#if you think about it a sheep in wolves’ clothing is scarier

[ragebear]

have you ever heard the phrase “a wolf in sheep’s clothing”…?

[ruined-my-dramatic-entrance]

Hat’s Off to You

Platonic fluff, a bit silly or OOC but not a crackfic lol, 1659 words TW: S!Janus

“What’s going on here?” Patton asked as he popped up.

 After rolling his eyes and a moment of hesitation, Virgil replied, “Princey brought up some dumb idea about Janus having some weird secret hidden under his hat and now he and Logan are debating it.”

 “Well, what’s all hat about?” the moral side inquired further with a grin.

 Though Patton had expected Virgil to at least smirk at this, the latter instead protested, “Please, just get them to stop for now or something…”

 “Okay, kiddo. Sorry about Pat — uh, I mean that,” Patton corrected himself quickly before turning his attention to the other two.

 “I still think it’s probably something weird and evil, like some devil’s horns or — or pointed ears,” Roman insisted, gesturing to the vague areas that those body parts would be placed on himself.

 “If Janus were to be hiding something underneath his hat — which I still have very significant doubts about — then it would probably be a result of his half-snake composition, such as a lack of hair on that side of his head, covered by scales,” Logan chimed in with an even tone.

 “Well, yeah, maybe, but it still could be something… much more sinister that reveals how Thomas truly visualizes Deceit in his mind,” the prince suggested with a deep curiosity.

 “Wouldn’t that be you, Roman?” Patton asked with an innocent smile.

 “Wha—? No, I’m not a liar! I’m an actor but I am not Deceit,” Roman dismissed, clearly offended.

 “No, that’s not what I meant, and I was talking about Janus, not evil,” Patton said, subtly reminding Roman to be kinder about the side in question. “I meant that the way Thomas views Deceit as a concept would be your creativity, kiddo,” he explained.

 Roman paused for a moment. “I… suppose you’re right,” he agreed.

 “That would make sense, though it would still have the influence of how Thomas feels about the concept of Deceit in genera—” Logan tried to elaborate, but was cut off by Roman.

 “By Artemis’s beautiful bow, I think I know!” the creative side exclaimed with a wide gesture.

 “You’ve… decided on a guess?” Logan prompted, frowning slightly in curiosity and pushing his glasses backwards as he scanned Roman with his eyes.

 “Oh, brother, what is it now?” Virgil groaned, pulling his hood up over his head.

 “That’s the spirit! What do you think, Roman?” Patton encouraged excitedly.

 “Wolf ears,” Roman answered simply, as if the answer was obvious.

 “Uh… might’ve misheard you there, Kiddo,” Patton fretted, leaning in a bit closer in hopes of understanding Roman’s words better.

 “That… is an interesting guess. I suppose I could see some reasoning for this,” Logan mused, placing his knuckle against his lips in thought.

 “Please tell me you’re not actually considering this, dude,” Virgil pleaded, pulling his sleeves over his hands.

 “No, no, I’m serious!” Roman persisted, holding out his hands in a “wait” gesture. “From my best understanding of how Thomas views deception, he gets consistently stuck on the phrase ‘wolf in sheep’s clothing’ and sometimes he imagines liars as having certain wolf traits,” he finally explained. “Though, he usually only does that past 3am,” he added with a slight shrug before looking towards the rest of the group for approval.

 “In addition to that, Janus does seem to... work alone, if you will, with his varying goals for Thomas — a lone wolf, perhaps,” Logan elaborated, “Wolves are also regarded for their intelligence and have very complicated social dynamics, maybe tying into Janus’s ability to use charisma to his advantage. Symbolically, wolves are also regarded as confident, which he definitely exhibits.”

 “Come on, you don’t actually think Janus would have something as… as stupid as that,” Virgil disagreed, rubbing the back of his neck. Logan narrowed his eyes at the way he stumbled over his words.

 “Virgil, I expected you to be less… concerned about this matter — furthermore, to mock him for it,” the logical side deduced, tilting his head slightly in confusion. “So… either you’re embarrassed about something similar or something is wrong here,” he declared, causing the room to fall silent for a few seconds.

 “What’s wrong with Virge, Logan? Don’t just leave it all… ominous like that! It’s scary,” Patton fretted, looking at the side in question with worry.

 At that moment, Virgil showed up, shoving aside the “Virgil” that had been there before, who was pushed into the wall and reverted back into his true form.

 “Did someone say ‘scary?’” Virgil asked nonchalantly, giving Patton a quick glance before returning to glaring at Janus.

 “Deceit!!” Logan yelled, pointing at Janus.

 “Yes, yes, we’ve noticed, Logan, no need to sound the alarm, especially not so loudly,” Janus remarked.

 “Virgil!” Patton and Roman exclaimed in unison with smiles.

 “What was he doing here? What did he say?” Virgil asked, voice serious and impatient.

 “Nothing much! Since I got here, he was just denying some of Roman and Logan’s theories about what’s under his hat,” Patton recounted.

 “Yes, padre is right; that’s all the snake has done, nothing particularly evil or sinister,” Roman confirmed with a slight nod as if his valiant watch had kept Janus in check, whereas in reality he hadn’t really noticed.

 Virgil snickered. “You mean ‘cause he’s insecure about this?” he asked with a mischievous smile as he managed to snatch Janus’s hat, revealing a pair of… dark wolf ears.

 “Hah! I knew it! I called it! That was me, I was right. Got it before Logan,” Roman announced proudly before clearing his throat awkwardly and growing quiet to listen.

 “Only because it was your interpretation of symbolism,” Logan muttered under his breath, petty.

 “Aww, you’re like a teddy bear!” Patton commented with a gasp, “Or a puppy! Why would you hide this? We wouldn’t make fun of you for something so cute and nonthreatening!” He paused suddenly, realizing that he had just spoken the exact reason. “Ohh…” He grimaced slightly in guilt.

 “Yes, well, isn’t this lovely. This is exactly what I wanted, Virgil, thank you,” Janus complained in annoyance, shooting the man in question a pointed look. “It’s obvious that this is totally a part of myself that I like and wanted to share with the group.”

 “Janus, we won’t make fun of you for it, especially if you’re so insecure about it,” Patton reassured, looking around the room for agreement and receiving nods from everyone… as well as muffled snickers from Roman and Virgil.

 “Grandma, what big ears you have,” Roman murmured quietly under his breath, unable to resist the temptation.

 “What does it matter anyway? It’s clear I’m viewed as but a beast or a — a monstrous creature. Why would words make that any different?” Janus retorted to Patton, both his eyes and his phrasing giving away his hidden sadness.

 “Well, Janus, you of all sides should understand the power that words can hold,” Logan reminded tersely.

 “Regardless, Thomas could have at least chosen something scarier rather than just… an amalgamation of different animal symbols out of confusion,” Janus griped, gesturing into the air in frustration.

 “Weird is better than scary if it’s constant. Trust me on this one,” Virgil insisted, though his expression turned to one of slight… sympathy?

 “Trust isn’t exactly my strong suit,” Deceit responded, casting an unpleasant glance across the rest of the room. “I wonder why?” he added sarcastically.

 “It’s not my department either but…” Virgil trailed off, sighing. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this to you of all people,” he muttered. “But… I know what it’s like to feel different and unnecessary and — and like you’re built to just be weird, to just be the outcast,” he admitted, avoiding looking into the half-snake’s eyes. “I know what it’s like but… it’s not like that here, not with them. Not with us,” he assured, fiddling with his sleeves.

 “I think we all owe Janus an apology,” Patton pointed out. “I’m sorry for not respecting your privacy,” he said, looking at the aforementioned man with empathy.

 “I apologize for my earlier behavior. I was curious but not considerate,” Logan chimed in concisely.

 “I… suppose I’m sorry too,” Roman agreed, though he opened his mouth to say something else and closed it a moment later.

 “I guess I shouldn’t have… done that,” Virgil mumbled, handing Janus his hat back. “But you shouldn’t have impersonated me either.”

 “Very well, very well… I’m sorry for taking your place and deceiving you,” Janus replied, “though it did take them quite a while to catch on…”

 “It is indeed odd that Janus’s impersonation of you is much more accurate than of me or Patton,” Logan commented, frowning again in contemplation.

 “And that Virgil already knew about Janus’s ears,” Roman added, looking at Virgil in confusion.

 “Well, I —” Virgil began nervously.

 “— The little brat has done this before, you see,” Janus excused as he interrupted the anxious side. “It was terribly irritating,” he recalled about the false event, examining his nails through his gloves. “And yes, I’m afraid that the emo is the simplest to mimic -- it’s dreadfully easy,” he mocked, though said emo looked up at him when he realized that Janus had just… covered for him and his past as a dark side. That was not anywhere near what Virgil had expected.

 “Ah, that would make sense,” Logan accepted with a slight nod.

 “I, for one, still can’t decide whether his fluffy little ears are scary or, uh, adorable,” Roman admitted.

 Janus scoffed and examined his nails through his glove. “If you’re disturbed by this, wait until you find out what Remus hides under his mustache,” he pointed out.

 After a beat of silence, every other side in the room turned to him in a mixture of surprise, fear, and disgust, all exclaiming some variation of “hold up,” “wait,” or “what?!” Except for Patton, who simply remarked, “Well, I suppose we must-ask him later” with a chuckle.

[yaoipaddlestar]

Literally I think one of the most pitiful things on this site are the teenage cis lesbians who've been groomed into TERFdom and radfem bullshit.

Like I can't even imagine growing up, grappling with your own LGBT identity, and maybe you see a handful of posts about women's empowerment and gender inequality and lesbianism so you follow these blogs who post about it, and then all of a sudden you see them posting about how predatory men are, how trans women are wolves in sheep's clothing, how they come into bathrooms to assault cisgender women and are pedophiles and you, a 14 or 15 year old girl who doesn't know any better, believes this. You follow more blogs. Why is no one upset about all these trans women predating on cis women? They must be on their side, this must be more evidence of the oppression of women. So you creep further into this rabbit hole of TERF conspiracy. You "learn" about how trans men are GNC or lesbian women who have been tricked by an industry boogeyman who's motivated by homophobia and misogyny, and you can't believe no one talks about this? You struggled with your womanhood as a child, because of your attraction to other women (and this fact being contradictory to what was expected of you). This, surely, must be what trans men are feeling. They don't understand what's wrong with them. But you do, and so do these other women who you trust and who care about you, surely. And those trans people who are predators and helpless victims in one revile you, so you recede even further into this echo chamber and you're trapped. And you're 17 now, and nothings changed. You dedicate time to harassing trans women online, not because you hate trans people, but because you're defending women and stopping those predatory men from invading your precious female spaces. Intersex and GNC and POC women who fall in between the cracks of your "activism," who are predated upon by the peers you look up to, don't matter, because at this point you're so blinded by bigotry and you're so deep into the echo chamber that the criticisms don't reach your ears, and even if they did, you would not listen. Because you're scared, and all these women you look up to you are telling you to be scared, and you've grown up with this fear and internalised it and the idea that you must challenge it, and that you must understand that the fear is groundless and sown into you by women who don't really give a shit about you, is scarier than the imaginary trans predators in bathrooms. It is harder to acknowledge that your understanding of the world is not as comprehensive or complete as you think it is, than it is to dig your heels into the ground.

I can't imagine the trauma of trying to leave TERF circles, especially if you grew up in them. I feel so bad when I see teenage TERFs around because there's almost no way they came to the conclusions about gender and identity that they did on their own. And its not like I know what to do about it. I can't just show up in their DMs like "be not afraid, these people you love and trust and revere are lying to you, and I (a person part of the community your group is built around hating), am going to tell you the unbiased truth and you should just believe me." Like I just kind of ruminate on the fact that this person who isn't even fully grown spends time harassing trans people and feeding into the TERF cult of fearmongering and bullshit for no good reason, and then try to go on with my day. Fuck, man.

[lisinfleur]

Foreign Treasure

Author’s Notes | This one wasn’t supposed to have SMUT, but gods… Some works just gain their own lives hahaha Universe | Vikings Pairing | Hvitserk x Reader Info | Viking Age AU, Christian Nun! Reader, requested by multiple anons for 5CW5 Words | 4656 ⁑ Warnings: NSFW. SMUT included. Explicit content. Dub!Con and mentions of religious conflict. Caution is recommended: The following content might be triggering!

You never wanted to be a nun. This fate swallowed you at the moment you were betrayed by the first man you loved in your life. You gave yourself to him under his promises of eternal love, he took your chastity and left to never come back, leaving you alone with your purity corrupted, your heart broken and your family shamed by your actions. Your father wanted to abandon you to your own luck, but your mother begged him to take you to the convent and there you were forgotten by your kindred, to serve and ask God for forgiveness until the end of your days.

You never really felt like doing this. Your heart never really felt that vocation, the call for serving God's will. But also, you felt like God - wherever he was and if he was - somehow was having mercy, giving you a life that wasn't that hard, but keeping you for something...

Something you couldn't figure out until those barbarians reached your confinement place.

First, the news came, saying the Norsemen had taken York. Then, those men came in a chariot, pulled by an imposing white horse. Many others were with them, but those two seemed to lead the party.

The one dressed in black sat at the chariot's bench while the other, honey-haired and devilish expression, jumped out the chariot to come near the doors of your walls. The other nuns were all afraid, but you were curious. Maybe it was why you sneaked to the window, ended up being seen by that man's greedy greens.

He yelled something to those men and soon they started hitting the gates until bending them open, invading the place and only then, causing your heart to sink in your chest: those men were spreading out. But that honey-haired was looking straight at you.

You knew he was coming for you when he crossed the doors of the convent. He was a leader. Maybe...

You went to the door and the Superior Mother held your hand, trying to prevent you from going.

"Those are the demons of hell, my child! They'll tear you apart!"

"My father once fought beside Ragnar's men. I knew at least enough to communicate. I can try to speak to them!"

She tried to restrain you, but even then, you went out, locked the door and kept the key with you, waiting for them at the entrance of the hall.

As you were waiting, that honey-haired man came first, leading the pack of thirsty wolves that invaded the building, picking the crosses and golden stuff to take with them. He was taller and bigger than you could measure from the window, causing him to look scarier, but yet, you felt in your heart maybe that was the reason you were in that place after all.

All those women were virgins. Pure women dedicated to their God. You weren't like them. You weren't chaste or pure... But you could try to save them at least.

As he came closer, you bent yourself, mumbling in his language, surprising him for knowing how to speak in a way he could understand.

"Mercy... I beg you to hear me," you asked, and then, he lifted his arm, stopping the men behind him.

"Who are you and how do you speak my language, woman?" he asked, curious.

"I'm Y/N, daughter of lord Y/F/N, who once fought beside Ragnar Lothbrok and his men for the kingdom of Mercia," you said, looking at him, "Under King Ecbert and in the name of the deceased queen Kwenthrith."

All names that seemed to enlarge his green eyes, taking that man completely out of his guard and battle position. His entire body language changing into surprise and serenity.

"I'm Hvitserk, son of Ragnar Lothbrok," he said, causing shivers to go down your spine.

A prince. A Nordic one. You lowered your head once again.

"I came to these lands to avenge my father's death and conquer the lands that were promised to him by the broken words of King Ecbert. What is the daughter of a lord doing in a place like this? What is this place?" he asked, looking around.

"This is a convent. In this place, women are kept to serve our Lord and Sire Jesus Christ, your highness. There is not a single woman in this place that doesn't live to serve our God. That's why I beg you, take everything you want, everything is yours, but please, spare those women. We're few and harmless. I know your people take ours as slaves, but I beg you, in the name of all you think it's sacred for you, release those innocents from this burden. I beg your mercy, Prince Hvitserk."

He twitched his lips, unsatisfied. He saw those women with you, he saw they were women under those strange clothes and he knew they were usually virgins dressing those habits.

It wasn't a small thing what you were asking, but yet, it wasn't that big.

"How many of you are into this place?" he asked.

"We're twenty at the moment, my lord. Seven of us, underaged. Novices brought recently by their families," you answered, keeping your head low. "Eight old women that served their entire life and came to rest their last days in prayer. Five workers like me."

Hvitserk's lips twitched more, clearly annoyed.

"Don't lie to me, woman. If what you say is true, then how do you keep this place working with only five women to care for all the chores?"

You lightly raised your head.

"Each one of us five care for the biggest tasks. The others work in doubles, the newcomers learning what the elders have to teach."

It looked like a perfectly possible scenario for him. Hvitserk sighed, frustrated. Only five other women but you wouldn't be enough for his men. They would end up killing the elders and hurting the underaged slaves and it would end up not pleasing the gods or any of them, for the women of those places didn't have any experience and ended up dying in their hands.

But he didn't come for leaving with empty hands waving... Those places were full of gold indeed. It would be enough for the men, but he was hungry for more. The last days in that church with Ivar leading the way weren't being his best and he was tired, annoyed, bothered and bored. A new bed slave who knew his language could be interesting for some days of entertainment.

"We'll camp for the night and leave in the morning. Tell them to stay in their room. You... You come with us." he stated, causing you to swallow dry. "You know my language and you pleased my eyes. You come. The others can stay."

It seemed a good deal. Your life, for theirs.

"I accept your terms. I hold the key for their room. Allow me to speak to them, to bring them water and food for the night, and then, tomorrow morning, to leave the key for them to leave. And I'll go with you without resistance."

"Fine," he agreed, dismissing his men to pick up the gold and staying by your side while you were unlocking the door to speak to the women inside.

When the wood opened, Hvitserk sneaked his eyes into the room, seeing you were speaking the truth: The elders were shrunk in the corner of the room, embracing some crying little girls. Alongside them, some women of your age, too few for pleasing his men, were trying to help the children to stop crying, dividing an amphora of water among them all. One of the older women came, dressed in a different cloak, a darker one, with one of those funny hats over her head. Her eyes were looking at him like seeing a demon and she looked at you with her hands shaking trying to find yours.

"My child..." the old woman mumbled and you lightly smiled at her, holding both of the woman's hands.

"I made an agreement and they won't touch the women of this place. Their leader is the son of Ragnar Lothbrok and he'll respect the honor of his father's name. His men will camp here for the night and I'll feed and provide them with wine and water. Tomorrow, when the morning comes, they'll leave and I'll bring the key for freeing you. Keep the others calm and don't leave this room. Pray tonight to thank God for our lives, for His mercy found place even in the heart of the Norsemen."

"Oh, blessed be your words, my child. But what about you? Will you be safe?" she asked and you smiled softly.

"I'm not important, Mother. You know, I'm not one of you. I never was. I'm touched by the sin and God allowed me to serve him by protecting his sheep. Don't worry about me: I speak their language and my father fought beside his father." you looked at Hvitserk, indicating him. "I won't be mistreated. I'll cook for them and bring some food for you tonight. Stay calm and stay safe, Mother."

She looked at you and nodded with her shaking head.

"I'll pray for your soul, child," she said, looking at him. "And for yours as well, boy..."

With this said, she came inside and you locked the door, placing the key into your pocket.

"What did she tell me? She was speaking to me. What did she say?" Hvitserk asked and you softly smiled at him.

"She said she'll pray for us," you explained. "Come. I'll show you where the treasures of this place lie and if you allow me, I'll prepare food for all your men and tell you how to reach the supplies. It's gonna be a cold night and we have furs. I just beg you to leave enough for the women that will stay so they can avoid dying by the winter."

You were sweet and kind. And you weren't afraid of him. Hvitserk wasn't used to the kindness coming from women like you. None of them stopped screaming when seeing one of his men, but you seemed to be secure and calm, despite your shaking hands while showing him the places behind the altar and under the wooden stage to find the treasures of gold your people offered to your God.

You knew God wouldn't be mad at you for giving his wine and food, his gold and silver to those men. You saved the souls of those women for him and it was more valuable than any other thing, you knew that.

Hvitserk observed you while you were moving, separating the food, preparing everything to feed his brother and the whole army they brought. Your words becoming more and more trustful when he observed you were really able to fast prepare a large meal due to your ability to keep more than one pan on the fire at the same time, cooking the broth while treating some meat and baking loaves, all looking like you were dancing at the kitchen with your strange grey dress. He took himself thinking you would be gorgeous in some colored fabric doing the same, walking around while moving the colors around...

You cooked everything and, in a few hours, there was a lot of fresh food. And a small cart prepared to carry some supplies for the nuns at the room. Hvitserk escorted you there with the cart and then you dedicated to serving the portions to his men in the bowls you and the nuns used to serve the homeless and poor in the days near the Christmas. One by one you served them with broth, bread, and meat enough for a meal. And the table for the princes was served with a bigger portion for them to serve themselves if they wanted more.

"Will you take her?" the other, blue-eyed, asked to Hvitserk while you were serving their portions. "You're looking at her all the time, Hvitserk."

"Yes. I will, Ivar. Is there any problem that I want to take a personal slave for me?"

Something seemed to be wrong in between them. You kept yourself silent, but Ivar chuckled, lifting his hand.

"Nothing, brother. Keep her. It's just a slave, anyway. As long as she can take the elephant trunk from your face, I'll be satisfied," Ivar said, and Hvitserk rolled his eyes.

With the end of the meals, you started slowly picking up every single empty bowl with that chart. And, alone, you took them to the kitchen to where Hvitserk followed you.

"What are you doing, woman?" he asked.

His men were sharing and distributing the furs to sleep at the hall of the church, after spreading the benches.

You had indicated Hvitserk a pair of rooms where he and his brother could sleep more comfortably, especially because of his brother's legs.

"I'm washing the bowls and cleaning the kitchen," you explained.

Hvitserk observed, curiously touching some of your stuff, taking pieces of some food at the table, tasting cookies and pieces of bread as if he didn't have just ate.

"You do this all the time? Cooking?" he asked.

"And sewing. And cleaning. And caring for the land, the furniture, sometimes sculpting, sometimes painting. Anything that's necessary, my prince," you answered, keeping your hands occupied.

"Do you know how to braid hair?" he asked, looking at you.

"Yes, my prince, from my life among my sisters," you answered.

"Then finish it and come with me. This place seems warm enough and I had been feeling dirty for a while. I'll bath and you'll help me. Then you can remake my braids."

You almost broke a bowl, blushing hard with the idea of seeing a man naked once again. Yet, you obeyed.

"Y... Yes, my prince."

You didn't want him to come back in his word of protecting the others, so, you would sacrifice for them.

You took a while to finish the bowls, but to make things faster, you had already lighted the fire and put some water to boil. So, when you finished the washing task, the water for his bath was ready.

You placed the two pans of boiling water at the cart and guided him to the room where the only bathing tub of the convent was placed. Then, you put the hot water into it and filled it with more water in ambient temperature, checking it with your own hand to be sure he wouldn't burn himself.

When you turned yourself to warn him the bath was ready, your eyes went wide and you let fall the bowl you had in your hands, breaking the ceramic on the ground: Hvitserk was fully naked, finishing to take off his trousers.

"What happened, woman? What the fuck?" he cursed and you immediately lowered yourself to pick up the pieces of the bowl, trying to avoid looking at his nakedness and take the memory of his body out of your mind.

"I'm sorry, prince Hvitserk. I'll clean this up in a second. I'm so sorry..." you started apologizing, but instead of going mad, he laughed.

"You Christians are all the same... It looks like you never saw a dick before," he joked, walking towards the bathtub.

And your mouth spoke too much, getting you even more embarrassed.

"Not one of this size..."

His expression changed to surprise - a nun who already saw a cock? It was something new for him.

"Bigger, or smaller?" he asked, casually, while entering into the water, sighing in pleasure for the perfect temperature, allowing you to look at him once again once he was immersed.

"I... I'll replace the bowl and pick up some clean clothes for your bath..." you tried.

But he insisted, looking at you.

"I made you a question. Answer me," he ordered, and you lowered your head, losing the hope of escaping that conversation.

"Smaller. And thinner. We were a young couple and he wasn't that older than me. Can I go now?" you said, ashamed.

However, Hvitserk was curious now. So, not all of those nuns were inexperienced virgins after all? He sat at the tub, looking at you.

"So, you already had a man? I thought nuns were all virgins..." he asked, curiously.

"They are. I'm an exception. Please, can I go? The water will go cold..."

He noticed you were embarrassed and allowed you to go get rid of the broken bowl and bring towels for him to get cleaned and to dry himself after the bath. But when you came back, filling the bathtub with more hot water to warm his bath, the first problem came.

"You can start in my back," was his answer when you showed him the bath towel.

You would wash him, of course... You were the slave, right? You went burning red when he sat closer to the center, leaving his fully naked tattooed back exposed for you to rub. Yet, you wetted the towel at a bucket with warm herbal water you brought and started slowly rubbing his skin, cleaning it from the mud and blood that were all over his body.

Unashamed, Hvitserk kept the conversation as if you weren't blushing hard behind him.

"So, you had a man before. Did he die or anything like that?"

You sighed, noticing it wouldn't be possible to get rid of that conversation while rubbing his skin.

"He left after he had what he wanted. Then my family put me here to serve God for forgiveness to my sins," you tried to give him a generic answer, which seemed to be accepted easily.

But not enough to satiate his curiosity.

"Still doesn't make any sense to me. You had sex and the jerk was gone. What the fuck is wrong with this?"

"It is a sin. Against the rules of God," you explained and Hvitserk chuckled, looking at you from upon his shoulder.

"Your God is complicated. It seems everything that's pleasurable is a sin for him. I don't like your God. His rules are boring. You can come into the tub, love." he said, noticing how you were stretching yourself to touch his chest from outside the water.

Your face burst red once again.

"You're gorgeous when you're red like that. Don't worry, you'll get used to these sins very fast by my side. Now come."

Without a choice and not wanting to be naked in front of him, you made a knot on your skirt as high as you could and tried to come into the bathtub not touching his body. The problem was that he was decided to have you red and instead of being quiet, he moved his legs, causing you to fall into the water and holding your waist so you would fall over his lap.

"Oh, dear Lord!" you squeaked.

Your habit fully wet.

How many chances you had of going out of hell after sitting on a Norseman's lap using your nun's habit?

Probably none! But Hvitserk wasn't really aware of this, giggling of your burning red cheeks.

"See? You didn't die. Take off these clothes. You're not a nun anymore. You're my slave. And if I like you, then you can become something more. Now take off these things and come to wash me properly, woman!"

Hvitserk was different from your last man. He wasn't even trying to disguise his intentions, but also, he wasn't making false promises. It was a good thing, right?

You went to the side of the tub, taking off your hat and veil, revealing the long hair tied in a bun behind your neck.

"Loosen it," he said, looking at you, "You have a beautiful hair."

You pulled the strand that was tying it up and your hair cascaded through your back finishing under the line of your butt. Hvitserk smiled.

"You gonna get luscious braids with all this hair. Gorgeous... Now take off this grey thing. You're too beautiful for this lack of colors."

If he ever had seen you in one of your former dresses... Your mind tricked you with that thought, remembering the beautiful dresses you abandoned long ago. What would your mom think of knowing you ended up this way? Your father would surely say your sins weren't forgiven. Bullshit...

You served well. But a servant cannot serve two sires and now, you had a new master.

Undressing your habit brought you memories of that night. Memories of the fabric of your dress sliding down your shoulders and your ex companion's voice in those same words that came out of Hvitserk's mouth when you finished undressing in front of him.

"You're so pretty..."

"Please, don't say that," you asked.

"I'm just telling the truth," Hvitserk hit back, but you lowered your head, covering your breasts with locks of your hair, trying to keep your shames covered by your hands.

"He told me the same. And he used me for his pleasure. I was supposed to be married, to have children at this point. But he ruined me. And you're about to do the same," you mumbled, feeling tears in your eyes.

Hvitserk pulled you closer by one of your hands and you kneeled beside his legs, your head low.

"I won't ruin anything. There is no such thing from where I come. You said you'll come with me. So, forget anything you learned from your world to your God. I'll show you everything new. And you'll see, sweet one, why pleasure cannot be a wrong thing."

He lifted your chin with his fingers and leaned his face, capturing your lips into a kiss he slowly deepened, exploring your mouth, getting your defenses down while causing shivers to go down your spine.

Your last companion didn't know how to kiss that way. He barely touched your lips. But Hvitserk was exploring your whole mouth, his tongue dancing with yours, arousing your body even when you didn't remember that sensation anymore.

Slowly, his hands guided your body to straddle his lap and then you softly pulled away from his kiss, afraid.

"Hvitserk..."

"Relax, love. You're mine... So, my rules. You're doing nothing I think is wrong. Just feel it."

You closed your eyes just to open then surprised when his fingers started rubbing your folds, causing a sensation of pleasure you never felt before.

You bit your lip. It would be too sinful to call for God at that moment. Yet, your mouth sighed and your voice came out low in a muffled moan Hvitserk smiled fo having from you.

"Just like that, love. Relax. I'll show you more..."

His fingers rubbed you for a while, and in this time, he explored your neck with kisses, shivering your untouched skin. His touches and kisses provoking something you have never felt before, building up warm and strong in your lower belly, before exploding in a wave of pleasure that caused you to squeal, cumming at the exact moment Hvitserk wrapped one of your hardened nipples with his warm lips.

Your ability to think was overwhelmed by his caresses, and he didn't stop with his devilish lips, sucking and kissing every part of your body they could reach, distracting you while his hands were conducting your hips to your doom.

When you less expected, Hvitserk's cock invaded your walls, stretching you around him, filling you in a way you never felt before. You squealed again, but this time, Hvitserk only held your waist, pulling you down onto his cock until your whole channel was filled with his length, hissing against your lips he softly kissed slowly in between the words.

"Shh... Shh... Whatever pain will pass son, love. You're so tight! I can feel you don't have a man in a while. I'll be patient, sweet Y/N. I want you moaning for me tonight."

He kept his thumb caressing and rubbing your clit while his other hand was keeping your waist on its place. His mouth teasing yours, kissing and sometimes biting your lower lip.

Your mind was flooded and disorganized. A part of you thinking about how wrong was what you were doing, having sex into a tub in the middle of a convent with a Norseman prince you just met. Another part of your mind asking yourself if you were made to have him inside you like that, cause somehow, he fit perfectly where you thought that length could never fit.

Hvitserk started moving his hips and again your mind went blank when the pleasure invaded your whole body in waves rhythmed by his movements, growing when he came out of you to spread when he came in, shocking his hips against yours in a wet noise.

"So good... So tight! Gods, I was missing a tight girl like you around me. Fuck, love, move your sweet hips over me..." He asked, guiding your hips with his hands, mesmerizing you with so much pleasure that your body started moving by itself over him, seeking for more, rocking your hips against his, rubbing yourself on his fingers.

"Hvitserk..." his name slid out of your lips like meowed and he smiled, pushing himself deeper.

"Like that, kitten... Such a good girl!"

Some more movements and you started feeling he was thicker, pulsating into your body, against your walls.

"Hvitserk... What's happening? You're throbbing..." you asked.

Your mind blurred, the sensations dominating your consciousness.

"You gonna make me cum, sweet love. You're so good, I can't hold myself... But I'll seed you here... And then... Then I'll take you to my bed. I want you moaning this whole night like this. Shit... I can't handle anymore, love. I'll fucking cum!"

His curses, his way to talk about that so naturally... He was fucking you, into a bathtub, cumming into your pussy and coating your insides with seed when you were supposed to keep yourself pure, clean. And the proof you didn't belong to that place was in your moans, freely given to him when the pleasure overcame you once again, wetting his cock into your walls as if you were made to warm him like that.

"I'm dirty... I sinned again," you mumbled, kinda lost in your vague and messy thoughts.

But Hvitserk lifted your chin, kissing your lips and sucking your lower lip again, catching your attention.

"You did. And you'll do again. You'll sin with me, love. Again, and again, and again. Until my smell is all over your skin and my seed is dripping out of your pretty cunt. Then it won't be a sin anymore, cause everything about this God of yours will be gone. I'll fuck your brains out tonight, love. And when the dawn comes, you'll remember nothing but the fact that you're mine."

Hvitserk moved again into your wet walls. And even surrounded by water, your body burned in desire.

You were doomed, you could already feel the heat of the hell's flames claiming your body on his fingers, his lips, his cock.

Hvitserk fucked you into oblivion that night, and you moaned disconnected things until his name was everything you could mumble.

When the morning came, he braided your hair and had your habit tore, defaced in a grey dress he covered with his own cloak, almost marking you as his woman, his property.

You passed the key under the door for the other women to pick up when they were awake. And with the first rays of the sun, the Norsemen left the convent, leaving untouched the women you saved behind.

You left with them, mounted on Hvitserk's horse with his body behind yours, his hands guiding the way. And you didn't look back.

You fulfilled the plans of God for you and you felt your mission in that place was complete. The nuns were saved. The Norsemen were gone.

Now was time for you to know what the Norse Gods had for your fate...

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[therealkn]

David’s Resolution: Day -2

Day -2 (December 30, 2018)

The Night of the Hunter (1955)

“And then the good Lord went on to say, ‘Beware of false prophets which come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly, they are ravening wolves. Ye shall know them by their fruits. A good tree cannot bring forth evil fruit. Neither can a corrupt tree bring forth good fruit. Wherefore by their fruits, ye shall know them.’”

There have been plenty of actors who’ve tried their hand at directing films, with varying degrees of success. A big example is Ron Howard, who started out acting in The Andy Griffith Show and Happy Days, then went on to become an accomplished filmmaker with a lot of good films like Apollo 13 and A Beautiful Mind. Clint Eastwood’s had a pretty solid career as a director, with films like Unforgiven and Million Dollar Baby. Same with Rob Reiner, who went from being known as Michael “Meathead” Stivic on All in the Family to being known as the director of This is Spinal Tap, The Princess Bride and Misery (and also North, much as we’d like to forget that film exists).

Mel Gibson took on directing Braveheart himself, and that film was also a big success commercially and critically (also has a great soundtrack by James Horner); same thing with Tom Hanks and That Thing You Do!. But not every actor who goes into directing met big success, at least initially, and one such example is Charles Laughton.

Charles Laughton was a great actor whose more memorable roles include William Porterhouse in 1932′s The Old Dark House, Dr. Moreau in 1932′s Island of Lost Souls (a really good old horror movie where he is the best thing in it), and Quasimodo in the 1939 adaptation of The Hunchback of Notre Dame, which portrayed Claude Frollo as a judge over 50 years before Disney’s animated adaptation of the story. He was a fantastic actor who sadly directed only one film, but at least the film he made is fucking incredible and one of the best thrillers of all time.

The Night of the Hunter is the story of one Rev. Harry Powell, played by Robert Mitchum. Powell is a traveling preacher who also happens to be a serial killer operating in the same vein as Bluebeard: he finds wealthy widows, marries them, kills them, takes their money, rinse, repeat. And his latest target is Willa Harper (played by Shelley Winters), a widow living in Depression-era rural West Virginia. Willa’s husband Ben (played by Peter Graves) was arrested, sent to prison, and executed for bank robbery and killing two men during the robbery, but it just so happens that Ben’s cellmate was Rev. Powell himself, who was serving time for car theft. And Powell learns that Ben, before his arrest, gave the money to his two children - his son John and his daughter Pearl - for them to hide, meaning that not only is Powell going to go after Willa, he’s going to go after her kids.

So after Powell is released from prison, he goes to Willa’s town and begins charming his way into the town and endearing himself to the townsfolk, which does two things. One is to show Robert Mitchum’s talents as an actor: he is legitimately charming and charismatic as he tells the now-famous story of why the words “hate” and “love” are tattooed on his knuckles, and he quickly endears himself to the town and to Willa and Pearl, even to the viewer in some degree. And that’s where the other thing comes in, and that is that it shows how goddamn terrifying Robert Mitchum can be.

I ended the It Happened One Night review saying “Robert Mitchum is a scary motherfucker”, and this movie shows why. There’s a reason the American Film Institute put Powell on their list of the 50 greatest movie villains of all time. The way Mitchum plays Powell is captivating not only in how charismatic he is, but also in how sinister he is. At all times, even when he’s singing hymns with the townsfolk at an outdoor picnic, there is always this sense that something doesn’t feel right. Even when he is played a little more for comedy, like when he’s peeking upside-down at Ben in prison like he’s Kilroy, or when he’s hollering like Daffy Duck after getting shot in the arm (we’ll get to that later), there’s still this feeling of unease around him. If anything, the fact he can be more comedic makes him scarier because it makes him feel more like an actual person. It makes him more grounded and fleshed out and all the more disturbing.

Powell soon marries Willa and kills her, but not before convincing her that she has been a wicked woman - their honeymoon is him making her feel ashamed for wanting sex in a marriage, and she soon adapts herself to her beliefs. This leads to what I feel is the most disturbing and terrifying scene in the movie, where Willa is preaching to the townsfolk about her “formerly wicked” ways, surrounded by torches as she preaches her rhetoric. It’s legitimately terrifying to see her indoctrinated into these beliefs and speaking these words in this way.

Willa dies at Powell’s hands, and it eventually leads to John and Pearl striking out on their own, travelling downriver to avoid the pursuing Powell. This eventually brings them to Rachel Cooper, an old woman played by Lillian Gish who takes care of stray children, and who takes them in to live with her. Rachel is established as a badass old lady who does have a very kind and understanding side. The film reaches its peak when Powell tracks the children to Rachel, who doesn’t buy his sob story about Willa’s death for one moment and, when Powell goes after John, immediately goes for her shotgun to force Powell off, leading into a tense nighttime standoff between the reverend and Rachel. And how it ends... yeah, not spoiling this one. You’ll have to see it for yourself.

Put simply, it’s really depressing that Laughton didn’t direct another film. This is one of those movies that took some time to be seen as a classic. When it first came out, it did not do very well with critics or audiences, and it really got to Laughton to where he didn’t direct another film. It sucks because I’d have loved to have seen him direct more films, because if The Night of the Hunter is anything to go by, he’d have given us more great classics like it. This makes me wonder if after his death, he saw the film’s reception even today and how so many see it as a classic.

All the acting in the film is great, from Mitchum and Gish and Winters to the child actors, even to the Spoons, an old couple who are friends with the Harper family and whom the wife Icey (yes, her name is Icey Spoon) I absolutely fucking hate as a character. That’s not a bad thing, I think she was designed to be a character you hate, and if that is the case then it’s done very well. The music by Walter Schumann is excellent at conveying mood, especially when things get dark. But then you get to the cinematography and the lighting, and that’s the really good shit.

That screenshot I used for the film is the perfect example of that. The use of lighting in this film is god-tier and there are few films before or since that have used light like The Night of the Hunter. The symbolism behind it is very simple - light and dark, good and evil - but it’s absolutely striking. There are shots that are beautiful to look at and haunting at the same time: the ethereal depiction of Willa’s body in her car at the bottom of the river, the whole thing framed like a painting; the shot of John and Pearl sleeping in a barn when John sees Powell on horseback in the distance, searching for the kids; and the scenes with John and Pearl floating downriver, with the night sky above and the animals watching on the ground. There’s some really beautiful imagery in the film and it’s worth watching just for that.

I highly recommend this movie. Just the cinematography and lightning’s enough to make you want to see this movie for how great it looks, but it’s also a top-notch thriller with one of cinema’s greatest and most terrifying villains. Also, this is the first movie that I’d recommend you watch in the dark, preferably in the evening or in the early morning before the sun rises.

Next time: a Joan of Arc film, but not the kind you’re thinking of.

[wendytestabrat]

ughhh…..here we go again. cartman IS more in touch with reality. cartman is machiavellian af…he understands how the world works and what he’s dealing with hence why he’s always able to figure things out and outsmart kyle and everybody else. kyle doesn’t understand how fucked up the town and everybody around him really are, he’s too naive so he thinks everything will always work out for the good or in his favor when it never does….he expects everything to be sunshine and rainbows but that’s just not how the world works or how reality is. and again i’m gonna say this for the 4738939292 time KYLE HAS MURDERED PEOPLE TOO. he fucking blew up canada and got like millions of people killed (in his brother’s home country)…which is in fact way more than cartman’s kill count if you’re gonna use killing scott tenorman’s parents as an example LOL which literally everyone does. not to mention the time kyle almost burnt down the school bc he thought he was ugly or tried to kill the queer eye for the straight guy people (before he found out they were crab people ofc) all because of how butthurt he felt about not being included…i mean that’s literally the definition of narcissism how kyle will act vindictively if he doesn’t get his way or people aren’t paying attention to him…exactly what cartman does. and kyle is NOT working on himself to be a better person, he’s gotten progressively worse as the series has gone on and turned out to be an asshole in the future too. kyle never takes responsibility for his actions or the fucked up situations he ends up in (or moments when he makes things WORSE by intervening) and blames everything on cartman. we see this in the way he’ll jump down cartman’s throat over literally anything even when cartman hasn’t done shit or kyle behaved just as badly as him or acted worse (like when stan called kyle out for stealing the vaccines when he jumped down cartman’s throat for trying to sell them). and you clearly don’t know a lot about narcissism and how complex of a diagnosis it is because acting in a way that’s overt and outlandish like cartman is not the only kind of narcissism there is. people with martyr complexes like kyle have what’s called covert narcissism which can be an even scarier form of narcissism because these are the kinds that act as wolves in sheep’s clothing so they’re harder to detect even though they cause the same amount of harm and are exhausting to be around…everyone on the show is aware that cartman is an asshole because of how blatantly obvious it is so they know what to watch out for, while kyle has everyone fooled. and cartman is aware he’s a shitbag and doing things morally wrong he just doesn’t care and owns it. this is how most sociopaths think, they do understand how things are “morally” wrong in society’s eyes but they act that way anyways because they don’t care and are not easily riled by other people’s emotions. this is how cartman is so good at mimicking good behaviors and acting a certain way at times to manipulate others….like how he pretended to be sensitive about muslims to illicit a response out of kyle…which shows he does understand it’s wrong to piss on another culture, but cartman would shit on a culture anyways because he just doesn’t give a shit about sparing others’ feelings. kyle acts in ways that are immoral all the time but always tries to justify it in a moral way which is delusional af, yes cartman is delusional too because of his schizophrenia and shit but at least he knows he’s bad unlike kyle. kyle is also specifically a communal narcissist too, which is something i learned about recently but i’m assuming it’s a subtype of covert narcissism, these are basically people who preach about morality and pretend to be altruistic but it’s really for selfish reasons. i’m always right…except for when i’m wrong..but even then i’m still right. 🤣 gosh i can’t believe i got woken out of my ranting hybernation for THIS dumbass generic argument that literally everyone uses about kyle over and over again. “he’s a good person1!!1” “cartman killed a kids’ parents!1!1!”

Kyle is more of an ass than Cartman imo if not than I think they’re tied. What’s your take?

too tired to rant abt this but BEEN SCREAMING THIS FROM THE ROOFTOPS. kyle’s issue is the fact that he’s so delusional and lacks self-awareness and actually thinks he’s an amazing person which makes him even more dangerous and crazy LOL cartman is a huge ass but he’s aware he sucks which tells me cartman is a lil more in touch with reality