#making out with dev patel

[satiricaily]

monkey man promo interviews r just like oh yeah dev patel broke multiple bones during the action scenes and he simply shoved a screw into his hand and moved on and the sets kept burning down and the cameras were malfunctioning and we spent half a year editing a segment in a scene and we were trapped in an island for months and the crew was marrying n divorcing each other in total soap opera fashion but whatever we made it because if there's a will there's a way <3

[longagoitwastuesday]

Jacob Elordi and Margot Robbie as Heathcliff and Cathy seems like out of The Onion

[cesarescabinet]

Caligari's been on the brain lately, and since I keep seeing talks about remakes and theoretical recasting--I'm kind of curious to see if anybody on Tumblr has any ideas. For fun, here's some actors who I think could make for an interesting Cesare;

Tom Sturridge (Able to convey sad wet and pathetic with a dash of menace perfectly)

Dev Patel (Imo he conveys a level of kindness I think he could imbue into the role. Idk I'm just curious to see his take on it)

Lee Joon Gi (Could match the physicality needed. Could ALSO emotionally stomp my heart into the dirt at the tragedy of it all.)

Doug Jones (he NEEDS a second chance!!)

And it doesn't even have to be just casting--I'm very curious to see how people on here would approach the aesthetics or the story with a new lens!

[taniushka12]

painstakingly rearranging the subtitles of sharknado the 4th awakens bc i cant find a subtitles file that fits w/ the video i downloaded (thats probably a special edition w/ bits of conversation added and changed) only to keep up the tradition of getting wasted w/ a friend while watching sharknado/shark movies 😔 call that love and friendship i guess

[navree]

i am once again asking people who are adapting wuthering heights to read wuthering heights and stop casting white men as heathcliff

[threetrenchcoatsinatrenchcoat]

Why Dev Patel failing to jump out of a window is so cool

This era of movies tends to skirt the line of satirizing so much as to stand for nothing. The tradeoff of sincerity for meta humor is not in a ratio I recall voting for. I get wary every time a story possibly maybe makes fun of me for caring about it, and I've come to accept that I think of sincerity as a fragile thing. But fragile is not the same as meaningless.

Let's talk Monkey Man. Bobby/The Kid/Dev Patel is trying to get out of a building and leaps sideways into a window, ready to smash through it and land on the street. He clunks against it, he falls to the floor out of frame, the window remains fully unscathed, and the action music cuts out. A beat. Then he gets up, the chase keeps going, and the music kicks back in. In a lesser movie, this choice is saying, "Aren't action movies stupid? Anyways I guess here's an action movie." On the other side if nothing is ever changed, it's saying, "Aren't action movies perfect already? Anyways I guess here's more of the same." It's great when you can subvert expectations in a way that doesn't undermine everything else, so here's why this isn't undermining its premise and even enforces it.

First off, after coming back in, the music keeps playing and being a legitimately exciting beat underscoring the rest of the scene. The joke knows when it's over and gets out of the way. Second, this trope is a great target for this bit; windows are so much more reinforced than this genre ever credits. But then the magic is that the entire rest of the movie is consistently brutal. The window bit comes from a unified authorial voice that also earnestly digs into the action before and after it. A deliberate drawing attention to the difficult realities of action only works if the rest of your action does hit harder than the fare of movie you're invoking.

And Monkey Man delivers. Every henchman takes so many hits before going down, and the hits are bloodier, closer, and quieter than Hollywood action. And the last thing that makes it work is that it only happens the once. It brings up John Wick and rather explicitly claims this movie will be smarter, and it does the joke with the window to ask you to take the violence seriously. Every time a movie distances itself from its genre, it's making sincerity take so much more work every other minute. Lots of movies give up on it entirely. This movie chooses the work.

[vivmaek]

Astrological Decans (Aries, Taurus, Gemini)

✰ my masterlist

✽ Aries

❀ 1st Decan ♂ (March 21 - March 30)

People who fall under this decan are going to have an easier time getting out of bed compared to most. Of course they get tired, and they’ve gone through hard times just like anyone else. Yet, they somehow muster up the courage to embrace every new day. They push this attitude upon other people, whether they like it or not. Their pioneering spirit launches them into leadership positions, and they’re confident about what they know. Enthusiastic and ready for anything, it is hard to get in their way. Impulsivity often leads them into trouble, but their mistakes don’t weigh upon them too heavily. Dwelling on the past isn’t something they get caught up in. The way in which they carry themselves with a sense of unshakeable confidence is magnetic and alluring. Their unpredictable nature keeps people on their toes, they bring excitement into the lives of other people.

⚘ Aretha Franklin - March 25

⚘ Lady Gaga - March 28

⚘ Vincent Van Gogh - March 30

❀ 2nd Decan ☉ (March 31 - April 9)

Original and unlike anyone else, this is usually the first thing noticed about people who fall under this decan. Their bold and expressive nature often garners an audience. Standing on their own isn’t something they fear. In fact, they prefer it. Independant and relaxed, they don’t appreciate it when someone interrupts their flow. Their anger is a bit explosive and others find this to be shocking.It’s best to give them space when upset. They���ll come back around, and they will be just as charming as ever. They’re not impulsive, but they are decisive. They make their minds up quickly, and stubbornly stick to the narratives they’ve created for themselves. Due to this mindset, making a strong first impression is a priority of theirs.

⚘ Marlon Brando - April 3

⚘ Heath Ledger - April 4

⚘ Maya Angelou - April 4

❀ 3rd Decan ♃ (April 10 - April 19)

These people live life in a big way. And at times, their approach can be a bit hedonistic. Their desires run strong, and their ambitions are large. People born under this decan are unafraid to speak their minds. They take conflict lightly, and might make other people angry through a poorly timed joke. Their jovial nature allows for them to be easily forgiven, and they can give out a sincere apology if need be. Being subtle is not a strength of theirs. Everyone knows what's on their mind. They see no reason to hold back and often share too much information. As lovers, they are incredibly passionate and very devoted. They give their all when it comes to relationships. Their affectionate feelings are obvious, they do not play coy. Nothing is left to the imagination when it comes to these types.

⚘ Saoirse Ronan - April 12

⚘ Charlie Chaplin - April 16

⚘ Conan O’Brien - April 18

✽ Taurus

❀ 1st Decan ♀ (April 20 - 29)

These individuals are well known for their will-power and tenacity. They are determined and steadfast, their patience is one of their greatest strengths. Their deep passion for life allows for them to remain focused on what matters most. Highly trustworthy and devoted, they bring stability into people's lives. These types are pleasure seekers. Their sensual nature desires exploration. They’re willing to try almost everything at least once. Adventures with them are thoughtful and slow moving. They have to stop and smell the roses along the way. Even when seemingly distracted, they never lose sight of their dreams. They know that they’re on the right path, but aren’t in any rush to reach the end. This same approach is also applied to their relationships. They aren’t likely to rush into commitment or marriage, but they are still dedicated.

⚘ Dev Patel - April 23

⚘ Shakespeare - April 23

⚘ Ella Fitzgerald - April 25

❀ 2nd Decan ☿ (April 30th - May 10th)

True artists, they have been gifted with creative talent. They also have the discipline to fully commit to their studies and projects. More than a bit of a perfectionist, they don’t stop until every detail is in order. Being critical is a negative trait of theirs that might be overtly present. They are highly intelligent and often see things that others miss. This can be frustrating, but also beneficial when setting themselves apart from the crowd. They have many goals and are far more ambitious in comparison to the other decans. Their adaptable nature allows for them to overcome obstacles and they rarely get sidetracked. Coming up with solutions on the fly is easy for them. Communication is another talent of theirs. They share their thoughts effectively and are direct in their speech. These types always finish what they started and never leave people guessing.

⚘ Donatella Versace - May 2

⚘ Catherine the Great - May 2

⚘ James Brown - May 3

❀ 3rd Decan ♄ (May 11 - May 20th)

Financial security is important to Taurus third decans. They are devoted to their careers and professions. Their materialistic nature is driven by a keen eye for aesthetics. They like to be surrounded by beautiful things, this includes people. Social prestige is important for those under the third decan, they take appearances into consideration when developing relationships. They can be particularly stubborn and prideful. It is not likely that they will take advice from other people. This isn’t because they don’t trust people, and this attitude isn’t coming from a place of arrogance. They just need to figure out everything on their own terms. They don’t like to be rushed, and they don’t like being told what to do. Maintaining a sense of independence will always be a priority of theirs.

⚘ Robert Pattinson - May 13

⚘ Megan Fox - May 16

⚘ Nicholas II of Russia - May 18

✽ Gemini

❀ 1st Decan ☿ (May 21 - 31)

The silver tongues of the zodiac, these people can talk their way into anything. Incredibly charming and inquisitive, they have a way of making everyone feel seen and heard. They pick up on details in conversation and speech that others don’t. Their high level of intelligence is noticed quickly. Being the smartest person in the room was never a goal of theirs, it just happens naturally. People who fall under this decan are especially fond of games and tricks. They love a good prank and are always looking to get into some sort of scheme. The people who surround them are constantly laughing. Their cutting remarks and witty insults keep people on their toes. Finding themselves within a debate is a common occurrence. Conversations with them are seemingly endless. Their minds run a mile a minute. Hardly anyone can keep up with their fast paced way of life.

⚘ Stevie Nicks - May 26

⚘ Lauryn Hill - May 26

⚘ John F. Kennedy - May 29

❀ 2nd Decan ♀ (June 1 - June 10)

People who fall under this decan are social butterflies. Delicate, beautiful, and charming. Others can’t help but fall in love with them, even their annoying qualities become endearing over time. Often subjected to rumors and speculation, they’re used to people gossiping about them. They may appear harmless, but these types are masters of chaos. Others trust them inherently, they especially trust the words of a Gemini third decan. At times, people who fall under this decan can be a bit flippant with the truth. This can lead to disastrous consequences. Their diplomatic nature often positions them within the middle of conflict. They feel a need to smooth over communication issues and often step forward to do so. Gemini third decans have many passionate opinions to share. They care about what other people have to say and expect to be granted the same treatment. They love encountering new and interesting people. Cultivating relationships is an important theme within their lives.

⚘ Marylin Monroe - June 1

⚘ Angelina Jolie - June 4

⚘ Emily Ratajkowski - June 7

❀ 3rd Decan ♅ (June 11 - 21)

Gemini third decans have an unquenchable curiosity towards life. Adventurous and independent to the extreme, their life path takes many interesting turns and sometimes diverts straight into the woods. They are highly intelligent and have an outlook on life that is unconventional and offbeat. Their ideas are controversial and ahead of their time, finding a solution to any given problem is easy for them. At times they can be a bit too blunt and unconcerned with the feelings of others. Some may appreciate their brutal honesty, but most will be put off by it. Gemini third decans do have an interest in the greater good and want the best for people, they show this through logical thoughts rather than impassioned speeches. It is likely that they have a deep interest in social justice and reform. They have a vision for what the future could look like and will do what they can to turn it into reality.

⚘ Anne Frank - June 12

⚘ Tupac June - 16

⚘ Paul Mccartney - June 18

[maniculum]

Both sides of a sample card from our current kickstarter project, a collection of 50 system-neutral magic items for TTRPGs, inspired by medieval literature, marginalia, and archaeology.

I'm sure many of you recognize this particular item, since Sir Gawain and the Green Knight is not hugely obscure as medieval literature goes, especially after the movie with Dev Patel from a few years ago. (I'm making the possibly unwarranted assumption that most people reading this have a pre-existing interest in medieval literature.)

Those of you who are sufficiently familiar to have Opinions on it might question why our interpretation is particularly good at decapitation, since famously the Green Knight only requires that Gawain strike a blow, and it's Gawain's choice to decapitate him. For this I point you to the text:

Þe grene knyȝt vpon grounde grayþely hym dresses, A littel lut with þe hede, þe lere he discouerez, His longe louelych lokkez he layd ouer his croun, Let þe naked nec to þe note schewe.

When Gawain is preparing to strike the blow, the Green Knight intentionally positions himself to make his neck a target, going so far as to move his hair out of the way. He never says "cut off my head", but he implies that is the right course of action because he wants Gawain to make that choice.

So our version of the Axe of the Green Knight is enchanted to also encourage that behavior. It doesn't come with any sort of curse requiring that you receive any blow you strike with it after a year and a day, but if an ambitious GM thinks that would work in their campaign, they're welcome to toss that in of course.

Anyway, the kickstarter runs until the end of June, and you can back it here:

[cherryblossom-enthusiast]

Retribution (The Kidxf!Reader) - Monkey Man

A/N: I said I was writing it and it has been done lol If you haven’t watched this film yet, please do! I indulged and wrote a small fic about it lol (Don't mind the abyssmal pacing of this, I barely edited and added anything) I hope you all enjoy it and can someone please indulge me more by writing more fics about this man!? Dev Patel absolutely killed it! Put him in a rom-com! I tried to write the hijra with as much care as possible. Please let me know if there’s something I can be more educated on in terms of this!

Synopsis: A mysterious man arrives at the temple you call home and makes quite an impression.

Warnings/ Tags: Angst. Fluff. Allusions to sex work. Descriptions of violence and blood. Coarse language. Kissing.

Word Count: 3.2K

Masterlist

The cheers of those around you interrupt the hanging of your laundry.

Peeking through the shoulders and the shadows, you sneak a glance at the subject of commotion, and it doesn’t surprise you.

The way he moves is equal parts graceful and aggressive. His punches are meticulously messy, a choreographed war drum thrumming to the beat of his own heart. This man is far removed from who you remember gazing upon a few days ago. His eyes were lost, sunken, like a child looking for guidance or divine judgement for all that’s led him to this point.

This was not that man.

This man was vengeance personified.

And through him, you felt hope.

You knew nothing about him. Alpha was able to garner all of your help, quietly and quickly instructing to pull the man out of the river. You were there when they cauterized his wounds. His screams were pure agony, making you cringe, and somehow you felt that his pain went deeper than physicality.

He walked like a ghost when he first came, aimlessly walking, like trying to just bump into something that would give him an answer.

Now, it seems he walks with purpose.

He throws his last punch and receives a mighty applause. The crowd recognizes the show’s over for the time being and they disperse as he keeps heaving, staring at the bag like he wants to hit it more. Like he never wants to stop.

You pick up a basket and walk over to him. Whether to strike up a proper conversation or feeling annoyed at the dirtied shirt on the ground you had just washed, you don’t exactly know. But something about him is magnetic, pulling you in, just like the first time you saw him that night, all bloody and bruised.

You nod at his white shirt. “I’ll take that.”

He breaks from his spell and turns to look at you.

His heaving slows, his breaths getting deeper by the second. For what you think is a few minutes, he just stares are you, and you at him, both of you taking each other in. You realize his physique really is something to awe over, but more importantly, that his eyes are far gentler than what you thought possible.

You tilt your head. “The shirt?”

He bends and picks up the white cloth, simply extending it to you as he continues to stare. You gesture for him to drop it into the basket. With an amused scoff, you start to turn away. “I’d appreciate it if you hung the next shirt you tore off on a wall.”

“Your name?”

His voice surprises you. You’ve only heard him speak a few times before. He sounds rough, and scratchy, like he doesn’t use his voice often.

You introduce yourself and after a few moments, he repeats your name back to you. Slowly, quietly, as if he’s scared of offending you in any way. Listening to it fall from his lips is like listening to dripping honey and you’d be lying to yourself if you said it didn’t make heat crawl up your neck.

To save face, you again start to walk away from him. “Widen your stance.” You advise, not waiting to hear a reply.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Several days pass until you have another full conversation.

You’re caught up with mundane chores. He’s caught up with punching that bag and doing god knows what else when he’s not at the temple.

Though there was that one time you almost slip and he catches you effortlessly by the waist and it definitely made your stomach flutter.

You smile the first time you depart to wash laundry and see his shirt hanging over a nearby wall.

He’s getting better. His posture looks strong, immovable. Sometimes you think with all that’s happened to him, that he must be invincible. Surely, no one can lose that much blood and still maintain their sanity.

But then you see his movements wain by the end of his exercise and it’s like something powerful overcomes him as he loses all finesse and he punches that rice-filled bag for all its worth with no rhyme or reason. You sense his frustration as he suddenly stops and puts his hand on his hips, breathing erratically.

You approach him cautiously. Pulling out a bottle of water from your laundry basket, you offer it to him. “Consider taking a break?”

He’s slow to take the bottle from you but he does so anyway. After almost draining the whole thing, he splashes the rest of the water over his head. Only as he shakes the droplets off his curly locks does he try to return it to you.

“An actual break.” You reiterate, stuffing the bottle of water back into your basket. “Your drummer needs one too. He might have built up his callouses, but he should eat something.”

The man turns to look where your eyes are directed and though you don’t have a clear view of his face, you can tell from the way that his eyebrows ease that he feels a sense of guilt. The drummer simply raises his palm and stands. “Take some time to clear your head, I’ll be here whenever you have.” He leaves the courtyard until it’s just the two of you left.

The weather is oddly cool today. There’s smoke and a mugginess that’s expected from being close to the heart of the city, but if you were to look around, it’d almost seem like you were transported decades into the past. The temple acts like a sanctuary, shielding you all from the outside world’s noise and it does a good job.

You walk towards a small wooden bench off to the far side and take a seat. You set your basket down and pat the space next to you. “Come,” You beckon “I’d appreciate some company while I fold all of these white shirts I’ve had to add to my load.”’

Something like embarrassment flashes on his face as he follows your command and sits right next to you. His posture is stiff like he wants to make an impression. It’s obvious your newfound companion doesn’t like to talk, or more accurately, isn’t very good at starting small conversation.

“I’m sorry for the bother.”

He has a tone of bashfulness, unable to turn in your direction. Your smile widens as you continue to fold “I didn’t say it was bothersome.” You refute. “In fact, I’d rather say I don’t mind you taking your shirt off.”

You try to make direct eye contact then, but he swallows thickly and doesn’t meet your eyes. It makes you giggle, but you decide to pull back on the joke, not wanting him to take offence or cause him more uneasiness. “Besides, each shirt is a testament to how much work you’ve put into bettering your skills here.”

That gets him to scoff and drop his head in disbelief “I’m still not where I need to be.”

“No,” you reply earnestly “but you will be.”

This earns you another bout of silence.

 For a while, you both just enjoy each other’s quiet company. He stares blankly ahead and you give him the time to examine whatever it is he’s battling through in his own thoughts.

Eventually, he sighs and inclines his head towards the sky. “How long have you lived here?”

“Ever since I could remember.”  You answer honestly. “Alpha says they opened the door and there I was, miraculously alive, left laying on a dirty blanket.”

“You’ve been here ever since?” He carefully asks.

“I’ve never lived anywhere else if that’s what you’re asking.” You pass an unfolded shirt to him and to your surprise he starts to fold it with no question. Bitter memories start to glaze your view. “And for someone as uneducated as me, there’s only a few jobs out there that I’d be considered for as a woman.”

A knowing silence passes through you both at the statement. Yatana was unforgiving. A real dog-eat-dog society with no time or need for those who couldn’t stomach it or keep up. Truth be told, most of the time you couldn’t. Very often would a prostitute or child be pounding on your doors for help or asylum. Hungry, beaten, thrown away like a speck of dust not worth anyone’s time.

“Doesn’t it make you angry?”

You’re unphased by the question. “Of course it does.”

And you mean it. There are days when you scream at the sky or dunk your head slightly longer underwater to try and get away from it all, try to release it in some way.

Eyes still trained to the sky; he confesses “Because that’s all I feel. Anger and pain, and I can’t-“ he struggles to finish his words. “I can’t-‘

“I know.”

That makes him look back down and finally turn in your direction. He patiently expects you to explain.

 You swallow thickly but continue to talk anyway. “To feel helpless, like you can’t do anything no matter how hard you try.” Gritting your teeth, you realize your hands have stopped folding. “But it doesn’t matter, because there are people who need me more strongly than the pain I feel.”

He considers your words thoughtfully and waits for you to speak once more. “Amidst all this chaos, this temple stands. People need me here. Children, mothers, the beautiful hijra who gave me a home, and when they leave this place with the tiniest glimpse of hope on their faces, then I know I’ve done my job. I don’t fight as well as the hijra here, I don’t expect to get much better, but I want them to know that they have refuge with me.”

You pass him an unfolded sari and for the rest of the time you are sitting together, you both fold quietly, basking in the sun and each other’s presence.

He continues to train harder after that. Each step is quick, each punch as sharp as a bullet. When he isn’t training, he’s watching. The news, the protests, the speeches, like he’s reassuring himself, learning the best way to approach.

 It’s obvious everyone here, including you is taken with this stranger. Though, you don’t really know if you could even call him that anymore.

It’s like he seeks you out. It doesn’t matter if it’s simply sitting together for dinner or him deliberately waiting for you to walk through the courtyard with your basket under your arm. Both of your eyes are trained on each other with an eager sheen.

Maybe it’s fear or maybe it's an understanding that your pairing would most likely never work out in the end. Either way, whatever it is, it disappoints you because you so badly want to believe he wants you the same way.

The mood becomes slightly flirtatious and you catch sight of a boyish grin here or there, especially when he’s surrounded by the hijra.

But anytime you think he might ask you something, or just when you’re on the cusp of telling him your interest, something stops you in your tracks, holding you back.

A recollection plays in your head of last night.

It’s just him and the drummer again today. You wait near a dark window before you pass so as to not to disturb his concentration.

He has a beat to the way he fights, a brutal rhythm, and it astounds you every time you watch him. If this is how he looks punching a bag, you wonder how he’d look fighting against others. You find the thought oddly attractive, and it makes you flush.

For all his skill in the ring, it seems that’s where all his artistry in footwork stops. Surrounded by laughing and beaming faces, with the sound of softer drumming in the air, everyone takes a turn dancing. No one cared about how sloppy anyone was. You sure weren’t the best dancer amongst the hijras, but this seemed unsubstantial when you were all drunk on each other’s company.

The children present that evening and you form a small circle. You’re swinging your arms around when you notice your mystery man with a smile of his own. It knocks the air out of your lungs. It’s one that gives him crinkles around his eyes and all at once he doesn’t look like a hardened killer, but someone you’d see on a billboard or a magazine cover.

You crook your finger at him, inviting him into your little dance number. He tries to politely decline, his once beaming face turning something sheepish, but Alpha bumps him shoulder to shoulder, and soon the rest of them urge and tease him to dance along. When he gets to the center begrudgingly, it’s already too late for him to back out. Two children start to pull him until he lands directly opposite of you.

The circle of your intertwined hands spins, it twirls here and there, and when you all raise your hands to shrink the circle, you land face-to-face with the most fascinating man you’ve ever seen. It lasts all of five seconds, but everything around you dims as you look at this man’s face illuminated by firelight.

His eyes are his most emotive feature and they always seem to twinkle. Right then, they almost looked like jewels from the way they glossed over.

You pick up on the way those eyes slowly dipped down towards your lips and suddenly you wonder if he’s thinking about the same things you are. If he really does want you the same way you do.

But before you can tumble into that path of thought, cheers and hoots pull you out of the little bubble of enchantment you’d created. You turn to reject the idea of it all, but when you glance back at the man in front of you, your breath catches.

He continues to stare intently at your visage, not minding or caring about the extra attention one bit.

And then a scream erupts in your ears.

Seeing him punch the bag until rice grains stick to his chest reminds you of what he’s capable of.

When he shares a nod with the drummer, you know that he’s finally achieved what he came here at the temple to do.

Dropping your basket, you immediately rush indoors, following the cries of the hijra around you. Lakshmi lays in the center of the temple room floor, blood dripping from them like a fountain. You crouch and gently put their head on your knees as the weeps continue all around you.

They explain that they put a notice on the door, Shakti’s men, and all you can see is an unbridled tint of red starting to form. Your heart is pounding, Lakshmi is struggling to fight for air, and in front of this statue, an indescribable wave of pain crashes into you.

It’s loud, far too loud. With your thoughts, the cries, the blood staining your shirt.

Your one hand on the floor clenches into a fist. You try to remind yourself that you can be better, that there must be something more to all of this than just pray, than to just keep taking what they serve like impotent little ants. The hopelessness starts to creep in, slowly etching itself into your thoughts.

But before it can take hold, you distinguish a face in the shadows. It’s observing as everything around you starts to crumble and in that moment you try to push all that anger onto him as you directly glare into his soul.

And when you see him break open the donation box much later during the humid night, you know you’ve put your faith into the right person.

He tries to leave as silently as he came, but you meet him at the entrance. He holds a crude, dirty children’s bag and you can only assume that’s where he’s keeping the money.

He tries to explain, but you start to approach him which stops his needless rambling. In an act of boldness, you grab his hand in yours and flip it to look clearly at his scars. If he’s uncomfortable, he doesn’t show it. He doesn’t even flinch.

“Alpha was right.” You agree. “You do have the hands of a warrior”

You enclose his hand between yours, putting it up against your lips. “I wonder how such gentle hands fight with such ferocity.”

He starts to twitch and as you loosen your grip, expecting him to pull back, he instead cups the side of your face and despite his scarred calloused hands, his touch is pure velvet. His thumb brushes the tears you didn’t notice were starting to fall freely down your cheek.

Please, you pray. Whatever it takes.

“Fight for me.” You croak thickly. “Fight for all of us.”

He clenches his jaw. “I promise you.”

You pull him towards you by grasping his neck and your lips meet in the middle. The kiss is like him. Equal parts sweet as it is harsh. His lips were warm and soft, but the urgency in the way you both kissed each other was anything but. You bury your hand into his hair and feel his curls unmake themselves even further. His smell of soap and sage infiltrates your senses.

It was a dizzying feeling. It’s what you felt while you were dancing exploded ten-fold. It was the culmination of tension and grief exploding into something technicolour. As your noses bump against each other, you think you want to draw more of this kindness from this man.

Your breathing quickens and he groans into your mouth. It’s almost like you two are fighting. With each other, against each other, for each other. Exploring this hungry need has only made you more insatiable.  

And that becomes particularly dangerous, especially when you know he has a job to do.

Reluctantly you pull back. His eyes stay closed and you press your foreheads together, listening to the crackles of the torches around you. “Your emotions are strong.” You quietly whisper. “But do not let them control you. Let them guide you.”

He blinks his eyes open, full of clarity.

Letting each other go hesitantly, you take one last look at him and he at you. “Come back to me,” you say with all the confidence you can muster.

You can tell you’re both skeptical about your claim, but he nods his head anyway. He walks around you and you don’t turn to look at him leave for fear of wanting to hold him back. You hear the creak of the door, but before he can take another step away from you, you mumble “Give them Hell.”

There’s a slight pause before you start to hear the crunching of the ground beneath him, each step lighter than the last until you can no longer hear him creeping into the night.

Please, you pray. Whatever it takes.

- - - - - -

When you see the money-filled bag hanging on the statue the next day, it’s attached with a note.

His presence overflows through your every pore.

Alpha looks at you with a determined expression on their face, as do the other hijra around them.

It seems they don’t just want repayment, they want a reckoning.

They want retribution.

- - - - - -

A/N: Please let me know what you think by leaving a note, comment, or reblog! Or we can just geek out about Monkey Man lol I definitely won’t be opposed to that lol

[crimeronan]

okay so. monkey man was really good. if anyone wants to see dev patel with his giant sad wet eyes lead a small army of trans women hijra in a quest to murder the Shit out of a bunch of cops and fascist politicians...... YOU ARE IN SO MUCH LUCK.....

eta making this unrebloggable bc i've learned that hijra is a better term than trans women & would prefer the og doesn't circulate without this correction! everyone see this movie.

[amica-aenigmata-naboo]

If You'll Have Me

Dev Patel x Y/N - drabble - 1.3K WC NSFW 18+

Masterlist

Warnings: SMUT, so fucking adorable, literally like omg, gender neutral, no real descriptions of genitals kinda?, fluffy af, L bombs, penetration, idk everything else???

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

You moved smoothly around the kitchen, the soundtrack to your boyfriend's new movie energizing you while you made dinner. Specifically the extended version of LED Spirals, you didn’t know what they put in the song but fuck it was addicting. So addicting everything else felt drowned out. You kept dancing, swaying and twirling with the music in a seductive yet passionate way. The lights were dim, only a few softly glowing lamps throughout the kitchen and living room provided a soft glow. Lost in your own world you continued what you were doing, never hearing the front door open and close.

Dev could hear the music from outside the apartment. He gave you his spare key a month ago which shocked you as you had only been dating for two months. Now on the cusp of four months Dev knew deep down how he felt for you. It was a deep sense of longing and lust; creating the sweetest form of love with so much fire in it. He wanted to devour you, and be devoured by you. He unlocked the door quietly and pushed his way inside. Slipping his shoes and button up shirt off after setting down his keys. He kept his loose pants and muscle shirt on, looking down at how dirty he was from filming Monkey Man. Today had been mostly stunt work and fight scenes - he was exhausted. Whatever you were cooking smelt amazing, a fragrant blend of spices ruminating in the air. He gently walked towards the kitchen, trying not to make noise. As he leaned in the doorway he watched you with a smile. Your movements were hypnotic, the way your hips flowed with the beat. The quickened breathing making your chest rise and fall. The rosy tint on your cheeks. The little gasps you made. He licked his lips before running a hand over his face; how were you so stunning? And how were you his? 

You swayed in a circle before giving a small shriek and jump, not knowing Dev was watching you. “How long have you been watching?” you mumbled, hands balling up the ends of his oversized hoodie you were wearing. 

“Long enough.” he smiled before he walked towards you, hands finding their way to your waist. 

You let out an involuntary hum at the contact, you let your hands rest on his chest, fingers caressing his jaw. You breathed him in, his cologne from this morning mixed with sweat. He already had a bruised eye from earlier in the week and now his knuckles were actually bloody. You sighed, knowing he was careful but still ended up injured. Yet you supported him as you knew how much he loved putting his all into his movies. 

“Did you have a good day?” you asked, leaning your head against his chest.

He swayed you both slightly, “Exhausting but yes… My body hurts.” he joked but you knew there was truth behind it. 

“Here…” you said, pulling away from him much to his disdain. You grabbed the bottle of water and Midol you had set on the island before he got home.

“Midol?” he asked, quirking his eyebrow. 

“It’s good for periods AND busted up actors - trust me I’m a doctor.” you joked with him. You may not be a doctor but you did learn how to patch Dev up with his minor stunt mishaps. 

Dev shrugged before taking the two pills and water from you, swallowing them quickly. You watched the way his throat bobbed. How the water trickled down his chin to his chest. How his muscles moved with every breath. Your lip was clutched between your teeth as you gawked at him. You were having the unholiest of thoughts while he was doing the most mundane task.

“Darling?” Dev said while screwing the top of the bottle back on.

You shook your head slightly, coming back down from your fantasies. Cheeks flushed, Dev quickly caught on to what was going on. 

“Do you want something lovely?” he said, his voice thick with desire, dropping into a low gruff yet buttery tone. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat as your hazy eyes looked at him. You and Dev had done some stuff but hadn’t had sex yet. Every fiber in your body was now wondering why. You walked to him, hand coming to cup his cheek, your breaths mingled. You met him as you both moved to finally lock lips. It was hungry, desperate. As if this was the last time you’d be together. Dev quickly grabbed the backs of your thighs, hoisting you up to lock your legs around his waist. He made his way to the bedroom stumbling into the walls every now and then as he got lost in you. You felt him sit down, your legs now resting on either side of his lap as he got comfortable on the bed. You ground your hips down into him. His breath hitched before he let out a shaky moan. 

“Do you want to?” you asked, intertwining your hands with his. 

“If you’ll have me.” he smiled, placing soft kisses across your chest, making your eyes flutter closed.

“Please…” you breathed out, holding him close to you. 

Dev tore his thin shirt off, making you moan against him as you kissed. Your hands felt over every inch of skin they could. Dev snuck his large hands under your shirt, letting his hands travel across your chest before he slipped the hoodie and shirt off in one go. You gazed at him as you sat in only your underwear on his lap. Taking in a few deep breaths you looked into his eyes.

“Are you alright?” he asked, “We can stop.” he assured you, hands caressing your cheeks. 

Your heart melted at how soft he was with you. “I love you.” you whispered, your eyes widening when you realize what you said. 

“I love you.” he said without missing a beat, he leaned his forehead against yours momentarily just soaking you in. His head dipped to your neck; biting and sucking marks into the supple flesh just to savor the little pants and moans that left your lips. His hand slid into your underwear, finally having him where you wanted him most. Your breath quickened with each move his skillful hand made. 

“You’re so good for me…” he mumbled as he moved his lips against you. 

Your eyes fluttered closed as they rolled back, you felt him igniting a fire in your lower belly that flowed like warm honey through your veins. Warm and sticky yet pulsing and electric. Your mind was clouded with pleasure but you didn’t let that stop you from slipping your hand down his chest to his waistband, slipping two fingers inside to trace the seam. You felt his hips jolt slightly before his hands started shoving his pants and boxers off. You slipped your underwear off before settling on his lap again. You clutched him gently, moving him to your entrance. His cock twitched in anticipation before you sank down on him. Both of you let out groans, enjoying the feeling. 

“Why didn’t we do this sooner?” Dev muttered. 

You laughed, pulling him into a sweet kiss. You started moving your hips; both yours and Dev’s breathing picked up as the pleasure built in you both with each grind. You sped up after a moment chasing the high that was so nearly in grasp. You felt his hands clutching your hips tightly, guiding your movements. His lips ghosted over your chest, whispering praises to you. He gently bit into your shoulder as he came, bringing on your own orgasm as you liked the slight pain he provided with the overwhelming pleasure. Your body shook as you came down, Dev holding you close. You leaned against him, exhausted and sleepy. Dev kissed you lazily as he pulled out, he laid your body down next to his, holding you against him. You kissed his chest a few times before snuggling into his side. 

“So you love me, huh?” he said with a goofy smile.

You laughed as you rolled your eyes, “It's entirely possible.” you replied.

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

Naboo's Note:

Heyyyyyy first celebrity fic - and what a guy right? Recently watched Monkey Man and I am OBSESSED. He's so damn fine. Anyways - feel free to send in requests regarding Mr. Dev Patel or any of his characters. Thank you for the support!!! XOXOXXOOXOXOOX!!!!!!!

[spikershoyo]

morning light | Kid x GN!reader x Sita | fluff | mild suggestiveness

warnings, tags, and notes: mild suggestiveness, kissing, mentions of violence, this is purely self-indulgent and for everyone at the dev patel hive, this is a poly fic don't like it don't read it, if I missed anything please feel free to let me know! @ashsimpsalot MY OFFERING TO YOU BABE

You're reluctant to open your eyes as the sun shines through the window, a gentle reminder that you have to leave the house for work.

But how could you?

You had everything you needed at your side. Well, more like everyone you needed.

Sita was curled up into your chest, her arms wrapped around you while Kid's slithered under you, his other arm draped over both of you. You felt at ease, feeling both of your lovers so close to you.

But that ease is short-lived, seeing that time kept ticking and you needed to head to work.

As quietly as possible you slide out of their grasp and look over both of them, they seem so at peace. It was as if they weren't running away and knocking on your door just a month prior.

You hoped they never had to go through that again. Sita's rose gold dress still hangs over your hamper. Kid's suit was tucked away into a plastic bag in your dresser. The evidence of Queenie's blood along with Baba Shaktie's and Rana's was all over their clothes from that night. It was the only remaining thing tying them back to the violence.

You think about how they looked at your doorstep, both of them shaking because of different reasons. Fear and adrenaline. You could see it in their eyes.

But you don't dwell on that thought, instead opting to head to your bathroom and shower.

At the sound of water running Kid's eyes open slowly, noticing you are no longer in bed with them. It takes him a moment to wake up fully and he relaxes, pulling Sita closer to his chest and hoping you come out before she wakes.

His hands run through her long dark hair, fingers playing with the strands and twirling them. She still smells like roses. Kid smiles at the thought of his girls, his cheeks getting hot. Whether an hour or 15 minutes pass by, he doesn't know, but you're out of the shower and in your work clothes.

He smiles softly when you catch his eye, you seem more awake when you notice he's up. You walk over and sit at the edge of the bed, smiling at the sight of Sita still asleep and curled into Kid's chest.

"Good morning, darling." You whisper and kiss his lips gently. He eases into the kiss and reaches for you, bringing you closer and making you lean down. He was always so needy, especially on the mornings you had work. "Morning." He whispers back, entranced with you already.

Sita stirs softly but you both don't pay mind, too focused on each other. Kid reaches for your waist and you have to force yourself out of his hold because if you didn't you were definitely not going to work that day.

Sita's eyes flutter open, seeing how both of his lovers were in a heated makeout session. She wanted in. "Wow, I see how it is." She whispers, a teasing lilt to her voice. Both of your eyes tear away from each other and fall onto her, the unexpected attention makes her curl into herself but she smiles. You sit on the bed and beckon her over, Sita eagerly shuffles closer to you and kisses up your neck, her customary wakeup routine for you.

You hum and run your hands through her hair then slowly inch under her sleep shirt and rub her back. "How's my girl?" Your voice rings through her ears and she almost purrs, feeling how Kid's eyes run over both of you. Kid looks into your eyes and you see how his gaze begs for both of you.

"I'm great," Sita answers, her hands now running down your arms. The temptation to undress you is a lot for both Kid and Sita, wanting you back in bed. "I'm doing really great." She hums, and her kisses never stop even as she feels Kid's hands snake around her hips.

If only it excites her more. You're just as tempted to ditch work until you see what time it is. Your eyes widen and you cup her cheeks, pressing a kiss to her lips and reaching for Kid's hands and squeezing them. "I need to go." You chuckle, seeing as they are a bit stunned.

Kid fights back a whine, wanting to just pull you down and for him and Sita to have fun with you. Yet he understands that you have more people to take care of since they can't head outside yet, their faces all over the news.

"Fine. But come here for a sec." Sita smiles, leaning in to kiss you one more time. Kid is eager for a kiss as well, you can tell. You give him one and run your hand over his cheek.

"You two behave while I'm gone, yeah?" They share a look, one that says we won't. But you know better.

[cryptfile]

hi there! i'm mila (she/her) i’m from south america (from this laaarge country called Chile) so english is not my first language. I've been on the internet for a while and i'm in my 20's trying to figure out life while writing silly little stuff and finishing my degree in Digital Animation at the same time, be kind to me or else i'll cry.

Currently my request are open! so feel free to send promps or whatever! i'm pretty social too, so if you'd like to talk or just ask about anything, just go ahead and hit that button! you can check who i write for here. At the moment i'm writing both +18 content as well as your regular nice fluff, angst, etc.

Please interact accordingly. More fandoms to come soon. Have a good time bby! x

ps: Credits to chimiyaa resources on deviantart for the nice thunder and the pink thingy you see in the first image.

SOLDIER BOY

ᓭི༏ᓯྀ nuclear seasons, [+18 mdni ] — he was friend’s with your mom. friend is a understatement cause when he appears in the middle of the night looking for revenge in your little apartment in the suburbs, you know he’s far from being nice.

HOMELANDER

ᓭི༏ᓯྀ holy terrain!!!!!! [ +18 mdni ] — when you arrive to vought’s tower covered in blood, you certainly don't expect to enjoy john’s comfort after feeling so numb.

FRENCHIE // [ RECASTED TO DEV PATEL ]

ᓭི༏ᓯྀ mountains at midnight — after a failed relationship, serge knocks on your door half baked / half bleeding-to-fucking-death.

QIMIR // THE STRANGER

꩜ drabble — qimir taking you as his acolyte.

꩜ dreamseeker — it all started when you find out he’s alive.

LOGAN HOWLETT // WOLVERINE

Ꮺ˖˚₊ leeches [ +18 mdni, vampire!reader] — logan howlett lacks of patience (and he can also be a nice little blood-bag while losing his temper).

CARMY BERZATTO

☆ loveseat [ +18 mdni ] — after being in a relationship with carmen, you cannot help but being extra judgemental when it comes to food.

☆ drabble [ +18 mdni ] — it's just the best pie he ever tasted.

BENEDICT BRIDGERTON

⋆౨ৎ˚ ࣪ over the moon — when your husband starts to stay up painting till late you start plotting a good plan to make him go to bed with you and actually rest instead.

[whenmemorydies]

Violence and Love in Monkey Man

Dev Patel's Monkey Man has played at my mind for two weeks now. This is for reasons that I'm able to articulate and for many that I probably have not yet been able to find the words for. This post is, in part, my attempt at sorting through some of my thoughts. My tumblr is all spoilers all the time. If you don’t want that, then please don’t read on.

Violence

Like most places in the world, systemic violence is a scourge in India. Monkey Man does not shy away from this reality and depicts Hindu nationalist state violence and violence against women and gendered minorities in the country to chilling effect.

We come to see this in the brutal rape and murder of Kid's activist mother at the hands of the police, while she tries to shield her child and her land from police and state terror. We see it in the treatment of (largely femme-presenting) sex workers in the two brothels featured in the film, including one frequented by the police and political elite. We see it in the violence and ostracisation meted out against the hijra, or third gender community by individual actors and the state more broadly. We see it in the state-orchestrated razing of an entire community after the land on which it sits is declared a "holy site". We see it in the movement of people from the regions to the city after their land has been stolen and the grinding poverty they face as a result.

Unlike so many action films, none of the violence in Monkey Man occurs in a vacuum. Even Kid's original means of making money in an underground fighting ring is done against the backdrop of his forced displacement from regional India to the city - a migration pathway that many in the country have been forced to take and which is a direct result of land theft and resource extraction in the regions by local and multinational corporations as well as federal and state governments.

The truth is that so much in relation to state and societal control is enacted in painful and violent ways on the bodies of the marginalised and oppressed. And I often think about how the horror and action genres are some of the best suited to speak about systemic injustice because of their capacity to make that violence uncompromisingly visible (one recent example is Mike Flanagan’s Midnight Mass which depicted the bloody fallout of the Christian missionary/colonial project in vivid crimson, splashed all over a non-descript maritime town in present-day America). The violence in Monkey Man is no different.

While Kid's realisation of the interconnectedness and heavy hand of the state not just in the violence experienced by his mother, but also by the hijra, and by sex workers like Sita comes later in the movie, we as the audience are given this insight earlier. Recall Kid pointing out to Sita that her tattoo is of a koel, not a sparrow as originally misidentified by the Australian client sexually assaulting her minutes earlier in the film.

Kid goes on to say that he grew up in the forest and woke up to koels singing everyday. Its the longest conversation that the two have but in those brief words, we understand that Sita too has likely been displaced to the city from the regions, probably under very similar circumstances to Kid. The way this displacement maps itself onto her body is distinctive to how it does so for Kid, with gender playing a large role in this.

Other factors like caste, class and religion also impact on how the characters in this film experience or perpetrate violence. I would write more on these intersections but then this post is going to get more unwieldy than it already is.

I will say though, that in India, where fascist Hindu nationalism is being used by government to harm minority communities, steal land and secure populist votes, Patel makes a distinction between revelatory and weaponised faith. Kid is raised in peace by his mother with the former, but as an adult he lives in a world where the latter has taken hold and is being used by those in power to shore up more of that power for themselves.

For me - as the descendant of parents, grandparents and great grandparents who lived through anti-Tamil pogroms led by Sinhalese chauvinists weaponising Buddhism as part of their fascism in Sri Lanka, who like the rest of us, is living in an election year for Hindu nationalist Prime Minister Narendra Modi in India, and who is also frustratingly, helplessly bearing witness as the state of Israel and it’s allies conflate Zionism with Judaism in defence of the genocide being waged against Palestinians - watching this action film make the distinction between revelatory and weaponised faith was profound.

Love

Patel makes it a point in this film to show how Kid's most nourishing relationships, the ones that sustain him - indeed the ones that literally save his life - are those that he has with women and with people who don’t conform to the gender binary. In doing this, we see what Kid is fighting tooth (quite literally) and nail for throughout the film. We see what is at stake - what we stand to lose - if perpetrators get to rule without accountability.

Its also no mistake that these relationships are all tied visually to the natural world in the film: Kid's mother's deep ties to the earth, rivers, trees and roots that she leads him through as a child. Alpha and the hijra's sanctuary, the Ardhanareeshvara temple with its most sacred space being the roots of a holy tree. Sita and her koel tattoo: the memory of the forest carried on her skin while she traverses the brutal reality of the city. Patel is making a point here too. About nourishment of another kind, through our connection with the earth instead of extraction from it. The visuals in the film drive this point home, particularly when contrasted with the industrialisation and poverty of the city.

Two particular loving relationships that stood out for me were the love shared between Kid and the hijra community as well as between him and his mother.

Alpha, hijra Elder and the hijra community

Keeper of the Ardhanareeshvara Temple and hijra Elder, Alpha becomes a mother-figure to Kid after he is rescued with near-fatal injuries. It is Alpha who keeps watch over him as he recovers, helps Kid to confront the totality of his past memories which his trauma has kept fragmented, and who ultimately leads a veritable hijra army to join forces with him to assassinate some fascists.

Alpha's gentleness with Kid was so moving to see, in particular during the conversation they have about his attempt as a child to save his mother from the fire set by her rapist and murderer. That exchange moved me to tears.

Kid: I failed her.

Alpha: No. You tried to save her. You see scars. I see the courage of a child fighting to save his mother.

The wider hijra community at the temple also take Kid in and care for him during his recovery. Truly, the scenes at the temple were some of my favourite in Monkey Man. Outside of his memories of his mother, they are the only scenes where we see love, peace and joy on the faces of any of the characters in this film.

Also witness this moment of delight below as the hijra at the temple appreciate a fine ass man channelling his righteous anger and fucking up a punching bag full of rice. I note that the music during this training montage is simply stunning. Ustad Zakir Hussain's rapid fire tablas punctuated by each of Patel's landed punches and kicks and then followed by Jed Kurzel's achingly soaring instrumentals (listen to "The Kid" from the movie's score) were just *chef’s kiss*.

Another favourite moment for me was when Kid decides to go back to the underground fight ring one last time and not throw his matches (as he had been doing prior). He bets on himself and when he inevitably wins his fights, he takes the money and gives it to the hijra, ensuring that they can continue to live at the temple without fear of being evicted. We love to see a man who literally pays his rent.

Neela, his mother

Kid’s first teacher and the center of his life as a child. In almost every memory we are shown of her, Kid remembers his mother walking through a forest, sharing her ecological and religious knowledge with him and in doing so, positioning him within the wider world.

GIF by dailyflicks

We watch as he takes this understanding with him forward through the remainder of the film. His conversation as an adult with Alphonso as they drive through the city in the latter's tuk tuk is emblematic of this. "They don't even see us", Kid says of the elite who frequent the club where he has just gained employment, "they're all up there living and we are stuck in this."

His mother showed him what it was to live: to be still and in concert with the world and the Divine around you, to be loved fiercely, and to thrive as a result. This is in stark contrast to what Kid has had to learn to do in the city: to survive, to merely exist. He is never depicted resting or at home as an adult. He's always working, hustling and planning for the next thing, his next step. When he loses his village, his land and his mother as a child, Kid also inevitably loses his sense of home. It’s no coincidence that the tracks “Home” and “Mother” on the movie’s score sound almost identical.

Later at the end of the film, we see Kid close his eyes, having done what he set out to do. The last thing he sees is his mother, smiling at him in the forest. Her face is the face of God he gazes at before he succumbs to his injuries. This devotion to his mother is not just that of a child to a parent. Its also deeply tied to his Hindu faith which calls on its followers to honour the Divine Mother, the supreme feminine energy, Aathi Parashakthi, in all her manifestations including in those who mother us.

The movie ends with Kid’s deep, revelatory faith - instilled in him by his mother - and with the death of the man who weaponised that faith for power and wealth. It left all of us in the cinema seated in stunned silence even as the credits began to roll.

To describe Monkey Man as simply a revenge film does it an absolute disservice. This is not revenge. It is defence borne out of deep love for community and righteous opposition to injustice. Seeing hijra warriors dressed as Kali, the goddess of destruction, dealing death blows against fascists while spinning in the most beautiful lenghas was exhilarating (I literally screamed “YESSSSSSS!” at the screen when they arrived). Seeing Sita take out pimp and sex trafficker Queenie got me cackling and yelling “whoooop!”. Seeing Kid, a masculine character act to defend women and people outside of the gender binary, from further systemic harm without any ulterior motive was absolutely unreal to witness on the big screen. Seeing a person of faith act in deep connection to that faith without judgment against anyone but those who perpetrate harm made me feel hopeful in a way that took me by surprise. Kid acted out of love and respect. I would argue that Sita, the hijra and Kid all acted out of recognition of a shared humanity.

And at a time when folks from marginalised communities are being subjected to horrendous violence worldwide, both interpersonal and systemic, watching the oppressed take their perpetrators out…and I mean out (see: a rapist and murderer getting bludgeoned to death with a glittery high heel and a fascist, self-proclaimed “holy man” being stabbed in his third eye by the blade he hid in his own “sacred” pathankal/paduka), well, it was cathartic to see.

Am I saying violence is the answer to systemic violence? I think the answer to that question is context-specific. Non-violent resistance has a place, but it’s by necessity a performance and requires an audience. What do you do when no one’s watching? What do you do when the people who are watching are doing nothing to stop your suffering? What then? These questions are what many liberals refuse to grapple with because the answers are too uncomfortable for their polite sensibilities. But if you keep your foot on someone's neck long enough, you should expect them to fight back, by any means necessary. In Monkey Man, we have an action film where we get to witness that resistance in all its visceral glory.

[xbadgerbearx]

chapter one: new hire

summary: When a tall stranger is suddenly hired into the King's Club, your world shifts abruptly--whether for better or worse. As he unravels the threads of his history, you find yourself running from your own. Can you confront the shadows of the past, or will they ultimately consume you both in the end?

pairing: Kid x reader

word count: 2k

warning: spoilers!

notes: I did give Kid's character a name, but it came from an interview that Dev Patel did.

Redlight: masterlist ... [2]

There was a new man in the kitchen today. 

He seemed nervous as he made his way over to your area–you were washing dishes. He was here just the day before when he was escorted into Queenie’s office. It was surprising that not only Queenie didn’t immediately throw him out, but that she also gave him a job. His eyes met yours briefly before turning away to busy himself with some miscellaneous cutlery. You did the same, although you noted how beautifully big they were.

The peacefulness of working in silent tandem would be interrupted when Alphonso, your “manager,” showed up. “New guy, huh? What’s your name?” Your ears perked up, also wanting to know what the quiet stranger's name was.

“Bobby,” he answered unconvincingly.

Alphonso hummed before making his way closer to your station. “Wear your cap properly,” he chided one of the cooks. “We don’t want one of your pubes in the curry.” Alphonso stood next to Bobby–who was next to you–and only made it up to his shoulder. “Bobby,” he repeated with humor. “I think we’ve met before, right?”

“Don’t harass the new staff,” you reminded him impassively. The tall man quickly turned his attention to you. He hadn’t heard you speak until that point–he liked your voice. Alphonso waved you off.

“You like tequila, huh, Bobby?” Bobby walked around the short man to pick up a dirty pot to clean. “Patrón, Don Julio, the one with George Clooney in the photo?”

“I just want to clean the dishes, okay?” He took his place beside you, which was at the sink.

“Coke? Morphine? MDMA?” Alphonso continued. 

“Alphonso!” you snapped as your actual manager intervened. 

“Oi, Alphonos, eh, I’ve told you many times to stop hassling my staff.”

“Quality control, man,” he answered nonchalantly as your manager walked away. “You’re gonna thank me for this one day!” Alphonso got close to the new hire. “Stay cool, Bobby. Stay cool, hmm?” Alphonso turned his attention to you. Leaning against the sink, and right in your way, he laughed. “And how is it being in the kitchen today, hmm? Better than up there?” He extended a single finger up. 

“Alphonso,” you started calmly. “If you want to keep your finger, I suggest you get out of my way.” He quickly slid off to the side, but he was still leaning against the sink. You brought the newly dirtied dish to the sink to start rinsing it. 

“Okay, okay,” he smirked. “This is her on a good day, if you can believe it,” he said pointedly to the new hire. The tall stranger raised an eyebrow, but ultimately said nothing, “You should see her when she’s really on duty. She’ll have you-”

“Alphonso,” you interrupted, eyes glaring. “If you don’t leave us alone, a leg won’t be the only thing you’ll be missing,” you reminded as you walked past him and into another part of the kitchen, leaving Bobby alone with the short man.

“If it pleases her majesty,” he mocked while doing a small curtsey. The tall man looked at Alphonso quizzically. “Whatever Queen Whore wants, she gets,” he laughed, but Bobby frowned. 

“Don’t call her that,” he said quietly, eyebrows furrowed, but Alphonso wiggled his brows playfully instead with a smirk.

“Hm, what’s that, Romeo? You like her or something?” he grinned.

Bobby opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out as you strolled back into the area, this time holding a fresh set of towels. Alphonso laughed as Bobby scowled at him. 

“Alphonso, if you don’t leave this second, I’ll get Queenie myself,” you cooly explained, ignoring all eye contact and continuing to dry the dishes.

Alphonso tsked and swatted the air with his hand before deciding it would be wise to leave. “You better be careful with her,” he announced as he was leaving. “Five men entered a room with her, and only she came out-” he cackled. “Alive!” He then chastised a cook for bumping into his leg before exiting the kitchen. 

Quietly going back to work, you ignored Bobby’s glances and carried on with your day. He was quietly thinking about his earlier interaction with Alphonso. What did he mean by that? And Romeo? He had some things to ponder over… 

When your back was turned, he noticed that when you washed the dishes, you spent extra time cleaning your already clean hands.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next time you worked with Bobby, he was tasked with preparing Queenie’s tea. He seemed a little lost, but you quietly helped him before sending him to her office. He was surprisingly in a light-hearted mood at the moment. A cook made you bump into a table and almost knocked Queenie’s favorite cup off, but he caught it. Instead of a snide comment or remark, he just laughed and handed you the cup. His positive mood improved your own, slightly sour one. You wore a small smile.

“I never got your name,” he said quietly after a while as he put the sugar bowl onto a tray. 

“And I never got yours,” you replied as you grabbed the small milk pitcher.

“Oh,” he chuckled. “It’s Bobby.”

“No it’s not,” you stated nonchalantly, as if it was a simple fact. Bobby looked at you confused, although his heart beat a little quicker, fearful that he’d been spotted out already. He was quiet as he gathered his thoughts. Then he had an idea.

“Okay, okay,” he chuckled nervously. “You got me. I-I’m Romeo. That’s my name” He was wearing a big smile, sure that you would buy this one.

You paused what you were doing and met his eyes. “Romeo?” you asked in disbelief and he nodded hesitantly. “Romeo?” you asked again. “So why ‘Bobby?’” 

His smile fell slightly and he shrunk into himself. He chuckled a little, seemingly to stall for time. “I, uh, well-” he shrugged as he tried to form a sentence. “You know Alphonso. I said that to get him to leave me alone,” he said unconvincingly. He was bad at lying. 

Staring at him for a few moments, a smile slowly formed on your face. “Sureeee your name is Romeo,” you drawed. “And I’m Juliet.” The tall man laughed, his smile reaching his eyes. He had a nice smile, you noted. “Anyways, Romeo,” you emphasized sarcastically, obviously not buying this name either. “Queenie’s tea is done. Probably shouldn’t keep her waiting too long,” you directed, handing him the finished tray. He took it gratefully and made his way to her office.

You didn’t expect to be interrupted so quickly after sending him on his way, but Sita–an escort–came over to your station. It surprised you seeing the state she was in; she had just been crying and was wearing a plain chemise. “Queenie wants you,” she murmured before hurrying off. 

Heading towards Queenie’s office, you could see the new hire and Alphonso already in there. You knocked on her door and she waved you inside. “See? How hard is it to learn some fucking manners?” She berated Alphonso. You waited on her couch and got comfortable. Bobby glanced at you as he was pouring her tea; he was surprised at how…confident you were in her office. Queenie went over to her safe. “Hey, you,” she snapped at Bobby. “Face the wall.” He turned around, which allowed you to discreetly admire him in his uniform. 

Queenie finished her discussion with Alphonso. “Tell Naqeeb that if the maal is good, we’ll buy some more for Chief Rana.” She handed a stack of cash to him. You could see Bobby stiffen. “Get it sorted by the weekend. He is coming with his boys. Remember, only the best serve the VIPs.” Alphonso left, and soon Bobby as well, although not before giving you a quizzical look.

Queenie sat behind her desk and got comfortable in her chair. “I need you to be on your best behavior this weekend, got it? No funny business, not like last time.” You scowled but nodded in understanding. “Good. And wear that little red dress you have, you know it’s his favorite.” 

Rolling your eyes, you sighed. “Okay. Anything else?” You stood up from the couch and made your way to the door. 

“Yeah. Watch over that little goat fucker. You seem to keep him in check.”

“Who? Alphonso?”

“Yeah, him, whatever. He seems to harass my employees less when you're around,” she smiled. 

“Yes ma’am,” you chuckled before leaving her office and heading back to the kitchen. You scanned the area for your Romeo, expecting him to be there, but he wasn’t. 

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

Bobby was currently hurrying after the shorter man. “Alphonso! Hey, uh, good job with Queenie, huh? She really respects you.”

Alphonso scoffed. “The only person in that room she remotely respected was your little work wife. What do you want?”

“Um, look. If you- if you,” he stopped to calm himself before starting again. “Look, if you need any help with the VIPs…”

“Hey, new guy. You know what happens to earwigs around here? You hear nothing, you see nothing. Got it?”

“Look, I’m just saying. If you need someone to go and do the job…”

“Does it look like I need help from someone like you?” Alphonso continued walking, but the tall man grabbed his shoulder. “Hey! What the fuck, man?”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry.” He was looking slightly more desperate. “Look. You want to make some money? Guaranteed?”

Alphonso humored him, but he did look interested. “Go on.”

The tall man quickly found a piece of paper and wrote an address. “Come to this place tonight…bet on Khan. You’ll make a killing.”

“How the fuck do you know?”

“I-I’ll be fighting him.” Alphonso scoffed before laughing at him. He obviously didn’t believe him and told him to fuck off. “The monkey will win the first two rounds and go down in the third.”

The shorter man became serious. “What’s in it for you?”

The tall dishwasher replied, “I want a promotion,” before patting him on the shoulder and leaving to go back to his job.

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

You didn’t see Romeo or Alphonso for the rest of the evening after what happened in Queenie’s office.  Your shift was over and you had just finished washing your hands when Alphonso strolled over. “Hey, baby-” he smiled.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Okay, okay.” He straightened himself before lowering his voice. “I need a favor. Well, not really a favor, but I’d appreciate it if you went with me to this place.”

“Where?” 

“I’m not sure. That tall fucker–the new hire–gave me this address.” He passed the piece of paper with hurried writing over for you to see. 

“...And you want me to go?”

“Yeah!”

“Pass.” You hung up the towel and took off your apron before folding it over your arm. Alphonso followed you as you made your way to the exit.

“Aw, come on! You’re gonna make me go to this sketch ass place by myself?”

“No one is making you go.”

“Yeah, but aren’t you at least a little curious about Bobby?” You slowed to a stop. Alphonso smiled, seeming to sense his victory in winning you over. “I mean, come on. No one knows anything about that guy. He just keeps to himself and washes dishes. He said that if we go and bet on this guy named ‘Khan,’ then we’d make a lot of money.”

“I don’t even think his real name is Bobby…or Romeo,” you muttered to yourself, finger pressed to your lip as you looked away in thought.

“Soooo…” Alphonso looked at you hopefully. A few moments passed before you rolled your eyes and relented. “Yeah, baby! Come on, we’ll take Nicki!”

“Your scooter?”

“Hey, now. Nicki is not a scooter. She’s a classy rickshaw,” he huffed before smiling. “Let’s go before we’re late to the show.”

“Show?!”

[romana-after-dark]

Rooms on Fire: Stop Dragg'n My Heart Around

Dark!Santiago Garcia x Fem!Reader Dark!Francisco Morales x Fem!Reader Dark!William Miller x Fem!Reader Dark!Benjamin Miller x Fem!Reader

Also: FishBen, and an assortment of other M/M relationships (no Millercest). Everyone is Bisexual

Series Masterlist: Main Masterlist : MainTaglist

Spotify playlist

Summery: Madonna learns more about her role and the dynamics of the household.

Warnings and Content:

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

DUB CON MOSTLY but there WILL BE NON CON. Major character deaths, forced breeding, physical abuse, brainwashing, manipulation, violence, gore, alcoholism/addiction, BIG OLE BLASPHEMY WARNING like this cult appropriates a lot of religious themes and they call reader their Madonna, Santi is called the Pope, like all that stuff. However, this is a cult so I mean. It happens. None of it are my thoughts on religion or meant to make fun of religion or demonize religious people. Disgusting views on virginity. Attempted rape outside the boys. T*m warning. Age gap. Creepy terrible men. Non-reader rape, dub con, violence.

Extra warnings for chapter: Anal, oral, love bombing, control

This is not meant to be a statement about religion, Christianity, or Catholicism, this is simply my take on a cult. I am a religious person. I understand that some of this may be very offensive to religious people so if you don't like thing like AHS Asylum or Black Mass, maybe consider not reading.

A/N: Every chapter will be named after a song from the spotify playlist. Dont forget to commen fitting songs!!

6.2k words

Support writers! Reblog and leave comments!

NEW OC: Faceclaim, Dev Patel

**************

There's people running 'round loose in the world Ain't got nothing better to do Than make a meal of some bright eyed kid You need someone looking after you~ Stop Dragg'n My Heart Around, Tom Petty and Stevie Nicks

You were the wife of deities. You were blessed, honored. Holy mother. The Madonna, and inside your womb the savior would grow. All four of them were Gods of different patronage, each with their own abilities and passions.

Francisco was the god of nature. He was the god of all that grew in the earth, the soil. the flowers. He was clairvoyant, but also had a gift of growth. Life. His prayers over you would solidify implantation after conception, keep you and your baby safe.

Benjamin was the sun god, god of celebration, and celebrate he did. Ben’s mood often controlled the weather. Most of the time, regular weather patterns took place, Benjamin’s emotions could change them, and he was prone to big emotions. That’s why him and Francisco worked so closely together. Weather and nature, working to keep the crops growing and the people safe.

William was all about duality, you were taught in catechism. God of war, God of medicine. He had the gift of healing, but also impeccable military prowess. This made for a powerful ally and feared enemy. William headed the military and security, but also watched over the medical care. 

And Pope, Divine Mothers only child. Pope had the gift of discernment and prophesy. He was incredibly intelligent, and with that came respect. He was not just born into this position, but born for it. God of family, god of passion. You felt that passion so clearly every time his eyes bore into you. He could no more hide it than he could his own beauty.

So why, with all this power surrounding you, did you feel so scared?

Everything just feels so confusing right now. You feel as if you can’t get your head on straight, like everything is whirling. You're married. You might be pregnant. Why was everything so… hard. When Pope waved your bloodied sheet around, he was soon joined by a whooping Ben who took part in the celebrations and dragged Francisco out with him. It was just you and Will.

Naked and shivering, suddenly cold on the cool tile of the altar without the heat of passion to warm you

“Just one minute, I’ll get you dressed once I’m done.” He says quietly, kneeling before you with a wet wipe, gently dapping at your swollen folds. “Damn, really did a number on yuh, huh?”

You don’t know how to respond, so you don’t.

“Well, I think this is as good as it’s gonna get.” Leaning over, he presses a kiss to the top of your puffy parts and gets up, helping you down with a hand. He slides the dress back over you. William was gentle as he caressed your cheek. “You did so good for us, princess.” His hand moved to your belly. “You’re a good girl, and soon you’ll be full with our baby, I just know it.”

You stand there in shock, unable to exactly form a reaction. The lights were too bright, it was too warm. There were too many flowers and incense and candles and oils… to much. You shut down and Will finishes dressing you: shoes, flower crown minus the ropes of vine. He stuffs your underwear in his pocket with a smile. “My little dividend.”

Jonah was outside the room, laying down on a bench with his cowboy hat pulled over his face.

“Wake up, old man” Will spoke with a bite you weren’t used to.

He mumbled under the hat. “I’m awake, damn. Just resting.”

William nudged you towards where he was standing. “Watch her for the rest of the cocktail hour, then bring her in for the entrance.”

Jonah frowned. “She ain’t going to the cocktail hour with you?”

“What’s the point? She can’t drink. She might be pregnant.”

“It’s her wedding.”

Will rolled his eyes. “She’ll have the wedding shit, this is more of a… stag party. Bachelor party sort of thing.”

You didn't know what that meant. You weren’t sure you wanted to.

“Whatever. I’ll watch her.”

“Yeah. You will.” Williams harsh glare softened as he turned to you, holding your face with both hands. “I’ll see you in an hour, my beautiful bride.”

When he left, Jonah mumbled something and began walking you down the long hall. The place was huge, absolutely massive. The worship chapple and sanctuary were attached to the house, originally built as a pool house but refurbished with the establishment of Delta. Divine Mother wanted her home attached to the sanctuary so she could go whenever she wanted, no matter the weather, so a hall was built on. In addition to the several bedrooms, living rooms and so on, there was a ballroom. This is where you would go after. For now, it seemed, you weren’t needed…

You wanted to go still. You were their wife, you wanted to meet the other members of Delta, you wanted to dance, to laugh, to smile with them… but the day's events left you tired, left you hurting, left you… confused. Why had they all left you so fast, save for Will?

“You alright, honey?” Jonah’s voice barely registers in your ear.

You don’t have it in you to answer, simply staring straight ahead as your breathing picks up speed.

“Hey, darl’n, hey.” He stops outside the kitchen. “What’s go’n on, you hurt?”

How do you even explain it, the panic rising up in you, the fear. Why were you scared? You were married to the gods, there was no safer position to be in. You were safe, protected… so why did you feel so on edge? Why was your head hurting, your heart racing, and why did you feel so used?

You stopped breathing before you realized it.

“Hey!” Jonah shook you, but your eyes felt glassy and unfocused. He pulled you through the swinging kitchen doors.

“Dad, what-” You hear Iris say and vaguely register a third person in the room. Iris stops what she’s doing and rushes to you. “What’s happening? What did you do?”

“Nothing! I got her after the ceremony and this just started!”

You were gasping for breath, the light and airy feeling in your head making everything a little blurring. Still, you register hands on your shoulders, calling your name. “You need to breath. HEY! You hear me? BREATH.”

But you can’t. The panic, all-consuming panic clawed at your throat and tightened your chest. Then, a hard slap.

*SMACK*

Iris slapped you, causing your body to gasp in shock. You took the opportunity to breathe in as much as you could get, and once the oxygen settled in, so did the clarity.

Dizzy, you stumble back and nearly topple over, but Jonah catches you. Careful, he sets you down in a chair. “Easy now, darl’n, breath, breath…” his arms were strong and safe around you, but Iris grabs your shoulders.

“Listen to me.” You look up to watch her, brown eyes fiery on yours. She commanded the room. “You need. To get it. Together. Those men out there-” She pointed vaguely out the door. “Are dangerous.”

“Iris…” Jonah whispers, but when her head whips towards him in anger, he backs off.

“You shut it, you don’t know jack shit about surviving here, especially as a woman.” Back to you. “I don’t care how you feel, I know you’ll probably fall in love because you’ve been so brainwashed, but I need you to understand this.” She leans in. “You need to get your shit together. You need to clean up, you need to get out there and charm the fucking dick off of every single person in that room. The only way you get through this is if you want a very thin line. Submissive but not weak. Obedient but not permissive. Have boundaries but keep them loose and never, ever, try to resist sex. This is no time to be weak.”

Her words barely made sense to you.

They weren’t dangerous. They LOVED YOU. You were their WIFE. But still, part of her words range true; you were the daughter of a traitor, a man who partook in an uprising that caused the death of the Divine Mother, and the other high up members would have their eye on you. You needed to make sure there was no reason to doubt your love for your husbands, nor your adoration of Divine Mother.

“Fuck,” Iris mutters something to the third figure in the room about ‘nothing there’ then stands up. “Jonah, go back to the dressing room and get the make-up and hair products.” It was only then you realized you had been crying, make-up running off your face. “Rey, I need you to help me in here.”

He was tall, about as tall as Jonah but not quite the Millers height. “What do you need?” He began to tie his dark curls back. Iris directed him on finishing the desserts while she took out all the food from the oven for the main dish.

When Jonah came back, Iris set to work redoing your face, making it look as if you never cried, never had a single scared thought. She fixed you up nice and pretty, then left you on the chair to wait for your entrance.

After everything was placed on carts to take out, Iris departed, with Jonah following behind shortly and instructing the other man to stay with you. Iris insists she doesn’t need a guard dog, but Jonah say something about not wanting her alone with ‘those drunk bastards’ if he can help it. You’re suddenly nervous, unsure about being alone with a man other than your husbands or Jonah, but you don’t have a choice.

“They’re a stressful pair to watch aren’t they?” The dark haired man says, pulling up a chair beside you. He turns it around, straddling it before sitting backwards and leaning his arms on the backrest.

You don’t want to be rude, so you give a shy smile without meeting his eye. “Are they… um… is uh…” You realize you don’t know Jonah’s last name, and are unsure how to properly address him to others. You don’t want to seem too familiar when you are a married woman now. “Mr. Jonah, is he Iris’s father? I heard her call him dad.”

He chuckles a bit, and you turn to look at him. With a better view, and clearer vision, you are able to take in his features. He’s handsome, but in a almost boyish way -although you doubt he’s younger than 30. Dark curls are still pulled back, but you’d estimate his hair falls about shoulder length, maybe shorter, as chunks are falling out. Strong nose, brown skin, and bright, brown eyes. Strangely jovial compared to Iris and Jonah.

“Yeah, kinda rare that happens. She’s um… well, they’d had… well I guess it’s not my place to say, but they’ve had some ups and downs. But yeah, she’s his daughter.” He extends a hand. “Reyansh Saha.”

You give him your name. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Saha.”

He laughs again, but it doesn’t feel like he’s laughing at you; it’s too good natured for that. “Just Rey is fine.”

“Oh, no, no I shouldn’t.” You try to protest.

“Ammayi” (my girl) He says with a glint in his eye. “No one here will understand you if you call me Mr. Saha, I promise you. You can call me Reyansh if that’s easier. Or, well, you can call me Mr. Saha if you’re uncomfortable of course” His tone is good natured, but clearly trying to ease you. You feel like a skittish animal, and he’s a good samaritan trying to coax you to some food.

You give a little nod. “Okay, yeah Reyansh works.”

*

You felt like you may have another panic attack.

Pope was on your right, holding your arm with William beside him. On your left arm was Benjamin; Francisco was fidgeting beside him.

“Baby.” Ben whispers to Francisco. “You gotta calm down, you're shaking…”

You watch as Pope turns abruptly at the nickname, but says nothing. Benjamin grabs Francisco's hand, squeezing it three times and giving him a little peck on the cheek before letting go. Francisco smiled, just a little.

You were making your grand entrance as husbands and wife, to the whole of Delta, to stand out on the balcony as the masses gathered below. Jonah instructed you on procedure. 

“This is the most dangerous point. I have the entire guard in the crowd, both noticeably armed and plain clothes, everyones been searched before entry and theres no reason to suspect a problem, but-” He turned to you. “Anything happens, a gun shot, something is thrown, a fight breaks out, I am grabbing you and we are going. Don’t argue, don’t worry about them-” He gestures to the men beside you. “My only concern will be to get you to safety. Your husbands are all armed and trained fighters, you are not. You have me, understood?”

There would be no need for concern. As you stepped out, leading your husbands in a v shape through the curtains, a stark hush fell upon the crowd. Thousands of people, thousands, here to see your husbands. Here to see them with their brand new bride, the mother of their child. You were humbled, truly, to be honored in such a way that the god’s dained you deserving. Cheers broke out, no doubt to the flag being raised- your bloodied sheets, signifying that you were indeed a virgin, and had been claimed in the name of the gods. The crowd was adoring; how beloved your husbands were to their people!

You focused your hearing not being all that far away, to try and pick out a word or two, and were surprised with the result.

“MADONNA! MADONNA! MADONNA”

They were cheering… for you.

The priestess stood off to the side, raising her arms to hush the crowd. 

“Hail Madonna, full of grace, blessed are you amongst women!”

Then, she kneeled.

Behind her, beginning with the front and sending a wave through the back, the entire mass of people knelt, chanting “Hail! Hail! Hail!”

To both your left and right, all four of your husbands bowed to you.

You were the holy mother. You were Madonna. You would bring about the savior and peace on earth. You were divine.

*

The party went swimmingly. Your new found confidence, it turns out, made speaking to strangers easier. You shouldn’t fear them for being a traitor's child, you shouldn’t feel their judgeful gaze. They should worship you. Not the same as Pope, William, Benjamin and Francisco, and certainly not Divine Mother, but you were blessed.

You never were far from William, Pope, or Benjamin, most moments of the evening were spent with their arms around your waist or holding your hand; you belonged to them.

Pope had pulled you to the dance floor, tender grasp keeping you close as he guided you through the violin music. 

“You are just… so beautiful” He whispered, clean shaven face up against your own. 

“Thank you.”

“You do understand how stunning you are, don’t you? Most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

You tuck your head in his neck, smelling his aftershave; or was it the liquor on his breath? You weren’t sure.

“It’s like you were made for me…”

A gentle kiss. “I was. I was made for you, by Divine Mother’s majesty.”

You could feel him smile at that, hands slowly trailing down your back. “That’s right, made just for me…”

You nuzzle against him, signing contently. He loved you, you were so, so loved… “Made for my husbands”

His smile dropped. When his hands grazed over your ass, he gripped it tight, painful, making you yelp. The noise and crass motion was sure to attract attention, and you turn to look.

Pope grabs your face, forcing you to look at him. “Don’t look at them, look at me. I am their god, they are nothing compared to us, what we do is none of their business. I could bend you over right now and if I told them to ignore it, to go about the party, they will. You understand me?”

You nod.

His fingers pinch your cheeks. “Your body was made for me, and it’s mine. Understood?” You realize now your mistake. You had said your husbands. Plural. You must have hurt his feelings when bringing the others into it, even if you meant well. You note that special times between you and Pope should remain exclusive. Don’t make him jealous.

“Made just for you” You push past the force of his hold to kiss him on the lips. “I belong to you.”

Popes body language relaxed, his plush lips smiling again as his grip softens. He runs his thumb over your lips. “So beautiful for me…”

*

As you spoke like old friends to a woman you’d never met in your life, Benjamin slid up to you. “‘Scuse me, darl’n, but may I steal my wife away for a few moments?”

The woman bowed her head and excused herself while Benjamin pulled you away.

It wasn’t long before you were out the ballroom, down a hall and into a small linen closet, his hands all over you; frantic, needy, a fully hard cock pressing against your skirt. This was to be expected, and you understood your role. At any time, day or night, busy or not, you were to be available to be filled.

He yanked at your skirt. “Yuh know,” Benjamin said between short pants of breath. “It was my brothers insistence that your dress have blue… he said that- mmphh- it was symbolic or some bullshit, but I think he just wanted his color on you.”

You weren’t entirely sure if that was true, but you didn’t want to make a committal answer so you attempt to kiss back, unsure of the movements still. “Mmm, Benjamin…”

“Call me Benny, darl'n.” He rucks up your skirt, only to find no underwear. He stops, blue eyes looking at you with a steely ferocity. “Will take your panties after he cleaned you up.”

Lie, your first instinct told you. He’s dangerous,lie. But he wasn’t dangerous. He was your husband. “Yes” You wanted him to touch you again, you liked the way he explored your body. 

His brows pursed together before growling, turning you around and bending you over a small folding table. “God damn him, and god damn Pope!” Benjamin grunted, making you scared as he flicked your dress up to your waste. “I should’ve had you first!” Ben spits onto your exposed asshole, shocking you a bit.

You try to turn around when you hear his belt being undone. “What-”

“Shhhh” He pushes you back down on the table, freeing his hard cock. You jump when he slides a finger into your tight ring of muscle. It doesn’t feel bad, but not necessarily good, either. He begins to pump, then adds a second finger and you gasp at the intrusion. “Making me fuck’n wait till last-” You hear him spit on his free hand, beginning to jerk himself off as he begins to scissor you open.

“Ben!”

“Relax, baby, I’m not Pope, I ain’t tryna tear you open, you’ve bleed enough for one day.” You swear you hear him chuckle. What is he doing? You were confused, but also beginning to sink into the feeling of him. “They always do this to me, they always make me wait, and wait and wait just because Frank’s Pope’s favorite and Will’s ugh, Will’s older- goddamn” He stops, lining up the tip of his cock to your asshole and spitting a few more times. He was going to fuck you there?! Ben folds over, encasing your body in his warmth as he whispers in your ear. “Not this time, your ass is mine.” With that, he thrust into you, splitting your hole open as you cried out.

He laughs. “Lot louder than when Pope took you huh?”

*

Jonah found William getting a glass of wine and sipping it while watching over the party.. “I gotta talk to you.”

William doesn’t even turn to look. “Fuck off, Hanson.” 

Will did not like Jonah, he knew. Their history prevented the same rapport that he had with Santiago, but never the less, he know Will was the one for this request.

“It’s about your precious Madonna.”

With that, Will turned.

*

Benny was insatiable, thrusting into you wildly and grunting with every movement. “So- fucking-tight-god!” He shouts and it takes everything in you not to cry… but that feeling was bubbling up again, despite the discomfort, but that discomfort was slowly slipping into something else.

The slightest moan escapes.

It seems then almost that Ben reminds you’re here, that he’s not fucking a hole in a wall and chuckles. “Oh, you like this, pretty girl? I can make it better, so much better.” He wraps a strong arm around you, toying with that sensitive spot that William was playing with earlier illiciating a much louder moan from your lips.

“God baby, thats it… gonna cum like this, darl’n? Gonna cum with a cock up your ass like the dirty girl I know you are? Yeah, yeah sure sounds like it…” He replies after your sounds of pleasure grow. “Under all this white, underneath that good girl act and that sweet little face, I knew, I just fucking KNEW your little virgin cunt was begging to get fucked, desperate for cock, huh?” His hips begin to falter, growing more sloppy. “Well now you got 4 cocks desperate to fill you up, to put our baby inside you first, fuck, you gonna be able to handle all that?

You can’t even reply, a mess of moans under his body. 

He grabs your hair, yanking you up to look at him. “ANSWER ME!”

“YES!” You scream, so close to spilling over but not quite there, needy and whimpering for him. “I can take it! I want it! I want you all, all the time!”

“I know, darl’n girl, I know, f-fuck, ugghh fuck!”

 Pulling out of your ass, you almost whine for him, whine for more, but he thrusts it into your pussy last minute. The intrusion sends you over, clamping down hard on him as he spills into you. “Yeaahh, that’s it, thats- oh my god, perfect little pussy- fuck!” When he finishes inside you, his warmth is all over you again, staying there for a moment with his cock plugged inside you. “Gotta make sure to cum inside your little pussy every time, no matter how good your ass or mouth feel. Can’t waste a drop.”

He caressing your arm as his body language softens, nuzzling his face into your hair. “So good, pretty girl. So fucking perfect.”

*

“She needs someone looking after her.” Jonah insists. “She’s just a kid.”

Will is dismissive, but behind his eyes hide curiosity. “That’s what you and security are for.”

Jonah signs. “Okay, listen, I’ll be honest here.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?”

“You ain’t fond of me, that’s a given. I get it. But let’s be clear.” Jonah drops his voice low. “Frank’s been mentally checked out all day. He don’t want nothing to do with this. Ben’s a -”

“Watch it.”

Jonah rephrased his next words. “He’s not gentle. He’s not careful, and when he’s high he flat out dangerous, and he buys into this whole delusion and so does Santiago. Santiago is worse, he’s delusional and can flip like a fucking switch. She needs someone to help her navigate them. That needs to be you.”

Will didn’t say anything, but from the way his brows were furrowed, Jonah new he planted a seed. 

“Look, here she comes with Ben, she’s fucking stumbling, Will. Go take care of your wife.”

*

It hurt.

It was hard to walk like this, but Ben’s arms were tight around you. You felt strangely safe like this, like he was going to be there from now on.

“What the hell did you do to her, Ben?”

“Relaaaaax” Ben waved off his brother. “She’s fine.”

Will didn’t buy it.

“Pope got her pussy, I got her ass.” He shrugged.

Disgust spread across his features. “You did anal? With no lube? Jesus Ben!”

“RELAX!” Ben raised his hands in defense. 

Will hushed him. “That’s enough for tonight, I’m taking you to bed.”

And that was that. Will’s arm replaced Ben’s and quickly guided you out the door again. Once out of sight, Will scooped you right out. “Ain’t having you walk like that, babygirl. ‘Slright, just rest.” And rest you did, clinging to him and laying your head on his firm chest. You felt like you were almost asleep when he laid you on the bed.

Like how he cared for you before, he cared again, undressing you with a gentle strength.

“Lay down, lemme make sure your okay.” The worry in his voice made your heart sing.

“I’m alright, I promise.” You whisper, but spread your legs anyway.

He tsks his tongue. “Poor little girl… you’re alright, but I know it must hurt, doesn’t it?”

You swallow thickly, nervous with his face so close to your core. “Um… it’s a little sore, I guess…” 

“I bet… but it wasn’t all bad, was it?”

“N-no, it wasn’t…”

“I can see that…” A thick finger swipes up your slit. “Got all wet, didn’t you? You sure are easy to work up…”

You shutter at the touch, a little achy but still desiring him. How could you not? How could you not want him when he spoke to you so low, so careful? When carried you and cleaned you and dressed you… he was perfect, fucking perfect.

“Poor little girl…” William spoke in a deeper tone, planting a kiss to your clit and making you whimper. “Gotta be at the beck and call for four men… that can’t be easy, but you’ve been taking it so well…” His fingers move up and down your folds, spreading your cum and the new slick trickling down.

“It’s, mmmm it’s my honor to be found worthy…” You sit up on your elbows, curious as to his actions.

“And worthy you are, Madonna.” His lips glazed over your flesh. “Bless are you, among women” His hand on your stomach. “and blessed is the fruit of your womb.” You watch William, knelt before you, hovering with his mouth open above your waiting mound.

You whisper, “Please”

He whispers equally soft. “As you wish.”

When William latched his mouth onto you, it’s unlike anything you’ve felt before, although you can’t say you’ve felt much. His mouth is hot, wet, messy as he licks you, tongue and lips moving in tandem, like a well practiced team with the sole purpose of reducing you to a whimpering mess.

“W-Will, oh that… oh my god-”

But he didn’t stop, latching his tongue to your clit as his fingers entered you, and despite the overstimulation of the day, compared to the large phalluses that had breached your core, his fingers merely provided pleasurable stimulation. His free-hand remained busy as well, taking your private moment to explore the rest of your body. You didn’t understand what pleasure he could find in your thighs, your stomach, or playing with your fingers, but you relished in his closeness, the emotional and physical and sexual intimacy compared to the coldness of the deflowering. 

But it had to happen this way, you thought as your hips bucked; William had begun swirling his tongue around your clit, causing a surge in pleasure. This afternoon was a ritual; systematic, calculated, precise. There was no room for intimacy, for love. But you’d seen it now. You’d seen it in the way Pope danced with you, in the way Ben caressed you after sex and praised you, the way Will touched you now… the only thing missing was Frankie.

It wasn’t long before Will had to gushing on his face, crying out his name in a hedonistic moan, a orgasm so blinding that the revelation that you existed to pleasure and be pleasured by these men until you were swollen with child seemed like a gift of godhood itself.

He pulled three more out of you before he was satisfied, making come on his face and fingers thrice before your final orgasm was only singled by an tired “Mmmmmmmph” and your contracting walls. Finally, he pulls back. You can’t see him, eyes too tired they won’t open, but you imagine his beard is glistening with the way he soaks you when he kisses you cheek.

When you’re situated in bed, where you can only assume is your room, you ask Will to stay, ask him to hold you while you fall asleep. He obliges.

You feel dwarfed in his grasp his body so large it makes you feel small, but also secure. You don’t have to be brave, you don’t have to be strong. You don’t have to think or to worry. Everything would be taken care of for you, you’d give birth to the savior and how many other children, and redeem your family name from your fathers betrayal. You would find redemption in this house, right alongside love, family, and maybe even friendship for the first time since you were twelve…

Everything was falling into place.

So why didn’t it seem like Francisco loved you?

*

Knock knock.

“Honey?”

Knock knock knock

“Honey you in there?”

Jonah. 

“One moment!”

You open your groggy eyes and take a look around the room, finding a luxurious, long, white robe on the dresser. You put it on, covering your nakedness, and timidly open the door.

“Yes?” Jonah stood before you, gun slung on his hip as usual.

He looks sympathetic. “Sorry to wake you, but Santiago wants to see you, I’m here to escort you.”

Hearing someone refer to Pope as his given name is jarring, but something about Jonah is just… very different. He seemed so serious when talking to you about safety, about making sure only his most trustworthy men watched you and how determined he seemed at the balcony… but it seemed he took everything else so unserious to him.

You didn’t like that he referred to your husband by his name, it was much too informal, but you cared about Jonah, so you don’t mention it.

After dressing, Jonah takes you down stairs. You’re thankful for him, the house is too big for you to know your way yet.

“How you feeling?” 

“About what?” You ask genuinely.

Jonah turns to you, a curious look on his face. “About… everything. Yesterday was a big day. A lot happened.”

Of course a lot happened. You were still leaking their cum. “Nothing that Divine Mother didn’t intend.” You say as if its obvious.

He sighs. “Right.”

Pope was waiting outside the door of the intended room. His smile grew when he saw you, walking over to place a hand on your cheek and kiss you. “Good morning, my beautiful wife.”

Wife… something so magical about that word.

Pope thanks Jonah and dismisses him, turning you to the doorway and opening it. “I have a surprise for you, bebita.”

When the door opens, you gasp as you’re led inside. Canvases fill the room as did papers, paints, pencils… 

“How… how did you know…” You whisper in awe, your heart swelling at the gesture. He loved you, he really loved you and wanted you to be happy here. You were so lucky, so lucky to be adored like this, to be adored by him especially. Pope had worked his way deep into your heart in a matter of days. He was everything to you now, he was your world. You belonged to him, every single inch of your heart, your body, your mind, your faith was him.

“I’m the god of love, I know what mi amada needs… I’ll always know.” He stands behind you, wrapping his arms around your body, the body that belongs to him, and kisses your neck. “I can’t wait to see what you paint, Madonna…” 

***************

PLEASE TELL ME UR THOUGHTS I THRIVE ON PRAISE

I feel like im doing ass at writing Ben here. I my normal fics on my main he's a consent king and so so so so soft so this is strange to me. BUT he can be tender and loving, dont you worry

SO, THE GENERAL CONCENSOUS IS YOU ALL WANNA FUCK JONAH. Lmfao, horny sluts. HE'S OUR FATHER FIGURE. Imagine having daddy issues. COULDNT BE ME (this is a joke lol)

But! Thoughts on Iris, and our new boy, Reyansh?

Not a super eventful chapter and i felt like Madonna have said like 10 words this whole fic but this has been the set up, now we can move forward! If you read TWW, LO was practically silent for the first few chapters.

Now they ceremony is done and she's married and already v attached and brainwashed.

How to keep up with the story!

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