is the one flatlining on the table in the very first scene, and the 11:00+ times he sees are because he'll be in cardiac arrest from 11:00-11:04.

Things I'm less sure of but am leaning toward for now:

- Tonkla's little brother is Dome, which means we have two distinct timelines: the Tonkla/Win story where Title killed Dome in that field, and the Great/Tyme story where Great saved Dome's life. The second dead body they discover at the beginning of ep 3 will be Title (good.)

- Great is altering the original course of events in a way that will maybe lead to a better outcome. I'm agnostic to whether this is an actual supernatural thing or just all playing out in his head as he lies on the table.

If we are in two different timelines, what about Korn? He seems to be interacting with both Tonkla and Great along the same storyline, but is he? The interactions have been pretty minimal since the first split, and I'm not sure how affected he'd be by the changes in Great's timeline so far. The Tyme reveal right at the end of ep 3 is the first thing I think might really make a difference to him, and even then it might not. So I think Korn's role in the story makes sense even if we're in two timelines.

I really didn't expect Tyme to reveal himself to Great before they've fucked. I cannot wait to see where we go from here. I am a little suspicious of the lighting and I won't be surprised if that turns out to be a reality break, but I don't know whose reality break it could be other than Great's. So will he go forward knowing or suspecting that Tyme is working against his family, even if Tyme doesn't know it? I'd love that for me.

Two final thoughts: one, I want my girl Nan to make it out of this alive. And two, the choice to highlight their sponcondoms by having the doe-eyed twink continually beg to be fucked raw?? 100/10, no notes, chef's sloppy kiss.

[antiterf]

Being a trans man can be weird at times because, where I am in my transition, I get seen as a man and often pass as cis until I mention I'm trans.

But I still remember a bit what it was like to be a girl. Especially with how much appearance was valued and how having any above average weight was seen as unforgivable, with the average being unhealthy. How much I'd be talked over and shit.

And that experience influences who I am today, but if I say that, then people get suspicious. I can say that I'm agnostic but grew up Lutheran, and my Lutheran Christian upbringing has an influence of who I am today, and that I still have a good bit of knowledge from it, and that's expected. But when I do it with gender then there's an issue.

I make that comparison because learning that I'm queer in general was what made it so I had to cut myself from Christianity, by the way. It's not comparable generally, but its at the same point in my life where change was made.

And a part of this is being outspoken. I was very quiet before and kept to myself, mainly due to social anxiety and gender dysphoria, but I wouldn't be surprised if it was also due to being talked over. Right now, that's taken to others as male privilege when I literally had to work and change radically to be able to have any confidence to say what I think. And it rolls into neurodiversity too, since I'm also blunt and share what I think because that way people don't have to guess, and they know they can do it with me too, so I don't have to guess.

This rant is everywhere, but I hope I got the point across that its just weird. I don't feel discounted as much as I do in a blind spot, where I can be looked at directly but missed.

[stiffyck]

Hey Stiff,

@scittiesenjoyer here (why won’t Tumblr let me ask from a side blog)

I kinda went off in the tags of two anonymous asks you got implying you were racist for giving Scar a big nose in your art

I’m here to double down

Because I love your art and seeing you in the community and it makes my blood boil to think that some dickhead accusing you of something you didn’t do will make you feel less welcome here (honestly I wanna be a lot meaner to that anon, but I’m choosing to believe that they were coming from a good place and are just ignorant rather than malicious)

Anon has taken a very real issue and over applied it to the point of almost parody. I would like to make it clear that I am white myself and was raised Christian (agnostic now not that it really matters), so by no means an expert on the issues faced by others. But I do listen to Jewish people and have read into the topic of harmful Jewish stereotypes seemingly more than anon. Prepare for me to give you two whole sources more than that anon

Yes overly large noses (often also hooked) are used in caricatures of Jewish people, but never in complete isolation. Here’s a post on Jew-coding, the practice of applying character traits that make you think of Jewish people. Which can be good or bad, depending on what is making you think of Jewish people

https://www.tumblr.com/roach-works/703234602671751168/on-jew-coding

It doesn’t touch on large noses, though it is often brought up in discussions around art and animation. Especially as villains are often negatively Jew-coded. Think big hooked noses, curly hair, bankers/moneylenders (or otherwise tight with money), and of course stealing or harming blond haired, blue eyed children. Here’s an article that goes more into that for Disney especially

https://www.heyalma.com/why-do-so-many-disney-villains-look-like-me/

I think something important about most of what you will read on this topic is that it’s never a single trait in isolation. It’s the layering of bad Jew-coding that makes something racist. A college student being frugal is not a racist stereotype. But if that college student also had curly hair, was cowardly, antagonised others, and had a thick New York accent then we’d need to be concerned

You giving a character with no illusions to being Jewish a big nose is not racist. You’re not making him the villain, or greedy, or part of some shadow council or otherwise applying any negative (or positive for that matter) Jew-coding to him. You are just drawing a guy and having fun with your art style

I know nothing I can say will take away how you’ve been feeling about that initial anon, it feels horrible to be accused of something like this. Especially when it comes out of nowhere, and in this case is quite unfounded. I know I would have been scrambling trying to figure out where I went wrong. I hope knowing some of the context helps alleviate any distress you’ve been feeling

Please keep playing with proportions and your art style. There is nothing wrong with exaggerating only select features while leaving the rest proportional, the implication that there could be baffles me. I totally understand you wanting to take a break from posting art for a bit. This would be a massive blow to anyone’s confidence. But I think it’s important that you not let this steal away your joy in creating the art you want to

I’m happy to talk more on this or anything else if you wanna reach out, sending love and artistic inspiration

Hi, thanks for the ask!

I think I can see where the anon is coming from when it comes to some of the stuff I drew but I genuinely never thought it would come off as anything bad? Like to me my design just sorta looks like a character you'd see in a cartoon, which is why the ask took me so off guard.

I also feel that since I'm white and I can't really talk about this because I'm not really well educated when it comes to this sorta stuff? Like I don't want to argue with someone or try to defend myself when I don't know enough.

I've been meaning to read up on some stuff but adhd has been making it hard to do literally anything tbh. I need to get medicated so I can read non-fandom related stuff and in general actually do more productive stuff (more art, other stuff i enjoy I haven't been able to do because executive dysfunction) but I'm getting off track here dkvfkdjge

Ive been real anxious lately and that ask really got to me so I don't know about any art for now. I just need some time I guess for the anxiety to ease up idk.

Basically. What I'm trying to say.

I dont know enough about this and in no way would I ever want to do something that's bad or comes off as a racist stereotype or something.

Thanks for the sources and thanks for the nice words

[daydrinking75]

fuck off i just wana get high of prescription medication so my back stops hurting and not participate in society. cant i just DO things? without the weight of having a future and fighting for to keep it. its not that im being forced to, but its my only option. i dont think its worth dying yet, theres nothing to die over really; the cumulative experience of 20 years really is nothing in the grand scheme of things. i have an idea of who i could be, and id like to see that person and be that person, but i can only do so if i keep living. and living means work. it takes a lot of work to live. and that makes me just wana kill myself because why is life--something thats upheld on this stupid pedestal and considered "good"--so damn painful? to me anyway. thats the unfortunate thing, i can only experience the universe through myself. these things are only painful to me, in the sense that without myself present, there wouldn't ve anyone in pain. and the world wold continue to exist. "painful" really just means inconvenient. then again, maybe i just havent felt real pain. im a white girl complaining on the internet with fancy words--i know how it sounds. and even then, pain beyond my understanding is just an extreme inconvenience beyond my understanding. it doesnt devalue it though, what was gained and lost from the pain doesnt go away just because it's a pest. thats the opposite of what they do. some people have wasp nests in their brain. some people clean them out, some let them fester--some people have butterflies (how wonderful that must be), ants, spiders--things of an infestive nature. they accumulate over time, its up to you how to handle it. its a responsibility, to live. to ensure to properly treat the environment of infectents. and ive always struggled to care. to give a fuck. i just dont. for whatever reason, on principle, i couldnt be bothered with responsibility. but i am by the suffering it brings. and the eventual suffocation--forget falling figs, i feel like im watching termites devour my future because of my conscious neglect. i cant stand it. and im sure this is a common occurrence. but i dont have a "will to live" i have a will to become, and the only way to do that is to stay alive long enough for me to understand and grow myself into someone worth dying next to. because im unable to become something when i die, thats all i am, dead. and all the blood and tears and trauma that comes with that concept. but in my experience life is full of that anyway, and the only thing that sets apart the "big sleep" is the act of ending life. it just stops. its a given that im agnostic--i wish i believed in a god that loved me, people often seem happier when they have divine love, even if it hurts others--and for me heaven isnt a place i'll find after i die. hell might be, but that doesnt change the fact that the afterlife remains provably defined as a variable. an entity of limitless possibilities, including nothing at all. the only thing thats known for sure is that its not this, its not life. otherwise it wouldn't end so abruptly. so life and death are antithetical and interchangeable; just two different states of existence. its not by any fault of its own that death is so painful; its a function, a process, it will execute its purpose regardless of if it hurts someone or not. unfortunately all things living, including people, are those who deal with the hurt. no one finds the things that hurt them appealing. well, thats a lie. if you know you know. lets say its at the very least impractical; if you want to live, why would you be attracted towards death? what a wonderful question. its a shame i dont have the answer. i have speculations, educated guesses, impulsive thoughts, but its about time i circle back to the point im trying, flimsily, to make; its impossible to live without thinking. without engaging in life. in society. in people. its those things that give us substance; reality is precious because its uncontrollable, daydreams wont ever compare. so maybe the unknown isnt so scary. its different.

[confessions-official]

I fucking hate the reputation paganism has online. I am pagan, no I do not believe aliens built the pyramids, no I am not a white supremacist, yes I believe science is real, no I do not believe (white) women are inherently divine beings and men (of color) are devils and dirt, yes I’m vaccinated, yes I believe cultural appropriation is real, no I don’t call myself the “daughters of the witches you couldn’t burn” because frankly agnostic slash Christian white women were not the targets of any witch hunts and I haven’t fucking deluded myself into thinking I descend from anything but that, no I don’t think essential oils can fucking cure polio. Whatever bullshit came to your mind when I said I’m pagan is not true. And I’m frankly fucking sick of the way people act about it. And again no, not because I think pagans are systematically oppressed or anything. Because I as a pagan am sick of that awful fucking reputation. Me. Not paganism as a whole. I am not claiming to speak for all pagans and be a figurehead of the religion calling those weirdos not real pagans or what the fuck ever and yes all of these clarifiers are fucking necessary because as soon as I say I’m pagan people just turn their fucking ears off and look for the worst faith interpretation of my words possible.

It’s gotten to the point I’m more comfortable calling myself a theistic satanist to express the religious figures I worship because I prefer people thinking I’m just trying to sound edgy over the bullshit associated with all forms of paganism and occultism thanks to the people who use it to spew racist radfem horse shit.

 

[shiurkoma]

Blog Intro (read carefully before scrolling or subbing)

中文请往下翻

Hi

I'm dedicating this blog to the tanakh and talmud fandom. If you're here for my works of other fandoms and want to see more of that please go to @shiurkomaalt, i will put my future works there. I like angst, messed up things and doing character designs. I also love to torture my OCs. I might open an OC blog in the future.

What i mainly like within tanakh/talmud:

- Yehonatan/David

- most of the Bereshit cast

- The story of the four who entered the pardes

- Elisha Ben-Avuyah's many shinanigans and his colleagues. I got hooked after reading "as a driven leaf" but i don't stick to that depiction with fanarts

I haven't posted any talmud fanarts yet, or enough tanakh fanart for that matter. There's very little content right now so I'm mainly planning the content for this blog here. I'm busy studying so i don't think these content will come out anytime soon either. I will not post very often in general.

I learn about tanakh and talmud for purely recreational purposes. I make a lot of headcanons, but i limit myself to only make them based on stuff that i already researched on and have a basic level of understanding about. If you are proficient in torah or talmud studies you are welcome educate me.

⚠️Before you start scrolling:

This is my hobby and non of my works pose as serious interpretations of the original literature, all interpretation or conspiracy theory belongs in the "headcanon" category. From now on i will only tag my work with tags such as "the bible fandom" instead of "the bible" or "tanakh".

Please note, I interpret these stories through an agnostic lens and i play around with the characters like I would characters of any other fandom. So if you are religious this is probably not for you. I like gore, i like to make headcanons and most importantly i like shipping characters together. Seriously, nothing is holy here, for the sake of your sanity think twice before you decide to scroll down or sub.

My content is not suited for anyone under the age of 18. Not only because of the topics i like to explore are grim, but also because there will be NSFW content at some point.

What you will probably see on this blog:

- exaggerated character designs of tanakhic/talmudic figures. Not as exaggerated as the fate series but it won't be very historically accurate either

- headcanons, conspiracy theories and personal depictions that are most likely gonna be very far from usual depictions and academic/ religious consensus

- shipping

- occasional silly doodles

- comics if i am extra energetic and free

- reposts of the same topic

What you will not see on this blog:

- serious claims about the original literature coming from me.

- Attack on any religion or faith. Additionally, any bias, if depicted, remains solely within the context of the story and do not extend to my personal belief or opinion irl. This includes but is not limited to sexism, xenophobia and homophobia that could exist within the historical and cultural context.

- anything political. This blog is strictly for recreational purposes only and will not concern itself with real life politics and events.

If you still decide to continue, it means you are fine with everything i said above. Enjoy 😊

博客介绍（继续翻或关注前请仔细阅读）

哈喽

这个博客用于上传塔纳赫和塔木德同人（希伯来神话）。如果你想看我其他饭圈的同人请移步@shiurkomaalt。我喜欢搞各种刀片和人设立绘。我还喜欢折磨我的oc。以后可能会另开一个oc博客。

塔纳赫/塔木德我主要喜欢的内容：

- 约拿单×大卫

- 绝大部分创世纪的角色

- 乐园f4

- 以理沙•本-阿布雅的各种衰事和他的同事们。小说《as a driven leaf》入的坑但我搞的同人私设和它有偏差

我还没发塔木德同人，塔纳赫其实也没发很多。现在内容还没多少，这里主要是计划计划我这个博客以后会有啥内容。我学业比较忙所以这些内容大概也不会很快出来。整体来讲我不会经常更新。

了解塔纳赫和塔木德纯粹是我的个人爱好。我搞很多私设，但我将这些私设限制在我已经了解过并有一定程度认知的东西上面。如果你有很多塔纳赫和塔木德相关知识的话欢迎指教我。

⚠️你开始往下翻之前：

这是我的爱好，我的任何作品都不是对原著的正经解读，所有的解读或阴谋论均属于私设的范畴。从现在起我打tag会限制在“fandom”里而不是直接打原著的tag。

请记住，我是带着不可知论者的滤镜去解读这些故事的，我对待这些角色的态度和我对待别的饭圈角色的态度无差。所以如果你信教的话，此博客的内容大概不适合你。我喜欢g向，搞私设以及最重要的：我爱搞cp和拉郎。认真的，我的魔爪能染指一切，为了你的san值着想往下翻或关注之前请务必三思。

我的创作内容不适合任何18岁以下的人。这不仅仅是因为我喜欢探索残酷/糟糕的主题，也因为以后某个时候我会开始发r18的内容。

你大概能在本博客看到的内容：

-夸张化的角色设计和人设，没fate系列那样夸张但不会特别还原历史

-偏离学术和宗教刻画的私设，阴谋论和魔改

-拉郎搞cp

-一丢丢弔图

-漫画，如果我图力和时间特别充沛的话

-相关内容的转发

你不会看到的内容：

-任何来自我的对于原著的正经向声明

-对于任何宗教信仰的偏见。任何被描写的偏见，如果有，只存在于其所在的故事情景下且并不延伸到现实中我的个人信仰和观点中。这包括但不限于相应历史和文化环境中可能存在的性别歧视、仇外心理和同性恋歧视

-键政。本博客供且仅供娱乐目的，与任何现实世界中的政治和时事都无关

如果你仍然要继续，说明我说的东西你都觉得ok。玩得开心😊

我不知道有多少中文用户关注我的内容，目前我的帖子都是英文。如果有人想要我加上中文的话评论或私信我都可以，这样我以后的内容就会加上翻译。

[theevilmaninyourcomputer]

It's election night, and I'm sitting at my desk in the dark staring at the polls. The numbers aren't moving, we probably won't find out the results until Thursday, at the earliest. But I can't look away. It's like a six car pileup. I need to go to bed, but I don't want to go to sleep. Tonight, maybe ever again. I've been talking about the election nonstop all day. For my own sake, I need to stop. I'm chasing my tail, you know? Just running in circles, after nothing-like fighting will help. Like spewing the same tired talking points will alter the outcome of the presidential race. So I'm not going to talk about it.

The Gestalt processing theory states that (where perception is concerned) the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. I've been thinking about that concept a lot, recently. I mean, you want to talk about 'souls'? That seems pretty conclusive. I spend a lot of time marvelling, in equal parts wonder and existential horror, at the world around me. Everything hangs in a precarious microscopic balance, from the atom to the solar system, the chances of us being here are so improbably miniscule...I don't believe in miracles. But, well, if not a miracle, then what is that? I've never been religious. My immediate family skews Church of Christ which, if you're unfamiliar, is essentially Oklahoma's Mormon equivalent. But I've never bought into it. As I've aged, I've begun to label myself as noncommittally agnostic, rather than staunchly atheist. It's funny, a few years ago I spoke with a religious classmate of mine. He told me the church had been a net positive in his life. I told him that I wished I could believe in God, because it seemed so much easier than swallowing the truth. I told him I envied him. I did, I still do. People find so much meaning in faith, in the idea of Heaven. I have to find my meaning on earth, in life. I have to plant my feet and train my eyes on the future. I have to find hope in the people around me, in the person that I am becoming. So, when I write about religion, understand that this is my perspective: I am an outsider, looking into the church, wishing I could find solace in Bible verses, knowing that I never will. Which brings me back to my point. I've gotten more spiritually wishy washy as I've aged. I know where religious folks are coming from. When I first read about the Drake Equation in fifth grade, it rattled me to my core. Accounting for every measurable factor, Frank Drake estimated the number of intelligent alien civilisations to be in the hundreds of thousands. Which begged the question...where are they? There has been one primary hypothesis.

Maybe they all died out. Maybe every great civilization was doomed to fall. Olev Vinn suggested that "the lifetime of most technological civilisations is brief due to inherited behavior patterns present in all intelligent organisms." In other words, humanity is a self-fulfilling prophecy. Maybe there is a threshold that no civilisation survives. Nuclear war, climate disaster...safe to say, our outlook isn't so good. But, and this is important, the Drake equation is wildly inaccurate. And, by no fault of Frank Drake's. It's an improbable answer to an impossible question. Yet, it's almost 2025, and we haven't even found substantial evidence of alien BACTERIA, let alone intelligent extraterrestrial life. So why are we alone? Why are we here? What the hell is this?

How fantastically weird existence is.

I don't believe in God, and I don't think little green men are coming to save us from ourselves. We have to find our own purpose, we have to have faith in each other.

I bring up Gestalt theory as a rebuttal to the nihilist 'why even bother' mentality. If we're truly drifting through the vacuum on a pebble, why try? Why get up in the morning? Why commute to your bullshit nine to five? Why bother with any of it?

I'll tell you what we're meant to do here. We're supposed to live. I don't know why I'm here, I don't know how I'm here. But life is the only miracle I believe in. The whole is greater than the sum of its parts. It's easy to get lost in the anatomical intricacies of life, to dissect it, and pick it apart in pursuit of answers. It's easy to get complacent, to accept that things are the way they are and take this gift for granted. We are bizarre rube-goleberg machines, complex, fine-tuned, and ridiculous. This is true, but we are so much more than our bodies. This civilization is so much more than the structures that we have created. Are you listening to me? We created the meaning of life, because we are the whole. The whole is separate from its components. The whole is transcendent. The whole is the spirit of the human race, and it is indomitable.

So, this election is not insignificant, but remember. We are bigger than this. We are so much bigger than this country, than this planet. No matter what happens tonight, keep going. Keep living. Don't EVER throw that away.

[the-girl-who-didnt-smile]

RANTING ABOUT YAMATO D. ONE PIECE

This turned into my most obnoxious rant of all time.

…So I logged on because I was gonna go on this rant about how Yamato D. One Piece is not a fucking trans man. But tons of people smarter than me have already explained this.

I feel uniquely qualified to speak on this because I am transgender. I’m half White, but I know a thing or two about Japanese culture… 

It is so fucking cringe that people think BOKUKKOS are trans men!!!

It’s all white people too!!! I’m not judging trans people in the Japanese diaspora (or, from an Asian country that Japan colonized). But the white people are really not helping… A lot of them aren’t even trans too!!

Do I really have to explain why Yamato D. Hottest Bokukko in Fiction would be a terrible example of a trans man? 

How much more obvious do you have to make it that you think trans men are women?

If you want to see an actual good example of a trans man in manga, look no further than Sechs D. Battle Angel Alita:

This dude disappears for a bit and when he comes back later, he’s a guy now. 

Nobody gives a shit because it’s the future. 

Also, gender transition is really good in the future… He has a fully functioning dick, balls, and Y chromosome now… He was under 5’ before this, now he’s over 6’... He is arguably the real protagonist of Battle Angel Alita Last Order… This man really is living the dream!

…But as I say this, I also think it is totally fine to theorize that Yamato is transgender. 

How I do explain this? 

I think it is really toxic to insist that Yamato is trans in canon, but that it is equally toxic to put people down for theorizing that she is trans. 

Literally… the most memed thing in the entire One Piece fandom is the insane fan theory that Sir D. Crocoboy is secretly female-to-male transgender, and he gave birth to Monkey D. Luffy. Boys, I’m not even agnostic on this one… I’m just fully atheist. I think this is the craziest, most noncanoniest theory ever, but because it’s One Piece anything is possible… There is a nonzero probability that the Crocomomists are actually right.

With this in mind, is it really that crazy to speculate that Yamato will later turn out to be transgender? Imagine this: At the very end of One Piece, we find out that Yamato met up with Emporio D. Ivankov off-screen, and she’s just a guy now. Would anyone really be that surprised by this? The same fandom that memes the shit out of Crocomom and thinks everyone is secretly Rocks D. Xebec’s son… Is this really that insane of a theory? 

I just think people need to stop insisting that Yamato “is” trans (as in, “is trans in canon; you’re transphobic if you disagree”) but it’s totally fine to make theories, or non-canon headcanons.

* * *

It just dawned on me that I genuinely do have a potentially “interesting” perspective on this, given that I am transgender and also familiar with Japanese culture. I worked for a Japanese company for several years!

…Well, I’m going to reiterate points that smarter people have already made, but here goes:

Being a radically different culture from the West, Japan has different media tropes related to gender. 

Yamato is the trope called “Bokukko” (ボクっ娘): https://dic.pixiv.net/a/%E3%83%9C%E3%82%AF%E3%81%A3%E5%A8%98 

If you cannot read Japanese, here is an English language description of the trope: https://the-dere-types.fandom.com/wiki/Other:Bokukko 

Yamato is also the trope of “girl raised as boy”. This is a very common trope in Asian media.

One of the most famous examples of this in Japanese media is Rose of Versailles. 

The main character is named Lady Oscar. She is not transgender, but a woman who was raised as a boy. 

Compare Lady Oscar

With Yamato

Don’t their hairstyles look a little similar? 

When Yamato first appeared, I thought to myself, “Is it possible that Yamato is inspired by Lady Oscar?”

She actually is!

On June 6th, 2019, Oda actually confirmed that he took inspiration from Rose of Versailles. 

“I finished reading Glass Mask, so now I’m reading Rose of Versailles. Oscar was a woman?!”

Yamato was revealed in 2020. 

This is why I refer to Yamato as “she”. It is not to “misgender” her. She is not transgender, but Oda’s take on “Lady Oscar”!

I think people outside of Japan have this perception that the Japanese fandom is transphobic, but this is not true! Well, not entirely true… Of course, there is a side of the Japanese fandom that is transphobic, but this is also true in the West. Much like the Western fandom, there is also a side of the Japanese fandom that is LGBT friendly!

Yamato’s gender even caused confusion in the Japanese fandom. In the side that is LGBT friendly, there is some discourse surrounding whether she should be considered “transgender” (トランスジェンダー) or “genderless” (ジェンダーレス). 

The general consensus is that Kikunojo can be considered “transgender” (トランスジェンダー), while it is better to describe Yamato as “genderless” (ジェンダーレス). 

Why Kikunojo is “transgender” (トランスジェンダー): 

This phrase “I am a woman at heart” confirms that her gender identity is female.

This is reflected in her Vivre Card: 

The Vivre Card reads:

性別:男（心は女）

Literal translation:

Sex: Male (Heart is female)

心 literally means “heart”, but in this context it means gender identity. 

This is how the Vivre Card confirms that Kikunojo is transgender.

Why Yamato is not “transgender” (トランスジェンダー): 

Rather than saying “I am a man at heart” or “I am a man!”, Yamato says “Kozuki Oden was a man, right? So I became a man, too!!"

Yamato does not properly have a male gender identity; rather, she literally identifies as Kozuki Oden. 

Oda also describes Yamato as Kaido’s daughter (娘), and her first person pronoun is “boku” (僕). This is noteworthy, as most of the male characters in One Piece use the pronoun “ore” - including Kozuki Oden! This makes Oda’s intent obvious: Yamato is not “transgender”, but a “bokukko”.

This too is reflected in Yamato’s Vivre Card: 

The card simply reads: 

性別:女

No difference from any other female character.

If Yamato was transgender, it would say this instead: 

性別:女（心は男）

We can also tell that Yamato is not transgender from the way she is drawn.

Here is Yamato standing next to Kikunojo:

Oda draws male characters differently from how he draws female characters, not just in terms of body type but also face. Because he is respectful of transgender people, he makes this decision based on gender identity (心). You can discern a character’s gender identity through the visual language of the manga.

Kikunojo’s eyes and facial structure are drawn like a female character. It is a very respectful portrayal. 

Yamato’s eyes and facial structure are also drawn like a female character. If Yamato was a trans man, this would be disrespectful. But because she is not transgender, this is how Oda visually communicates that Yamato is a woman.

A lot of people point to the Vivre Cards as definitive proof that Yamato is not transgender, but I also think the comment regarding Rose of Versailles is definitive. If you’re familiar with Japanese fictional tropes, it’s pretty obvious that Yamato is not transgender. 

Rather than being transgender, Yamato can be described as “genderless” (ジェンダーレス). “Genderless” (ジェンダーレス) doesn’t exactly mean the English word “genderless”; rather, it describes a Japanese cultural trend where people defy rigid gender norms without being part of the LGBT community. It isn’t LGBT representation, but this “genderless” (ジェンダーレス) representation is also important in Japanese media.

Let’s compare Yamato with Sechs (Battle Angel Alita).

Unlike Yamato, Sechs can be described as “transgender”. 

Previously I showed what Sechs looked like in his new body, but this is what he looked like at the beginning of the manga: 

In terms of appearance, it is obvious that he is physically female. But his style, movements, facial structure, and even body structure all appear more masculine. 

His speech is very aggressive and masculine, including his first pronoun “ore” (オレ) which is actually written in katakana to convey the roughness of his personality.

When he reappears a few volumes later, he looks like this:

He changed his body to match his gender identity. Nothing about his pattern of speech changes, because he always had a male gender identity (心は男). Yukito Kishiro was WAY ahead of his time with this one...!

As I’m writing this, I can totally see why this confuses people, especially if you can’t read Japanese. But if you’re going to engage with Japanese media, I highly recommend learning Japanese. Japanese is such a different language from English, a lot gets lost in translation.

At the same time, I don’t think it’s inconceivable that Yamato might change her gender later on. This is gonna blow your mind, but writers can change their mind about a character in the middle of writing a story. It is clear that Oda did not originally plan for Yamato to be transgender, but he could change his mind about this.

If fans were describing this as a fan theory, I would be supportive! That’s actually a fun and interesting theory.

Really, what I object to is this weird “fandom tyranny” that happens on both sides. It’s harmful to be like “You are transphobic if you don’t think Yamato is transgender” but equally harmful to be like “You’re so stupid and not allowed to think Yamato might be transgender.”

Both of these sides contribute to negative perceptions of transgender people in Japan!

Can we just respect each other’s opinions without trying to impose our own?

Thanks for coming to my TEDx Talk!

[justinesmuse]

How did you come up with the idea of the oc's and the idea to use songs to tell their story? do you have a set plan for the story or are you making it up as you go along? love your cover's keep up the amazing work!!

picture this: it is 2020. it is the middle of lockdown. i am incredibly lonely and i also might have been wrestling with conflicting feelings i had about my faith as a catholic. (also just fyi i no longer consider myself catholic. i’m closer to agnostic i think.)

late one night, i listen to annapantsu’s cover of “hellfire.” i remember sitting in my room and being able to so clearly (in my mind’s eye) an older woman on her knees, pounding her fist against the cold cement of a cathedral floor, sweating from sheer distress, grappling with what she wants in such a messy manner that she takes it out on the woman she’s fallen for (in her head at least).

i held onto that idea of a character. at some point, i think i came across this historical picrew and decided to play around with what i imagined this nun character and her demonic mistress to look like:

as for how i came up with the idea to tell their story through my covers, well i was very much inspired by how reinaeiry inserted her own ocs into a lot of her songs and covers. the first time i tried it out was with my cover of “hellfire,” and i think the cover that cemented magdalena and judith’s place on my channel was my cover of “mary on a cross” by ghost.

i’m gonna be so for real with you: i never had a set story for these characters. hells, i didn’t even know what their names were until my second or third video with them! i know what their personal goals are, and i have an idea of where i want this story to go and how it ends, but i don’t really have all the fine details outlined and written out. i love writing, but i think the one thing that prevented from ever completing a writing project was the fear that the product would not match the original vision i had in my head. so, because i made these characters for fun and Me Time (and because i like to use them to explore my complicated feelings about religion and living as a woman), i let myself not worry too much about the finer details.

[kaladinsspear]

TLDR: Investature is shockingly comparable with at least one modern magical tradition and I’m curious if Brandon is aware of that.

So my Ex (We’ll call her Jane) is a witch. That’s a word with a lot of nuance, but as simplified as I can get it, she is a Celtic pagan who practices magic as part of her spiritual discipline. I considered myself pagan for a while, but ultimately settled on agnostic. I have seen and felt some things that make it hard to entirely rule out the possibility of magic, and I think there probably is something going on, but I think it is an entirely scientific phenomenon that we just don’t have an explanation for yet. In some cases we do have an explanation! (Ask me about tarot if you’re interested in the logic behind it!)

Point being, You could spend your entire life studying magical practices and you would only be an expert in a very niche topic, but I do have more exposure to modern magical practices than most. This is coming from a more European/Celtic tradition, so don’t take this as universal.

Anyway, a lot of modern magic is based on connection. It’s the idea that sentience is an emergent phenomenon that is brought on by connection. Who I am, my ‘soul’, is the convergence of my biology and environment. In the same way I have a microbiome, I am partly of the microbiome of the earth, which is part of the biome of the universe. Does that make sense? Another way to put it is that if a system gets complicated enough, it starts developing consciousness. My body is developed enough to have a form of consciousness, but consciousness is not limited to me. The earth is a complicated enough system to have a form of consciousness, even if it would be completely alien to me.

There is a lot of fuzziness that comes more from trial and error/tradition than study, but the idea of magic is that I am part of a living system and therefore I have the power to effect it. How to I effect it? My intent. Magic is all about intent.

This makes me think of connection and intent in the cosmere magic system. Specifically the spirit webs and intent of the user. I don’t know nearly as much about it, but having the world split into three realms also feels very pagan.

So yeah. Investature feels a lot like modern magic. Though I wouldn’t say Investature is based off modern magical traditions, it is shockingly compatible. I wonder if Brandon is aware of that.