#the rings becoming the temptation of man

[avnasace]

thinking about the fact that both the silmarils and the rings started out as a smiths greatest creation, both made out of the intention of preservation and life, and instead becoming essentially the final nail in the coffin of their creators.

the silmarils reflecting the light of the trees, being a symbol of the house of feanor, the royal family of the noldor, becoming instead symbols of the downfall of said family and the twisting of souls, and becoming almost a curse.

the rings, being made to preserve the elven race, to heal and being used to protect realms, but ultimately becoming a tool used passively in the brutal manipulation, torture and death of their creator, and then becoming a further symbol of ownership and corruption and enslavement, again twisting the spirit and soul bringing peril to all that wield them, all the way up until their melting in the fires of mt doom in the third age.

[xxsycamore]

╰┈➤ It's Halloween night at the Crown caste, and you're looking for some fun.

- William, Harrison, Liam, Elbert, Alfons, Jude, Ellis, Roger, Victor, Ring, Nica, Darius x f!reader

◉ PART 1 - [ PART 2 ►] - [ PART 3 ►]

• rating: 🔞 E (MDNI) • tags: Monsterfucking; Human/Monster; Mythical Beings & Creatures; Werewolves; Vampires; Naga; Incubus; Manipulation; Mildly Dubious Consent; Curse play; Light Somnophilia; Non-Human Genitalia; Knotting; Hemipenis; Snakes; Anonymous Sex; Masquerades; Vampire Bites; Blood Drinking; Mild Blood; Creampie; Vaginal Sex; Wet Dream; Vaginal Fingering • wordcount:  1,465 • masterlist

a/n: Happy Halloween! I got this idea for a story that is similar to Nine Nights, but without any plot or continuity between the different parts whatsoever. Unless, of course, you want to imagine that all of these take place one after another (poor Reader)... Monsterfucking is a new territory for me, so please bear with me. Parts 2 and 3 coming soon! Once again, I tried leaving you with enough hints about who is who and I hope you can have fun guessing them lol

Dubcon warning: The reader seeks out physical intimacy on her own from the very beginning, however, some suitors use their curses' abilities on her without her being aware of it.

VISIONS OF TEMPTATION 2024/ KINKTOBER DAY 31: Non-human characters/traits

 ❝ MONSTER VILLAINS' NIGHT. ❞(PART 1)

As you put in some last-minute finishing touches to your costume, your eyes drift to the invitation laying on your vanity table.

Miss Robin,

You're hereby invited to a spectacular celebration that will take place in Crown castle on Halloween night, namely, a masquerade ball. By all means, enjoy yourself as you see fit! But be warned - on this wicked night, not everything is as it seems, and you can never know what monsters linger in the dark.

                                                                                  — Yours, Victor

It would be a lie if you said you paid no attention to the ominous warning in the invitation. But knowing Victor and his penchant for dramatizing things, it's no wonder why you're readily brushing it off as nothing now, as you make your way into the dimly-lit ballroom.

I. A seductive Vampire

"This place is really crowded. Here, take my hand so you won't get lost."

It didn't take long for the handsome stranger that struck a conversation with you to offer that you move it to some more quiet place. While trying to keep up with his fast pace, you feel a certain warmth rising inside you… starting from the place where your hands are connected.

The secluded corner he leads you to is mostly devoid of light, but neither of you needs much of it to find the other's lips. It's strange. Ever since he caught your eye, clad in an elegant outfit complimented by a classy cravat fixed around his neck and a long black cape draped around his shoulders, you knew you wanted to get into his pants… But the moment he took your hand, the feeling grew tenfold. There's something dangerous and intoxicating about the mysterious man who is currently attacking your neck with kisses, but you can't quite put your finger on it.

"Now, get even more addicted to me."

The softness of his plump lips suddenly ceases to be the only thing you can sense on your heated skin. In stark contrast with them, his canines, unusually elongated and sharp, sink into your neck.

Those audible gulps… No, there's no doubt - he really is drinking your blood, like a monster. Is this real? Are your fantasies of becoming a handsome vampire's diner finally becoming real?

A pair of enchanting sea-blue eyes look at you through the thin slits of the masquerade mask, but you're more focused on the blood running down his chin. One of his legs pushes between yours, and as you eagerly begin rubbing yourself onto him, you wonder if you're surprising him with your boldness.

By the time he flips you around and enters you from behind, you already miss the surge of endorphins that comes with his bite, so you extend your hand behind you to guide his head where you need it. He chuckles darkly, sending shivers all over, before claiming your neck again.

You've fallen too deep now, there's no way back.

II. A tempestuous Werewolf

"Woah, they're sooo soft!"

You can't help but voice out your impressions when the man dressed like a werewolf finally agrees to lean down so you can pet his faux ears. Even if you're focused on the top of his head, this close up, you don't fail to miss the faint hint of blush spreading on his cheeks. The mask over his eyes does little to obscure the sight, and you think it's rather cute…

It's because he's leaning down that you also don't fail to miss his fluffy tail wagging. Laugher rises in your throat, making you wonder just what kind of string he's pulling to make this possible, and most importantly, how is he doing it all while looking so embarrassed from the act? In any case, it only makes you want to tease him a little bit more.

"Hehe… you're not much of a scary werewolf, are you?"

***

"Ahh, nghh!"

You helplessly try to grab into the nearby branches for purchase, as a heavy weight plows onto your body from behind. It's like he totally changed, in a heartbeat - you figured you went too far with the teasing and riled him up, and that it would only be fair if you made it up to him, so took him to the garden. Your intentions were purely innocent, his, however, much to your surprise, not so much.

Now you're starting to think that those ears might not be fake. It would only make sense, considering the other non-human parts of him, like the one buried deep inside you right now.

All of a sudden his intense rutting loses its pace, and you can feel something swelling at the base of his cock. The man above you begins to growl as he fills you up with his come, spurt after spurt, the knot preventing any of it from escaping you.

Amidst the blissful fullness you're made to feel without remorse, you think you catch a glimpse of his ears twitching happily on top of his head…

III. A deceitful Incubus

It would appear that you have dozed off, tired from the rowdy celebration.

Rubbing at your stiff neck, you get up from the sitting area of the hall and look for opportunities to shake off your sleepiness. There's also something else that you need a distraction from, and that's the highly detailed wet dream you just had, featuring one of the guests here that you previously found to be especially good-looking. It's just a trick that your brain plays on you, you're aware of that.

You're late at realizing that you've been staring directly at a gentleman across the balcony, and he takes it as an invitation to shorten the distance.

"My, you have quite the trouble written across your face. Is there by any chance a way in which I might help?"

Oh, there might be. You feel bad about using the first stranger you found like that, but… when you whisper it in his ear, his lips curl up in a deviously willing fashion, so you figure it's fine.

Now you regret omitting the details of your wish, because he settles for fingering you to an orgasm right here on the balcony, without a chance to turn this into something greater. Still, his gloved fingers are delightful; masterfully tugging at all your strings and pressing all your buttons, somehow familiar, until you come undone in his grasp. His fingers continue to rub at your nub until a new orgasm begins to build up inside you, but he simply chooses to let go; your body leaning against his frame because of how breathless he left you.

"Hmm? Is it not enough? If you ask me, you should go home and have a good night's sleep tonight. You will feel all better then."

You nod at his advice, failing to notice the way your mysterious helper hungrily licks his lips.

IV. A generous Naga

"Does it feel good?"

You whine at the question, brain so fucked out and drowning in pleasure that you're afraid you lost your ability to coherently communicate. Still, the syllables come out of your mouth and you're sure he understands.

"Tight..er…"

The coils tighten around you, and the twilight-colored scales slide pleasantly against your skin. It makes you want to squirm, just so you get to test his grip, and in turn, the two cocks inside you twitch deliciously. You groan at the stretch - you'd just gotten used to his unique appendage, having to remain still for some time now.

The upper body of the snake-like man is humanoid, and he uses both his natures to keep you pleasured. His hands caress your breasts, his lips map out your neck. All you have to do is sit obediently on his cocks, his tail keeping you in place.

"Do you want more?"

Your whole body feels on fire, as if he injected some kind of aphrodisiac-like venom inside you. The simplest touch is giving you ecstasy, and you try to grind yourself on his cocks, instead of telling him directly. Because who knows how much he's willing to give if you voice out your pleas, who knows if you can take it all.

Alas, his hold is too tight, and your attempts at fucking yourself on his lengths are futile.

"Fuck me… please fuck me and cum deep inside me…!"

Your wish is answered in a heartbeat, passionately so, as he begins to move inside you. As if by your command, he's already spraying cum inside you, both his cocks filling you up until you feel your stomach bloating with it.

It seems like this snake won't let you go until you absolutely can't take it anymore… he might even want to keep you all to himself, forever. And you don't hate the thought of it at all, right now.

Taglist: @arsnovacadenza @kimi00twin @g-kleran @thesirenwashere @devonares @galaxyprison   @starshards26 @thewitchofbooks @acethephoenix256 @crystal13unny @lordsister @ikemen-banshou   @themysticalbeing @otome-scribbles @rhodolitesrose @kpop-and-otome @queen-dahlia @kisara-16 @chaosangel767 @ikemenlibrary @queengiuliettafirstlady @aurora-morning @ikemenlover24 @mcofthemansion @joy-the-reader @katriniac @ikemen-writer @tele86 @lovely-bubb1es @aria-chikage @babyblue0t7 @rhodoliteschaos @shrimpy-kitsune @nightghoul381 @xbalayage @lucyw260 @kittygrimm88 @lokis-laugh @natimiles @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf @groovylita @raeraeks @ethereal-blossom @valkyyriia @candied-boys @ludivineikewolf Let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged!

[zablife]

Benny x Flower Child

Benny Cross Masterlist

A/N: A lovely anon's request to see Benny with a woman who loves and accepts him for who he is. Since it's the '60s, I thought the concept of Benny meeting a free spirited flower child fit really well.

🌼 At first the Vandals dismiss your relationship as a fling without much of a future. After all, how can two people who cherish their freedom as much as a biker and a hippie ever hope to hold each other down?

🌼 The first time Benny brings you to meet everyone, the wives note your lack of jealousy when someone flirts with your man and frankly find it suspicious how you live in your own little world of pleasure separate from Benny as your silvery voice floats above the campfire like a siren song meant to attract their men.

🌼 The guys in the club take to you with immediate enthusiasm, listening to your tales of carefree adventure as Benny looks on with a lovesick smile. They recognize the mischievous twinkle like Benny gets in his eye and they see your shared sense of wanderlust.

🌼 It comes as a shock to everyone when you don't move on over the next few weeks, accepting Kathy's offer to stay at her place so you can plant a little garden in the back yard and watch it grow.

🌼 Your role as a nurturer becomes even more apparent when the guys from the club come around sick or hurt. You always seem to have a home remedy available to heal them.

🌼 It becomes a running joke that Kathy's porch is the place for strays when dogs begin to appear alongside the men, all drawn to your empathetic spirit.

🌼 Benny too finds himself orbiting around the same unlikely center of domesticity, hunched over Kathy's ring stained coffee table as you read his tarot cards.

🌼 "You actually believe all that hocus pocus?" the guys heckle him through the screen door, but the goosebumps he feels prickling his arm as you reveal the lovers card time and time again answers the question for him, the temptation of his heart revealed long before he's able to speak the words.

🌼 Late at night when he's fitful, you remind him of his place and purpose, guiding him out onto the roof to gaze up at the stars. Huddled together under a blanket, chain smoking and pointing out constellations, you feel the tension leave his body as his restless mind shuts off.

🌼 Eventually this ritual takes on a new meaning, the vastness of the night sky reminding you both how much living you have to do. So you pack the same worn satchel you arrived with and Benny takes you away for places unknown.

🌼 You stop to say goodbye to Johnny, tho he says he doesn't know why you're leaving the safety of the home you've made with the Vandals. He couldn't possibly understand that from now on home is wherever you and Benny are together, wild and free.

[cottoncandiescupcakes]

I'll be honest to TROP haters that say it changed too much of the material I mean YES you are right but so did Peter Jackson

I mean Arwen's fate being tied to the ring? Arwen saving Frodo instead of Glorfindel, a very important elf who actually slayed a Balrog, who wasn't in the movie at all. Tom Bombadil, Goldberry and Old Man Willow also weren't in it

Also Tolkien would not be happy with Gimli's fairly undignified treatment at times and also, Legolas' 'orc counter',

Legolas would never happily kill he'd do it to save his friends and for Middle Earth obviously but he's not going around treating killing orcs like a kind of action game having fun doing it

Also for some reason he made Thranduil almost a kind of villainous character though he does redeem himself(and looks fabulous doing it) and I do love this character but it's not very accurate to Tolkien's thoughts on this character which was literally just a typical elf king who mistrusted dwarves and rightfully imprisoned a bunch of dwarves sneaking into his woods

Other things Peter Jackson did he made Denethor WAY more evil than in the books. In the books he's basically a broken, grieving very old man who has lost it versus a 50-60 or something year old man just ranting and raving on everyone going crazy

Another thing Peter Jackson did was make the evil characters like Saruman and Grima way more obviously evil than the book ones so you could instantly tell they were evil, which, the point was they decieved people. That Grima decieves no one lol.

So he changed a LOT of things about the characters, for example Aragorn looks like, you know he's going to be heroic from the start just because of Viggo's bearing but he's meant to be almost unattractive and scary looking at first, then slowly becomes like a king and noble and handsome looking. Like, Pippin literally says he looks foul LMAO I am serious. Boromir is meant to be the perfect gallant hero looking one who almost falls to temptation where Aragorn is meant to look very rough but have a noble heart, they are like foils

I love those movies but he also did change a lot but especially, PJ's work glorifies war too much for Tolkien's standpoint, not always but there are scenes he's making it too action-y while other scenes, like Boromir and Theoden's deaths, are perfect

Also BOTH these works make the elves too serious, like, the books have the elves singing, playing tricks and carrying harps and flutes around and acting more like Medieval fairy ring style elves at times along with being more serious also, they had both sides to them while adaptations just make them very dignified

I know Gil-Galad misses his harp guys HE WAS ALREADY SINGING. Free him

[fatcatlittlebox]

I love hearing Morfydd's insight into Galadriel and her understanding of her development. She has described her as an "atomic bomb", how great is her power that if unleashed would be devastating. And I think that's an interesting take particularly when she says that "nobody in Tolkien's world is meant to be alone." She was saying this in reference to her relationship Halbrand. That they were created by a greater power to be each other's counterparts could be suggested. And at the very least there is the idea that together they are akin to a key and lock, the fuel to a flame. I think that the eruption of Oroduin and creation of Mordor is the looming metaphor here. What I believe the show has touched upon and which is cause for great debate is the question of Galadriel's autonomy in their union. And I don't think there is a question that she wants it. She "greatly desires" it. And her clear-eyed unequivocal refusal of it isn't based on some moral high ground. She isn't actively choosing right over wrong in those stringent terms. Morfydd has said that Galadriel resists Sauron's temptation because she places the safety and wellness of Middle Earth over her own desires and that struggle is a constant, never ending battle she fights within. It's not so much she turns from her darkness as she pulls herself from the brink of self-destruction. This is a fascinating perspective because what she’s describing is Galadriel’s addiction to power. Morfydd had said that Galadriel refusing Sauron's proposal was rooted in her realization that her pursuit had become "dangerous for others." And ultimately that gave her the strength to put aside her desire for power and for the man offering those dark promises. For now.

This is not the same as Galadriel renouncing her ambitions, her passion or her attraction to the darkness. This is her suppressing it. But in order for her to maintain that fortitude, she has to consciously come to terms with that part of herself. She has to admit that: Yes, I want this. Yes, I want him. I want the entire world. I think it is an addiction and one she’s unlikely to master until she faces her fear. Until then, she is satisfying her thirst with sea water.

First, let’s dissect Galadriel's misguided belief that she can achieve the power she wants without intersecting paths with Sauron, that she can skirt that line and remain pure of his influence. The conclusion is no. She cannot. To start, there’s her ring. The ring meant for her and which she chooses to bear. Some have said that Nenya is free of Sauron's influence, which is an interesting take. But the show (and text) has repeatedly shown, and the actors themselves have said, that the elven rings carry his mark. Look at the very moment the mithril is dropped into the molten alloy. It is a seed that takes root. The seed of Sauron. And Galadriel is more than complicit. It was her idea to continue the rings' making after Sauron had already left Eregion. It was Galadriel who still offers her dagger. It was her sacrifice. It was her idea to make the Three, as if dividing it somehow mitigates the meaning and significance of Sauron’s intent when he had designs for a pair. One for a queen and the other for her king. Sauron gifted the seeds. Galadriel planted them when she attempted to bury the truth about Halbrand's identity.

And Sauron indeed left his mark upon them. Look at the symbolism here in this gif: it quite literally shows the rings staining the stone underneath them.

Next we see Galadriel. Observe her face:

She's looking upon those rings, into his Eye and smiling. She feels the power. But importantly, she feels him. The rush that Adar had described. The look on her face is loving, intimate and sated. She almost looks like a proud mother.

And then it morphs from a stain, into the Eye and behind that Eye, the fires of Mordor where the One ring is later forged. This is his vision laid out. The beginning and the end. Then, the shot reveals the Dark Lord’s face. Halbrand. And he’s smiling back. He sees her. A small victory won.

I think the fascinating story behind these two beside their cosmic connection is the constant theme of being seen, of looking at the other and their alternating mistakes and ability at being able to see the truth from delusion and the lies. From seeing into each other's minds and not knowing if they are gazing through a window or at a mirror. But still, Galadriel cannot look away. This is the truth of Galadriel that Sauron knows all too well. Eventually she cannot resist the urge to see. That's why he leaves the door to his mind open. Because Galadriel's greatest folly (and I hope the writers in season 3 show this more explicitly) is thinking that her superpower is her ability to keep herself from the precipice without falling over. Of thinking she can solve the labyrinth. Is Galadriel there yet? Uh. No. She is tested in the Third Age where she experiences a catharsis. But that is not the Galadriel that we see in the 2nd season of ROP. Let's start with the opening sequence where we see Galadriel pursuing Elrond. She appears fiendish and obsessed. It looks familiar:

It's a call forward to Arwen's flight from the ringwraiths from the movie FOTR. But I don't think the director is implying Galadriel is at all like a ringwraith. The showrunners have said that Galadriel is a parallel figure to Frodo. And where Arwen is trying to protect Frodo from the Nazgul, her father, Elrond was trying to protect Galadriel from herself. Again, the theme of being able to see and know yourself. We recall that Elrond has observed Halbrand and Galadriel together. He witnessed their bond and he has seen the way Galadriel looks at the rings. It connects them. There is a depth of feeling there that at first he believes to be nothing but a well of darkness and despair. He even says as much to Cirdan. But I think there is a revelation that he reaches towards the end that we may have overlooked. Look at Galadriel when she has Nenya returned to her.

She is the only one who does this when she wears a ring of power. It is because it was meant for her. Moreover, the thread that connects them spans an ocean of feeling and power that no person can hope to sever except the two people whom it binds. I think Elrond has this epiphany here:

His solemn look is more than just realizing that he will need to use the ring to save his friend. It is realizing the truth that the bond that ties them would also protect her. When Galadriel asks Sauron if he wants to “heal her,” she fortells this moment. And whether or not Sauron knows this is a mystery. However, the audience (and Elrond) can reasonably conclude 2 things 1) it was not Sauron’s wish to harm Galadriel and 2) he had always planned to mark her with the crown of Morgoth. And Elrond now seeing the bigger picture knows that to in order to save Galadriel, he must put the missing puzzle piece, Nenya in its intended place. He has put the pieces back on the chessboard and let Sauron win this match because what Elrond now understands is that Galadriel’s death was not apart of his design. It never will be. And so they must venture deeper into his labyrinth.

Elrond has always had suspicions regarding the nature and depth Galadriel's feelings for Halbrand. He has worn Nenya and through it, can probably can sense, to some degree, the nature and depth of Sauron's feelings as well. Furthermore, Elrond is now privy to have witnesed two violent confrontations she has had with Sauron both in which she lived. The Dark Lord spared her twice. Elrond is shrewd enough to infer now, that however dark the shadow that envelops their relationship, Sauron would never extinguish her light. He would never kill her. And whatever magic that intertwines them will also preserve and sustain her. Her curse is also her remedy. This is part of the answer to the question he asks Cirdan earlier in the season: "What is beauty, when it is born in part of evil?" It is the somber knowledge he finally understands and must accept about the Dark Lord. He loves her. And for better or worse, those seeds have borne something beautiful in defiance of death. That is the ultimate tragedy of it all. They will cycle countless times through life and death, light and dark. Being able to feel the fleeting warmth and the shadow of each other, the pull of the fall and rush of its power with Galadriel never allowing herself to completely succumb to it or be liberated from it. It takes on a new melancholy when Galadriel says to Frodo in FOTR, "to bear a ring of power is to be alone." Not just because no one will ever understand or be able to bear the cross she must carry. Not just because those who dare to be close to a ringbearer could be harmed in its inevitable wake. But because she could never be reunited with the one being who is its intended mate. Because such a joining would be euphoric and cataclysmic at once. Some often cite the Virgin Mary as the inspiration of Galadriel. But to me, her journey on the show more closely resembles Eve in the Garden of Eden. Nenya is the fruit. So great is their ambition and desire that they would forgo eternal paradise in order to touch the darkness.

[ozzgin]

I love your work! It is so hard to find good Baki writers. Could you please do a Yujiro x Female fighter reader. I feel like Yujiro would actually start falling head over heels with a reader who fights well and is as sadistic as him.

Thank you! And yes, realistically speaking - or at least what makes most sense in my opinion - Yuujirou would go for someone that not only is submissive to him (because any human would then suffice), but also shows impressive skill and strength. There’s an interesting idea that I once read in the introduction of “The Gates of Janus”, the book written by serial killer Ian Brady. The foreword author argued that Ian is what you’d call a rat king, an alpha above most alphas, and that for such personalities, most of the time, an equally dominant woman is sought for as a partner. Naturally she’d submit to him still, but only a woman of high dominance could keep up with this kind of intense character. This mentality felt a bit outdated and potentially misogynistic to me, but I think it really fits in the case of Yuujirou. Sorry for the ramble.

Yandere! Yuujirou Hanma x Fighter! Reader

Featuring The Ogre and a female reader that nearly matches him in strength and ruthlessness. TW: Dubious consent, violence.

[Baki Masterlist]

Yuujirou can have anyone in the world, whether man or woman. It’s not up to them, really. It’s up to his mood and whims. And when he can have just about anyone, actually finding someone worth his interest becomes a difficult task. He doesn’t need an extra weight to drag around and as far as he’s concerned, commitment is not something he requires in his life. What would be the point?

No, for someone of his status, commitment doesn’t come as moral etiquette or requirement for a relationship. He has considered it, and in theory it could only be offered out of his genuine interest and never demanded by someone else. For The Ogre himself to fixate on one person and never wander eyes anywhere else… They would really have to impress him. Guarantee him that this is a one time deal never to be found again. And once that person is found, they’d do well to perform their role as his partner because there is no way out of it.

Lamentably, such temptation has never crossed his path. That is until a feminine figure strides into the ring of the Underground Arena. Yuujirou is ready to burst with laughter, but he’s quickly silenced by the rather abrupt end of the match. The mysterious character remains unfazed by the opponent’s blow and uses the opportunity to swiftly twist and crush the offensive limb. With the same indifference plastered on the face throughout the agonizing wails of the much larger man, she delivers her ending move and within seconds the arena is quiet again. After recollecting himself from this unexpected succession, Yuujirou turns to Strydum that’s been watching with similar amazement. “Who the hell is that?” He grunts. “I don’t know. Should I find out?”

Sometimes Yuujirou will replay the encounter in his head. He still gets shivers of raw excitement whenever he remembers your eyes back then. That utterly defiant glare. Strydum had asked you to meet them in private and as you entered the room, you immediately demanded to know why you’d been summoned. The Colonel begun fumbling in terror, almost begging you indirectly to not upset the redheaded man. “M-Mr. Hanma wished to see you, Miss (Y/N)-“ he was interrupted by your resounding snarl. “And who the fuck is Mr. Hanma to afford such audacity?” At that moment Yuujirou stood up, hands in pockets but visibly tensed up. You instinctively clenched your fists and frowned at the unspoken difference in power. The Ogre was halfway expecting you to fold and apologize, but after a minute your expression relaxed and your confidence returned. “Bitch. You’d rather die than give up your pride, huh?” He smirked at the thought. There was something about your attitude that greatly pissed him off but also turned him on at the same time.

The hardest part is getting you to accept him as your partner. See, Yuujirou will never beg or ask nicely. On the other hand, he’d rather not kill you, and severely damaging you in any way would take away the fun that caught his attention in the first place. That’s the dilemma: you’re stubborn and he can’t use force. Then again it’s not like he’s a mindless brute. Quite the opposite, only if he feels like it. A little charm with a dash of intimidation and you should be convinced, right? Don’t push it, (Y/N). If he really has to choose, he’d rather have you dead than belonging to someone else. It’s either him or nothing.

Really, it’s to your advantage if you learn to behave. He can give you everything you desire. He’s rather experienced in spoiling his women, and for you he’ll go the extra mile. Knowing he tamed you of all people is all the payment he could ever ask for. The satisfaction of putting you in your place, of having you cling to him fills him with greedy pride. A cocky smile distorts his features whenever the realization hits. If there’s such a thing as a soulmate, he’s found his. Although he doesn’t believe in that kind of bullshit.

A frightening pair in the eyes of most people. The Ogre relishes in the fact that displaying you as his woman has further increased his reputation instead of signaling any trace of weakness. As the time passes his conviction only strengthens: there’s no other place for you. You’re all his. Yet his favorite detail, what makes him flushed and dazed and addicted, is that no matter what he does to you as you lay there sprawled, naked, broken, your dignity never leaves. That prideful gaze that leers back at him makes him feel like he’s facing a mirror.

[tieronecrush]

hot & heavy

chapter three: show me how

neighbor!joel x f!reader

series masterlist

series rating: E (18+ only, MDNI)

series summary:

over the course of three summers, joel miller becomes woven into your life. the first summer is spent falling for him; nannying his daughter and sneaking around with him in a burning love affair. you know how you feel about joel, he isn’t so sure about how it all is gonna work. the second summer is brief. a month spent at home after graduation and before you move to boston for your dream job. one look at you, one time hearing your voice, and joel is hooked again. he pines over you for that month, but you think — how is long distance of over a thousand miles going to work for a single dad? the third summer, you return home burnt out and pride bruised from your post-grad life. you need time to feel at home again, like your complete self, so you’ve come back home with no return ticket booked. it’s only a matter of time before joel seeks you out, slowly spending more time with you. without an inevitable end to the summer looming over you both, what chances are you willing to take?

word count: 8.3k (a long-y but a goody)

warnings: NO OUTBREAK (don’t need to worry about the mushies), no use of y/n, inexperienced/virgin reader, age gap (joel is 30/31, reader is 22), canon-divergent (sarah is 7 y/o), nanny au, alcohol use, pet name (sweetheart, darling, sweet girl), polite southern manners, feeling familial and self-pressure, masturbation (f & m), light voyeurism, THIGH RIDING, dirty talk, LATINO JOEL cause it's canon which means there's likely subpar spanish bye!!!

Joel is trying very hard to be a good neighbor.

He can be friendly enough when he needs to be, but he absolutely did not know the kind of place he was moving into. It’s like Pleasantville had a baby with The Truman Show. Everyone here is so nice.

Not that his previous neighborhood wasn’t filled with people who were nice, but everyone pretty much kept to their own business and gave a wave here and had a quick catch-up across the lawn there. Well, except for the Adlers.

And here, they also do neighborhood events.

Which is why he finds himself nursing a can of Budweiser that’s dripping cool condensation in the mid-afternoon Texas heat of late June, surrounded by husbands having conversations about the upcoming football season, the latest Astros game, and their wives. He can’t really add anything to the conversation because he hasn’t kept up on any sports news, was working during the last game, and he’s single.

So fucking single that he spends most nights fantasizing about you, his daughter’s nanny. Or just straight up watching you like some depraved, desperate man.

Which isn’t too far off base, cause it’s what he’s feeling right now as he steals glances of you laid out on a patio lounger next to the aquamarine, chlorinated water. You’re sitting in a white linen cover-up dress, but the thin crepe fabric leaves nothing to the imagination when it comes to your swimsuit underneath. It’s modest enough for a family affair, covering up everything appropriately but it still does something to see your skin exposed in the sunlight, a sheen of sweat coating your body.

He’s noticed some of the neighbors around your age checking you out, even some of the men older than him ogling at you. It was hypocritical to feel the burn of anger — he was eyeing you all the same but to him, it felt a little different. Like you were closer to his than anyone else’s. He saw you every day; knew little things about you like how you always twisted the ring on your right hand around with your thumb or how you always left one last sip or two in every drink you had, never fully finishing them before abandoning them on the counter or in the sink.

Knowing more about you, from tiny details to what you wanted to do with your life, made him feel like he was dipping his feet into the pool of temptation. Every bit he learned made him want more.

And every time he saw you through the window of your bedroom, he jumped in head first into that alluring pool. It felt so right, so justified in the moment to him, but as soon as the lights clicked off on your side and he looked down at his come coating his knuckles, shame slithered up his throat and coated his mouth with bitterness.

Yet, he couldn’t stop. And some nights, he swears to himself that he sees you looking, watching his actions. Like you know exactly what he’s doing and you let him. One time, mind hazed over with pleasure as he got himself off to the sight of you alone and half naked, he even convinced himself that maybe you wanted him to keep doing it.

Joel knew you were flirting at times, but at other times he couldn’t tell if there was any difference between your polite, sweet demeanor and a subtle hint that you found him attractive.

Even if you were into him, there’s no way he could do anything about it.

Joel’s pulled out of his thoughts when he feels a tug on the hem of his swim trunks. His eyes flit down to his daughter, standing next to him with a pout on her face.

“Daddy, can I please go swimming now?”

Joel smooths a hand through her hair, bending down to her level to look her in the eyes.

“Can you give me just a few more minutes, Bug? I gotta talk to Mr. Clark about a job he might need help with at his house. I promise we can go down to the pool right after that.”

Joel’s cool thumb from the beer can swipes across her cheek as Sarah huffs in frustration, crossing her arms over her chest and staying put as a sign of her reluctant agreement. He smiles softly at her, kissing her hairline as he stands again, turning to the neighbor near him to answer his questions about a potential job refurbishing his deck over the weekends.

Wrapped up in conversation, Joel doesn’t notice the tiny footsteps padding away slowly at first, speeding up down the stairs. He doesn’t notice until his hand reaches for her curls, the swoosh of air under his palm tearing his eyes away from Mr. Clark. Panic sets in immediately, Joel excusing himself quickly to go to the edge of the deck to search the large party for his seven-year-old. Flip flops slap loudly against the concrete, the familiar voluminous hair bouncing as she runs towards the open water without anyone there to catch her and no safety floats on her arms.

He deposits his beer on the railing, starting to rush down the stairs to try to catch her but is stopped as he watches what plays out below him.

You saw Sarah, without her dad following behind her, and knew something wasn’t right. Joel had told you that she was still in swimming lessons — Sarah loved the water but she’d only had a few lessons last summer so she wasn’t entirely ready to be able to jump in and swim completely without aid. That pings something off in your mind, instincts kicking in as you swing your legs over the side of the lounge chair and jump up immediately to chase after her. Your arms outstretched wrap around her tiny frame right before the edge of the pool, lifting her away from the water on the other side.

Sarah is in a fit of giggles, the idea of you snatching her a playful game in her childish mind. Relief washes over you and you go along with her giggles, spinning her around and bringing her back over to your chair.

“Gotcha, little miss! You’re eager to swim, huh?”

Sarah’s giggles die down while she’s still in your arms, and as you set her back down next to your seat, Joel jogs over from the stairs to the two of you.

“Mija, you can’t just run off like that. You scared me. And you know there’s no running around the pool, and no swimming without an adult. It’s not safe, is it?”

Joel’s squatting down to look his daughter in the eyes, seriousness evident in his tone but not to the point of anger. He’s calm and collected as he reprimands with reminders and honesty, his voice not ever nearing a louder volume than his normal cadence.

God, he’s such a good dad.

It’s so attractive.

Internally, your palm is hitting your forehead at the flutter of your ovaries. Externally, your eyes roll into the back of your head in a curse to your mind.

“You were taking so long, Daddy! I want to swim now.”

Sarah’s indignant, her actions were completely justified to herself when she didn’t know how it could have ended up.

“I’m sorry that it frustrates you to wait, but you can’t go running off. Next time, give me a reminder, Bug. Sometimes I don’t realize how long I’m taking, it’s a curse your dad has for lack of time management.”

You snort a laugh out, covering your mouth as the comment goes right over Sarah’s head. Joel’s eyes find yours, soft crinkles showing next to them as he grins at your laughter.

He sends Sarah over to her bag sitting a few chairs over to grab her floaties for him to put on, standing up and facing you. Hands slip into the pockets of his shorts, shoulders raising an inch.

“Thank you for grabbing her. I just, I dunno, I just panicked at the top of the stairs. Like seeing everything in slow motion and I was stuck there. But, uh, yeah, thank you for getting to her.”

Voice thick with ignominy, guilt sheening in his eyes as he looks at you with a vulnerability you’d yet to see from the daily interactions with Joel.

A crack formed in your heart at the thought that he was scared, that he feels like he failed in the moment for his feelings overwhelming him. Your head shakes side to side, your feet subconsciously step closer to him and your hand reaches out to sprawl across his bicep with a gentle, comforting squeeze.

“It’s alright, Joel. Nothing happened. Sarah’s totally fine, and still chomping at the bit to swim,” you console, a kind smile on your face, “Besides, I probably wouldn’t be a very good nanny if I didn’t do anything when I was way closer to her. You couldn’t have reached her in time, and I stepped in for you. You didn’t do anything wrong, Joel.”

His shoulders relax, hands slipping from his pockets as he nods.

“Thank you. For all of it.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“I know. But I want to.”

The words strike you in your chest, nothing profound said but the emphasis behind them warming you from the inside out like the Texas sun. You swallow, suddenly feeling parched from the heat and breaking the eye contact that Joel was holding with you to look down at Sarah as she approaches you again.

“Can you help put my floaties on?” She hands you the deflated safety devices with a toothy grin, the gap of lost tooth on the left side of her smile making you want to squeeze her from how adorable she looks.

“Course I can, girly,” you take the floats from her, finding the mouthpiece on one and looking back to Joel, continuing before you start to blow them up, “I can swim with Sarah, if you wanna keep chatting with Mr. Clark. I know he wanted to get your thoughts on his deck. You should go back and talk to him, could be an easy job with decent pay. He’s a generous guy. Go be social, charm the pants off of everyone.”

Joel nods and glances over his shoulder to the deck filled with neighbors. He turns toward you again, raising an eyebrow in question.

“You sure, sweetheart? You’re off the clock today, you should enjoy your free time.”

“Spending time with Sarah is fun. Wouldn’t want to spend my afternoon any other way. Plus, what else am I doing? Baking out in the sun like a lizard?”

Joel laughs, a genuine one that you’ve only heard a few times when a joke of yours really gets him, and he nods, bringing a hand up to gently pat your arm.

“Thanks, darlin’. I owe you one.”

The wink he sends you nearly has your knees failing you, a heat sent to your core at the subtle flirtation.

These charged moments between the two of you have been happening much more often, and with your new (almost) nightly routine waiting up for Joel in your bedroom, you’re waiting with bated breath for whatever is built between the two of you to snap and open the flood gates.

More and more, you’re imagining how it would feel to kiss him, how his hand would feel in yours, what he could take from you and what he could give you. There was so much you were admittedly naive about, but everything that you had once been intimated by seemed exciting when you thought of doing it all with Joel.

He’s kind, and respectful, and gentle. He cares. Even when he acts like a grump or teases you, you know there’s something there. There has to be, otherwise you’re going crazy for sure.

Pulling yourself away from your daydreams, you inflate the floaties for Sarah and help her get them on. You pull your cover up over your head, depositing it on the chair you were laid out on. Sarah’s small hand fits in yours, taking slow steps to allow her to keep up with you as you cross the concrete patio to the pool stairs.

The two of you climb down the stairs and into the water, Sarah shrieks and giggles from the chill surrounding her hitting Joel’s ears all the way up on the deck. He’s back with Mr. Clark, having finished hearing him out about what he wants done and offering his services, reaching an easy agreement with him about when he’ll come by to start and what Mr. Clark will pay him.

Joel wanders away from the group, grabbing another beer, this time a Miller Lite.

Not his favorite, but he’ll take what he can get to keep a small buzz around all these people. Nosy, overly polite, and fake people make him uneasy. He's virtually the opposite, and it occurs to him that you are, too.

Maybe that’s why he feels so drawn to you.

Well, that, and you’re one of the most beautiful people he’s ever seen.

Cracking open the can, he leans on the railing with his elbows supporting him and watches you with his daughter. He takes a long sip, combing his gaze over the top half of your torso that’s out of the water as you stand in the shallow end. The bikini top he’d gotten a peek of under your coverup is on full display now, the sweet lilac color with ditsy florals tight across your chest.

He’s seen more of your bare skin from his window, but the bikini top sends a heat to the back of his neck and behind his ears, imagining you over him on his lap and his hand slipped under the swimsuit.

Shaking his head to pull him away from the image, he takes a deep breath and a few gulps of his beer, taking one more look at the two of you splashing around in the water with some of the other neighborhood kids swimming circles around you. He holds back a smile as he listens to your laughter mixed with Sarah’s, chewing on the inside of his cheek before he returns to be social like you told him to.

Eventually, once they’re pruny and antsy again, Sarah and the other kids get out and towel off to play tag altogether in the grassy part of your backyard. You dry off and slip your coverup over your head again, the fabric clinging to you in places that weren’t fully dry. Bare feet pad against the wooden stairs as you climb them, taking a breath to brace yourself before returning into the mass of judgy neighbors.

The contents of the cooler have dwindled, so you opt for a Corona and pop the cap off, weaving in and out of the crowd to find a lime wedge. At the makeshift bar, you grab a slice and shove it down the bottleneck, taking a sip and turning towards a group of neighbors you actually like.

Walking up to the circle, you see your brother, Chris, a kid his age from down street, Ryan, and Joel standing opposite you. Everyone’s talking about setting up a bags tournament, and you volunteer to play as well. One of the young wives offers to pair everyone off into teams, and you get set up with Chris while Joel gets partnered with Ryan.

Everyone playing meanders down to the lawn where the handful of boards are set up for play, and the four of you end up versus each other. Chris and Ryan walk to the far side, leaving Joel and yourself at the opposite end to start the game.

He bends down to collect the beanbags, handing you the blue ones with a grin while he holds the red for himself.

“You ready to lose at cornhole, sweetheart?”

You scoff and roll your eyes.

“No, cause I’m ready to win at bags.”

Joel scoffs this time, letting out a short laugh and giving you a look of disbelief.

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those people, darlin’. It’s called cornhole. Why do you even call it bags? You’re from Austin. We say cornhole.”

“Um, I am ‘one of those people’ cause ‘those people’ are the correct ones. And there are plenty of people living in Austin that call it bags. For example, my dad who taught me the game.”

You turn away from Joel and lob one of your bags onto the board, watching as it skids across the surface and sinks into the hole.

“Your dad is from the Midwest. Doesn’t count, sweetheart.”

Joel tosses his first one, the red bag smacking against the surface and sticking to its place. You look at him with a satisfied, smug smirk.

“It does count. And even more so, everyone in Fort Worth at school calls it bags. People from Texas.”

Your next shot only lands on the board, an annoyed sigh falling from your lips.

“That’s Fort Worth. I’m talking about Austin. Your hometown. You can’t betray us by calling it bags, darlin’. You’re breaking my heart hearing that.”

“Well, then I guess I’ll always be a heartbreaker to you. Cause if I ever call this game cornhole, it’ll be the death of me.”

Joel sinks his next shot, giving you the same pompous look you’d given him.

“Now I can’t be losing you so soon, so we can agree to disagree. But I’m right.”

“Oh my god, no! I am right. And I will be teaching Sarah the correct name for the game.”

The blue bag in your hand lands on the edge of the hole, taking a second to let gravity pull it in. You cheer to yourself and hear Joel’s laugh next to you, your smile softening.

“Now that’s just too far, sweetheart. I draw the line at influencing the youth. My youth, especially.”

Your laugh pulls a smile from Joel, the shot leaving his hand to land right in the hole of the board. He looks back to you, eyes glistening with a tinge of admiration and teasing all in one.

“Fine. I will allow you to parent as you see fit, even if it’s wrong on all moral levels.”

“I can see who’s influencing her heightened dramatics lately.”

You pause, a beat of silence as you try to find a defense for yourself but coming up short. The last beanbag in your possession sails through the air, missing the board completely. A pout tugs your bottom lip out, huffing a sigh out of your nostrils and crossing your arms to watch Joel take his last turn for the round.

His hand twitches at the last second, changing the trajectory of his throw and sending the bag off to the side into the grass.

“I’ll admit, I do come up with…climactic story lines for her Barbies. But it’s to encourage her imagination!”

“I’m just teasin’ you, darlin’. You’re great with Sarah, and we both love having you around this summer. Don’t need to change a thing about you.”

He must mean the words in a friendly manner, but your heart can help but flutter at the thought of Joel enjoying you being around him often.

The game goes for a few more rounds, Joel and you keeping up with each other and tying at the end of each of your turns.

“Guess we’re a pretty good match.” You smile sweetly at him as you reach out your hand as a gesture of good sportsmanship when you and Chris take the win. Joel’s hand envelopes yours, shaking it firmly as a grin tugs one side of his mouth up.

“I think you’re right about that, sweetheart.”

“We’re quitting, this is boring! Sorry, sis! Sorry, Joel!” your brother shouts at you both, sauntering off with his buddy Ryan. Joel looks back at you, shrugging with his hands in his pockets.

“Think we’d be good partners? We could keep up the tournament together.”

A wide smile crosses your face as you nod in agreement.

“Let’s kick everyone’s asses. At bags.” You wink before walking ahead of him back to the group, getting assigned your new opponents.

You spend the next few games across from Joel, sharing knowing glances and grins, communicating with only a look for the rest of your games. You easily climb through the small, single elimination tourney and get to the winner’s game. The pressure, or as much pressure as a friendly, neighborhood game could be when you’re a competitive person, is on with the eyes of everyone eliminated on you. After a tension filled game, both in scoring, and the look in Joel’s eyes that’s sending a tingle throughout your thighs and between your legs, the two of you earn the victory 21-19.

You both cheer goofily, overly celebratory for the simple sport as you rush to the center of the pitch. Joel meets you halfway, laughing as you raise your hand for a high five. He complies, grabbing your hand when it meets his in the air, squeezing it as he drops them together between your bodies. His eyes are darker, filled with a glint of something that intensifies the feeling at your core.

At a barely audible level, his drawl curls around his words as he tells you, “Good job, sweetheart,” with a wink and a sideways smirk.

Your long dried bikini bottoms are soaked at this point, a chill tickling its way down your spine. His hand pulls away from yours, moving to your waist to guide you to the stairs. He follows you up to the deck, and you can feel the burn of his eyes on your eyes through the layers of thin fabric, imagining the subtle jerks of his arm and shoulder that you catch glimpses of from across the lawn on those late nights you unknowingly share with him. Before you can start a conversation to stay near him, or even suss out the electric chemistry that’s reaching towards a peak between you two, you both get pulled away from each other. For the rest of the night, you can’t ever seem to catch up with him, and you resign wistfully to being stuck in a boring conversation with your mom’s friends while your thoughts circulate around Joel.

The sun set an hour ago, the temperature dropping only a few degrees with the night fall. Most of the neighborhood is still mingling around your family’s backyard, those with younger kids all making their way home.

Sarah’s head rests against Joel’s shoulder as he holds her at his hip, adjusting her to hold her higher as he chats with your dad and brother about his last season on LSU’s baseball team. He feels Sarah rub her face against his shirt and glances at her, checking the time on his watch. It’s about half an hour past Sarah’s usual bedtime, and if he doesn’t get her back home, she’s going to be as grumpy as he is without a full eight hours.

Wishing your dad and brother goodnight and thanking them for hosting, he turns to make his way across the deck and glances around in an attempt to find you to say goodnight. It’s Saturday, which means he won’t see you tomorrow, and the thought of that contracts his chest. He can’t think of an excuse to go on a search to seek you out, and without a reason, he meanders back over to his house.

Joel gets Sarah into her pajamas and lays her down for the night, kissing her forehead and smoothing her hair back. He smiles to himself at the peaceful look on her face, rubbing her back gently before shutting off her bedside lamp and closing the door behind him.

Retiring on the sofa, he turns on some reruns of the latest cable show, zoning out on the screen as his thoughts drift to you.

The smell of chlorine on your hair starts to give you a headache, so you make your way inside and up to your room to shower off. Changing into your oversized sleep shirt and shorts, you fall back into bed and grab your book from the nightstand to read some pages to distract your brain before going to sleep.

You glance out your window to see if Joel’s come up to his room, like that first night you had waited for him and every time since then. When you can’t see his silhouette or any lights on in his window, you take a guess that he must be parked in front of the TV since he brought Sarah home.

After a chapter or two of your book, a vibration muffles against your comforter. The book gets discarded, probably losing your page while your hands scramble to find your device before the ringing stops. Right before it rings through, you grab the small phone and hit accept without a chance to check the contact.

“Hello?”

“Hey, sweetheart.”

The raspy drawl crackling through the line raises your heart rate, your eyes glancing to your alarm clock to see the time - 11:48 pm.

Why was Joel calling this late?

“Joel? What’s up? Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong. Well, nothing serious. I, uh, just got a call from Tommy and he’s way too drunk at some bar downtown to drive home. I gotta go get him, but I don’t wanna wake Sarah to put her in the car or leave her by herself here obviously. So I was wondering if you’d—”

“I’ll be right over.”

Joel sighs, full of relief and breathes out his next words filled with gratefulness.

“Thank you so much, darlin’.”

You make a quick goodbye, gathering your phone and slipping out of your bedroom. Downstairs near the door to your garage, you slip on your flip flops and head over across your front yard and Joel’s. The humidity in the air has lessened, but your damp hair still sticks to the back of your neck. Your nails scrape up the hair and hold it off your neck, legs carrying you up the short set of stairs and up to the Miller front door. Your right hand knuckles tap quietly against the painted wood, letting your hair down and rubbing your sweaty palms on your t-shirt.

The door swings open with Joel on the other side, a sleepy grin on his face as he waves you in. He looks soft in his washed out Cypress Hill t-shirt and gym shorts, the vision of him in his version of PJs tugging at the corners of your lips.

“Thank you again for coming over here, darlin’. Sarah’s sleeping, should stay asleep while I’m gone. She was exhausted after tonight.”

Following Joel into the living room, he gestures to the couch and the TV that is still turned on to whatever he was watching before.

“Should be back soon, feel free to hang out here. Help yourself to anything to drink or if you want a snack, you know where everything is.” He smiles at the mention of you knowing your way around, grabbing the keys to his truck and slipping on some sneakers as you plop down onto the couch.

“Sounds good, I’ve got my cell so if you need any more help, text or call. But I’ll be camped out here until you get back.”

“Hopefully won’t need anything else, been dealing with Tommy my whole life. Always gonna be the annoying little brother,” he chuckles softly and lingers near the door, glancing around before his eyes find you again, “Guess I should head out, I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

“Drive safe! And tell Tommy I say hi,” you add with a quiet giggle, watching as Joel shakes his head and laughs to himself, heading out the front door. The truck rumbles to life in the driveway, and you watch from the window as he heads down your street and towards the city.

The engine shuts off in the driveway, and Joel can still hear some echoes of the party carrying on from another neighbor's backyard. Getting Tommy from the bar took way longer than he thought it would, and it’s now 1:26am. Traffic was horrible attempting to cross the city ‘cause of some country show getting out right as he hit downtown, and Tommy wouldn’t answer his damn phone when Joel did get there. He sped back to Tommy’s and basically made him roll out of the car, idling to make sure his brother got inside alright. He was insufferable with his drunk babbling, and now by the time Joel finally got home, he felt a swirl of guilt in his stomach for making you come over. He thought it would be quick, and now he’s slinking inside to apologize profusely for taking an hour and a half.

The front door squeaks on its hinges, the hollow sound of the TV cracking through its speakers at a low volume. You don’t greet him as he slowly clicks the door back in place, locking the deadbolt and kicking off his sneakers into the pile of shoes in the entryway.

Sock covered feet echo muffled thuds across the wood floors of his living room, a grin tugging on his lips when you finally come into view.

Fast asleep, you're laid out on the leather couch with your legs curled into your stomach. One arm’s under the throw pillow your head rests on and the other is bent limply in front of you, fingers wrapped into a loose fist. The movement of your chest is languid and deep with your breaths, lips parted in relaxation and eyelashes resting against your skin.

Painfully angelic.

He’s frozen for a moment across the room, watching you sleep until the time reaches past 1:30am and he knows that he needs to wake you to get you back home and into your own bed. He selfishly wants to let you sleep there, doesn’t want to interrupt any sweet dreams you might be having or the rest you need after taking care of his daughter all week, after helping him too.

Sighing faintly to himself, he moves towards the couch and bends down to gently rub your shoulder to wake you.

“I’m back, sweetheart, you can head home.”

You gasp from the shock of being woken from a deep sleep, scrambling to sit up in a panic with heavy lidded eyes. Your soft touch presses warmly against his thigh through the fabric of his gym shorts, and he looks down at you as you start to fully wake.

“Joel? Oh god, I’m so sorry I fell asleep, I shouldn’t have—”

“Hey, hey, it’s alright, sweetheart. I took a lot longer than I thought I would,” the cozy look in your eyes plucks at his heart strings, and the touch lingering on his leg turns into an electric burn, “‘M sorry you had to sleep on the couch for a bit.”

Your head shakes with a dopey grin, fingers brushing his skin as it slips back towards your lap. The spot once covered with your touch sends a chill throughout his body. His eyes track your motion and his own hand reaches out for you. Large fingers slip between yours, Joel’s gaze returns up from your locked hands. Before you can say anything to him, and before he can overthink, he leans in and catches your lips in a fragile kiss.

Everything stops around him in the moment. The TV is muted in his ears, the chill of the AC isn’t felt with the fire alighting in his gut, his eyes close and bring him into an abyss where all he can feel is the plush of your lips against his and all he can smell is the candied scent of your green apple and lime body wash mixing in his nose with the bluebell and jasmine notes of your shampoo. It’s overwhelming, the way you have completely surrounded him with one kiss.

Your mouth is still against his for a few more beats, Joel imagining the shock you must be in and he immediately feels his stomach drop in a rush.

Fucking idiot. Why would you think it would be okay to kiss her? She’s obviously uncomfortable and now you are going to have to grovel out an apology for being creepy and completely unprofessional.

Joel’s head moves back to break the kiss, his eyes opening with dread flooding them. Scanning your own expression, he can’t quite read you.

“Darlin’, I’m so sor—”

“Do it again.”

Now Joel is still with shock, confusion contorting his face as his head tilts minutely.

“What d’you mean, sweetheart?”

“Do it again,” the smooth skin of your hand trails up his arm, across his shoulder, and wraps around the side of his neck, “Kiss me.”

His brain takes a few seconds to process your words and fire actions to his nerves and muscles, but when everything finally connects in him, he’s leaning in and molding his mouth to yours in a deeper exchange.

With hands intertwined, he reaches his other up to caress your cheek. His fingers splayed across your face, grazing the line of your jaw as you sigh into his mouth. The slight part of your lips with the exhale gives him a chance to lick into your mouth, his tongue tasting yours. Your hand on his neck tugs to pull him over you further, his back aching at the angle.

He pulls apart from you, breaths shallow as his eyes search yours for any signs of wanting to stop. When he can’t find any, he moves to sit on the couch, arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you to straddle his lap.

Joel chases your honey kisses, taking peck after peck as his hands run over your back. He feels your hands scratch into his five o’clock shadow, groaning against your lips when you sit back on his thigh and the front of your shorts brushes against his semi-hard cock in his pants.

Kisses intensify, heating up again. Joel’s hands skim down your back and each grab a handful of your ass, coaxing a small whimper from your lips. The sweet sound flips another switch in Joel, his hips canting up against you as he feels himself swell more in his pants.

Against your lips, he rasps out, “Y’have no idea how much I’ve wanted to kiss you since I met you, darlin’.”

“You could’ve. I’ve wanted it just as much…” you breathe out, a soft whine slipping after, “Don’t know how you didn’t—didn’t notice how much I wanted you.”

Joel’s mouth presses kisses at the corner of your mouth, along your jaw, and down your neck. He nips at your lush skin, moaning quietly and fanning out humid air at your collar. His hips grind up against you again, your inhale catching in your throat in a gasp.

“I noticed, sweetheart. Trust me, I noticed. Just couldn’t bring myself to touch you. Didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable,” his words tumble out in a lustful haze, the taste of you and the feeling of you lowering his inhibitions, “But I wanted you so bad. Ached for you, darlin’, and when I saw you in your window from my bedroom one night, dressed in nothing but those sweet little white lace panties you got, I watched you putting lotion on and fucked my hand. Felt so good watching your hands all over yourself, wanted ‘em to be mine.”

He moves one of his hands from your ass, slipping it between your bodies and groping one of your breasts through the thin material of your sleep shirt. You moan his name louder than before, your smaller hand gripping right onto his shoulder. He catches your lips in a kiss again to stifle your noises to be sure you two wouldn’t wake Sarah.

Your lips detach from his with a smacking sound, eyes looking into his blown wide with wonder.

“I knew you were there. I did it for you.”

Joel stares at you in disbelief, lips parted as he waits for you to continue.

“I wanted you so badly, that I thought—I thought if you saw me, it would maybe make you see me. Think I’m pretty or something. So I waited for you that first time, glancing over until I finally saw you in the window. And when I noticed you staring, I started to change my clothes but that wasn’t going to be enough cause it would be over so soon. So I put on my lotion. I could see you sitting there when I looked out my window, and I just—I guessed what you were doing cause I saw your arm moving and your head tilted back a lot. And it seemed like you liked it, so I kept doing it for you, and waiting for something to finally happen.”

His cock is rock hard and throbbing for some kind of attention. He can feel a wet spot forming on the fabric of his boxers from his pre-cum leaking out of him.

You knew. You saw him getting off to watching you parade around your room mostly naked. You liked it, and you kept doing it for him.

It’s the hottest thing anyone’s ever told him.

“Aren’t you a sweet little thing, huh darlin’? You did that for me every time?”

Joel uses the hand that was on your breast to brush your hair behind your ear, eyes piercing yours. He can see the shyness in you still, the hesitancy coating your expression and shaky breaths.

“Uh huh.”

“You wanted me to feel good? All those times, I got to take care of myself, but nobody took care of you?”

An audible swallow cuts the silence you’ve created, a shrug of your shoulders before your meek voice vibrates Joel’s ears.

“Um, sometimes—sometimes I would touch myself or rub against one of my pillows after I turned out my light. Not every night, but when I really needed to I did.”

A pout juts Joel’s bottom lip out, his head shaking back and forth.

“Mmm, poor thing having to touch yourself, bet it didn’t ever feel like enough, huh? Probably were thinking about my hands, my mouth, my cock. Am I right, sweet girl? Were you wishing I would find you in your room and make you come?”

His words are shooting right to your cunt, fluttering inside of you and soaking your panties. This moment is more than enough for you to have your imagination run free, even if Joel never so much as kissed your cheek again. But his voice is addictive, his touch setting of ripples of goosebumps and making your body feel as if it’s filled with helium. You thought you would float to his ceiling if he wasn’t holding onto you so tight.

“Yes, yes I wanted that,” you close your eyes, the contact with Joel’s too much as you work up the courage to spill out the embarrassing reality that you’ve been dreading to tell him if you were ever caught in a moment like this, “I’m, um, I’ve never had anyone…”

Joel’s one hand plays with your hair and the other squeezes your bum gently. Your eyes open to see him staring at you full of doting affection.

“You’ve never had anyone touch you? You’re a virgin?” Your eyes cast down to the graphic on his t-shirt, nodding and feeling that meager inadequacy you’ve felt when the confession has come up to other guys and boyfriends in the past.

It wasn’t like you were saving yourself for any reason, it just never felt like the right moment. You never really wanted it with anyone in the past, and you took it as a sign when most guys, especially during college, would bolt after you told them. Your friends comforted you, after the first time telling you how shitty guys were and how they all had this complex that girls become obsessed and clingy with the guys they lose it to.

You braved yourself for that moment to happen now, waiting for Joel to tell you that ‘this wasn’t going to work’ or ‘that it’s getting kind of late’.

“Nothing wrong with that, sweetheart. We can do whatever you're comfortable with. Including doing nothing if that’s what you want.”

“What?”

Your head snaps up in surprise, facing writhe with skepticism. In Joel’s expression, you can’t find any signs of him being humorous or lying to you.

“I said, we can take this at your pace. I’d be happy just having you near me, pretty girl. I don’t wanna pressure you into anything.”

“No, no. You’re not,” your hands run across his broad shoulders, leaning in to press a featherlight kiss to his lips, “I want it with you, all of it. What I’m missing out on.”

His chuckle fills your ears, not laughing at you maliciously but as if you’re endearing to him.

“That can all happen eventually, darlin’. Not tonight,” Joel gives you a heady, yet tender kiss, pulling you by your waist over to his right more. Your knees lay on either side of his thigh, and you stare at him when he pulls back from you.

“How about tonight, you just show me how you make yourself come? I want you to show me what you like. Wanna see your beautiful face when you come. That alright with you, sweet girl?”

“What d’you mean?”

He’s patient with you, a warm palm running along your side as his head tilts.

“You rub your pretty little clit against my thigh. Just like one of your pillows. That okay? Think you’ll feel good doin’, sweetheart.”

“Okay, yeah. I wanna try it.”

Joel’s smile is sweetened as he looks at you, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. He pushes you to stand from his lap for a moment, holding you up on shaky legs while one hand tugs down the waistband of your shorts a few inches. He looks up at you through his long lashes (why do men always have the best lashes?) and presses a kiss to your hip bone.

“Can I take these off for you, darlin’?”

You nod slowly, feeling the words get caught in your throat as tension builds between the two of you.

“Need you to tell me. Always need to hear your words.”

Swallowing hard, your throat clears with a barely there hem and your voice comes out thick with want.

“You can take them off. Please take them off.”

Joel moves with your consent, smoothly pulling your cotton shorts down your legs and dropping them to the ground. He leans forward and grazes his lips along your thighs with a warm exhale, ending his exploration with a suckling kiss.

“Such a sweet, polite girl. How’d anyone resist you?”

His hands grip the backs of your thighs, bringing you into his lap and settling you over his right leg again. You whimper at the feeling of your weight pressing your clit against his thigh, the moment of friction as he adjusts your positions sending a jolt of energy throughout your bloodstream.

“Alright, pretty girl, you just move your hips how you do in your bedroom alone. Right here against my thigh.”

Hands on his shoulders brace yourself as you give your hips one roll against Joel, the wetness of your cunt leaking from your panties and onto his skin. When you pull back, you can see the slightest hint of sheen on him, mouth falling open at the sight of part of you marking him, even temporarily. A slow rhythm builds, Joel’s large hand encasing one of your ass cheeks and the other on your waist to help you find your pace.

“I imagined you over me like this all the time. Y’know what I would say to myself when I was looking at you, sweetheart?” The timbre of his deep drawl vibrates against your eardrum as he leans his head in to press a kiss right under your lobe.

“W-What would you say?” your voice is high-pitched and throaty, eyes screwing shut as you focus on his voice and the feeling of your clit dragging against him.

“I would say things like ‘Quiero saborearte’ and ‘Apuesto a que te sientes tan apretada y mojada’ and ‘Quiero dártelo’. Do you know what any of that means?”

Is he really giving you a Spanish lesson right now?

When you don’t answer, his hands grip you tighter and skid your hips to a halt, a whine pulled from your lips involuntarily as you look at him.

“I asked you if you understood what I said, sweetheart. I wanna know. Then you can keep going.”

He’s being serious, and you huff out a breath in frustration before you respond.

“All I understood is ‘quiero’ which is ‘I want’ and ‘saborear’ is to savor? I think?”

Joel rumbles out a satisfied hum, removing his hands from you completely. At the freedom, you move your hips faster, your arousal forming a wet spot on his shorts and skin. Quiet moans of his name are the only thing that you can speak as you listen to him again.

“‘Quiero saborearte’ is ‘I want to taste you.’”

Oh fuck.

His hands grip you again, moving you in figure eights to grind you harder on his leg.

“‘Apuesto a que te sientes tan apretada y mojada’ means ‘I bet you feel so tight and wet.’”

“Fuck, Joel…”

His dark chuckle cuts through after your breathy adlib, the burning hot coil in your gut twists tighter.

“God, you look so pretty like this. Can’t wait to see what you look like when I have my fingers or tongue on you. I know I’ll get you screaming my name.”

Smug fucker.

“And ‘Quiero dártelo’ translates to ‘I want to put it in.’ Is that what you thought about when you were making a mess on your pillows, sweet girl? Thought about me giving you my cock?”

“Joel, I-I’m gonna—“

“I know, sweetheart, I know. Let go, come on my thigh.”

That’s when the dam breaks and you're swept up into the flood of pleasure that washes over you like a tidal wave. All you can respond to Joel is “yesyesyes” as your eyes roll back into your head with your jaw dropped, his hands continuing to slide your hips back and forth to ride out your orgasm.

“So beautiful, darlin’…”

The feeling dissipates eventually, your chest heaving breaths to slow your heart rate down. Your eyes meet Joel’s again, a Cheshire smile wide across his face as he leans in and kisses you passionately. He pulls away, pressing quick pecks on your lips and around your cheeks, coaxing a laugh from you. You press his back against the couch, grin filled with a shy affection as you stare at him. You move to stand on your knees to climb off of him, your leg brushing his bulge and feeling his cock twitch in his shorts. Eyes snap back to his, a curious expression covering your features.

“Can I do something for you?”

“Another time, sweetheart. S’real late now, probably should get back home to get some sleep.” Joel thumbs your lip as you pout, wrapping around him in a tight hug.

“I don’t wanna leave.”

“I know, darlin’, I wish you could stay with me all night. But wouldn’t be the best look for you to walk home tomorrow morning from my house in your little PJs.”

You sigh deeply, pressing a light kiss to his neck before sitting up again and nodding in understanding.

“You’re right. I should get home,” you stand from the couch and pull on your shorts, slinking over to the front door with him in tow to slip into your flip flops, “See you Monday?”

You look up at him with wide, doleful eyes filled with hope, relief washing over you as he pulls you into him and gives you a breathtaking kiss.

“Can’t wait for it, sweet girl. Have a good Sunday.”

He sends you out the door after one, or a few, last kisses, standing in the doorway to make sure you get in alright.

Feeling your mind in the clouds and floating on adrenaline, you glide up to your room and flop onto your bed. Laying with your thoughts recounting the last hour of your life, you’re only pulled out when your phone buzzes with a message.

Joel:

Think you can sit up on your bed, sweetheart?

The message confuses you for a second until it clicks and you sit up quickly, turning on your mattress to face your window.

Joel’s lights are on for once in his room, his silhouette standing in the window. One hand supports him against the glass, shirt off and shorts pulled a few inches down his thighs. His arm flexes as he jerks his cock, breath fogging up the spot he’s closest to.

A wave of arousal rushes to your core, watching him on full display unlike every other time you’ve been the one to put the show on for him. It only takes a moment looking at you sitting on your bed, even in your pajamas, before his head is rolling back, jaw dropped and hand against the window clenching into a fist as he paints his hand with his come.

You fall back onto your bed when he walks out of sight, assuming he’s cleaning up. One more buzz sounds before you turn your light out, a second message from Joel:

Need you to stay late on Monday.

taglist: @beskarandblasters @undrthelights @swiftispunk @joelsversion @clingontolife @elizabeth01585 @wandaandellie @asirenbyanyothername @ellenmunn @ja-ehyun @livinxdeadxgrl @sw33tp1xie @starsandsaints07 @marisemonteiroo @brunetteeras @whydontyoysaynodoja @beee-haw @shmaptainshmerica07 @jenna-mcgraw19 @whore-4-pedro @spursgirl14-blog @katifefe @joelmillerswifu @itsgiorgiaz @soph55 @grapejuicesny @wild-hearts-runfree @youcancallmeelle @lisa-ru @jupitren @ziggy-star @miaispunk @oneofutoo @starkovli @thatgeminigirlx @marchai @bunnyskisses @houseofballoonsth @casual-obsessions @pedro-pascal-lvr @bimbodolls-world @burningnerdchild @tuquoquebrute @mrsvedder12 @estelivi28 @helllsent @bongsrconfusing @addictedtotlou @brittmb115 @angie2274 @owod3 @pedrostories @pedroholicx @theelishad @johnwatsn @sunakochansama43 @elissaaa @felicityofbakerstreet @atinylittlepain

[flwerr-ss]

Wife

Ayato Kamisato

cw! unhealthy mindset, delusional mindset, implied abuse, escapism, implication of imprisonment, implied non//con

- as if wedding rings were chains, you were stuck with the same man that would imprison you, and there was no escape

you do truly wonder if he did love you, it was hard not to wonder and ponder onto that question. as the days had gone you were left with nothing but questions and shiny chains—one that shined on your left ring finger — while the others that dulled, left blemishes of purple around your wrist and feet

it was hard to understand why? why did this love that you consumed, become such a twisted matter, as if you had eaten the same apple that eve had did. the way he loved you now reminding you of the snake that whispered temptations of false promises —the devil— if you will.

and that how he was for you. the devil that had trapped you in a hell filled with pillows and soft silks of blankets. a filled with nothing but a never ending loneliness that could consume you whole

you did love ayato, or more like you loved the version that would whisper nothing but this false promises of love to you..because this was never love. it was a sick obsession. a sweetness that was so sweet it tasted like tart. a flavor that would never leave your tongue.

but still you do enjoy those fantasies of love, because maybe that’s the only time you didn’t feel like you were trapped in this never ending void, that slowly chips aways at the very last sanity that you clench around.

or maybe it’s because you have nothing else to believe? the many escapes you’ve tried end in the same result. more marks of his claim on your body. the pain that would accompany you feeling the most sickening —because those scar— forever living his imprint.

because to him bones creak like sticks in his hands, his hands that once were warm like a warm sunny day, now cold as the metal that bonds you to him.

The hands you interlocked you fingers with , enjoying the roughness of the callous that had formed his swordsmanship now being salt to the wound as they rub against the raw skin– a crimson color – that beautiful color that accompany you most days.

The warm liquid being the only thing that reminded you that this was your reality. The reality of chains, lace and thread. The lace that would accompany his smile. As you would look up at the man you – once loved - his rough hands creasing your skin so softly..

So when the day ends and the dark room that allows no light expect a window that you no longer try to escape from, and a light forms from the creak of the door. you can’t help but look up. the last bit of light that lingers inside, the last bit of sanity that lays in you comes up. as you gaze upon him.

his lilac eyes being the same shade of purple that adorns the fabric of your kimono that he had made just for you. his eyes that gaze down on the bed, where your forever bond. the chains connecting to the bed post, forever keeping you fixated upon the silk sheets.

you could only stare at his face, imagining only the past. the only thing you could hold onto.

“i’ve missed you…”

his voice sounding sickening, an overbearing sweetness laying over his tongue as he spoke those words. it

was to much, like a sweet tart that once you’ve had a few bites it becomes a bitterly taste

his footsteps sound heavy, with each step leaving a heavy creak. the door slowly shuts leaving only the moonlight to dim the room.

he approached slowly, keeping his elegant posture, even though you both know that this situation was never elegant, it was a nasty secret that would forever be hidden from the worlds view—the way he wants it

and the closer he gets towards the bed the more that feeling of dread appears. as if a never ending cycle. with each step another pin drop of dread builds until it will over build and your left with those same lilac irises that sparkles like jewels in the dim moonlight

the darkness only adding to the eeriness mood that it set as he came closer and closer

and when his rough hands come and crease your skin, cupping your cheek so affectionately that it makes you sick. his hands make you feel sick, everything about him makes you sick, yet your stuck. bond to this bed with him forever.

when he leans down to softly plant kiss across your skin, touching you as if your a porcelain doll that would break. you can’t help but notice that his lips feel cold.

his cold lips dragging along your neck towards your collar bone where he rests before looking up at you.

“..haven’t you missed me too?” he speaks, his voice sending shivers down your spine. he trance his fingertips across the fabric of your kimono, tracing upwards from your back, finding the seam lines where the fabric was sewn together to fit your body perfectly.

you swallow down a gulp of air in an attempt to drain down the screams you would let out, but you knew that would result in nothing but more despair

“..yes” you spoke, feeling as if your voice was foreign as it left you lips. maybe it was because you never did get to speak only to him nowadays. he wanted nothing more then to own your very existence, down to your voice, the only time you would use it for him and him only.

“you could never know how much i’ve missed my lovely wife..” he spoke, the word wife making you want to throw up.

you hated when he called you that.

his hand when down towards your left hand. he swiftly interlocked his fingers with yours, his graze looking intensely at the skinny ring.

you only stared at him, looking at his face. you could look as his face contented with a smile, such a loving smile. a while you wanted to tear that ring off. to rip the very paper that would tie you down to this place to him

he brought your hand towards his mouth, leaning forward and placing a kiss upon your right finger, so lovingly.

“i love you so much..” he said softly the words that rolled off his tongue so easily, that it was so hard to believe that he truly did love you, because if you love someone wouldn’t you want them to be happy, you wouldn’t be the very cause of the pain they would go through

using his free hand, he brought it towards your chin. he slightly lifted your chin up, his thumb finger resting against your bottom lip, and you had no choice but to face him

his hot breath sliding across the surface of your face, sending a shiver down your spine. his graze being so overwhelming. that lilac purple staring into yours. you breath hitched, as he brought his face closer towards yours in such a tantalizing slow pace

his lips ghosted across your lips before being them together. the soft press of lips, even his elegance continuing on. he let go of your chin in favor to the back of neck where he slowly tangled his fingers within your hair, no pulling just resting.

and even though this kiss he never once dropped his eyelid’s down, in favor of those light purple irises to stare at your facial expressions, only cardinal desires filled them.

you simply just closed your eyes, it was better then facing that monster who was the one to stare at you like a hungry beast ready for his next meal.

he pulled back slowly, and yet you keep your eyes closed, not wanting to face him.

his grip on your hair tightened, he was signaling for you to open your eyes, and that exactly what you did, what else could you do?

you opened your eyes to face him, to stare at his porcelain face, that was something more akin to a monster. and with the grip on your hair. you couldn’t but wince in pain, it was such a familiar sensation

his facial expressions seemed to disappear, like no emotion expected this sick obsession lived in those eyes of his when he stared at you

you could feel his hands dip lower, running down the curve of your back. your back arching into a smooth curve to get away from his unwanted touch

yet when his nails dug into the fabric of the kimono, threatening to rip the silk fabric and tear at your skin into it allowing that deep crimson color to leak through

you body when slack, trying to resist his every touch that made your skin crawl. the discomfort feeling like needles digging into your skin

he leaned towards the crook of your neck. his hot breath hitting your bare skin that showed though the kimmo. you breath hitched. you could feel the sharp graze of his teeth. begging to tear though your skin like meat. as if he was an animal and was wanting to destroy your body until it was a carcass of a skeleton, not one trace of your being left only his teeth

his teeth sink deep into your skin, you could hear the slightest crunch of skin as he pushed more pressure with his jaw. you body jolted you let out a sound of pain, your body naturally wanting to push him away, to push away the very thing that was causing that pain yet you couldn’t.

not when his grip would only tighten letting it be known that he was stronger then you, and even when you did try to move you u could hear the slight jingle of the chains that keep you there — brushing against each other

and if he could read your every thought, he hand slide down to your left arm where the shiny chain hanged. his fingers slide of the chain as if he was enjoying knowing this metal was here. he unlocked his jaw from your shoulder to allow the iron tasting liquid to prickle from the engraves of his teeth on your skin .

his tongue slipped past his lips, he leaned down before flattening his tongue over your skin and taste the ironed filled bodily fluid. you swear you could’ve heard a soft groan leave his lips.

“..you always taste so good, you truly were made for me” ayato said that with that sickening smile, that sickening tone expression that only one could assume was lust

you keep your lips shut as his hand now moved across your thigh, slipping up your kimono farther up legs, giving him access to you

his hands felt so cold as the glided over your skin, as goosebumps formed on your thighs. you could only for it to be over with before it even began

before you could even speak, let one word out, he had pinned you to the bed. your back hitting the soft mattress. the chains let out a jingle.

his lips instantly were on top of yours, devouring your lips, pushing his tongue into your mouth as if he was a hungry beast who hasn’t eaten.

his hand before to work up more and more

and all your could do was take it

after all it was a wifely duty, because you were ayato wife even if you didn’t want to be

- this is a repost because i accidentally deleted the last one :(

[trashcanlore]

Kabbalah in the Worldbuilding of Genshin Impact; Part 3: Very Impure, Very Sinful

Written by Sabre (@paimoff on twitter) and Schwan (@abyssalschwan on twitter)

The Origin of Evil

In earlier parts of this theory, we've discussed how the elements of Teyvat and their ideals are similar to the sefirot of Kabbalah, as well as the implications of the similarities between Descenders and the Kabbalistic Primordial Man. In this section, we'll be discussing how the metaphors used to describe evil in Kabbalah are made literal in Genshin, specifically in the form of the Gnoses and the Heavenly Principles. We’ll also be connecting the Traveler’s role as RPG ProtagonistTM to the Kabbalistic concept of Tikkun Olam (repairing the world) and how that relates to their role in the good-evil duality. 

When it comes to the concept of evil in kabbalah, there are generally two perspectives considered: 1) evil is the result of an imbalance in the dichotomy of divine mercy vs divine judgment, and/or 2) the existence of evil is an inherent part of creation that can be affected by the actions of humans.

The Zohar, a foundational text of Jewish Kabbalah and massively influential on Western esotericism, details several explanations for the origin of evil. This theory does not contain a comprehensive analysis of the philosophy of evil in Kabbalah, but we’ve tried to at least mention or summarize the core concepts that can be tied directly into discussion of Genshin’s worldbuilding. 

The primary explanation in the Zohar is that evil originates in the sefira of divine judgment if it is not counterbalanced by divine mercy. This creates a parallel but mirrored/inverted system of the sefirot, called the Sitra Achra, which we will refer to with the literal translation “Other Side”. This dimension is associated with death and anger, and a few other unique traits we’ll explore later on. It’s important to note that according to this perspective, the existence of evil is actually a necessary part of the divine plan for the world - some of the commandments in the Torah (Jewish law), or even regular human activities like sleeping, are described as actions that ‘appease’ the “Other Side” and keep the balance between good and evil forces in the world. The Zohar even goes as far as to suggest that the “Other Side” can function as a ‘test’ for the righteous: In order for someone to be fully righteous, they must descend completely into the realm of the “Other Side” and resist all their temptations and then emerge pure. Those who fail are doomed to become breeding grounds for demons. Interesting.

The Husks in a Nutshell

The Zohar also introduces the concept of the klippot, literally husks, shells, or peels . The name Qlipoth, which players of Honkai Star Rail might be more familiar with, is just another spelling of the same term.

The Zohar’s conception of the sefirot is like a nesting doll: the sefirot are one inside the other, like concentric circles, and the klippot are the shells each sefira makes around the one inside it, as illustrated in the drawings below, where each ring or square represents one of the sefirot.

This ties in to another one of the Zohar’s explanations for the origin of evil: evil has always been mixed in with the sefira of Keter, the first to be emanated, and in order for reality to be formed, the evil had to be purified out. This was done by repeatedly creating worlds and destroying them, until the creative divine energy was purified. Think of it like when you’re washing something you’ve dyed, and it takes multiple washes for the dye to stop bleeding.

This process leaves behind “shards” of evil, which become the foundations of the dimension of evil, the “Other Side”. The Zohar names some of the klippot as direct counterparts to the sefirot, giving them equivalent roles in their respective dimensions, but there is no consistent or complete description of all the names or comparisons. 

Similar to the process of creation and destruction described above, Rabbi Isaac Luria (very influential Kabbalist in the 16th century) described a process where there are multiple iterations of the creation of the world, resulting from the dilution of divine energy as it is emanated into the void where reality is created. (For a more detailed explanation of this, check out Part 2.) Luria compares the sefirot to vessels filled with divine light, and the farther these vessels get from the source of the light, the weaker they get. Eventually the vessels shatter and form the klippot, which here are technically fragments of the divine and not inherently evil. However, unlike the sefirot that can balance each other, these fragments are isolated and intense attributes of the divine that eventually become evil and demonic. 

In the context of Genshin, the klippot take the form of the Gnoses, reflecting their role as both remains of evil and fragments of the divine isolated from the source. 

Demons and Dead Descenders

Back in Part 1 of this theory, we briefly discussed the implications of both the inverted Irminsul and the Demon Gods, or Archons, in the context of Kabbalah. We hypothesized that Teyvat is in the dimension of evil, aka the “Other Side,” and the Archons have demon names to indicate their alignment with each of the evil equivalents of the sefirot: the klippot. There is no standardized list of demons associated with the “Other Side,” so we think that they are using the Goetic demon names instead, like some historical sources have done in their incomplete lists. 

We also suggested that the Gnoses themselves could represent the klippot of each element, the “shell” around the sefirot. This was based on the information we knew about the Gnoses at the time which was basically that: 

a. It is an “internal magical focus that resonates directly with Celestia itself,” and represents the archon’s status as one of The Seven (Archon Quest, Prologue, Act III, Ending Note). This may be related to Zhongli’s concern that giving up his Gnosis will mean that he cannot defend Liyue anymore (Zhongli Character Stories: Gnosis)

b. It can gather elemental energy for the Archon, presumably acting as some kind of amplifier, given that the Archons have elemental abilities without a Gnosis (Nahida Character Story: Gnosis). This is presumably how the Akasha (and the Oratrice) was able to be powered by the Gnosis, and how Nahida was able to use the power of two Gnoses to access Irminsul and delete Rukkhadevata, something she could not do with her own power (dendro+electro amplifying reaction indeed). 

The Fontaine Archon Quest and subsequent Neuvillette character stories introduced two new crucial pieces of information that cemented the role of the Gnoses in this theory: 

a. The Gnoses are the remains of the Third Descender, and since they are remains, they are cursed. Skirk even says that the Gnosis “smells” “very similar to a god's ‘curse’.”

Skirk: Regardless, you should probably get rid of objects of "misfortune," to prevent any disasters from befalling you.

 Skirk: To live is in itself a blessing. But once a person dies, the bonds he once had with this world shall all turn to curses.

b. The Primordial One was wounded in the “great war of vengeance” (probably when the Second Who Came arrived) and couldn’t “suppress the original order” of the world anymore. They and the “one who came after” created the Gnoses from the Third Descender and used them to “subdue and control the resentment and loathing of the world.” This seems to have created a new order to the world, where the remaining primordial “fragments” were destroyed, and humans gained the “seven remembrances.” (Neuvillette Character Story: Vision). This is implied to be related to the Archon War and to humans receiving Visions, which is described as a “shattered shard” of an Archon’s authority. 

With this updated information, we have more evidence for our claims that Teyvat is in the realm of the “Other Side,” and that the Gnoses are the klippot. Here we compare key traits of the Gnoses and the Kabbalistic metaphors used for evil:

While the Gnoses and the “inverted” world of Teyvat are certainly the most overt references to the klippot and the “Other Side” in Genshin lore, derivations of these concepts are sprinkled throughout the worldbuilding in the form of repeated references to ‘shards’ and ‘husks’ of power and will. In the next section, we’ll go through two primary categories where the klippot of Genshin can be found: Death and the anger it leaves behind, and judgment, which includes the concept of sin in Teyvat, and speculation about how the Heavenly Principles turned Teyvat into the “Other Side.”

Rest in Pieces: Death and Anger

As you may have noticed, dying in Teyvat is not exactly straightforward. Death is meant to be a sort of recycling/reincarnation process via the leylines, but it seems like there are infinite exceptions to this rule. Hilichurls are cursed to never be able to enter the leylines, and thus are never able to truly die. When gods die, they can stick around indefinitely as corrosive and resentful energy (like Yaksha’s Karma and Inazuman Tataragami), or their remains can be used to permanently change the environment, like Rukkhadevata creating the Harvisptokhm out of Egeria’s remains to seal Tunigi Hollow. God-like individuals have also ‘died’ after being split in pieces, and those pieces contain some aspect of their will or consciousness, like Liloupar or Hermanubis and his Ba fragments. The Ba fragments are even associated with specific traits like the sefirot are: Sethos specifically mentions might and glory, which could correspond to the sefirot of Gevurah and Hod respectively. Both these and the resentful energy of things like the Tataragami can influence the actions of humans who come in contact with these fragments and remains. 

The will of more ordinary people can also remain after death: the Shadowy Husk enemy descriptions call them “nothing but a husk,” and that “the long years and a curse seems to have robbed them of their reason and memory. Now, all that remains within that armor is the will to "fight for something, someone, and some matter."” 

All shall decay in the end, and this is all that is left of the Black Serpent Knights amidst the merciless march of their sins, curses, and time itself.

We also have instances where a powerful being’s sacrifice provides the power for an ‘impossible’ event to occur: the Goddess of Flowers using her body as a conduit to give Deshret access to forbidden knowledge, or Sybilla sacrificing her life to create Phobos. Sybilla, who was likely also a Seelie, is described as being from the land of the dead - more on Seelies later. And most relevantly, we have the death of the Third Descender being used to create the Gnoses. 

Logically, this death-associated release of power makes sense In a world that is also the “Other Side.” But it also seems to be a double-edged sword: just like how the order of the world itself is held together with the Gnoses sourced from death, the death of other powerful beings can destabilize it. 

And speaking of the Gnoses - how is it that ‘death’ energy can be used to channel elemental energy, which should belong to the sefirot? As we mentioned earlier, that’s because the klippot and the sefirot are derived from the same divine source material - at their core, the realm of the divine and the realm of the demonic are the same. The distinction between these powers in Genshin is their source: are these the true elemental powers original to this world, or is this the power stolen by the Heavenly Principles? 

Teyvat has its own “laws”: Judgment, Sin, and Curses

Earlier we mentioned that the Zohar’s primary explanation for the origin of evil is an excess of divine judgment. In Kabbalistic thought, divine judgment refers to the setting of limits during creation - without it there would be no distinction between anything and the world would just be an everything soup. For more on this idea and its usage in the Fontaine AQ, check here. When it comes to the human expression of this idea, “limits” would be equivalent to the concept of laws, both natural (like physics) and legal (like the concept of social contract).

The Heavenly Principles are thought to be the highest power of “law” in Teyvat, described in the Scroll of Streaming Song as “the universal law created in heaven, the divine laws established in the beginning.” 

Nahida also tells use that the Gnoses represent the laws of the Heavenly Principles: 

Nahida: I'm sure you remember the entity that changed your fate — the Heavenly Principles. Nahida: In fact, the Heavenly Principles has been quiet since the Khaenri'ah disaster five hundred years ago. I used this point as leverage against The Doctor. Nahida: I told him that the Heavenly Principles may be awakened if I destroyed a Gnosis. Although it was just a bluff, he still fell for it. Nahida: I assumed that the Heavenly Principles wouldn't just stand by and let such extensive damage to its "laws" take place.

What do these laws entail, exactly? Rukkhadevata in Scroll of Streaming Song explains:

"One may only bow down and worship Vaana of the heavenly spirits — no arrogation, deception, or trickery is permitted." "If one dares to imitate the forbidden arts, only calamity awaits at the edge of divine knowledge.”

As expected, these “divine laws" include definitions of sins, and conveniently for us, these sins tend to be punished with curses, yet another misfortune associated with the klippot.

There are three* curses specifically associated with the Heavenly Principles: 

The “curse of the wilderness” which turned non-pure-blood Khaenriahns into hillichurls (but may be older than the Cataclysm considering hillichurls have been around since before that time and there are other references to humans turning into various monsters that aren’t associated with the Cataclysm)

The curse of immortality put on pure-blood Khaenriahns during the Cataclysm

The Seelie curse, which has multiple variations: a. Arama says the Seelies were cursed to become “empty husks” if they fell in love with a human. The curse would make them lose their intelligence and their bodies would shrink, becoming the little treasure Seelies found in exploration  b. Wolfy in the Imaginarium Theater talks about the Boar Tribe who were forced to place parts of themselves on a scale, and then lose those parts of themselves, as a punishment. The description of what happened to these boars sounds a lot like the Seelie curse. Wolfy: Those boars who placed their heads on the scales became wolves, lizards, and snakes, leaving only their strength. Those who offered their muscles became rabbits, leaping three paces to a bound, instinctively guiding people to treasure.

*Paimon voice* “Maybe it should be called the rule of four!”: While we don’t know yet if this is associated with the Heavenly Principles, Skirk references a god’s curse, which in context seems to be related to the Gnoses and the fact that Gnoses are the remains of a dead Descender.

In summary, the Heavenly Principles, their “divine laws” and corresponding curses and punishments are the Teyvat equivalent of the excessive divine judgment that leads to the formation of the “Other Side”. According to the Zohar, the “Other Side" and the klippot sustain themselves through stealing divine energy and feeding off human sin. We’ve already discussed how the Gnoses are the means for stealing divine energy, so how does human sin play a role in this equation?

The Sinners Are All That's Left

After the war with the Second Who Came, and the Seelies were cursed, the Heavenly Principles established the order of Teyvat using the power from the death of the Third Descender: the Gnoses. They then had the gods of each nation fight to the death for the chance to win this power and become representative of their “law”, creating resentment in many places across Teyvat. Given what we know about the klippot, we must consider the Archon War as the Heavenly Principles creating strife and death to power themselves enough to maintain the order of Teyvat. 

A similar system is presented in one of the in-game novels, Princess Mina of the Fallen Nation, which tells the story of a princess prophesied to bring destruction. Her nation is plagued with wars due to “Nakura’s Hex,” which drains the life force from people and the environment to strengthen the soldiers, who then in turn, continue fighting to be the most powerful, which leads to them draining more life. In the fifth volume, Mina and her slayful samurai bestie arrive at the Sky Tower, where they meet some priests and learn the truth of their world: Nakura’s Hex was originally created to preserve the “slowly declining” world. Mina learns that she must sacrifice herself, destroy the current world, and use the stored up power from Nakura’s Hex to create a new one. It’s left ambiguous if she succeeds. 

If the Heavenly Principles are able to gain power from wars and death, then they should also be able to gain power from sin as well. And lucky for this theory, we just finished the Fontaine region, where this very concept was explored in the Archon Quest. In order to collect enough power to destroy her Archon throne and return the Hydro authority to Neuvillette, Focalors created the Oratrice. The Oratrice pronounced verdicts during court cases and converted the people’s belief in justice into Indemnitium, which was then used to power Fontaine. In reality though, most of this power was stored up to eventually kill Focalors. In other words, the crimes and well, sins, people committed against each other generated tangible power that could be used by a god. 

In this context, the fact that the title “Sinner” is associated with the cataclysm and Khaenri’ah, and the recent reveal that the Five Sinners split a “world-shattering” Abyssal power between each other become more significant. 

Considering all that we’ve discussed regarding the use of death as a power source in Teyvat and its connection to the Heavenly Principles in their capacity as the Other Side, we are left wondering if the Sinners attempted their own Third Descender moment. In the context of what we’ve theorized about the Primordial Human Project previously, Rhinedottir’s role as a Sinner feels particularly relevant here. Whatever it was exactly that the Sinners were trying to do, their power definitely was “world-shattering,” since 500 years later Teyvat is still recovering from their and the Heavenly Principles’ actions during the Cataclysm.

And speaking of the present day problems of Teyvat, we are now ready to talk about the role the Traveler plays in the interplay between the Heavenly Principles and the original order of Teyvat. 

The Repairing of a World More Broken Than Elon’s Twitter

Ever since the Traveler woke up in Teyvat they have been helping everyone around, whether it’s finding lost pets, defeating evil dragons, finding cures for the sick, cleaning buildings or leyline disorders, maybe defeating another dragon… whether big or small there’s no feat that’s beneath our protagonist. That’s what the heroes do right? Well yes. But it also has a deeper, Kabbalistic significance.

Lurianic Kabbalah builds on the Zohar’s idea that human actions can either strengthen or appease the klippot by proposing there are also specific actions humans can do to have a positive influence on the world. There are two states the world can exist in: Tohu (chaos), where the sefirot are unbalanced, and Tikkun (repair), where the sefirot are harmonized together. Luria taught that humans could contribute to the “Repairing of the World” (Tikkun Olam) by strictly adhering to the religious laws of the Torah. With time, the idea that humans can contribute to the improvement of God’s world by performing acts of kindness and altruism has become mainstream in Judaism, and in the modern day, Tikkun Olam has come to refer to the value of social justice. By performing these “repairing” actions, the Divine Energy that’s “trapped” inside the klippot is released and returns to its rightful place, contributing to the balance and harmony of the world.

Similar concepts are referenced directly in Genshin: In Chinese, the Heavenly Principles are Tiānlǐ: “Heavenly Order.” Li refers to a concept in Confucianism that literally translates to ‘rite,’ and refers to specific ritual actions that connect human action to the harmony of the greater order of the universe. Li is not necessarily religious rites as it also includes “basic” human interactions with each other and nature.

Another similar idea is the alchemical As Above, So Below, which is generally interpreted to refer to either the movement of the celestial bodies affecting events on Earth, or the correspondences between the macrocosm and the microcosm (the human being). You may recognize this second idea from Part 2 of this theory. 

In other words, this means that the actions that humans take in the material world can have a direct impact on the spiritual world (in Judaism) or on the larger movements or changes of the rest of the universe (Li and alchemy). These concepts are all relevant in our discussion of the role of the Traveler, but here we will also be using it to illustrate how the Heavenly Principles have control over Teyvat. 

The concept of As Above, So Below has been mentioned in the context of the Heavenly Principles in Scroll of Streaming Song:

"O wise Princess, if your wisdom is truly as the legends of the people say," "Please answer my second riddle as you did the first." "What rises from the earth, then descends from the sky," "No one has seen it, yet it sees all," "As above, so below, and as at the bottom, so too, the top," "Yet only top to bottom may be, and never bottom to top?" That princess of (...) answered thusly: "You speak of the universal law created in heaven, the divine laws established in the beginning." "No one has seen the eternal law, yet it governs all.”

The Goddess of Flowers is implying here that technically this principle should apply to the Heavenly Principles and their laws, but in the order of Teyvat, only the law can govern the “below,” the world, and the world can not reciprocate their influence on the “above.” This would mean that human action on Teyvat actually does not have an effect on the “sky,” which is the spiritual realm. In the Flower of Paradise Lost artifact lore, she says that the "master of the heavens, consumed by fear for the rising tide of delusion and breakthroughs, sent down the divine nails to mend the land, laying waste to the mortal realm..." This suggests that the sealing off of the connection between Teyvat and the heavens is the result of the Heavenly Principles’ fear of the power of the “invaders” and the effect they and other humans could have on them from the human ‘realm’ of Teyvat. 

More simply, this means that the Heavenly Principles are actively preventing the humans of Teyvat from performing the “Repairing of the World”. 

The (semi)literal translation of Zhongli’s burst voiceline also references this, but in connection with Li and Confucianism, rather than alchemy: “Heaven moves; all follows.” In this scenario, he, as the Archon, has the authority to act as the executor for the Heavenly Principles’ law (Tian Li), and invokes “heaven” to set a limit/boundary. You can even see this illustrated with how his burst stops the enemies from moving, as he restores ‘order’. (Credit to Cristal Marie for this insight)

The one exception to the restriction set by the Heavenly Principles seems to be the Traveler, whose helpful acts are excellent displays of “Repairing the World”: Indeed, while Traveler was initially just showing their good nature, many of their actions have contributed to restoring a balance to a Teyvat that seems to be in a state of “Tohu” (chaos).

Examples are varied and extensive, but we can categorize Traveler’s actions as follows:

Returning things to their rightful place: repairing the Statues of the Seven by returning the Oculi, helping the Seelie return to their courts.

Repairing and balancing Leylines: cleansing Leyline disorders at places like Chenyu Vale, the different islands of Inazuma, cleansing leftover Forbidden Knowledge at Sumeru.

Aiding people and living beings: from the Aranara and Melusines to Scaramouche and Dvalin,  ill or struggling NPCs,  lingering ghosts, etc

Defeating and suppressing evil forces: Osial, Beisht, an eroded Azhdaha, the Thunder Manifestation, the Tatarigami at Yashiori, different agents of the Abyss Order, the All-Devouring Narwhal.

Performing appropriate rituals: the Funerary Rites for the “passing” of Morax, the Rainjade Rite at Chenyu Vale, the Festival Utsava, the Watatsumi Goryou Matsuri, the Sakura Cleansing Ritual, etc.

All this repairing, cleansing, returning things to correct places and balancing elemental energy fits with the Lurianic description of how “Repairing the World” is achieved.

In the first part of this theory we compared the Kabbalistic sefirot with the seven elements of Teyvat, as different “colors” derived from elemental energy. We also mentioned how the famous array of the Sefirot in the “Tree of Life” is an idealized state: the truth is that they won’t be arranged in such a balanced way until the coming of the Messianic Age, and that will only be achieved once the repairing of the world is complete. In this context then, the Traveler’s actions should be accelerating the arrival of this ideal state. 

But… isn’t Teyvat the world of the “Other Side”? Who exactly is the Traveler aiding with their actions? Aren’t they strengthening the klippot by maintaining the order set by the Heavenly Principles, who have been accused of being “usurpers” chaining the world to an unnatural order? Or is the Traveler actually reversing this and returning the world to its natural state?

There are a few instances when we are led to doubt that the Traveler is doing the ‘correct’ thing as they purify/restore places in Teyvat. During the Chenyu Vale world questline, Lingyuan says that the adeptal energy the Traveler gets from Fujin has the power to “suppress nature” and that their efforts to perform the Rainjade Rite go against nature as it is intended to be. She also makes a cryptic comment about how humans used to be part of nature, but are no longer. This may simply refer to how humans affect the world around them, or perhaps it’s meant also as commentary on the Traveler’s actions and the way they are generally considered to be positive and restorative. 

In this case, if the Traveler is doing wrong, could it be that the “true Messiah” is out there, being labeled as a “sinner” for trying to release Divine Energy from the evil grasp of the klippot?

After all, we know someone who fits that description: the Traveler’s own sibling.

Purification through Sin: how the Abyss Order are the good guys akshually

There was actually a movement in Jewish mysticism that believed that doing exactly the opposite of what Luria advised (following the laws of the Torah) is what would achieve the complete repairing of the world. This movement  started in the 17th century, in the Ottoman Empire, when a man named Sabbatai Zvi claimed to be the long awaited Messiah. It wasn’t the first time this happened, indeed Christianity arose from one of those very claims. 

The Sabbatean movement, like many before them, drew criticism from more conservative Rabbis particularly due to the seemingly unstable behavior of their leader: sometimes boldly going against Jewish law, other times falling into periods of melancholy that were “unbecoming” of the Messiah. The breaking point for the detractors of Sabbatai Zvi was his public conversion to Islam after being threatened with torture and execution by the Ottoman authorities, effectively becoming an apostate to the Jewish faith. Despite this, Sabbatai Zvi had a big following, and his conversion didn’t deter them.

What’s relevant about this Messianic claimant movement is that much of the fuel for its credibility was based on Kabbalistic thought. Nathan of Gaza, an accomplished student of Jewish theology, was the first believer that Sabbatai was the real Messiah, and from then on used his deep knowledge of Lurianic Kabbalah to argue why Zvi’s questionable actions were what had to be expected from the Messiah, including the most serious sins. Much of the reasoning for this is explained in a text that is still polemical today: the Treatise on Dragons.

Nathan argued that even though the entirety of the created universe was emanated from Divine Light, that doesn’t mean all of this divine essence was used up: there was a good amount of Divine Light that wasn’t involved in creation, and in a way “didn’t desire” to become created matter.  When the endless Divine Light “retracted” to make space for the future world, the leftover “Void realm” had remnants of Divine Light that didn’t want to be part of creation, and were even hostile to it. Afterwards, Divine Light entered the Void in a “vertical line”, penetrating it and kicking off creation, including the subsequent shattering of the vessels mentioned earlier. Eventually, the shattered fragments of the vessels and the hostile remnants of Divine Light  formed the realm of the “Other Side.” So now, the upper levels of the Void is where the created world is located, and it’s also the realm where humans can aid the “Repairing of the World”. However the lower levels, where the klippot are located, are so evil that only the Messiah themselves can “repair” them. That’s why the soul of the Messiah was cast into the “Other Side” even before creation, when Divine Light penetrated into the Void Realm. This soul would be particularly connected with the klippot, incarnating many times across history as different people that would endure terrible temptations and suffering, all with the objective of purifying the klippot at the bottom of the “hole of the great Abyss”, from the inside.

 While this interpretation of Lurianic Kabbalah was devised to explain the behavior and life of one particular individual (Sabbatai Zvi), for our Genshin Impact theory it serves as an explanation for the actions of the Traveler’s Sibling. After all, we have never seen them hold contempt or hatred against Teyvat like the exiled dragon sovereigns seem to have. Rather, the Sibling and the Abyss Order focus on toppling the Heavenly Principles. The Sibling even seems to have tried to reverse the initial effects of the Cataclysm, attempting to save Khaenri’ah and parts of Teyvat along with Dainsleif, until whatever they saw at the “sea of flowers at the end” made them change their mind. Abyss Sibling is also constantly somber and serious, even when chatting amicably with the Traveler during Bedtime Story, which fits Nathan’s explanation on how different people containing the soul of the Messiah have tended to have a melancholy disposition, constantly battling the temptation to sin and struggling with the uglier side of life.

All this, plus the constant description of the Abyss Order and other Khaenri’ans as “sinners” leads us to think that the actions of its current leader, the Princess/Prince of the Abyss, are in line with the Sabbatean notion of “purifying the klippot through sin”.

Why Am I A Broken Messiah and other old Death Note anime lyrics

One final comparison to draw in this “redemption through sin” is actually from different Abrahamic religions other than Judaism. Gerschom Scholem in his book about Sabbateanism also points out the similarities of this movement to at least one, or perhaps more, early Gnostic Christian sects.

It’s difficult to discern what was genuine belief and what were accusations of heresy by mainstream Christian theologians, but there are at least two Gnostic groups that seemed to identify themselves with Biblical characters typically associated with sin. 

The Cainites allegedly claimed that since the God of the Old Testament was nothing but an evil imposter, salvation would come by opposing his laws and engaging in sin. In their narrative, Cain was but a victim that triumphed over the evil Demiurge and his minion: Abel, while Judas was either the most illuminated disciple of Jesus, who aided him in opening a path for humanity’s salvation, or a hero who opposed the evil Jesus’s attempt to further hide the truth of the world. The second group were the Ophites, who identified themselves with the snake that invited Adam and Eve to go against God’s prohibitions in the Garden of Eden, because doing so would actually reveal the truth about the Imposter God and the True God to them and their descendants.

Whether what we know of these groups is reliable or false, we also know that there was a more generalized Gnostic belief that humans were “sinful bodies” made of “lesser matter” that nonetheless contained “sparks of divine essence” within them: it was through the discarding of the “lesser body” and the “ascending of the divine sparks” towards the Pleroma that humanity could gain salvation. This is very reminiscent of the Kabbalistic notion of “releasing the sparks of Divine Light” from the “husks” of the klippot.

Gnosticism is one of the chief inspirations for the world building of Genshin Impact. If the notion of the Other Side accurately describes the condition of Teyvat, and the characteristics of the klippot are comparable to the order imposed by the Heavenly Principles, then it’s very likely that “repairing” the world will be done in a Gnostic way, whether it’s escaping Teyvat or entirely destroying it.

Also, the Twins having opposite stances when it comes to the “salvation of the world” could be compared to the Christian and Islamic belief that the arrival of the end times will be heralded by a fake “Anti Messiah”, right before the appearance of the actual Messiah of salvation. It could be then, considering the role of the “Sinful Messiah” described before, that the Princess/Prince of the Abyss is behaving like the Antichrist precisely because this is a necessary role to be performed so the Traveler can bring salvation to the world.

At this time, we still don't know which of the twins are the one whose actions are actually leading to the “salvation” of Teyvat. Is the Traveler unwittingly helping the klippot exert tyrannical control over an exiled, scattered Divine Light? Or are they returning the world to a state older than the Heavenly Principles? Is the Abyss Order actually trying to liberate Teyvat from the oppression of the “Other Side,” or are they just looking for power and vengeance? And what role does the exiled Dragon race play in this dichotomy of divine and demonic? 

Perhaps Natlan can bring us those long-awaited answers…

References:

The Origins of the Klippot / Qliphoth & Sitra Achra in the Zohar - Kabbalah on the Problem of Evil

Introduction to Kabbalah and Jewish Mysticism - Part 10/14 - Christian and Lurianic Kabbalah

Major Trends in Jewish Mysticism (Scholem). Sixth Lecture: The Zohar II: The Theosophic Doctrine of the Zohar

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Li_(Confucianism)

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/As_above,_so_below

Major Trends in Jewish Mysticism (Scholem). Seventh Lecture: Isaac Luria and his School

Introduction to Kabbalah and Jewish Mysticism - Part 10/14 - Christian and Lurianic Kabbalah https://youtu.be/gqvcifVWjvM?si=BYS_7FbX8lz9iQJy 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sabbateans 

Introduction to Kabbalah and Jewish Mysticism - Part 12/14 - Sabbateanism and Mystical Heresy II https://youtu.be/F5QU5ylhOqA?si=dSR4SEbnkMfCUJj_ 

Sabbatai Ṣevi : the mystical Messiah, 1626-1676 (Scholem). Chapter 3: The Beginnings of the Movement in Palestine (1665)

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cainites 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ophites

Anticosmicism: Gnostic Dualism https://gnosticismexplained.org/anticosmicism-gnostic-dualism/ 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Antichrist 

[another-lost-mc]

Temptation scares you, and you decide it's better to move on and forget - if Michael will let you.

Penance | MICHAEL x gn!Reader 2.1k words | NSFW | Mutual Obsession | Smut Content Warnings: Obsessive thoughts, feelings of guilt and shame, power imbalance, mind games, marking, suggestive themes and sexual content. A/N: This is the sequel to Blasphemy.

Things changed after you spoke to Michael.

You happily indulged in your insatiable curiosity to learn more about him, and you imagined what it would be like to have him touch you. You never felt guilty thinking about him before.

You didn't feel guilty because you didn’t think he knew about those things. His call was a rude awakening. Perhaps he knew all along, and it's mortifying to think about.

You didn’t sleep well that night, or the next several nights after. A few days after your little chat, you stare at the listing in your call history - UNKNOWN NUMBER - and finally gather the courage to call him back. There’s no response. The line rings and rings and rings, until you can’t stand it anymore and hang up.

You haven’t heard from him since. Was he toying with you, teasing you to make you feel shame for what you’ve done?

Sometimes you wonder if you imagined the entire conversation in some sort of dream. You’re not sure what to think or feel about him now, but you can’t linger in this mental no man’s land forever.

Maybe it’s best to put aside your guilt and your uncertainties. You don’t understand what happened between you and Michael, so you decide to reimagine the truth instead.

You didn’t have some weird, pining crush on the archangel you’ve never met.

He didn’t know you were touching yourself to thoughts of him and what you wanted to do with him, or for him, or have him do to you.

He didn’t call you and tease you with that deep, rough voice that promised something sinful as punishment if you continued to tempt him this way.

You tell yourself none of those things happened, and you try to move on.

You stop reading the chat history with Michael that you took from Luke and Simeon’s phones.

You stop asking your demon friends questions about Michael, or the Celestial Realm, or anything else that reminds you of him.

You stop thinking about Michael when you touch yourself at night. The act becomes almost clinical now, simply a way to relieve stress. It’s not long before you stop touching yourself altogether - you have no idea who might be watching. 

You convince yourself things are better this way. It’s not like you knew Michael, so you can't really miss him. You distract yourself and focus on your life in the Devildom and the friends you’ve met, and you tell yourself that you don’t need more than this. You’re no longer greedy for things you can’t have, and you're not desperate for things that you shouldn’t want.

Even though you try to forget what happened, you have a sense of dreadful suspicion that Michael won’t let you.

There’s no way you can explain the strange dreams you start having about laying on a bed of golden feathers and a pair of eyes you’ve never seen, but you know whose they are, stare into yours.

There’s no way you can explain the feeling that someone is watching you when you’re alone, or the way your skin crawls when you’re by yourself. You feel trapped like prey no matter where you are or where you go.

There’s no way you can explain the way your body tingles sometimes, like you’ve been touched by some sort of strange magic. You clench your eyes shut and resist the urge to whimper his name, because you almost feel compelled to say it. 

You can’t explain the warm breath you feel across the back of your neck as someone chuckles quietly into your ear, mocking your futile attempts to ignore him.

You feel like you’re losing your mind and you know it’s his fault. You’re trying to be a better person. Isn’t that what you should do? Isn’t that what he should want too?

It feels like this is your punishment. At first, you think it’s punishment for thinking sinful thoughts and praying for sinful acts with the archangel himself. The alternative explanation is even more confusing to consider: what if this is punishment for trying to forget him?

You’re exhausted and go to bed early one night. Your bedding feels hot and scratchy against your skin, and even after you kick it aside, you still can’t get comfortable. You throw your arm over your eyes and groan. You just want to sleep, is that asking too much?

There’s a strange chill against your skin all of a sudden. You reach to pull the blankets back over you, but you realize they’re gone. Your bed is gone.

You sit up and stare all around you. You’re no longer in your room, but inside some strange, grey space. You can’t call it a room because it seems to go on endlessly. 

It’s only when you raise yourself to your knees that you realize you’re not alone. There’s something behind you - or someone - and it tugs at a memory you’ve tried to bury. You cover your face in your hands and shake your head.

This can’t be happening, this isn’t real, this can’t be happening—

“My lost little lamb,” a deep , familiar voice coos in your ear. He settles behind you, and you can feel his warmth at your back. Something soft brushes against your sides and wraps loosely around your front. His wings.

“You’re not real,” you whimper weakly into your hands. Your voice is muffled but you don’t care; you know the archangel conjured by your dreams understands you.

“I know humans aren’t very patient creatures, but I’m surprised how quickly you moved on,” he murmurs quietly as his hands settle on your waist and pull you back against him. It feels like he’s trying to comfort you. It’s confusing.

“I felt ashamed,” you admit truthfully, and it’s the first time you’ve uttered any words of remorse out loud.

Michael clicks his tongue. “I’m very busy, but perhaps I should have come to you sooner. I may have been…irritated when I realized you tried to forget about me. I won't make that mistake again.” He nuzzles against your jaw and it tickles. He chuckles when you shiver. “You’re more fetching than I remember.”

His hands grope your waist a bit more before they slowly slide up your sides and slip underneath your night shirt. His hands feel hot against your skin, but you can’t bring yourself to look at him over your shoulder. You can’t. 

“Are you flirting with me?” you ask, and your voice sounds incredulous rather than angry.

“Perhaps I am,” he says coyly, and you gasp when his lips brush against your neck.

You swallow thickly and shake your head, even as his hands climb higher over your belly and dance along the groove of your ribs. “We shouldn’t do this,” and it’s the last feeble protest you make before your resistance crumbles. Your actions betray your words because he nudges you to raise your arms, and you obey; he slips your shirt up and over your head. You don’t feel cold for long because his hands continue exploring your bare chest, and his feathers hold you against him so his body radiates heat to you.

“But this is only a dream, remember?” The words almost sound bitter, but you’re distracted as one of his hands slides back down to your waist and tugs playfully at the waistband of your sleep pants. “There’s no judgment here. I’ll give you what you ask, if you're brave enough to tell me what you want.”

He speaks the words so softly, but there’s an undercurrent of power in them that has you arching against his chest and leaning into his touch. You can’t lie to yourself anymore, and he’s never doubted your truth. “I want you.”

It’s like a tether snaps when he’s given permission to lose control, and you cry out when his hand dips into your pants and finds the evidence of your arousal between your legs. His fingers are relentless as he strokes you, and it feels like you’re drowning in heat and pleasure and sin. 

You can feel him grow hard against your back, but he's focused solely on you. He whispers filthy praise against your skin and encourages you to move with his touch, to enjoy his mercy and revel in the ecstasy he gives you. You haven't touched yourself in so long, and it’s impossible to last like this. He touches you so perfectly, but you bite your lip to stop yourself from moaning his name. It feels like you’re clinging to your last shred of dignity, and you shouldn’t even care about that in a dream, but giving in feels like it's too much to bear—

The only warning you get before he bites you is the rumbling groan reverberating in his chest. His mouth clamps down on your shoulder and you choke on a scream as he licks at the indents his teeth left behind.

“Don’t be shy now, little lamb,” he scolds you, panting against your neck like he’s the one being fondled by an angel. “All those nights I watched you, I learned what you like. Only I know how to give you what you crave. Don’t you think I deserve a reward too?” He licks at your earlobe and kisses your jaw. “Give it to me,” he demands in that powerful timbre that you’re powerless to resist.

You know what he wants, and you want to please him. His name falls from your lips in a pathetic whimper. He smiles against your skin and moves his hand against you, faster than before, as your reward. White-hot pleasure surges through your veins when he strokes you, and you're desperate for something to cling to. Your arms reach blindly for him, and he hums his approval at your desire to touch him.

Your fingers ding into one of the thighs bracketing your own, and the other finds purchase in his hair. You tug harder than you mean to, and his hips surge forward as a moan rips from his throat. He makes stuttering, aborted thrusts against your back like he's struggling to maintain his composure.

He's breathing heavily, and he grunts when your hips grind back against him. His evident desire for you is your undoing. You fall apart and coat his hand with your release; your broken cry sounds suspiciously like his name. His fingers coax you through the aftershocks, and he holds you while you ride out the last waves of pleasure. He finally pulls his hand away when you squirm from the sensitivity.

You tremble in his arms and he holds you tighter than he did before. “What about you?” you ask hoarsely. You can still feel how hard he is, and you're surprised he's asked for so little from you - you probably would've given him anything.

He’s oblivious to the sweat beading against your temple - or he doesn’t care - when he presses a kiss there and sighs wearily. “Next time,” he whispers.

You turn your head to try and glance at him over your shoulder, no longer afraid of him, but he stops you. His hand cradles the back of your head and pulls you into a kiss before you can see him properly.

“Sleep now, little lamb,” he murmurs against your lips—

You wake up with a gasp and thrash wildly until you realize you’re in the warm, soft comfort of your bed. You take gulping breaths and try to control your erratic heartbeat.

What the hell was that?

When you wiggle your hips, you feel the slightest bit of heat pool deep within your belly. Your pajama pants feel damp, and you realize the inside of your thighs are sticky. 

It’s not the first time you woke up like this after dreaming of the archangel, even if it has been a while, so you think nothing of it. You feel sluggish and exhausted, and it takes a couple of minutes for you to gather enough strength to sit up. You dangle your legs over the edge of the bed and stretch your arms, but a burning pain in your shoulder makes you wince.

An icy feeling grips your heart, and you stand on shaky legs and walk over to your vanity. You pull down the collar of your shirt and stare at the ring of teeth-shaped bruises in the mirror. You brush your fingers over the marks, and you swallow thickly as his murmured promise echoes in your mind.

Next time.

[eilinelsghost]

I've not posted much when it comes to my feelings/critique of Rings of Power (because the discourse there is a toxic hellscape that I have not wanted to touch with a 10 foot pole), but I've come away from the final episode so frustrated that I can't help saying one thing.

In trying to be clever with their "references," what the showrunners have ended up doing instead is taking the narrative power away from several of LoTR's key moments so that when those instances show up in the "later" trilogy, they are shorn of their meaning and arrive instead as hollow echoes of what RoP is putting forward as their original instances.

This is most clearly seen in Season 1 when Galadriel's pivotal moment in Fellowship of the Ring is taken from her, placed in a man's mouth first, and consequently shifts the entirety of her narrative arc/test to be about her relationship/temptation by this specific person instead of being the full fruition of what brought her to Middle-earth in the First Age. Her test (as noted in the Shibboleth of Fëanor, found in HoME volume 12: The Peoples of Middle-earth) is the rejection of "all that she had desired in her youth," which is specifically tied to her involvement in the rebellion of the Noldor and subsequent rejection of the Valar's pardon.

If Galadriel's test is thus reframed to be primarily about refusing the power Sauron offers, then she does that here in the Second Age (per their depiction) and this scene thereby makes her choice at the Mirror irrelevant because it turns it into a test she had already passed. (The irony here is that so many bad faith critiques were that the show made Galadriel too independent & fighter-y when in fact they took all of her independence and cut the knees right out from under it by making her entire story about Sauron instead of its own complicated arc. But I digress.)

In Season 2, we receive an additional host of these attempted referential echoes, but I will focus on one in particular because it operates in exactly the same way that Galadriel's Season 1 scene does. It is once again the final episode, once again a character whose journey we have followed through the whole season (throughout both seasons, in fact), and once again it is taking a key moment in the LoTR narrative and shifting it to be instead something that has already happened in the Second Age - specifically, the scene with the Stranger (now disappointingly officially identified as Gandalf) and "the Dark Wizard". This effectively lifts Gandalf's refusal of Saruman's offer in FoTR and places that exact temptation (join me and together we can weild the power that Sauron has) centuries earlier so that when he is faced with it at Isengard in the Third Age, Gandalf is merely repeating his earlier decision and facing nothing but an echo of a temptation he has already mastered.

These characters are now caught in a Groundhog's Day of their defining moments, repeated ad nauseam till it is reflex and not conviction.

In attempting to construct resonance and connection between the two narratives, what RoP has done instead is shore up a hall of empty mirrors, each reflecting back upon itself to the point where the origin becomes meaningless and the beauty of its narrative power is lost.

[lucreziaces]

there’s something about vannozza, cesare, and lucrezia being the only three holding up masks that i really love (they’re also my fave trio at the moment i think) and then the two very different gazes that giulia and lucrezia are giving their respective man??? EATING THAT UP!! and of course cannot forget how ceslu are wearing complimentary colors meanwhile juan is in red and black like an outsider….always the outsider to those two and always wanting in but can never get what he truly wants (to be loved and respected by them) THE TRAGEDY!! (side note: vannozza is wearing a color opposite what giulia and rodrigo are wearing much like how juan is wearing a different color combo from ceslu, BUT unlike juan if you look closer at her dress there are some pink/red tones in the details of the dress that suggest she still has some of rodrigo’s love and respect at least) also love the detail that is cesare holding what i assume is a devil’s mask in the same hand he wears his cardinal ring….the foreshadowing of him becoming more villainous by giving into the temptation he has to kill his own brother…GIMME MORE

[kiwisa]

shirt ✩ jb22

Jude Bellingham x Fem! Girlfriend! Reader

fluff • 1,000 words

IN WHICH... all sunday mornings should be spent like this.

It was the birdsong that woke you up this morning. A sound so pleasing to the ear, discordant of the constant but characteristic hubbub of the German city. A moment of sweetness enough to brighten up your just-begun day. Contrary to you, Dortmund had been awake for a long time, with its buildings lit by the sun ⏤ at its highest point in the sky ⏤ and the shoes of people from all social backgrounds treading the tarred ground.

You knew the sounds of the city by heart, having been exposed to them since your childhood. In a sense, these sounds had helped to become the person you were today. They had rocked you, accompanied you in every event. The horns, the words blurred by the laughters and the arguments… This familiarity was the reason for your happiness, revealing a smile on your face, puffy from sleep.

It took you several seconds to completely open your eyes. The warmth of the sheets enveloping you made this ordeal more difficult than it already was. Sleep was a mischievous fighter, especially when it came to getting you back into it. Morpheus's arms were ready to envelop you, his fingers gently touching your skull, but they retracted when an unceasing ringing sound was heard.

Looking up at the sky, you rolled towards your nightstand, tapping harshly against the screen of your phone.

Setting up an alarm on a Sunday morning was a mistake, you thought; eyes staring blankly at the ceiling filled with cracked paint.

A sigh echoed in the room. Of all the cravings and needs that could be found in your body right now, getting up was not one of them. You could already feel the cold air, ready to wrap around your skin when you would dare to part with your white cocoon.

A pout appeared on your face when, rolling in the sheets towards the opposite side, emptiness greeted you. Frowning, your fingers touched the now cold pillow, but from which a familiar scent still emanated. Your ajar eyes swept through the room, noticing the absence of slippers on the floor or the blue sweater that had been thrown unceremoniously against a chair the day before.

In this room, though, one thing detonated: the white color of a shirt, placed delicately on the back of the same chair that had hosted the sweater. Placing one foot, then the other on the ground, your toes retracted when feeling the coldness of the floorboards. Your hair was quickly tied up, your slippers put on. All this without ever diverting your gaze from the white shirt, which you quickly put on. Rocked by this sweet, masculine smell, it was with a smile that you headed for the kitchen.

There, a man sat. Busy eating his cereal, he did not realized your presence. Taking this opportunity granted by calmness, you stood for a few moments at the doorstep, arms crossed, admiring the candid beauty of the one who would make your heart beat a little harder each time. He was a masterpiece, a painting from which no one could looked away so much his beauty mesmerized.

You could have stayed like this for hours, it wouldn't have bothered you; quite the opposite actually. However, your appetite won over your heart, but before giving in to temptation — aka the piece of cake you had bought at the bakery the day before — you could not bring yourself to forget your routine.

It was with delicacy ⏤ not to frighten him ⏤ that your arms surrounded Jude's neck, before placing a kiss on his forehead. Automatically, he leaned back towards you, his head resting on your belly, his round eyes sparkling and now looking upwards. Your fingers stroked his recently cut hair ⏤ a shame, really.

He closed his eyes to this touch, an expression of pure relaxation on his face, until a sound of indignation passed his lips when you walked away, determined to claim your due; the smell of chocolate was already reaching your nostrils.

“You're wearing my shirt.”

It was not a question but a statement. You turned towards him at hearing his sleepy and deep voice, cheeks filled with chocolate, eyes widened. Observing the only garment covering your body, the shirt ⏤ which you were in fact wearing ⏤ you raised an eyebrow in his direction.

Suspicious, you watched him walk towards you slowly. You swallowed the chocolate bite.

“What?”

A smile that made him look almost stupid was decorating his face, illuminating the latter entirely. He looked like a child who had just been given a gift. A gift that, in this case, consisted of your own person if you judged his loving gaze.

Ignoring your complaints — did he just really take your cake? — his arms surrounded your waist, gently pressing you against him. At your synchronized breaths and 'heart against heart' moment, red went up to your cheeks. Really, you could never get tired of Jude Bellingham’s beauty. Of course, the features of his face were perfectly tuned, a master's work — blessed be his parents — but it was his kindness, his big heart, and his tenderness that made him magnificent.

“You're cute.”

There it was, that smile; so big it could light up the darkest souls.

“Are you trying to flirt with me, Bellingham?”

“Maybe I am. And what about it?”

Catching one of your hands, he looked at it for a few moments before placing a series of kisses there. No patch of skin was spared. Laughing, you got out of his grip to stand on tiptoe, your arms wrapping around his neck. Almost instantly, like second nature to him, his hands landed on your hips. Your two faces only separated by a few centimeters, your lips brushed against one another.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[theunchainedmelody]

Subjugator of Worlds- A "My Adventures with Superman" one shot about Kara & Jimmy

Rating: T for Teen Pairing: Kara/Jimmy I conquered planets, me and my father. Razed worlds that opposed us all for the glory of the Kryptonian empire. Even as my heart ached for my victims, as I grinned as I tore apart planetary champions, even as my father was forced to subdue the emotions within me that occasionally flared up… Even then I did not stop.

But then I came to this world. This backwater planet should not fascinate me as it does. And I find myself staring at towering skyscrapers unmarred by our weaponry, upon a civilization living a peaceful existence… It all captivates me so… None moreso than one of the first humans I came across on a city street. A man named Jimmy Flamebird. Seeing him, I wondered if all Earthling males were so enamoring to the eyes, but perhaps it no longer matters. He rescued me, not knowing I was the enemy, the conqueror. That his planet was doomed for I was the arbiter of its very subjugation.

Even so, I find myself wishing to hold back around him, to let him do with me as he pleases. He takes me to such amazing places to taste food I had not imagined, flavors far surpassing the bland military rations my father offers to sustain me. I’m falling in love with this planet, and that scares me in a way that taking on a battleship with naught but my battle armor ever could. I’ve felled such warships singlehandedly without a scratch but if Jimmy were to be hurt, I think I would crumble. I fear nothing on this planet more than him, my greatest temptation luring me into complacency. And worst of all, I don’t resist a single request of his nor do I wish to.

I came here to find someone, to find the one man in the universe who can understand me, and yet, I’m so easily being led astray. Curse these emotions, these wants, unbefitting of a warrior of Krypton.

Sexless.

Genderless.

Bred for war.

That’s what I am.

But around Jimmy I’ve never felt like more of a woman. He’s so handsome and so sweet. I feel bodily desires emerging I could never bring up in Father’s presence. I suspect Jimmy is not truly the planetary leader he claimed to be nor that we are drawing any closer to seeing my cousin. And yet I do not want the sun to set on this perfect day.

I’ve never had a perfect day.

All days in space bleed together.

I find myself silently apologizing to my father for my betrayal, for my hesitation, promising myself I’ll bring this planet to its knees to rectify this wrong. And yet, for that same reason, I hope Father stays away a little longer.

I need to find the person that will comprehend my loneliness, my might, my heritage…

But when I find him, Kal-el is not the warrior I had hope he’d be. At the time, I found myself overstimulated by noises and violence around me from some public mockery. Why would one as great as he subject themselves to this? I’d take the familiar ringing of ballistic missiles in my ears over this chaos. I do not wish to hurt these people, but my mind is telling me to silence the threat. Agitation creeps up my spine. That’s when I see my cousin clearly, and I feel so odd. Am I nervous?  Nervous like when Jimmy had so chivalrously cleaned that delicious ice cream from my cheek? I need Kal-El to give me something Father won’t, some wisdom… some guidance… an answer to the cold loneliness of conquest and deep space. Only to him, I’m part of the mockery of this world and he brushes past me without a second thought. No, to him, I’m somehow of less importance than the earthling woman I’d seen kissing his cheek. How disgusting, such fraternization with a lowly being.

And so, in my rage, I chastise him. And Father sends me upon him like a mad dog. I’ve always been his dignified lieutenant on the verge of conquest, but in truth, a mad dog off her leash is what I become in battle. It always feels good, and afterwards, leaves me shivering in fear of my own reflection. I see the people of this world trembling at my tyranny, and I know that as always, this is my fault. Father calms my emotions, and the next minute becomes a blur, but afterwards, it’s still me doing these things. Hurting Kal-El. Needing to hurt him. Needing to rescue him so that he can be where he belongs. With his own kind. With me. For a moment, my thoughts turn to Jimmy Flamebird, who I abandoned back in a burning city. I steel away the weakness that wishes to seek him out. And yet I wonder if the man has come to resent me for what I am and what I will do to his world.

I am Kara Zor-El of Krypton. And this is what I am and always will be. A monster. And I will never be free of me.

Notes: Please note this was written after episode 5 aired so episode 6 and beyond might contradict a lot of details I've assumed about Kara's lore and personality.

[shirefantasies]

Why is Tolkien so charitable regarding Frodo's missteps? After all, Tolkien conveniently and entirely blames all of Frodo's missteps regarding his handling of the ring on the ring itself.  "I do not think Frodo's was a moral failure. At the last moment the pressure of the Ring would reach its maximum -- impossible, I should have said, for anyone to resist."- JRR Tolkien. One can't imagine him saying anything remotely like this about the others who tried to take the ring. It's only Frodo's actions that Tolkien excuses by saying that anyone in Frodo's position would have done the same thing.

Hi there! Not sure if this comes from dislike of the character or just Tolkien’s handling, but if it’s the former I know I have characters I wouldn’t want someone to push me to like so I for sure will be surprised but respectful if Frodo is a character you don’t enjoy. Having people try to change your mind can be exhausting and annoying lol, so this’ll focus on just how I take things in the story personally! I am by no means a huge Tolkien scholar, but here’s how I take that situation with the ring and some evidence for the points as I at least see them (with some general agreement from other fandom and analysis discussions and conventions with other LoTR fans as well!). Hope this is at least an interesting read and I’m pretty darn flattered you chose me to ask this to ☺️

1. The ring bears a heavy weight (literally) on everyone’s decisions interacting with it, but I’ve always taken the story and Tolkien’s words on it as a bit of commentary on the folly of man, and as a religious person the concept of original sin. I.E. that we as humans (men, hobbits, dwarves, and even elves included in this setting) are simply not perfect and cannot be. Part of that evidenced in quotes like that from Tolkien himself but also scenes where even characters seen as beacons of good, strength, wisdom, morals, etc. do show temptation by the ring or that it would turn good intentions to evil. Galadriel and Gandalf, for example, are some of the most powerful beings and they tell Frodo that they would become corrupt and misuse the power they already have and that of the ring. Boromir as a character shows this too, because he is held overall pretty blameless too despite doing a bad thing. I love Boromir personally but nearly every fan on here I interact with does too and many discussions are had around his desperation, his life experiences up to the point of the fellowship’s travels, and how we all believe him to be a good man that made bad decisions out of both the influence of the ring and the pressure put on him to be his people’s hero. So I hold Frodo and Boromir especially on an equal ground of people who are flawed and strained, people tired of fighting and who just want an escape, frankly, a solution they don’t feel is coming especially not through the dark lens of the ring and its temptation to trust the way it warps you.

2. I think part of why Frodo gets emphasized in what can seem like the ‘oh he did no wrong’ narrative comes from the simple fact that he’s one of the characters who holds/interacts with the ring the longest. Besides characters like Bilbo and Gollum, we don’t see as much detail on a long time spent with the ring- in fact, beyond the what the Smeagol flashbacks do Frodo is the main indicator of it all for readers/viewers. Most of the other characters only touch/hold/carry it briefly, not for months like he does. So the weight of it does not fall as heavily on them, but we do see that Sam, the chief hero of the story (Tolkien’s words!), even hesitates before giving the ring back to Frodo after carrying it for a fraction of the time. Would Sam have been driven that much further down by it if he had been the one to carry it? I believe so, though it would have manifested differently (Frodo is more a quiet, brooding type who spits venom on occasion where Sam is much more a man of action and outward anger, so the ring would have twisted that and I think he would have been more tough and explosive while Frodo got nasty if that makes sense). Bilbo and Gollum take on similar traits when they try to snatch the ring and I believe Frodo would have descended further into those, too, with even more time carrying the ring.

3. If we’re looking at LoTR also as a showing that absolute power corrupts, we have to have someone like Frodo fail. We have to show even a ‘little guy’, someone young and joyful at the beginning of the story, someone with innocent beauty, falling to it for that very idea that anyone would. It’s almost easier to believe that one of the aforementioned beacons of power and strength like, say, Gandalf, would fall because they already have power to go to their heads. We see this with Saruman, for example, and how he literally falls from grace and dies trying to dominate. But a hobbit and a young innocent one falling when he has nothing of the sort is more telling and tragic. He never wanted this, in fact though he is brave enough to take it on he also tries to give it up numerous times because of the pressure that ultimately threatens to crush him. It’s a cautionary tale that’s sad because it’s true- pressure and power get to us.

4. I totally agree that Frodo made some bad decisions on his own, too! Once again, nobody’s perfect so as an author I can see why it’s realistic to have him screw up, but for sure I would not blame the ring on every single bad thing Frodo has done! The ring definitely amplifies and warps things, but one of the biggest tells of that is Gollum. Sam doesn’t trust him and is right to do so, and while Gollum is very essential to the story, Frodo does let fear and a desire to do every single thing right (again, pressure, imo a big theme here lolol!) take over the decision to trust their shady guide and then the ring takes the stress of that and Gollum’s words and twists all his feelings of exhaustion and resentment against Sam.

5. We’ll never know for sure, but I’ll wrap this up by saying I do personally believe that Frodo is by far not the only person who would fall in this way. He isn’t a perfect character, either, but that is exactly why what happens happens. But then that logic can by applied to many others too, like not only more obvious targets like Boromir or Gollum but even Gandalf, who feared what he would do with ring in hand, would succumb. The concept of the folly of man is especially interesting to me outside of ‘man’, like in the case of Saruman who is supposed to be of great wisdom and purity as a white wizard, but even he falls short. Even the Valar can fall short. Tolkien to me exemplifies the idea shown biblically that anyone can fall, even angels like lucifer/Maia and Valar like Sauron and Morgoth, if they let greed follow their hearts or do not trust the guidance of others. In this case, for Frodo that was Sam. Distrusting Sam gets him in world of trouble, Tolkien lists Sam as the chief hero, and to me the other core of Lord of the Rings is that NO ONE in that story can do it alone. Frodo would have died and fallen all the way without Sam. Rohan had to come to Gondor’s aid. The Three Hunters would not have succeeded if just Legolas or only Aragorn set out and I firmly believe that. Friendship and trust are what keeps us afloat, and Frodo’s mistrust in that, greatly amplified by stress, exhaustion, and indeed the ring, is his undoing. Human nature and evil temptation are a heck of a combo, friends!

Again, hope you find this an interesting read and even if you still don’t personally enjoy Frodo as a character I understand! I hope this comes across as just an analysis, for I don’t like debating and want to be respectful. People with the ‘I’m right, you are wrong’ mentality are a huge turnoff for me so I try to avoid that type of thinking. Thanks again for giving me a lot of food for thought anon, feel free to stop by more if you want to talk so long as this blog can keep a tone of study, not debate 🫶🏻

[imagines-by-cleo]

The Image Of Eve

John Ward x Fem!Reader

Part 2 of the Absolution series - part 1

Masturbation, more catholic guilt, hierophilia, dirty talk, semi public, fingering, thigh fucking, religious themes (obvi), handjobs

Happy Halloween friends! I hope you're out trick or treating, or partying, or something besides reading fanfiction, but if that's all you're doing don't worry because this is the longest fic I have ever written and you'll have plenty of John smut to keep you busy.

Anyway, hope you enjoy! ♡♡♡

A sharp gasp echos through the small tiled bathroom, John clamps his hand over his mouth and prays that no one outside had heard. He listens to the other side of the door for a minute, trying to keep quiet as the sound of the pipe organ reverberates through the halls from the sanctuary. The noises he tries to hide are not nearly as holy as the music playing.

He learned the hard way that it was better to do this before he had to put on his robes, the knowledge another source of shame in the sinful act that was slowly becoming routine. His hand moves with purpose, it's hardly for his own pleasure and more to clear his mind before mass. Though it is impossible to deny the pleasure he's getting out of it as he moans helplessly into his palm.

He can feel how hot his face is against his hand, he shuts his eyes so he doesn't have to see this shameful act reflected in the mirror. Stealing away to the bathroom to touch himself like some teenage boy who could hardly help it, and on a Sunday too. Unable to put away the thoughts that plagued him for even a few hours, John grits his teeth as he tries to hurry this shameful process along.

Of course in a few minutes you would be there sitting in the pews, he would try to look away and not lock eyes from the altar but then the memories would chase him down. The sound of your voice, echos of you calling out to him ringing in his head like you were still moaning in his ear.

A knock comes from the other side of the door that makes John's heart stop.

"Just a minute!" He answers, his voice slightly cracking.

John groans in frustration as he grips his cock tighter and moves his hand faster, trying to get this sin over with only so his temptation wouldn't show through his robes. A terrible chill runs through his body, as he tries to justify his actions. There is no reason other than his weakness and his attempts to hide it.

He bites down on his fingers as his indulgence reaches it's peak, nearly drawing blood trying to muffle the pathetic whimpers and gasps of a man defeated by his own lust. Every breath that leaves his chest is labored, his body forgets everything and for a fleeting moment so does he.

The silence in his mind that follows is almost as blissful as the release.

When he has to wash the evidence off his hands and down the sink John doesn't even look, cleaning every trace like a well experienced blind man in his refusal to address how he just defiled himself. The only acknowledgement is a soft groan he lets out unintentionally as he stuffs his cock back into his pants while he's still sensitive and slightly hard, quickly pulling up his zipper and buttoning his cassock over his shame.

In the brief glimpse of himself that he accidentally catches in the mirror he sees the dark circles that have formed under his eyes for over the past week, he says a silent prayer that no one else will notice them before he steps out. John does his best to keep up appearances, he smiles, greets people, has conversations, beneath the surface however something has been drained from him and he can feel that weakness in his spirit as mass begins.

Not knowing the worst had yet to come until he takes the eucharist, his heart raced as he expected it to burn in his hands, his fingers tremble holding the thin wafer as he waited for some divine retribution. He waits for it, shaking with guilt from his knees to his shoulders then he considers this might simply be the punishment, the damnable waiting that makes him see the masochistic logic of flagellants who would simply get it over with.

It's difficult to swallow communion, his jaw clenches he considers spitting it out until he looks out at the rows of people in the pews he would have to explain that action to.

Every word from his mouth is nothing short of unconvincing this morning, though the stares of bordem from his pulpit broken by the occasional glace at a watch told him there would be no consequence to a stilted and awkward sermon. Only one pair of eyes stays focused intently on him hanging on to every word, though he deliberately avoids them from the altar he knew all to well how those wide eyes study him. At the end of mass he quickly finds something other to do than socialize with the congregation, all so he doesn't have to meet those eyes again.

When the sanctuary is finally emptied and he is finished lingering around the church evading the consequences of his decisions he takes advantage of this solitude and kneels at the altar, seeking forgiveness he does not deserve and strength he cannot find in his own spirit along with peace he desperately needs. The now familiar wirlwind of guilt chasing temptation spins faster and faster until John is sure it will blow him away, only now frustration is added to the mix. He wonders if this was how it started for you, he thinks of you, he prays, he inhales deeply, he smells your perfume.

Once again the scent of your perfume wafts through the melting wax and burning incense, curling through every other aroma like a viper poised to choke the life out of him and if he did not stomp that serpent out it surely would. When John is sure the source of the smell isn't from his memories he holds his breath trying not to inhale it again. His eyes are squeezed shut, his lips are still and not even uttering prayers anymore, every muscle in his body is stiff as he remains knelt at the altar trying to avoid what is coming for a moment longer.

It's the sound of footsteps gently approaching behind him, taking great care not to disturb him with no idea of how they already had. He rises, turns and walks toward you. While he is not surprised to see that it's you, you're startled by how quickly he's closing the distance between the both of you and even more so when he takes you firmly by the arm and drags you out of the sanctuary.

"Father, what are you doing?" You ask all too innocently, simply allowing yourself to be lead astray.

"Shut up! Just shut up!" He growls low enough to threaten and quiet enough to be inconspicuous.

At first John isn't sure where exactly to take you, his feet practically lead him stomping into the chapel where this debauchery began all on their own. As he slams you against the cold stone wall you look up at him wide eyed, spooked but perfectly and deceptively trusting in a way that made his frustration boil over.

"You think I don't know what you're doing?" The accusation comes out of his mouth before he can even think, his harsh tone makes you tense in his grasp.

"What are you talking about?" You gasp with corncern for him as if he was the one in the wrong.

"The confessions, the phone calls, the notes, everything, it all ends now." There's venom in every word he spits out, his anger only reigned by his hushed tone. "If you don't stop this little game you're playing you'll damn us both straight to hell."

"Father, you're scaring me." You reply all too ignorant of what he's been grappling with.

"You should be scared! Do you even realize what you've done? To me? To yourself?" His grip on your shoulders tightens as he lists his accusations, shaking you with every charge to force you to realize the severity of these sins. "First you desecrate this house of God with your sinful thoughts, then you defile the rite of confession and use it for your own pleasure, now you've set out to corrupt me."

It's a strangers voice ringing through the cold air of the chapel, a totally different person trying to put the fear of the divine into you.

You look up at him with wide wet eyes, your bottom lip quivering slightly so that he can hardly stop staring at your mouth. "I didn't mean-"

"Oh, you didn't mean to? I suppose you accidentally touched yourself while talking to me and you accidentally moaned and begged over the phone, oh have mercy." John rolls his eyes, completely indignant as he taunts you.

The tears start to flow down your cheeks, even that seems so graceful and pure that there's no denying the sincerity of your words as you sob. "I'm sorry, Father..."

"Don't... don't say that..." His breath is heavy as he watches you begin to cry, trying to hold to the belief that this was all some grand scheme.

"I really did mean to confess at first, I just got carried away, I should have controlled myself and-" You ramble on a list of uncontested sins, each one of them John is also guilty of but not so willing to bear the burden of.

These words make his stomach turn as his hastily constructed plan to shift all of the blame onto you comes crumbling down in the face of your willingness to accept his sentencing. It was his weakness that lead you both here, not yours, and it's his weakness that will drag you both deeper into this sin again and again.

John cups your cheek and brushes a tear away, looking at it with guilt before he whispers a short prayer for forgiveness and presses his lips to yours.

At first you're stunned at the action, frozen for a moment until you gingerly place a hand on his chest ready to push him away; but you never do. You relax more as he runs his fingers through your hair and moves his kisses to your tear stained cheeks, the bitter taste of salt on his lips serving as an insufficient act of penance for ever making you cry.

"Mmm Father..." You mumble urgently against his lips.

"I know, I know." John whispers softly against your lips, soothing until your breath stops rattling. "I'm scared too."

Both your hearts beat loud enough he can practically feel yours in his own chest as your bodies press together, the feeling of being so close and drinking in the same fears and the same desires intoxicates him. The taste of you is so new and yet it feels like home, his hands had never roamed another persons body like this and yet every curve was so familiar. He pulls you tighter against his chest, remembering how Eve came from Adams rib, and trying to force your two bodies back to the one they used to be.

"Tell me to stop." He demands between kisses. "If I won't listen to God, maybe I'll listen to you."

"We shouldn't..." You tell him. "This is wrong. We'll get caught."

Never the word "stop".

With a soft squeeze of tender flesh he hears your breath hitch, a small barely noticeable sound that instills a need to prompt another reaction. When you graciously tilt your head to make way he moves his kisses from your lips, across your jaw, behind your ear then down your neck until he finds a spot that makes you twitch. Before he can stop himself, his hands begin their own wandering and explore under your skirt to find what had become so well acquainted with in this imagination that he didn't think about the gravity of crossing that line for the first time in reality.

Discovering a warm wet spot on the front of your panties John lets out a shuddering breath, adding the sin of pride to his vices as he relishes the fact that you got so wet for him in so little time, or maybe you had been thinking of him all day. Before he can control it his lips curl into a wide smile when his fingertips slide across the soaked patch, eliciting the perfect response of a soft gasp passing your lips.

"This is what you were thinking of? What started all of this?" He questions in a slightly accusatory tone, his frustration with himself searching for an outlet in you. "Am I touching you just like you wanted me to?"

With no immediate response he pulls back and looks into your eyes that can't quite meet his, with a blush on your cheeks you try to avoid his question.

"Don't make me say it." You resist with your gaze darting around the room like every brick in the walls could be listening, judging. "Not here."

"Make it a matter of confession then." John implores as he puts his other hand on your face, running his thumb over your bottom lip. "Tell me all those sweet sins."

"I shouldn't want this." You breathe out as your lips tremble under his touch and you roll your hips into the caress of his hand. "I never should have said anything, now I... I can't even say no."

"You do want this." He says it like a guilty verdict before pressing his lips to yours, pulling your skirt up higher and your panties to the side so he can touch you freely.

When his fingers make contact you gasp and tug his hair just a little. "Ah! Father..."

"I want this too." He makes a confession of his own as he grinds his growing bulge against your thigh and feels you shake in his arms. "You see what you do to me? Day after day, you're driving me insane, driving me to sin."

As he glides his fingers through your slick folds he revels in the way your body bends to him, every protest dissolves as you lean back against the wall and give in to the sensation.

"I can't do anything without thinking of you. If I'm not indulging my temptations I'm living in constant fear of this very moment when I can't be stong enough to resist." He sighs into your neck, every word warm and heavy. "I don't want to fight this anymore..."

"Keep going, I want..." The hesitation to admit it openly is present in your voice catching just before you whisper. "I want more."

"Mmm you're as greedy as I am." He teases with as he continues to play with you at his own agonizingly slow pace until your nails are scratching at the stone wall. "Tell me what you really want.

"I- I want you to touch me..." You admit a little more boldly.

"Almost." John replies as he traces circles around your entrance.

"I want your fingers inside me." You answer while rocking your hips against his hand, the words you had told him so boldy before are a challenge to speak aloud now. "Father, please."

The first finger slides easily inside of you, he takes a minute to savor the surrounding tightness that his cock is jealous of, the wetness now dripping down to the floor, then he adds another.

"That's it, that's what you wanted, isn't it?" He breathes out as he takes note of your every reaction to his touch. "You look so beautiful like this, just like I knew you would be."

"If you keep talking like that I'm gonna..." You whimper as your legs tremble while you clench even tighter around his fingers.

"Already?" He questions as he pumps his fingers in deeper.

"Please, don't stop." You gasp as you buck into his touch, practically riding his hand as you chase your pleasure. "Father!"

His eyes are glued to where his fingers disappear inside you, the warm wetness gushing out provocatively and making a mess on the floor is a sight he had only seen in his wet dreams. "We're so filthy, aren't we?"

John can feel his cock twitching under his cassock, aching to be in the griping heat that his fingers are hungrily diving into. With his free hand he fumbles with the buttons that will release him soon enough. He wants to take the whole garment off and throw it away, he would do it just to damn himself like this with you. When the front is open and his arousal is only barely hidden by his pants before he struggles with them too.

"Do you see what you do to me?" He groans while tearing his erection out of his pants, his breath hitching as he takes it in his hand. "This happens every day, every night, you're taking over my life, my mind my soul."

A look of guilt crosses your blushing face as you turn away, your conscience visibly at war with the feelings in your body. "I can't fight it anymore, you know I can't, Father."

John's heart clenches as you admit your temptations, when you turn back to him the look in your eyes causes a shiver to run up his spine. Shaking with the need to act on the desires coursing through his body, held back only by the fear of taking the next step, in an impulse he turns you roughly around.

The sight of your body pressed up against the wall with your skirt lifted and your panties pooling at your ankles is enough to make his cock twitch in his grasp. Seeing you perfectly presented and ready to take him in is both inticing and daunting, the way the slickness covering your plush thighs is practically calling him as it catches the light when he lifts your skirt a little higher.

His blood runs cold under his burning skin, shivering when his cock makes contact with your warm dampened flesh, he grips your hips tightly to desperately try to anchor himself to this reality. The weight of it all nearly makes him faint and he leans closer to you for support while he wrestles with that final decision.

"I cant do it. Not here." John admits defeat in a shuddering breath, unsure if it's his strength or his weakness that sways him. "But I can't stop either."

In a sweet, sweet compromise he pushes his cock between your wet thighs and lets out a strangled groan as he slides into the perfect loophole that he's found.

"What are you..? Oh..." You gasp in surprise as you realize, your body relaxing against his while you come to the same conclusion he has.

"So soft..." He whispers against your neck with a devious smile, believing he's found the perfect way to circumvent his vows "I thought about this before but I never imagined it would feel this good.

John wraps his arms firmly around you, tangling your bodies together in the hope that they would never be seperated. He savors every roll of his hips like every plunge between your thighs would be the last, trying to prolong the feeling that he may never indulge in again. The warmth of your skin consumes him like hellfire, smouldering together until there's nothing left of his restraint.

Another short gasp escapes your lips, calling his attention to where your hand was reaching under your skirt. He watches for a moment while you touch yourself with well practiced precision, witnessing the image that his fantisies had paintned over and over, hardly believing that it was now performed before him.

When he's satisfied with watching he swats your hand away, replacing it with his own. Both of you let out a sigh of pure ecstasy when his fingers once again make contact with your hot wet folds, searching until he finds the little nub that makes you twitch.

With his other hand he covers your mouth, afraid of the noises you'll make if he pushes you too far. Unable to resist the opportunity now presented he slides his fingers past your lips, and lets out a sigh as he explores this undiscovered part of you.

"More, please, rub it just a little faster." You breathlessly mumble with your mouth stuffed, he follows your command until you start to twitch and squeeze him tighter.

"Thats it, let it happen." His soothing whispers make your reaction to his touch more intense, he makes another confession to you, hoping it will provoke you more. "You sound so fucking pretty. Just like you did on the phone. I always think about those noises you made, do you know that?"

His teasing forces another helpless whimper out of you, a sound he could never get tired of hearing. A shame he had to stifle those blissful cries, he could hardly resist removing his fingers and commanding you to make as much noise as you could. On the other hand, the sneaking, the sinning, the silent triumph of making you cum again, all of it sets his whole being on fire and just the idea has him struggling not to finish too soon.

The extra lubrication running down your thighs from your second release signaled the end for him. Even if he wanted to drag this out for just a little longer he couldn't, and now all he wanted was to paint your body with his cum, no matter what happened to his soul after.

"I'm not going to last much longer." He admits his voice shakes as he tries not to whimper.

"I think... I think I can feel it." You comment as his thrusts get more frenzied, his cock noticeably twitching between your thighs

Losing all restraint, he thrusts in even harder, taking comfort in the fact that his passion couldn't hurt you like this. When he feels those first spurts release he doesn't stop, taking advantage of how his cum lubricates your thighs even more. Ignoring the small squeak you make as he wraps his arms around you in a vice grip and sinks his teeth into your neck to muffle his moaning.

John sucks in a deep breath and looks down at the damage he's done, the haze of lust leaving his mind and the first rays of clarity shine in the like the sun through fading storm clouds. Once again, the weight, the guilt, the regret.

Everywhere he looks his sin has left a stain, your skin, his hands, his clothes, even the floor. His heart and his breath race as he gropes around the fabric of your skirt, haphazardly tugging it back down as if that would hide his sins dripping down your thighs. In a daze he puts himself back in his pants in spite of how dirty he was. Leaving you to stand alone and situate yourself as much as possible, he stumbles back into a nearby pew, lulling his head back as he laments.

"Again. I did it again and I swore I wouldn't." John groans into his hands as he runs them down his face. "What's wrong with me? Why can't I control myself?"

"W- what should we do now?" You turn to him as if he was someone you could ever trust, if he wasn't committed to sulking he would have laughed.

"There's nothing to do." He sighs as he melts into his seat, hoping that damnation would find him soon and get it over with.

"We should leave." You remark as you look around the chapel, pausing to listen for anyone outside.

"Yes, just... leave." John waves his hand as if to dismiss you, he finds that there genuine concern for you in the small part of his heart that hadn't rotted yet, a hope that you could escape this even if he couldn't.

With the patience and of a saint you stay, moving toward him and with the intent of making him somewhat presentable. He was about to turn you away again, but he just didn't have the strength to argue, if he had any strength at all this would have never happened. It was a wonder you were so determined to help him, how you haven't come to loathe him like he's begining to loathe himself.

He sits still as death in the pew while you straighten his clothes and fix your own, the weight of what he's done has immobilized him almost completely. After pulling him up into a barely standing position you calmly set your hands on the sides of his arms and explain to him what your plan is like he's some helpless child.

"Okay, we're going to walk out of here very calmly and we're going to go get you cleaned up. Right? We don't have to talk to anyone, we just walk out of here like we need to be somewhere, no one will ever know." Your gentle words are meant to soothe him but all he can hear is just the noise droning on and on.

Before he knows it he's being lead out into the hall, some people still remain in the church here and there doing menial tasks, none the wiser to how this holy place had recently been defiled. With the last of his strength he turns his gaze away from them, lacking even the will to pray that they don't look over and wonder what happened.

The two of you walk arm in arm out of the church, whatever relief there is in escaping the watchful eyes of divine judgment is replaced by the fear that now these sins could be exposed to the world. The back fabric of his cassock soaks up the midday sun and leaves him looking like a large dark stain on the earth that all eyes turned towards, he holds tightly to you as he resists the urge to shrink into himself.

At the end of the next street you lead him down stands a small home with a well kept garden, painted in charming colors, it wasn't a stretch to assume that you lived here. When he considered the short walk from the church he realized how close you had been this whole time, the confessions over the phone could have practically been made from the window. This knowledge came with the horror of how hard it would be to resist sneaking over on lonely nights when this temptaion would surely take him again.

John looks up from the bottom step as the front door to this little house seems to tower over him, he can't bring himself to walk forward until he feels you tugging his hand; and like always, he follows you.

"I can run you a bath so you can get cleaned up." You sweetly offer while leading him into the house. "And if you just want to soak for a bit I can put your clothes in the wash."

"Yeah, sure." He accepts as you walk him into the bathroom and before he can even question it he's methodically pulling his clothes off, not really caring what happened or where you put him now.

A sweet smell fills the air as he watches you put soap in the bath, he recognizes the scent being similar to your perfume. Fresh apples. How fitting. Now with all his sacred garments laying in a discarded heap on the floor John hunches over the sink and stares at himself, or rather, the man that he used to be in the mirror. The dark circles under his eyes are more apparent now, and he felt that anyone who took the briefest glance at him could tell without a doubt what he had done; perhaps he deserved to wear his sins so blatantly.

When he comes over to the tub he watches you blush and arvert your eyes while you gather up his clothes, the sight almost makes him smile and he feels the need to apologize for how he's acting or at least thank you for the trouble you're going through for his sake. Before you can leave he catches your wrist, but words fail him when your wide eyes meet his.

"Stay." He says plainly, almost coldly. "You need to clean up too."

"Okay." A blush dusts your cheeks as you accept, setting the pile of clothes down and adding your own to it.

When your skin is revealed to him inch by inch John can't help but stare. A new feeling takes over him, nothing like the all consuming desire he had felt before, but a new feeling of simple awe at the beauty before him. He had once felt this awe as a younger man who had first taken the cloth, and he regrets to think on the similarity between these two feelings.

God had first made man in his image, Eve had been made in the same image that was never meant to be hidden. That ancient gracefulness of the first mother is alive in you, every soft curve, every dimple, every freckle, a perfectly orchestrated work of art that to even describe with words would be a diservice to the primordial beauty he is witness to.

As he comes to all these realizations a second feeling of overwhelming shame floods his soul as John finds himself in the place of Adam who was compelled to hide behind fig leaves. He can't take his eyes away from the drying evidence of his sins staining your thighs and defiling this sacred image. Without saying anything he steps into the bath and hugs his knees tightly to his chest.

There in the water you were no longer two forces of nature colliding in destructive passion, naked and ashamed you are simply two lost souls caught up in something you were too weak to resist. John lets out a sigh, giving thanks that at least for now his sins were hidden here with you as the only witness. There was something very childish about the whole thing, sitting across from each other in scared silence thinking about what you had done.

"Father?" You sheepishly call out, the abused title making him wince.

"John." He corrects you plainly, he doesn't want to be reminded of the duties he's failed.

"John..." You say the name with the kind of trepidation someone might have when steping over a rickety bridge, and he wasn't sure if he could hold up as well. "Are you upset with me?"

His eyes widen slightly at the question, he knew he hadn't been as kind to you as he should have, but to see the way his behavior had hurt you is almost too much to bear. He had lived his whole life in need of Gods forgivness but he can't stand needing yours.

"No. I'm just... upset with myself." He struggles to explain.

"I'm sorry I did this to you. I should have just kept my thoughts to myself." You mournfully confess as you turn away, the genuine remorse in your words makes John ashamed that he did anything to make you feel that way.

"No, don't say that. This whole... situation is my fault. You only meant to make a confession and I took advantage of that." He reaches across the water and takes you hand as he asks. "Can you forgive me?"

"There's nothing to forgive." Your solemn answer lifts part of the burden off his shoulders but so much still remains. "I knew we would end up here, I was hoping we would even though we have no business together."

"You're much kinder to me than I deserve." He remarks at your reply, for once he feels less ashamed and more blessed to have you. "What can I do to repay you?"

For a moment you're silent, a faint blush colors your face while you make your request. "I know you probably have work to do, so I shouldn't even ask this but can you stay here tonight?"

"You just want me to stay here?" John inquires.

"I mean, if it's not any trouble." You begin to explain, your blush growing deeper as you make yourself vulnerable in an entirely new way. "It just gets lonely around here sometimes, I thought it might be nice."

John knows the feeling that plagues you all too personally, he had lost count of the nights he spent alone in the parish wishing there was at least someone to talk to, let alone hold. It broke his heart to think that you had felt even a fraction of that isolation.

"Someone as beautiful as you shouldn't have to be alone." He smiles and squeezes your hand.

"John, stop. You're making me blush." You giggle, he had never heard his name sung so sweetly.

"I mean it." He reiterates, moving closer to put his hands on either side of your face as his tone becomes serious. "You're beautiful inside and out and I'm sorry I've been so selfish."

You answer his apology with a gentle kiss, perfectly chaste in nature as if it were the first time your lips had ever touched.

"It's okay, John, really. I wanted this too remember?" You reassure him softly. "I wanted this for a long time."

"How long?" He asked, wishing the question was only from genuine curiosity and not the sleeping beast stirring under his skin.

"Ever since I first met you." You answer as you move even closer until you're straddling his hips. "There was this one time you looked over at me and I can't really describe it but you just looked so cute and sweet then I couldn't stop thinking about you."

"You're so beautiful." He was repeating himself but that was really the only word that came to mind watching you climb over him.

"I always wanted us to end up here." You confess with your lips an inch away from his, there was no need to say again how wrong that want was.

"I'm glad it did." The words feel like more of a sin to admit aloud than then the feeling itself, but hardly notices them leaving his mouth while he's aching to taste yours again.

His hands explore the curves of your waist and hesitate before reaching your breasts, you guide him by putting your own hands over his and crossing the line together. "Touch me again, John."

Without another pause he complies, running his thumbs over your nippples and hearing the soft hitch of your breath echo off the tile walls. He grows bolder, squeezing and kneeding with the intention of making you moan, studying every reaction for future reference.

"Have you ever..?" It seemed like a silly question, but given how much liberty he had taken with touching you before there was doubt.

"No, I kept my vows. I'm trying to." John answers but his actions oppose his words. "Trying so hard..."

"We haven't really broken them yet, have we?" You ask nervously, knowing the asnwer is more complicated but needing to test the boundry anyway. "We could just do it like before again."

"We could." The words feel like a lie as he says them, but he can't think of another way to let the both of you continue.

The heat radiates off your body even as the water grows cold around you, the desire burning under your skin and made clear in the rising of your breath. No doubt you can feel his own need growing an now pressing incessantly into your thigh, he rolls his hips upward in search of some friction, prompting you to take his length into your hand.

"Show me how to do it." You request, waiting for him to set his hand over yours and guide your touch.

"Just up and down, like that, hold it a little tighter." He instructs until you're stroking him with confidance.

With his hands now free he moves them between your thighs to reciprocate, sliding his fingers between your folds in a motion that if he wasn't careful would become familiar. Your sweet gasps of pleasure mix with his own shameless panting to echo off the walls until they make an even sweeter harmony. Slipping one finger past your waiting entrance just to study the feeling of being inside you, ignoring how your hips roll insistantly to wordlessly beg for more.

"Just a little slower... not too fast..." He corrects meekly, a wretched attempt to get the most out of this encounter. "I don't want this to end yet."

One thought plagues him even in the midst of indulgence, a shameful knowing that there is no point in savoring this moment. He would have you again, like this or any other way you will allow him, he would lead you farther off the path until you were hopelessly lost together. Though as long as you were together it couldn't be all that bad.

"John, please..." You whimper as his thumb grazes your clit, one more firm touch away from being sent over the edge.

He responds by moving much faster, more than you can handle, making you yelp as he ruthlessly fucks you with his fingers. You try and jerk him to the same brutal rhythm and in seconds he's bucking into your hand and moaning godlessly into the crook of your neck as he forgets himself once again.

You stroke him until he's soft and and he continues to pump his fingers inside of you until you're whimpering again. John wonders how long he can keep you just like this, keep the guilt at bay for a while longer, if he could just stay here in your arms and never have to go back to the melancholy, to the lonliness.

"I'll stay." He swears while he kisses your neck, he could never allow himself to leave you alone again.

"You will?" You ask.

"As long as you want me to." He reiterates.

"John." You reply with a thousand soft kisses spread across his face. "You don't know how happy that makes me."

"Just one night." He clarifies, though he knows there would be more if he can get away with it.

"Of course." You reply, as you take a nearby washcloth and run it over his skin gently. "Why don't we get cleaned up, then we'll have dinner together?"

"That sounds amazing." He punctuates his words with a kiss, feeling as if he's playing house for the evening. "You've done so much, why don't you let me make dinner?"

"Actually, I was thinking we could order pizza and watch a movie." You explain as you start to wash yourself. "Just got a bunch of tapes."

"Even better." He smiles as he steps out of the bath, taking a towel off the shelf and handing another to you.

"I'll call the pizza place, you go pick out a movie." You tell him after drying off and wrapping the towel around your body.

He watches you in the kitchen as you pick up the phone and flip through a nearby phone book, smiling as he observes you in your native habitat. The whole house is warm, and the smell of you is everywhere. For a moment he distracts himself from his task by studying all the little things around your house, the charmingly faded colors, the old furniture, even the dishes left in the sink made him feel like he's finding a whole new side of you that he isn't sure he's worthy of witnessing. For a little while he pretends that this is where he's meant to be, that watching a movie with you, covered in nothing but a towel is the most mundane thing in the world.

John wanders over to the living room and looks at the shelves, every movie he could think of was there but the one tape that caught his eye was a blank sleeve of a most likely pirated copy that had a worn out penciled label too faded to read. He pulls the dark block of plastic out of it's cover and the label makes his blood run cold. "The Exorcist" in perfectly bold font titles the tape.

"What did you pick?" You inquire a little too suddenly, making him jump when you lean in close and look at the tape in his hand.

"Ooooo The Exorcist." You stare amused. "I could never watch that movie on my own."

"It's a good thing I'm here." He replies, coming off a little too confident as he puts his arm around you and gives you a playful squeeze.

"Do you want to watch it?" You ask with a sweetness that he just can't say no to.

"Sure, why not?" Though he could think of a million reasons why not.

"You know... I always thought the priest from this movie was kinda cute." You confess with a cheeky smile, cutting some of the tension.

"Oh, really?." He teases you and leans in to nuzzle into a sensitive spot on your neck, all too pleased to hear this information. "Is this were it all started?"

"Don't make fun of me!" You giggle and squirm in his arms while he continues to tickle you. "I can't help it, maybe I just like cute priests."

"Maybe we should schedule you a an exorcism if it becomes a problem." He continues, hoping if he can keep this up to combat the fear.

"Actually, I was wondering but I was too afraid to ask before." You trail off with a more curious tone. "Do you ever have to do anything like this?"

The question makes him think of things that he would rather not, he had asked it himself once years ago and was relived to hear the answer, though the thought would still keep him up at night.

"No, this sort of thing only happens in movies." He replies with a sigh of relief. "Besides, I'd be in over my head in a real exorcism."

More frightening than any movie is the sound of the doorbell that makes you both jump and then laugh when you realize what it is.

"The money's on the table, you get the pizza and I'll set up the VCR." You tell him while you take the tape from him and take to to the television set.

John is still laughing to himself and smiling as he answers the door, but that smile quickly fades when he sees a familiar face on the other side of the door. He freezes remembering his state of undress and the single woman's house he had made himself comfortable in. Never had he felt so exposed hearing the voice outside the door call out in confusion.

"Father Ward?"