#you pray to be forgiven one day

[billysgun]

forgiveness

billy the kid x cowgirl!reader..pt2 of loyal |requested!|billy finds you after you ran from the gang, and falls apart in your arms|

the dimly lit cabin warmed your bare feet as your nightgown tickled your ankles, hand running down to your bloated belly, a tiny bump only you'd notice.

you're in arizona territory. the trail was hard with throwing up the little food you had and protecting yourself and your horse from thieves and murderers.

you've been here before, the abandoned cabin way out from civilization, a one-in-a-million find.

so how did he find it?

you should have known. the heavy thumps of a horse you prayed would pass you, and the running to your door with frantic knocking.

you crept toward it, already knowing it was him from his newly stolen horse tied next to yours through the window. you took a breath and then opened it.

his eyes were red and swollen, tears rimming the edges. he flew towards you into a back-breaking hug, and your body melted as his scent enveloped you.

"I thought you were goin' to clear your head- I didn't know. I'm sorry I'm so sorry" he babbled into your hair, your gown wetting at the shoulder from his tears, but you didn't want them.

you didn't want his tears, his apologies, and certainly not his presence

"billy stop-" you whispered, but he shook his head as he faced you, hands still wrapped around your frozen body

"no, I went 2 weeks without knowing if you were alive." he stays adamant. your hands slowly push his off of you as his touch is too much to process, your hands find your stomach to try and calm you but his eyes follow and his shoulders relax at the sight of you showing

"billy, I'm not with them anymore." you reference the gang, trying to find any way on why this wouldn't work.

he said it wouldn't. he didn't choose this but you're the one pregnant, so, obviously you did, right? you haven't forgiven him.

"I'm not either. I'm not doing that anymore" he picks up your hands

"we can do this. we can get a cabin like this or a ranch. raise our child together" he talks like it's so simple. just forgive and forget. he's ready now, so what's the issue?

you stare at him dumbfounded. yes, you know maybe that entire last argument was a little reactive and reckless, he did just find out that second. but you found out that day, too. and the last thing you needed to hear was how he didn't want it.

"billy...why?" you whispered, head too full of different emotions of wanting to hug him, slap him, and cry. you end up doing the last thing as tears softly fall down your cheek and he drops your hands slowly

"...what?"

"why are you just saying this now?"

"because before I was scared. I didn't want you to get hurt and I didn't want some outlaw father raisin' our child."

"but I'm not just an outlaw. and I'm not a cowboy. I'm here, and I want this baby" he whispers sincerely, teary eyes never breaking with yours

it was honest, and it was real. and how the trail is 2 weeks travel, and you only got here late last night, he would've had to leave hours after you did.

"please, love. I'm so sorry" his thumb brushed your tears before hugging you gently

"ok." it was a small sob, but it was all that billy needed. he scooped you up and took you to bed where you both laid. recovering your love as your child grew.

an: you guys really wanted a part 2..so here it is! I hope you guys enjoyed it <3 ilysm!! THANK YOU FOR 900 FOLLOWERS!! I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH 💞

[depravitycentral]

Tw: mild misogyny, physical assault, sexual harassment, he's icky nasty

“Y’know, you get this look when you’re mad.” He starts, and you straighten, back going taut as you wait for him to continue. Your back is to him, and you’re painfully aware of the heavy sound of his footsteps, slowly approaching you with a pace that makes shivers prickle along your arms.

“It’s like…” He starts, a noise following that you can only assume must be contemplative. “It’s like you’ve just missed the last train, or maybe someone cut you in line and got the last soda. It’s angry, sure, but it’s more like you’ve given up, if that makes sense.”

You peek at him, now, out of the corner of your eye. You’re not sure what brought this on – he’d just been out to get a coffee from the campus café, promising to be back in a few minutes. That’d been thirty minutes ago.

Working on the project together hadn’t been your choice, but when he turned to you in class and nudged you, quirking his brows and promising to work real hard, you’d merely shrugged, genuinely ambivalent. You didn’t know anyone else in the class, only taking it as an elective, and it was supposed to be pretty easy.

“See, you’re doing it right now.” He snorts a bit, and now you fully turn to look at him.

“Thirty minutes? The café’s next door.” You’re a little irritated, sure, but not terribly so. Working on the project wasn’t exactly your idea of fun, either.

He winces, eyebrows drawing together, but offers you an apologetic smile. “Yeah, yeah, sorry about that.”

He sits down next to you, the otherwise empty classroom making the squeaking chair echo. The smell of coffee fills the room as he sets down his own cup, steam billowing from the sipping slit. You’re about to open your mouth to ask him if he’s finally ready to get started, but when he places a to-go cup down in front of you, too, your mouth snaps closed.

“Just guessed what you’d want, sorry. For whatever it’s worth, your drink’s the one that took so long to make.”

You glance at him, finding his gaze already stuck on you, but you just smile a bit. “Okay, forgiven.”

He laughs, clapping his hands together in a praying motion. “Thank god.”

Your laptop’s open in front of you, and for a few minutes the only sound filling the room is the clicking of keys and occasional sipping. Much to your surprise, he’d managed to select a drink you didn’t mind. Taking a small sip, you sighed at the flavor. It was cold in the classroom and the warmth was welcomed.

“So, what are you thinking for colors? I like my PowerPoints to be pretty, but if you want it to be more simple then that’s okay.” You look over at him as you finish, watching the way he bites his lip.

“Mm, maybe black and white? Y’know, just real simple. Simple’s always good.” He winks at you, and you slowly nod.

“Okay, uh, sure.”

Truth be told, you didn’t know much about your seatmate – he’d ran into class five minutes late the first day, quickly rushing into the closest open seat which happened to be next to you. You’d been a little irritated at first at how his stuff sprawled out and invaded your space, but he seemed nice and was decently participatory in class, making you grow a bit fond of him. Besides, the professor always looked so thankful when he was the only one to raise his hand – and for that, you could let his more questionable behavior slide.

“You’re doing it again, you know.” He starts, a finger coming out to poke at the side of your arm.

Jumping, you whirl on him. “What?”

“Doing your angry-but-not-really face.”

“I’m not mad, I promise.”

“Sure, sure. Then hopefully you won’t be mad if I do… this.” He starts, before reaching out to flick your pencil over the side of the table.

You’re frozen for a second, before staring at him blankly. “What the fuck?”

He grins. “I just wanna see if that look gets worse when you’re for real irritated, y’know?”

You sigh, reaching down to pick it up off the floor. Fixing him a look, you cross your arms. “Better? Because I am definitely irritated now.”

He appraises you, leaning a few inches closer. “Mhm, just as I thought! Your lips get thinner, and your eyebrows get all tight.”

Rolling your eyes, you turn to face your laptop again. You only get a few words typed before he’s snickering under his breath, voice low as he mutters, “Most guys think that’s pretty unattractive, just so you know.”

Immediately you stop typing. Maybe partnering with him wasn’t such a good idea after all.

“What’s your problem?” You ask, and he looks at you again, hands poised over his own keyboard.

“What? Sorry if I hit a sensitive spot – girls are so weird about stuff like that. You’re pretty, don’t worry.”

You stay staring at him, and he only snickers. “Yeah, that’s it. That’s the look I’m talking about. Kind of kicked-puppy, like you’re real sorry for yourself.”

Standing up from your chair, you set your hands on your hips and face him. “Okay, listen you ass, I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I’m not dealing with this shit.”

You start to gather your stuff, but your partner only laughs a bit, before reaching out and flicking your pencil once more, this time a little bit further. With a huff, you smack at his arm and set your things down with a loud thud onto the wood, moving to the side of the desk and bending down to pick it up.

He’s quicker than you’d expected, given the frumpy sweatshirt and sweatpants he wears that hide the muscular physique underneath.

Hands encircle your wrists before you can think, body rotated harshly, back hitting the linoleum floor with enough force to knock the wind out of you. He’s above you, strong thighs caging your legs together underneath him. Your wrists are held up above your head, his single hand large enough to keep them pinned there. It isn’t until now that you realize just how tall he is, or how strong.

“What the fuck – “ You start, struggling and wiggling in his grasp. With growing panic, you realize you’re not able to make much progress, his muscles feeling like stone against you. A hand quickly comes down to slap over your mouth, muffling any yells or screams.

He’s staring at you, expression blank, something heavy simmering behind his eyes. Slowly though, the corner of his mouth tilts up, and it spreads, something resembling a grin stretching across his mouth – though his eyes don’t change.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’ve got a filthy mouth?” He asks, voice a bit quieter now, more of a whisper and deeper somehow – deep enough to make you freeze, momentarily stopping your struggle. His eyes are sharp, scary, too much – he’s too close to you, leaning closer and closer and making you press yourself harder and harder against the dirty classroom floor.

He laughs again. “But that’s okay, I like that about you. It’s like you’re wild, like you’re untamed. Real.” His eyes flash. “Raw. Ha, I just know girls love to hear that word.”

Your eyes go wide, the insinuation making your struggling pick back up again. You’re thrashing, but he only squeezes at your jaw, tutting at you.

“Nuh-uh, none of that, okay? And don’t worry,” he throws you a smile that makes your eyes feel wet, your nose tingling, “I’m not gonna do that. At least, not here. Y’know, I’ve got a little bit of decency, I know girls like mattresses, pillows, and shit like that.”

He licks his lips. “Anyways, back to that mouth of yours…”

Quickly, and without any warning, the hand over your mouth shifts up and down, two long, curling fingers plunging past your lips and laying heavily against your tongue.

Your face twists up, eyebrows knotting together in disgust because his fingers taste like salt. He grins again, and to your horror, his fingers start moving. Rubbing against your tongue, pressing down and down, the pads of his fingers feeling like sandpaper against you.

“You always get a look when you’re angry, sure, but did you know you get this look when you’re really happy, too? It’s like you’ve seen something Earth-shattering, like it’s something almost holy.” The fingers move and angle under, rubbing against the soft underside of your tongue, down and pressing against the space underneath your tongue. He shudders. “They say this part feels like pussy. That true?”

You can’t move, can’t even breath as he shoves his fingers down deeper, moving to run over all of your teeth, a whistle slipping past his lips. “But you’re real pretty when you’re smiling, you know. Makes me wanna stare at you. When you answer a question right and professor tells you ‘exactly!’, you get this big grin and it’s damn cute. Always staring at those lips of yours – they get thinner when you’re smiling, y’know? Stretched taut, always makes me think what all they can do. Just how much they can stretch, if you get what I’m saying.”

You do, but you wish you didn’t, and he must know that because his fingers move to dip into the lower corners of your mouth, slipping between your back molars and your inner cheeks, prodding and poking at the juncture between gum and cheek. “Pretty, pretty, pretty. Even like this – you’re puckered, which I guess isn’t the same thing, but I like it.”

He hums, taking his time as his fingers dip and poke at every inch of your mouth, running over every bump and curve of your teeth, pinching your tongue between his finger pads, thumb rubbing circles against the underside of your chin.

“Do you like this?” He murmurs, those eyes locked on the motion of his fingers inside your mouth, the imprint visible against your cheeks. He licks his lips again. “I’ve heard some girls like shit in their mouth. Obviously I think my cock’d be better, but this works too. Works for me, that’s for sure.”

He laughs at that, shifting his hips forward, and you whimper when you feel what you can only assume is his erection against your thigh. His nostrils flare at the sound. “Fuck babe, that’s good. Do that again.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying desperately to pretend you’re somewhere else, but his grip on your wrist gets tighter, tight enough to hurt and oh ow ow ow –

You gasp around his fingers, the sound choking, and he whines lowly in his throat. “God, you’re fucking pretty. Your smile’s good, but you look good like this too, just so you know. All scared, shivering and squirming around… Ha, see? This is kind of like that angry face I was talking about. All terrified and self-patronizing, feeling back for yourself.”

He cocks his head to the side, fingers pushing in even further in a fluid motion, reaching to touch the back of your throat, making you gag. He bites his lip. “Kind of pisses me off that you’re so afraid of me, but I get it. I can forgive you. Besides…”

He leans down, nose nudging at the juncture of your neck and shoulder. Something warm and wet lolls out to run in languid strokes along your skin, the tee-shirt you’re wearing doing little to deter him. In fact, he takes the hem between his teeth, sucking at the fabric and letting his hair brush against your jawline. You shut your eyes again.

“I know what will make that face even better, how you’ll get even more angry.”

You stop, dread filling every muscle in your body.

He laughs against your skin, nibbling lightly and smiling at the way you jolt away. “Remember how I said I like your smile? How I think it’s just so damn pretty?”

You’re too frozen to move – not like you could, anyway. The linoleum feels especially cold against you.

He grins, pulling back to look at you. He presses a kiss against his hand, right over your lips. “Well, when we met up today and you looked at me like that, smiling at me – at me, I mean, what was I supposed to do?”

His cock’s pressing against your thigh again, humping lightly as it grows harder, bigger, more insistent. “I know you’re not stupid. Coffees don’t take thirty minutes to get. So you know what I did with the other twenty minutes, then, right? C’mon, you’re smart, think about it.”

He’s staring at you again, mirth swimming in his eyes. “Let’s just say my refractory period is damn short.”

Immediately there’s bile climbing up your throat because the salty taste of his fingers – his right hand, no less – is all too strong now, the smell of his pinky pressed up against your nose musky and heady and god, you’re going to be sick. 

He’s quick to press harder against your mouth, though, tutting against at you. “Oh, don’t worry, I washed my hands after the first round. But then your drink was done, and I couldn’t keep you waiting, right? After all I know how you get when you’re mad.”

He sighs, leaning down to press his forehead against yours again. “Now, about that mouth.”

He grins, eyes sparkling as he ruts against your thigh and asks, “On your knees or on your back? I’ll let you choose, babe.”

Atsumu Miya, Kenji Futakuchi, Takahiro Hanamaki, Shoyo Hinata, Tetsurou Kuroo, young Enji Todoroki, Tomura Shigaraki, Kaigaku, some flavor of Tengen Uzui, Ryusei Shidou

[farfromstrange]

Fictober Day 25: Love Language

Fictober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Prompt: Love Language (🌼)

Summary: Matt's love language is touch.

Warnings: Fluff, love language, not proofread.

Word Count: 687

A/n: I do believe Matt Murdock shows his love through touch a lot, but also through all his other senses. I'm just focusing on one in this fic.

Read Me On AO3! (coming soon)

Matt’s love language is touch.

It’s not because he doesn’t know how to tell you he loves you—he does. He tells you before you’re even awake, before he leaves for work, during work, and before bed. He utters those three times almost more than you do because he is scared if he doesn’t you might slip away, but that is also why he touches you so gently every time he’s close to you. 

Every morning, he traces the features of your face from your temples to your chin until you wake up. He kisses your temple when you’re busy making coffee, brushes his hand over your lower back when you’re brushing your teeth, or getting dressed for the day and he just happens to have to brush past you. 

He kisses you goodbye three times, one kiss for every word in ‘I love you’. And when he comes home, he kisses you once, but he doesn’t stop for a whole minute because he just needs to taste you after having been apart from you for so long. 

You can feel his love through his fleeting touches, the way he holds you close to his chest when you can’t sleep, and how he lays his head on your chest when he’s had a rough day because you are his only reprieve from the bustling of the city. You are his saving grace. When he touches you, even just for a second, he forgets the world.

So, when he tells you, “I love you,” on his way out the door and you answer with, “I know,” you mean it in the most literal sense of the word.

You know he loves you because he never fails to show you. 

You know he loves you because he will never let you forget it. 

He might never be able to give you peace, but peace, in your opinion, is overrated. He keeps your brittle heart warm. He keeps you safe. He would die for you, that much you know.

He has proven time and time again how much you mean to him, and yet he never feels it’s quite enough. He never feels like he is enough for you. Not good enough. Not pure enough. Not easy enough or safe enough. 

“As long as I’m part of your life,” he’d said once, “you’re always gonna be in danger, and one day, I might not be able to stop you from getting hurt.”

“It wouldn’t be your fault,” you’d told him.

“No, it would. You deserve better. So much better.”

But you only took his hand in yours, intertwined your fingers, and said, “I deserve you.”

If he lost you, Matt wouldn’t know what to do with himself. Having one more person he loves die in his arms would kill him. He would fall to his knees then and beg God to take him, too. He would beg the earth to open up and take him to hell because he is sure he has sinned enough to make it straight to the fiery pits of hell. 

His sins can not be forgiven, no matter how much he prays. You know he thinks like that more often than he cares to admit, and even when you try to tell him how good he is, he refuses to listen.

Loving you is his penance. 

Telling you how much he loves you is not enough, so he has to show it some other way. He has to work to earn it, he thinks, so he does. He will love you until his heart is bleeding on the floor—until he has sacrificed his very soul to you. Only then will he be worthy of redemption.

He’s utterly broken, but you wouldn’t stick around if you didn’t think he’s worth it. You can help him. You can take his hand and tell him time and time again that he is enough, and you will do so until he finally believes you.

Whether it takes two years or two lifetimes, you don’t care. You will never tire of trying because, to you, Matt Murdock is more than enough.

@ebathory997 @the-b33skn33s @scoliobean @drmeghanjones @lanae111 @gpenguin666 @linamarr @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @thatonegamefish @amberritonicole @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-gir1-has-n0-name @winkev1 @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife @trublu2u @xnatyx @zomtart @ethereal-blaze @littleagxs @ravenclaw617 @lucienofthelakes @steve-chandler

[nalyra-dreaming]

Hi there!

Just saw one of your reblogs for lestats role in the trial and it reminded me of something I was thinking the other day that has actually more to do with louis.

Louis chose to stay with armand, is shown to forgive armand and even present him as his current love of his life despite armand fully knowing about the premeditated public executions of himself and his daughter.

From louis pov armand knew for months, could have prevented it for months and only at the last minute "changed his mind" (we know the reveal showed that was not the case but louis didn't know that). And he STILL chose to stay with him. For all his talk about avenging claudia he let armand go unpunished.

Why? Because he thought armand saved him.

That is shown to be louis' choise way before any mental influence from armand started taking place.

When the reveal about lestat happened the same parameters were shown but reversed to lestat instead of armand.

He is shown to rehearse, know about the trial and choose to save louis in the end. We don't know his actual state during that (and rolin loves to make all lestat injuries imaginary ���)

Book readers know what happened and what might get picked up in season 3... but then again they have changed a lot of aspects from the books especially where lestat is concerned. Changing this too would not be a stretch given their choices so far.

Also a lot of show watchers know nothing about the books and if you only watch the show coming to this type of conclusions is understandable imo.

I hope and pray rolin will choose to actually follow the books for this one but I can't know that he will and unless proven otherwise we kinda have to live with these takes for now 😅

Hey nonny,

ermmm.... I - forgive me - but no. We do not have to live with these takes, because actually the show gives us everything we need - you just have to pay attention.

This is what I meant in another post about what I would change on the show with the show being too subtle.

Because you obviously missed a few rather important clues.

Louis didn't choose to stay with Armand.

(Outside the initial spiteful decision, maybe. And even that I doubt, because the tower scene... is damned weird, and I doubt it happened as told.) Armand manipulated, lied, edited Louis' mind, and kept him in a literal golden cage. THIS is Louis' face when Armand chose to reveal himself at the end of 1x07:

That's trepidation.

You might want to read this post, as to "The Graduate", which Rolin Jones named for that scene, it is a direct reference, and has not much to do with why you take it for. Keep in mind that this analysis was written way before s2 though and does not contain its reveals.

In s2 it becomes clear over the episodes that Armand keeps Louis as the proverbial "Stepford Wife" in Dubai - edits his mind when he acts out, edits it when Louis asks questions, the diary request is not followed up on, Louis' mood changes are blatant.

He literally puts words into Louis' mind to say. 2x05. Daniel Hart accentuated it all beautifully with that single note.

Louis does not forgive Armand.

Louis literally does not forgive Armand, because IN THE VERY MOMENT when he gets the truth, in 2x08, he throws Armand into the wall for it and leaves him.

Like, these are Armand's words there, when he runs after Louis:

One night, 70 years ago. You are over this, Louis! The pain of it has left you. Don't let an insignificant detail, delivered from am insignificant mortal... You have forgiven me for what part I played in her death! And time has opened back up to us and we are once again teachers of one another.

And who knows, maybe Armand even believes it. (Though I doubt it because Assad says Armand sees Louis as a vessel for himself.)

But Louis throws Armand into the wall after this, and Jacob said it was to "make him stop lying".

That's not forgiving.

Louis thought Armand had been roped into the trial, had been made to think Armand was only a victim in it, like he was.

But Armand was the director, as is very much evident in the trial script. And when that becomes clear, his rage is quite clear as well. And he goes to Lestat immediately.

____

A lot of show watchers (only) seem to not pick up on a lot of clues, and I don't mean this in any ill will.

But this show needs you to think when you watch it, at least if you want to analyze it. It's okay if you don't - but if you want to understand it, or follow the twists, then you need to pick up the clues.

And pay a LOT of attention to the details.

Because the details are there. Hints to the truth are there.

For example Murder Night - that cannot have happened as shown either. The writers said they would revisit still, and Claudia's little diary with Lestat' blood does not match what Louis told. Or the train scene - neither the time tables nor the cities match, Lestat cannot have brought back Claudia as told. Or the twice given speech on the radio on different evenings that was actually only given once. The wound of Antoinette's taken off finger, which doesn't match. Louis and Claudia being not as afraid of Lestat as they claimed. Lestat's outburst at the chess game being about more than just a temper tantrum.

And so on.

You think these are coincidences?

On this show?

No.

But they are subtle.

Very subtle.

And I have a feeling they are too subtle for some.

Because people are used to be fed a story that they can believe, for a show to have an objective truth.

And that is very much not the case here.

And it doesn’t have anything to do with book reader‘s knowledge and all to do with attention to details. And the willingness to doubt what you’re told.

Because we were fed a tale - not the (whole) truth.

[indigovigilance]

Baraqiel and Azazel

Disclaimer: DO NOT ask Neil Gaiman to confirm or deny any of this. He doesn't want you to ask. I don't want you to ask.

SO DON'T ASK.

Edit: Neil confirmed this theory and it's not my fault: see the reblog

Now, on with the meta.

Thesis and evidence below the cut:

Dominion...

Angel of the Sky...

Hair an eye-burning ginger, eyebrows like grisly slugs, often draped in red…

Occasionally damp...

Most likely singed…

Most likely singed…

Most likely singed…

Most likely singed…

So that's everything from purely within Good Omens canon.

Baraqiel is described, additionally, in the Book of Enoch as:

Lord of Lightning

Who taught the forbidden knowledge of astronomy:

He is also the overseer of the Second Heaven, wherein lies the prison of Fallen Angels. More on that later.

The story of Baraqiel’s ejection from Heaven is contained in the Book of Enoch, but he’s not a main character. In fact, he’s only one of twenty major fallen angels, specifically, the ninth. The tenth is Azazel.

Who, then, is Azazel?

Firstly, Azazel is a fallen angel:

Who is damned because he introduces humans to forbidden knowledge, specifically, the knowledge of swords [and other devices of warfare]:

And also the knowledge of adornment, specifically, “the art of making up the eyes, and of beautifying the eyelids, and the most precious stones, and all kinds of coloured dyes.”

And insofar as Azazel is synonymous with Azzael, he denounces the authority of the Metatron:

In fact, Azazel is given all the blame for revealing the secrets of Heaven: “​��the whole Earth has been ruined by the teaching of the works of Azazel; and against him write: ALL SIN.”

and God orders Raphael punish Azazel: “And further the Lord said to Raphael: "Bind Azazel by his hands and his feet and throw him into the darkness. And split open the desert, which is in Dudael, and throw him there.””

We never learn in the Book of Enoch that Raphael actually does this (based on my reading), but it was commanded. In fact, Raphael would have had to throw Azazel into that prison which was in the domain of Baraqiel.

This puts Baraqiel!Crowley and Azazel!Aziraphale among the ranks of angels that went to Earth and delighted in Earthly pleasures, which caused them to be “fallen,” that God refused to speak to from then on, that Enoch!Metatron was ordered by God to tell that they were unforgiven and would never be forgiven.

It’s worth noting that there seems to be some disagreement among rabbinical scholars over whether Samyaza, Azza, Azzael, and Azazel are separate entities or if these are different names for the same entity. We should also remember that in the universe of Good Omens, entities change names when they ascend to or fall from Heaven.

Tying this all back to the Metatron: In 3 Enoch, the book which describes the ascent of Enoch the man to Metatron the angel, we learn that the overseer of the Second Heaven is Baraqiel, angel of lightning. The description of the prison in the Second Heaven and the angels trapped within it is terrifying, but not more than Enoch’s own actions when he is there.

At this point Enoch has not been transfigured into the Metatron yet, but when he passes by, the angels ask him to pray for them to the Lord; and he refuses, for “who am I, a mortal man, that I may pray for angels?” He is told about them again in the Fifth Heaven, about their sins, how they followed Satan, and that they will be punished on Judgment Day.

So we have a lot of reasons here to see that there would be enmity directly between the Metatron and Azazel, for questioning his authority before God, and between Baraqiel and Enoch!Metatron, for either Baraqiel was guarding the prison or already in it when the human who would become Metatron was supplicated for prayers of redemption and refused. Either way, the Metatron is responsible for Baraqiel’s fall, most directly because he refused to take the petition of the fallen angels before God and instead relied on his interpretation of a dream.

There’s been a lot of implication and even exposition throughout S2 that memory is vulnerable to erasure. We’ve gotten some direct hints that Crowley doesn’t remember all of his past, but I would venture to propose that Aziraphale has a very troubled past that he does not remember, that the Metatron (and possibly Crowley) does, and that further, because his memory was [partially] removed, his name was changed to Aziraphale, for which we see precedent in Jimbriel and all the demons.

My absolutely unhinged, unsubstantiated S3 prediction is that Angel!Crowley sacrificed himself to rescue Azazel from damnation, and the price of Azazel remaining an angel was losing the memories of his transgressions, including (and especially) those he formed with Angel!Crowley. That at the Garden of Eden, Crawley!Crowley knew that these things had been erased, and that he was probably talking to a husk of his former friend, the way that Jim was a husk of Gabriel, but that when he learned that Aziraphale had given away the sword, realized that the soul of the person he loved was still in there.

Partner post: For a meta on why we should believe that Enoch!Metatron aka Human!Metatron is a possibility, go here.

Edit: I read the Book of Enoch from front to back, twice, but if you want to check my work (or write a response meta!) you can find the source material here and here.

If you liked this husbands-centric meta, you may like A Nightingale Sang in 1941

If you liked this historic event speculation, you may like Sodom and Gomorrah

[blingblong55]

Dear Father -John Price x F!Reader x Simon 'Ghost' Riley NSFW

A/N: If you're super religions and/or catholic...look away

Based on a request:

I am too sinning on this app so Ik that it isn't part of the list but what about a priest au? price and ghost having a threesome with a nun or sister (yk what I mean) its all innocent at first she helps around during mass and since both men cant break celibacy they try and stop the 'sinful' thoughts of sister/nun y/n one time they saw her curves and from then on after talking w the other they decided to corner her and fuck her ____ F!Reader, smut, MDNI, 18+, dub-con, hierophilia, threesome, priest!Price, priest!Ghost, spit roast, some degrading, nun/sister!reader unprotected!sex, oral!sex, P-in-V, priest au, nun/sister au ____

A/N: personally, I love the idea of getting fucked by a priest...especially by these two. Also inspired by many of the band Ghost songs

You walked the halls of the holy temple, rosemary in hand as you made your way to mass. "Sister," Father John greeted. "Hello Father, having a great evening?" You and him walk the hall together. "It has been a delightful one, sister. And how is your evening this fine day?" The Bible by his hand. "Oh mine has been pleasant," you smile a little. "Have you spoken with Father Simon?" You nod, "I have, he seems excited for this evening, I heard we will have a larger group this holy day." You comment. As you walk inside you see the children help set up the mantle on the altar, the bible and wine carefully set up as well. You sit in one of the chairs by the altar, Father Simon comes out to make sure the temple looks well for when the townspeople arrive. "Ah..sister R/N, how are you today?" the holy man spoke. "I'm fine father, and yourself?"

"Couldn't be happier, now remember sister, you must make sure not to let that little head of yours get lost when I give the sermon." He pats your head and makes his merry way upstairs where he changes into his attire. You walk towards the door, helping the townspeople in, all in their best attire for this day. The sign of the cross is all done by them as they walk into the temple. The rosemary in hand as mass began. You sat neatly by the altar, praying and listening to Simon. He gave a couple of jokes to the people attending, much of which people laughed. It was communion when you were in line and his finger touched your lip, and you opened it. "The body of Christ," the way he said it, so alluring to the thoughts you once had as a young woman of the church. "Amen," you respond and eat the bread. You go back to your seat and pray.

After mass, all the people left, the cleaning crew and townspeople, it was just Father John and Simon with you. You stayed on your knees, praying for all the people that attended. In the candle-lit room, the two priests joining you. Kneeling beside you and letting you stay between them. They held your hand, praying with you. Once it was over, they returned to their room. "Amen," you whisper and try and forget about the sinful thoughts both priests gave you. You walked back to your room until you heard some moans. It had to be some of the people you let sleep for shelter but as you were about to knock on the door of Father Price, Simon walked into the hallway. "Sister?" his voice like a whisper. "Father, I think I heard a noise-"

"Go to bed, R/N, we'll discuss this in the morning, good night," he walked back into his room and as you walked past Father John's room, the moans continued. Could he be sick? No, that can't be, he is a very healthy man. Once in your room, you prayed and got into your nightgown. By morning, you walked the halls again and made sure the kitchen and offices were clean and ready for the day. It was a Monday, meaning a few people would show up to confess. "Father John will do confessionals today," you informed. People of all backgrounds nodded in delight, ready to have their sins forgiven.

By the evening, you were approached by Simon. "Are you confessing today?" an innocent question with ulterior motives. "Yes, father." A simple and short response, one that began the entire evening. As the doors to the public closed and you walked into the confessional booth, you sat down. "What are your sins, child," Johns's voice so soft. A confession that was meant to stay in between the walls. "I've been having unholy thoughts," your voice so small and full of embarrassment. "About what or who, child?" He knew who this was, and an excited smirk appeared on his face. "About the priests in this church, I don't know how it got to this point, I'm sorry, Father." You look down, the rosemary on your hands, playing with the beads out of nerves. He knew what the evening had planned for the three of them.

"On your knees child, pray to be forgiven." Words that would later be repeated during the night. You did so, prayed and prayed, hoping for forgiveness. To break celibacy, something the church penalised their holy men. The oath to be devoted to the man up above was now broken to worship the temptress that roamed the halls, dressed as a holy woman. A succubus that knew she was their weakness, clothed in holy clothes, to be undressed and fucked like the whore she is and wants to be.

You in Simon's ear, crying and confessing to him too. "I'm sorry Father, I know this is wrong, I'm sorry I didn't mean to think of this." He shakes his head, a lying motion to be proven soon. John walks in, holy water in a bowl in his hand, rosemary on the other. He and Simon look at each other, their plan to work. "Get on your knees and beg for forgiveness," Simon demands. Your teary eyes are now filled with confusion but you don't question this, you get on your knees, and begin to pray until he stops you. Thumb under your chin, making you look up. "Not like that, sister, open your mouth, be a good girl," John says. You open your mouth, and a sense of newfound arousal finds its way to you. If the heavens spoke, this would be the beginning of a long overdue sin. Two priests, three sinners and a saint, all in one room, ready to corrupt the one thing that began to crack under the very same roof they spoke holy words. Both men spit in your mouth, "Swallow," Simon commands this time and you nod. Their zippers undone, their hair pulled, their cocks ready to be pleased by the mouth of a saint.

Your mouth and body are about to become their temple. John is the first to begin to stroke his cock in front of your face. Simon followed right after. Worshipping the very thing they had sworn to never do, a woman and the sexual desire they so have needed. Let me have you, the devils spoke in a whisper. Your mouth being teased by John's tip, all red and swollen, letting the innocent nun look up with such a good girl stare, it melted their hearts. "Suck on it," he tells you, your lips wrapped around his thick shaft. His hand is on your hair, pushing your head further in. You gag and cry, trying to hold in all the noise the room could not listen to. Simon can't take it any longer. "Pray for us, R/N," the young priest says. A prayer that will send you three over the edge on a bed made for one holy man. Simon pulled you away from John, placing you on the bed on all fours, Simon massaging your ass before taking your clothes off. The a need to have this, already leaving your panties soaked. It was true what they said, to worship is to be devoted and in this moment, they are devoted to your body and you to theirs.

You mewl when you feel Simon slap your now bare ass, your shirt ripped from you as John teases your face with kisses. Your tits slapped before he cups your face with aggression, "You're nothing but a fucking slut, you know that, R/N?" Before you could even respond he slaps your face and smirks. Simon's thick and veiny cock, blessed your walls, and as your cunt was already dripping from just the thought of getting fucked he chuckled. "Our little nun here seems to be eager for this," he tells John. The moans you let out as he hungrily fucked himself into you, were too sinful for such holy men to listen to. It was food in ways no one could understand. John's cock in your mouth, your throat trying its best to accommodate a man his size. Their trousers on the floor, your body the temple for such noises and sins. Your cunt spread open for Simon's size.

You begin to let out whimpers, something so small that you get punished for your pleasure is not of importance in this Your body, like it was possessed by fools gold, making these hungry men fight for every part of it. Their breathing is heavy as your body gets used over and over again. "Just like that, fucking take it," Simon stuttered as he has found pleasure he was forbidden to feel. John touched your body only when the holy water was on his hands as if he were to burn if he didn't touch the water before touching the devil herself. "You're nothing but a slut, aren't you, hm…say it…say it you bitch," John slapped your face and pulled his cock out to let you breathe. Between heavy panting, you responded, "I'm…a slut, Father." Your voice is hoarse, barely above a loud whisper.

"That's fucking right," he forces your mouth open and spits on it again. His cock back in your mouth that thins at his size. Simon can't help but slap your ass, wanting to mark it as his. If this was how you received forgiveness, then the more sins you must commit. The devil grins this night, for he has made this night turn from holy to his own little game. To taunt all believers and worshippers. It was a night of ritual, one to commence when all-powerful and mythical mysteries went to roam the earth. Some call it adultery, some call it fun. You played with black magic, getting daddied by men who were never dad. Giving you things you never once had. Simon's cock twitching, begging for release. You kept swallowing the pre-cum that leaked from Johns cock. John's breathing escapes in short ones, not being able to contain his orgasm for any longer. You know he is close, his cock twitches and you can feel how it is pulsating in your mouth.

He groans, head thrown back as he fills your mouth with his cum. His movements were desperate, your face flushed as he held you in place. Simon let his cock sink into your greedy body, his hands holding you as in his head, he too asked for forgivenes. Your walls clench around Simon, your breathing getting heavier. And although it was never intended, he knew that with each thrust he was getting you closer to heaven as well. John pulls out, forces you to swallow his cum and he grins when your mascara stained face looks up at him as his mate continues to fuck you. "You like that, don't you?" he whispers and kisses you as he bends. His face cupping yours. Wet kisses and groans filled the room. No longer sacred by definition.

Simon filled you with his sticky seed, his groans turned to moans when he felt your cunt pulsating, your walls milking him for all he is worth. It was perfect, he turned you into his personal fleshlight. You let out whimpers as he pulls out, your cunt abused and leaking the seed of a holy man. What a great use for a whore that desguises herself as a nun. You clit sensitive, the men laid you on your back and between them. A secret amongst three people, to be repeated but never spoken of. A sin that will carry for as long as time. The holy water John brought it, used to clean your sweat, tears and the cum that displayed on your body. The rosemary, used to hang from your neck as they kissed it all night long. Two priests, three sinners and one former saint, a corruption well done.

Tags: @ghostslillady @mothcelestial @greatstormcat @pippylaune @liyanahelena @anonymuslydumb @kit-kats06 @quaritchscupquake @lisa-takeshi @ash-tarte @arithestrawberry @agent-oaklahoma @murarl @downbadformaskedmen @iamnotfinedaddy @woncloudie @lilahbunny

[the-froschamethyst4]

Please, Father

𖤐Pairing: Priest! Ghost x Nun! F! Reader

𖤐Pronouns: She/Her

𖤐Warnings: smut, NSFW, priest kink, language, mention of smoking and drinking, more use of Simon than Ghost, P in V, age gap, praise kink, fingering, eating out, masturbation, blowjob,

𖤐Summary: When Ghost gets wind of a 'disrespectful' nun, he puts her in her place

————

————

Ghost walks through the big church, humming a soft tune that he just randomly came up with. He makes it to the alter seeing two nuns 'praying' but really they were gossiping.

"I caught her smoking," one says.

"Smoking! Father Simon, will hate that, she better get her act together!" they were whispering back and forth with each other but Simon could hear them plane as day.

"I know, Mother Faith caught her with alcohol once in the bathroom after church the other day."

"What a skank-"

"That's a bit disrespectful, Sister Grace and Sister Amber," Simon interrupts their conversation.

"We are so sorry, Father," they bow their heads to him.

"All is forgiven, but please no gossiping within the church."

"Yes, Father," they say as they prayed again.

"And could I ask...who this Sister is you two are talking about?" He asked.

"The new Sister, Father." Sister Grace says.

"Sister Y/n." Sister Amber says.

Y/n was a new Nun in the Church. She was brought to the church to learn about her families 'history' but newsflash there was no history, her family just sought her to be disrespectful and needs to be taught a lesson.

She was the middle child out of her siblings and her parents thought she was running with the wrong crowd and sent her overseas to this church to become a nun.

But that was far from the truth. Y/n wasn't disrespectful at all, she was innocent and people just painted her to be a bad child, being a Nun was easy work for her, but being here made her start smoking and drinking.

Speaking of Y/n. She sits in the courtyard leaning on the stone wall looking over the people walking passed the church.

"You will get us in trouble if they see you smoking, Sister Y/n," Y/n had the cigarette between her lips as she turns to Mother Lucia. She took Y/n under her wing and understood Y/n's struggles.

"So, what...people already think I'm a bad Nun...it doesn't matter," she says, putting her cigarette out.

"Why not go to the confession booth?" Mother Lucia asked.

"It doesn't work...I feel like no one listens to me...not even Father Simon," she says as she walks with Lucia.

"Father Simon always listens." Lucia says.

"If so why has nothing I've confessed about change?"

"You have to change them yourself, Y/n."

"What a waste of time," she rolls her eyes.

"I understand you feel like no one is listening to you, but trust me, Father Simon will help you."

"If I give it another try, will you leave me alone about it?"

"I will," Mother Lucia smiles at her.

"Fine, I'll do it later today."

"Good. Come on, let's go pray." Y/n hates praying, she doesn't know what she is praying for.

----------

Father Simon fixed his suit and heads to the confession booth. Sitting on the other side, he hears the door on the other side open and then hears a voice.

"Father, I must confess," he listens and pays attention to the voice, it's one he's heard before. "I don't think I've sinned, but I am...confused..."

"How so?" He finally speaks.

"People don't understand me, they don't understand what I've been through in my life and I'm called a 'disrespectful' nun...I'm not disrespectful at all."

Simon knew who he was talking to now. He slight turns his head and sees the side of Y/n's face, she looked sad, she looks down at her fingers, playing with them unaware that Father Simon was looking at her.

He gets up and closes the door. Y/n hears the door shut and she turns not seeing his outline in the booth next to her.

"What a waste of time," she says, then her door opens, she is face-to-face with Father Simon.

"Come with me, Sister Y/n," he says, putting his hand out but then realizing what he was doing took his hand back. "Please, come with me," he says.

Father Simon and Sister Y/n walk through the church the other Nuns see Y/n with him. They started to gossip about how she might get kicked out.

Simon opens his office door letting Y/n in, he shuts the door and locks it without Y/n knowing.

"Please have a seat," he says, letting her sit on his black leather chair in front of his desk. Simon leans on his desk looking at Y/n.

"Father Simon, am I in trouble for my confession?" She asked, looking up at him.

"No, never, it's a confession booth for a reason, Sister Y/n...a little birdie told me...you were smoking?"

"I-I'm sorry, Father Simon...I'm...I started it 3 weeks after I've arrived here, I also have been drinking."

"And you confessed about being confused...not that you are smoking and drinking on church grounds."

"I'm sorry, Father," she bows her head and hot tears filled her eyes, Simon wasn't trying to intimidate her and wasn't going to bash her or was going to kick her out. "Please, Father...forgive me," tears landed on her hands.

Simon places his finger under her chin making her look up at him, he sees her red eyes from crying.

"Sister Y/n, please don't cry, you did nothing wrong, Mother Lucia had told me some of your hardships and what you've been through," Simon tells her.

"Please, don't kick me out, Father," she pleads.

"I would never kick out a lovely lady like you," he says. "Please...tell me what you want, Sister Y/n?" He asks.

"I...I don't know what I want..."

"I think you do...Y/n when's the last time you've touched yourself?"

"F-Father Simon, I don't think that's appropriate to ask-"

"Let's not start that, tell me."

"Since I've arrived here..." she says, looking down.

"So 8 months ago?" Simon questions.

"Yes, Father."

"Aww~ so sad," he let's go of her chin and leans on his desk. "Lift your skirt and start touching yourself," he says.

"W-What?"

"You heard me, Y/n...lift your skirt and start touching yourself," he repeats.

"U-Umm~"

"Do you need help?" He asks. He walks back to her dropping to his knees, he picks her legs up placing them on his shoulders. She let's out a soft gasp and he lifts her skirt up exposing a light pink lacy panties.

"Do you always wear little underwear?"

"I-It's all I have, Father," she says.

"They're pretty," he says, licking his lips. Simon moves his hand up her thighs and then gently drag down her clothed clit.

"Mmm," She moans.

"You're already wet?"

"I-I can't help it," she moans.

"I understand," he helps her just a bit by rubbing her wet folds, he takes a hold of her hand and brings it down to her clit making her stick her fingers inside of her.

"Keep going," he demands watching her finger herself, getting a close view of her touching herself, soft moans left her mouth, she covers her mouth muffling her moans but Simon moves her hand wanting to hear her soft moans.

As she starts picking up the pace with her fingers inside of her, she starts arching her back and cum leak from her lower half, Simon looks up at her and then leaned forward using his tongue licking up her cum.

She pulls her fingers out from her lower half his tongue touched her fingers, he moves back and spits on her clit and shoved his middle and ring finger inside of her.

He starts moving his fingers quickly in and out of her, she head goes back, her hands on his shoulders. She let's out a few soft moans and then he attached his lips to her clit, licking her bud and then shoving his tongue inside of her.

"AH-AH!"

"Shh~ lovely, don't be too loud now."

"I-I'm sorry," she says.

Simon moves his tongue and pulled his fingers out, he licks his fingers. He picks Y/n up setting her on his desk, he pushes her skirt up and then pulls her panties off her lower half.

She moans feeling the cold hit her clit, she sees him unbuckling his pants, and he pulls his dick out.

"Father Simon, is this...okay?" She asked.

"It'll be just fine, it is my church anyways."

"Have you done this with...others?"

"Never...only you, lovely," he says. He placed his hand on his desk trapping Y/n between them. He aligns himself up at her entrance and slowly pushes himself in.

She tossed her head back, moaning out his name.

"You are such a good girl...taking me so well..." he smirks.

"S-Simon," she moans.

"What do you want, lovely?" He asks her.

"Faster...pl-please," she moans. He does what she wants, he picks up the pace watching her bounce, listening to her moans, and watching her hands rest on his hips.

"You look so fucking gorgeous," he groans.

"Simon!" She moans.

"Who cares," he says, thrusting faster. She let's out a moan as his tip hit her spot.

He starts to become sloppy with his thrusts, he ends up coming along with Y/n. She collapse on his desk as he watches her catch her breath.

"You did so well," he says, cupping her face and kissing her.

----------

A Few Days Later

Simon sits in the confession booth listening to a new Nun confess, she was telling him about how she 'accidently' smoked and was caught by Mother Lucia.

As he 'listened' he was more focused on his sweet Nun giving him head in the other room. Simon was talking as Y/n's tongue swirled around his tip.

She moves her mouth off his dick and starts licking up his base, her tongue laid flat against his tip as cum leaked from him. She smiles taking in his cum and swallowing his cum.

As Simon was done with the confession, he grabs Y/n's jaw.

"Your turn, what is your confession?"

"I confess for falling for a Priest," she smirks before taking his dick back into her mouth.

[painregretsandsunday]

i've been praying to every single god i know of so that sunday can finally be announced for 2.7 for weeks now and each day i am more hopeful. don't worry pain regret and sunday i will put you out of this misery !!!

also can we please have a very wet cat looking sunday maybe? 👉👈 for good luck obv

Drawing Sunday every day 'till his release!

Day 201 - wet boi

Note: this ask was send before Sunday leaks and drip marketing. Yeap good news. The boi good annaunced! So here's one wet pathetic boi for good luck! 👍

Hope he has enough wet cat energy here.

I wish you very good luck on your Sunday pulls and than you everyone for patience and attention! And I hope I can be forgiven for a "small" delay on this ask :D"

[emjiroki]

Good Graces

Priest! Satoru Gojo x Reader ft Bishop! Suguru

Warnings: explicit scenes and language, corruption, religion, taking of virginity

A/N: Sorry everyone for this being a day late! got a horrible migraine yesterday and couldn't finish this. But we're back with our second fic of kinktober! Hope everyone enjoys!

likes, comments, and reblogs treasured like gold

“Be it done unto me according to thy word” You said, finishing the last line in your repeated Hail Mary prayer.

“How many was that?” Satoru asked you, his palm running over the redding skin of your cheeks where he had you bent across his lap. 

“Nine” You breathed, trying to gather yourself before the next onslaught of swats. His hands were so cool against your stinging flesh. 

“One more,” he said softly and sternly, " and your sins should be forgiven then.” 

Your sin? Looking too long at Bishop Suguru at Mass this evening. 

The Priest did not take kindly to being “so blatantly ignored” by his favorite congregant. 

You always sat front and center, right within the ethereal gaze of your Priest, listening to his sermons with riveted attention at the clear calm of his voice sending goosebumps across your flesh. 

People whispered of him being heaven-sent, a divine being, someone molded by God himself. 

But if people knew the things Satoru had taught you in the privacy of his office and the walls of his home, They would say other things. 

“Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee” You began, raising your hands in contrition as the blood rushing had your head swimming.

Smack

“Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb”

Smack

“Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death, Amen”

Smack

You took a deep breath, not wanting to let your voice crack as you swallowed thickly. 

“Behold the handmaid of the Lord: Be it done unto me according to thy word”.

Smack

“A bit heavy-handed there,” Suguru said from across the desk. 

“Not at all Suguru, She needs to learn to keep her eyes on me and me only” The white-haired priest said with a ruthful smile. 

“Seems like you have problems with control, Satoru,” Suguru replied, taking a sip of his tea, “She can’t even look at another man, despite your interest and temptation by her being a sacrilege”. 

“How could I not be tempted by her?” Satoru asks, moving you up to straddle his lap with your back to his chest, your skirt still down on the floor at his feet, “I would break every holy vow I ever made to have her”.

These two men talking about you as if you weren’t in the room spread half bare on your priest's lap was doing things you never expected. Your skin was warming, your breath getting a little more heavy, and wetness beginning to leak from between your legs. 

“Just look how pretty she is Suguru,” Satoru implored, his long fingers moving down to trace over the hair at your mound and down to your clit, glistening with your arousal, “So wet and pink all for me”. 

You gasped as his fingers dipped into your entrance, just enough to make you clinch. Satoru pulled his fingers away shiny, groaning low in his throat. 

“Try this pure ambrosia and you'll see what I mean” Satoru said, extending his hand across the desk. 

You expected Suguru to refuse, roll his eyes, maybe say something nasty but no. As if pulled by a leash he leaned forward and enveloped the light haired man's fingers, sucking your arousal off his digits with a gleam in his dark eyes. 

“Hmm I suppose I do see what you mean” Suguru hummed.

“I knew you would see it my way," the white haired man smirked, “and you want me to ruin you, don't you Angel?”. His breath was warm against your ear as his hand moved down to free himself of his pants, his election hot and hard against your leaking cunt. 

“Please” you whispered, rutting your hips down and catching the head of his cock along your rim. 

“My sweet one,” Satoru murmured as he hooked his hands under your knees, “so ready for me”. 

You squealed and kicked your feet as the first inch sank into you, pushing tenderly against your virgin wall. 

“shh shh I'll be easy” he said, flashing his blue eyes to Suguru as he leaned back in his seat. 

You could feel Satoru's hands shake a bit as your pussy clenched around him and tried to suck him in. Your arousal leaked out around him. You gasped as Suguru leaned forward with a questioning look in his eyes as his hand raised towards your mound, the look in his eyes asking for permission. 

His finger moved down to rub circles against your clit, a low moan bubbling up your chest as pleasure shot through your body. 

“I don't remember telling you that you could touch her,” Satoru said in a warning tone. 

“Better to ask for forgiveness than permission” Suguru replied, a soft smirk on his lips as Satoru sucked his teeth in annoyance. 

You cried out as Satoru plunged the rest of his cock in, a ring of blood around the base of him staining the white hair there pink as he began to move you slowly up and down. 

“She's so… tight fuck” He hissed, his heart pounding against your back and his abdomen flexing. 

Your senses were going haywire. The pleasure from Suguru’s fingers rubbing your sensitive clit and Satoru’s cock stretching you out, Satoru’s warm kiss against your throat, and the murmured words of encouragement had your blood running hot. 

The burning knot that had formed in your stomach seemed to be shredding at the seams the longer this onslaught continued, debauched sounds escaping your mouth sounding so foreign. 

“I’m- God Satoru I’m-” You moaned, your toes curling.

“Cum for me Angel, bring me to heaven” Satoru practically begged. 

A sharp cry filled the room as you hit your peak, wetness dripping down to slip between your cheeks and onto the cloth of the chair. 

When Satoru moved you off to lay against his desk, your head was barely clear. His cock glistens with a mix of your cum and virgin blood.

“How many more of those can we get from her Suguru?” Satoru asked, his hands moving up to rub and tug on your nipples. 

“As many as she wants,” Suguru said, “The better question is, how many does she deserve for taking you so well her first time?”

[weniswastelandwenis]

Companions React To Sole Announcing Her Pregnancy

Cait:

She was neither happy, nor sad for Sole. She offhandedly told her “Congratulations on the wee one” when they swapped out guard shifts. Months upon months passed, and finally little Shaun 2 was born.

Cait’s heroine business was getting lean in the resource department, so she snuck into Sole’s house when she was sleeping, slipping through the back window. She shuffled quietly through the kitchen, checking closet to closet, until finally, jackpot. Baby powder. “Finally, I’ll be able to turn a profit!”

 The next day Sole asked around if anyone had seen her missing baby powder. She was within the vicinity of cait’s house, and passed by an unsafe looking individual that swapped items with cait. ‘Can’t judge a book by it’s cover!��� Sole thought, a smile on her face.

Cait spotted her and attempted to shut her front door, but Sole got her boot in it first. “Heyyy Cait! I was just asking around, did you happen to see a bottle of baby powder anywhere? Mine just abruptly went missing.” Cait’s gaze shifted to her desk, then back to Sole, then to the desk. “Uhh, no, why’r you asking me that? What would I need baby powder for? I don’t like what you’re implyin’. Get out me house!” And with that, she shoved Sole out the front door and slammed it in her face.

From that point on, whenever Sole would miraculously find another bottle of baby powder, it would strangely disappear in the night. Cait’s front yard had a mile-long line of drifters and ne-er do wells on it at all times, and Shaun turned to dust due to improper infant care.

Codsworth: 

He knows this is his own doing. Codsworth realizes with a heavy heart that he now has another set of lives to worry about and protect in the wasteland. He’d already lost sole once, and ever since his heart had turned to stone.

Codsworth goes to the local chapel and prays for forgiveness for what he was about to do. He’d never forgiven Sole for dying and for leaving him behind in the blast. Codsworth tells sole he’s going out to buy diapers for the little toaster, and all he leaves behind is a pack of cigarettes and a puff of smoke. Between a wave of hookers a booze, Codsworth is never seen again. 

Curie: 

She cooed that a young human child, Sole’s child, would be joining them all shortly. She had always loved babies, and Dr. Collins and her frequently tested on them to find ways for humanity to survive the irradiated wasteland in the future.

One day, Sole and some of her companions had to leave and help one of the settlements. Curie was entrusted to watch the baby, to which she agreed to do with extreme fervor. “The little one will be safe with me Mademoizelle.” Sole tossed the toddler like a football and Curie went long. “So long!” Curie almost squealed.

Immediately she took the baby to her test chambers which she had been secretly building in a shack, not too far from Sanctuary. The child was given many different experimental vaccines and medicines, which didn’t do much of anything. Curie started losing hope. Then, something happened.

The baby started growing. And growing. It bust out of the flimsy tin shack they were both in. Then it kept growing to the size of a skyscraper. Curie began crying happy tears, and fell to her knees. “Humanity finally has a chance to survive! Mr Collins, we did it!”

Danse: 

Was excited he would have the opportunity to brainwash another unwilling victim over to the brotherhood. “It’s time to stay with Uncle Danse, Shaun Jr. Be good!” Sole said on the way out of the house, off to her go-go dancing. The baby and Danse locked eyes. “Let’s begin.”

For non-stop 13 hours, Shaun Jr was to perform Brotherhood drills, which were demanding on his baby body. Danse custom-built him a tiny power armor suit. The pair of them traveled the wasteland, going door to door and handing out pamphlets about the danger of ghouls and feminism.

Sole finally arrived home, and the baby she left was not the baby now in front of her. His brow was furrowed. His fist, clenched. He had been indoctrinated. Sole wept.

Deacon:

Deacon has always felt insecure and unsure of his place in soles life. When he hears she is with child deacon is overjoyed at first, he cant wait to have a baby around to put tiny sunglasses on and teach to spy. But deacon soon realizes that if the baby is born, then deacon will be replaced as the bald man in soles life and sole wont have time for deacon anymore.

Deacon spends hours and hours waxing and polishing his bald head so that it would stand out as the most bulbous and waxed head in the world- even better than the new born babies. Sadly, deacon doesn’t realize that sole loves him for more than his bald head and deacon spends so much time waxing and polishing his head that he neglects his friendship with sole.

Sole runs away and gets attacked by a deathclaw as Deacon stares in the mirror, transfixed by the glow of his own bald head. 

Hancock: 

In the midst of all the cheers and laughter, Hancock is silent. He is seen tugging at the collar of his mayoral shirt, and sweating ghoul bullets. Weeks pass, and Sole finds he is being distant and avoiding her.

Finally, she confronts him as he’s taking a leak on an irradiated tree, making him stop mid-piss. “Ok, it’s time to end this!” She screamed. Hancock zipped up his jorts hastily and turned around, attempting to look charismatic and casual but failing. Sole could tell in his inky, black eyes that something was bothering him, deeply. He sighed.

“You’re right. You don’t deserve this, Sole. It’s just that… What if your baby… Looks like me?” A ghoul tear fell from his empty, soulless eye and dropped, joining his piss on the ground.

Soul walked over to him, and put a friendly hand on his shoulder in an attempt to calm his quiet, shaky breaths. “Hancock… No matter what my baby looks like, I’d love them. Just like I love you.” Then she smirked. “Besides, it’s Strong’s baby.”

MacCready: 

Maccready knows an opportunity when he sees it. Caps are his main priority, and when the going is tough he’s willing to get down in the dirt and be a street rat like every other wastelander.

That night after throwing Sole a party to celebrate her pregnancy (and wearing a sinister smile the whole time) Maccready changes into an outfit of all black and sneaks out in the dead of night. He makes contact with Jeanie May, and hands her a certain contract… Sole and the baby are sold for fifty caps and Maccready has a few free rounds of beer. 

Valentine:

After Sole essentially saved the commonwealth and beat the Institute threat, business had been slow. Upon hearing that Sole was with child, the lighbulb attached to his robo-head went off. 10 months pass and Sole had a perfectly healthy baby boy, whom she oddly named Shaun. For many days and many nights, the other companions would give Sole gifts and attention, leaving the old detective to collect rust in his office. He tented his metal fingers. “It’s time.”

(1 day later, 16:00) A flurry of footsteps is heard outside, and Nick wore a wry smile. Bells jingled as the door slammed open. Sole looked beside herself, in an unkempt state, and more manic than he’d ever seen her. “It’s Shaun! Nick… He’s-He’s gone!” She clenched his desk and let out a massive, eight wheeler, tractor trailer-size fart. “I can’t do this again Nick, I just can’t!!!” 

“Calm down Sole, it’s going to be alright. Thanks to my handy-dandy detective skills, we’re gonna get your boy back. For real this time.” That seemed to ease her anxiety, just a tad.

For many days and many nights they made fliers, and Nick’s business was more popular than ever before. He was able to afford an irradiated limousine, yacht, and robo-wife. Life was good. He finally decided he had acquired enough material goods, at least for now, to be satisfied.

Making sure no one was following him, he walked behind one of the houses in Sanctuary to the hidden bunker no one knew existed. Inside was baby shaun. The thought of her child not being lost after all, and right under Sole’s nose made him chuckle darkly with glee. That bitch.

Picking him up disgustedly, he began walking to the square of sanctuary only for a blur of color to appear in his peripheral vision. His orbs weren’t as strong as they used to be, and when he recognized what it was, it was too late. A deathclaw swallowed Shaun whole, burped, and walked away. 

Piper:

She knows there's a story here, there just has to be. Piper frets long hours of the night in front of her evil magic mirror, plotting a way to get publik occurrences on the world map.

Through extensive research and bribing Piper finds out that Sole has a serious disease from being cryogenically frozen and she will die soon. Piper waits until the baby turns 18 to announce in a tell all article that the baby has blood poisoning from their mothers cryogenic freezing.

She had been studying the effects on a human from birth ever since the baby was born, and now her research has made her millions of caps. She also adds that soles child has two days left to live and sips her wine from her pimp chalice with a smirk. 

Preston:

Preston decides to raise this baby just like he was raised, to protect and serve the minutemen. He tries to raise the baby with the best values he can, but soon shaun starts to act out. First its a stolen candy bar, then it’s vandalism. Preston has a good talk with them every time and he tries to reinstall those values, but shaun never listens.

One day shaun acts out again by leaving the kitchen door opened with the air conditioner on, and preston makes them go outside and count the flowers. 

Strong: 

Smashed the baby, killing it instantly.

X6: 

Sees this baby as an opportunity for the institute, which is quickly failing with no leader. He tracks down Edward Deegan, and forces him to hand over the mystery serum, which he reverse engineers into an aging serum.

One quiet night, he sneaks into Sole’s house and babynaps her child. “Welcome back, Father. My creator.” He says in a quiet prayer before injecting the child. It happens in a flash; where once there was a baby, there now was an old man.

The issue was, he still had the mind of a baby. X6 strangely did not consider this before carrying out this plan, and picked up old-man baby Shawn and set him back in his crib. Back to the drawing board, he thought.

[rainystarters]

๋࣭ ⭑𓆩✧𓆪🗡ྀ࿔ 〖 stories and songs . . . 〗 a collection of sentence starters inspired by various codex entries from the dragon age rpg series. some prompts usfw. adjust details as necessary.

the wind that stirs their shallow graves carries their song.

heed our words, hear our cry.

oh, fair damsel of the garden!

surely your work is far too vital to be interrupted by one like me.

i was a fool to pluck that flower.

you are not a man known for your honor.

you allowed me to live once, and so now i do the same for you.

i am humbled by your words.

but some things cannot be repent.

there is something in here with us.

death is certain, either way.

you have been my rock and my shield.

strike true, do not waver. and let not your prey suffer.

as the sapling bends, so must you.

you are lost, and soon you will fade.

go forth and claim the empty throne of heaven.

you have brought doom upon the world.

magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him.

they shall find no rest in this world or beyond.

there is but one truth.

all things in this world are finite.

each night in dreams you may always remember me.

the light shall lead you safely.

i am but your faithful servant.

if blood must be shed and used, so be it.

step away from this folly, before it consumes us all.

i long to dance with you beneath the moonlight.

do not despair. for it is not you, it is of me.

my most heartfelt apologies for the ripped bodice.

such depravity i have never been forced to suffer!

let them hunt, and dread finding me.

truth will hold you for that is what truth does.

i shouldn't have doubted your resolve.

please accept my humble apologies.

in truth, it is i who has been most vulnerable.

the seals are already weakening.

it must be protected at all costs.

of unknown metal and magic keen, a finer blade there's never been.

any army is only as good as its equipment.

blessed by the vine in spring, i shall not fear the winter's sting.

only fools ignore the history of the ground they walk and the people they meet.

i could use an extra pair of eyes to keep watch at night.

i hope they found peace.

blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.

in blood, my will is written.

we are forever in your graces.

the oath you have taken is all but broken.

can you be forgiven when the cold grave has come?

once we raised up our chalice in victory.

why change the past when you can own this day?

the wolves are our allies.

always keep an eye out for the noble owl.

nothing burns like the first cup.

gallows master, hold they hand. hold it back awhile.

look away, look into the sun.

you know we all are dying.

alas, i cannot stay.

we'll beat down the bastard, and then we'll get plastered!

what of the old secrets the burn in our hearts?

now we pray for a dawn that will never arrive.

but it is our blood he seeks.

you will realize the smiles are false, and behind them lies revenge.

for all your fancy intrigue, you have spent your life creating nothing of worth.

it moves on without you, uncaring.

who could bear the weight of a people destroyed by his hand?

what was your vision of our purpose?

so buy the lads a round.

i'm ashore for the night and seeking company.

i'd still rather die.

why be what i am when i can be more?

have you threatened to cut out anyone's tongue today?

for have i not grown in skill and measure?

binding a demon of higher power is dangerous...

let it be my choice to have served and died.

i'm not staying to watch you die like a fool.

the undead you have been fighting are people i killed with my own hands.

here is my soul, trapped in a cage of bone.

turn around, face the shadows. don't blink.

just going to lie here for a while.

chopping off their heads should do the trick.

i am empty, filled with nothing.

arrogance becomes our end.

i'm here to die. but i won't go quietly.

i don't want to die like this.

cry for the past; only there does glory dwell.

so the forest grows, a reflection of our might.

mourn the past and all that was left there.

mastery of the self is mastery of the world.

suffering is choice and we can refuse it.

pride disguises itself in its surety.

[f1nalboys]

confessional ; lester sinclair

Lester Sinclair x GN!Reader

WORD COUNT: 2280

WARNINGS: nsfw, no sex, priest kink, blasphemy, perverting the catholic faith etc, hands free orgasm, some nasty stuffs going down in the confessional, cumming in his pants, talk about sacreligious fantasies, corrupting lester teehee. not really proofread, based off of this thing i wrote

The confessional booth is dark and quiet. As Lester sits in the small wooden seat, his hands clasped loosely in his lap, resting on his robes, he ponders for just a moment if this is his true calling. He wonders if the other priests, all older, more experienced and devout, struggle with the thoughts he does. Lester has no time to think about it as he hears the confessional curtain slide open, the clinking of the eyelet rings against the pole having him sit up a bit straighter. 

His thumb runs over the rosary as he listens to the person settle into their side of the booth. Lester swallows heavily as he stares forwards into the wooden door, at the carved wooden statue of his Lord and Savior nailed to the cross, shifting in his seat. He knows the penitent cannot see him, that he is shrouded in darkness and separated by the old wood and lattice, but he knows God can see him and he must be careful. Careful with his thoughts, careful with his actions, careful with leading the flock to the path of righteousness. A hush falls over the booth.

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.” Lester’s eyes widen slightly and he can feel his pulse in his throat. He knew that voice, knew who it belonged to, and though he shouldn’t, he couldn’t help but put a face to the voice. Your image manifests in front of him, translucent, a mirage against the grain of the door. “This is my first confessional.”

Lester nods, forgetting for a moment the image of you is purely in his mind. He clears his throat, which was suddenly dry, and smooths the purple stole. “That’s alright. This is one of my first confessions too, y'know.” He says quietly, a lie, and he can’t help but feel the corner of his lips twitch at the sigh of relief he hears you let out. He wonders what you look like right now, if you’re in your usual attire or something different. It was later in the day, warmer than usual, and he has to clear his throat again to rid his thoughts of what that might entail. “Just… confess your sins and I'll do my best to help lead ya to absolution.”

“Thank you, Father.” You take a deep breath and Lester waits with bated breath, unsure of why he is so interested in what you will confess. The sins have always blended together. Adultery, drinking, gossiping, materialism, jealousy, lying; he’s heard every sin a thousand times over and not once did he ever feel invested past his holy duty. But this is you, the young lamb he was meant to protect. 

No, Lester thinks to himself as you begin to speak, the young lamb God was meant to protect. Not him. “I’ve lied to people before, dozens of times, just to get a better outcome for myself. I’m selfish, greedy, and gluttonous.” Lester hears the waver in your voice as you speak and he wonders for a split second if you knew by his voice that he was the one taking your confession. “I don’t pray everyday, I‘ve missed Mass many times due to laziness…” 

He waits as you trail off to see if you continue speaking. When the awkward silence hangs over the booth like a raincloud he speaks, doing his best to keep his voice calm and even. “Ask for absolution and I can give it to ya.” He says, his accent strong and comforting, his eyes still on the wooden door. He had been sitting on the small wooden seat far past comfort, but the pain and ache in his back was no longer felt.

“Please… can you grant me absolution, Father?” 

You speak right away, as if commanded by him, and your voice sends a shiver down his spine. You were eager to be forgiven, listening to his every word. He realizes that he could steer you wrong, he could push you towards darkness instead of the light, and that you’d follow. He swallows heavily, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment. They snap open. The lust for power burned heavy in his heart; he could tell you whatever he wanted and you’d believe him. You would do anything if he said so.

“I can. Say five ‘Our Father’s’ and you'll be forgiven.”

“Thank you, Father.” You say and Lester swears he can hear your relief. 

He keeps his eyes closed as he brings his rosary, an old flashy thing with a red sapphire in the center his mother had passed down to him, to his lips. You begin to murmur the Act of Contrition, Lester whispering along to his part. “Go in peace.” He says, settling back as he waits to hear you stand, for the curtain to be pulled back and for yet another member of the congregation to enter and for him to start the process over again. It doesn’t come. “You alright, sweetheart?”

His voice is etched with concern, his eyes opening and for the first time, he allows himself to look over through the lattice. Your silhouette is there, your head bent down, your hands clasped into prayer, and he nearly gasps at the want that stirs in his stomach. He can’t see you, but now that he faces you, he can see your outline, he can smell your perfume, he can just barely make out the curve of your lips as you whisper hurriedly to yourself. When your head moves up, he sits back as quickly as he can, staring at the door.

“I didn’t confess everything.” 

“That’s alright. Do you wanna confess more?” 

“I do but… I’m afraid it’s sacreligious.” 

The words nearly take his breath away. “Sacreligious?” He says, unable to hide the surprise in his voice. He won’t say it - can't say it - but he wasn’t sure that was possible. Not with you, at least. “I think you should kneel and confess.” It’s out of his mouth before he means to say it, his accent growing stronger, but he hears the sounds of you moving from the creaky wooden bench onto the ground. He keeps his eyes on the door but he can see you there, knelt on the ground with your hands clasped at your face, looking up at the lattice with wide nervous eyes.

“I… I suffer from impure thoughts, Father.”

Lester grins softly, shaking his head. “That’s hardly sacreligious. It’s-”

“It’s about a priest, Father.” Lester stops talking, feeling his cock stir in his pants. He blinks, sure he misheard. But he hears you sniffle and he clears his throat slightly. “I-It’s one of the priests here, at this church.”

“Which priest?”

“I can’t-”

“The only way for ya' to be absolved is if you’re completely honest with me.” Lester says, ignoring the guilt building in his chest. This is wrong. He has a holy duty to steer these people right, to the word of the Lord, and yet now he was ever so slowly moving his hand up his leg to his crotch, pushing his robes up to his hips so he can gently press his palm against his bulge. “The Lord is kind to those who trust him enough to confess their deepest sins.” 

Lester hears you sniffle again before you make an affirming noise. “It’s… it’s Father Sinclair.” Lester bites down harshly onto his bottom lip to hold back a noise. The copper taste of blood fills his mouth as he closes his eyes, humming. “I know it’s wrong… I’ve only been coming here, to church, for a few weeks, and with every other priest I’ve been able to control my thoughts. But… there’s something about Father Sinclair… I know it’s wrong of me, Father.”

“It’s okay.” He reassures you quickly, though his voice is thicker than it was before. “No need to cry. These… thoughts that you’ve been having… can you go into detail?” Lester’s head leans backwards, thunking against the wood. “It's important to be honest, you know? You have to tell the truth if you want to be free.”

“I… do I have to?”

“Are you embarrassed?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Then yeah, ya do. You’re embarrassed because you know it’s wrong. It’s hard to be truthful but it’s important. It’s for the salvation of your soul, sweetheart.”

“Okay…” You take in a slow and deep breath and Lester prepares himself for the filth that would soon be flowing from your sweet lips by ever so slightly rubbing his palm against his bulge. It’s almost impossible for him to hold back his hiss of pleasure, but he does so, God willing. His eyes close though he swears he can still see the accusatory stare of the wooden Jesus in the darkness.

“Take your time and remember; you gotta be honest. The complete and utter truth.” He’s not sure if he’s telling you or if he’s begging you. 

A few moments pass and he holds his breath. You begin to speak quietly, your voice close to him now with your position on your knees closer to the lattice that separates you both, and he briefly wonders if this is how God feels when he hears prayers. He wonders if God feels the swell of pride in his chest at the sheer devotion he has been shown or if he is above that. All Lester knows is that he is not.

“I…I sometimes think about him when I’m alone at night. I.. touch myself.” Lester hums, low in his throat, his hand grinding down just a little harder. “I think about him there with me… touching me, telling me how to touch him.” You let out a choked noise, surely a sob at your sins, but Lester hears it as a moan. “Even when I try to think about something else, my mind drifts.”

“Spirits willin' but the flesh is weak, s'that it?”

“Very weak.” You reply and he can almost see you nod your head. “Sometimes during his sermon I drift off… I start thinking about him bending me over one of the pews,” Lester makes a choked noise, trying to cover it with a cough, his cock aching against his pants. He wants to pull his dick out but he knows he will never, ever, be able to go back once he does that. The punishment God had in store for him was already grand, there was no reason to push it just yet. “And whispering in my ear about how I feel better than any earthly thing he’s ever felt.”

“I-I see…” Lester says, his eyelids heavy as he opens them and looks down at his lap. Even in the dark of the confessional he can see the dark spot that was growing on his pants and he is thankful for the robes he dons so he can shuffle out of here and back to his chambers without someone seeing the physicality of his failure. “Is that all?” 

His voice is strained, his hips bucking against the tight fabric of his pants, chasing friction he shouldn’t find enjoyable. He was so close, had only felt this way twice before, both times in the cloak of the night with his hand wrapped tight around his cock and a sheen of sweat covering his forehead. Both times he had stopped, pulling his hand away from himself with a sharp gasp and a furrowed brow, watching his cock twitch and leak until he forced himself to roll over and go to sleep.

“I… I’ve thought about touching myself even now while talking about it.” You say and Lester bites down so hard onto his lip that he feels the skin break underneath his teeth once again, coating them in red, his pants coated in white as he cums. His nerves are shot, white dots floating in his vision as he comes back down to earth. What he just felt, before the guilt and embarrassment and worry settled in, was the closest to Heaven he knew he’d ever get. “That’s all, Father. That’s the complete and utter truth.”

Lester swallows heavily in an attempt to keep his voice level. He isn’t sure if he had made a noise of pleasure when he came, but you wait patiently for his absolution, so he carries forward. He can feel the heat of embarrassment crawling its way up his spine, his cheeks turning pink as he stares down at the mess he had made of himself. “That’s… a lot.” 

“I told you.”

“You did, you did…” He sucks in another breath and blinks hard, trying to clear his mind. “Five Hail Marys and seven Our Father’s should work…” he plans on leaving it there, hoping to get you out of the confessional booth as quickly as possible, but his lips keep moving. “And I think you should come by weekly for counseling. You can request a specific priest, or whoever is available, and they can give you one on one counselin'.” 

“Will you do the one on one counseling with me, Father? I feel embarrassed about admitting this to someone else.”

“I… yes, if you’d like. But you would have to remind me of what you’ve confessed here; I don’t know your voice.” He says, stumbling over his own words. He turns to look through the lattice as you stand from where you’ve been kneeling, letting out a quiet breath of relief. He had gotten through this by the skin of his teeth.

“Thank you, Father Sinclair.” He can hear the smug smile in your voice and he lets out a low, throaty whine as his cock twitches pathetically. “I’ll see you next week.”

[botanybulbasaur]

Schneider's family ; The significance of Marian

REVERSE 1999 SPOILERS AHEAD : FOR CHAPTERS 1 AND 2 ! Please tread carefully and make sure you only read about what you're willing to know.

I know we're all still completely in shambles from Chap. 2, but I wanted to make a speculation about Schneider-- and a comment about how well she's written !

Let me start with this: In many pieces of media, viewers, listeners and readers alike are told that a character has people they care for. They're told a character has a lover, a wife, kids, a family, a sister. We're told the same about Schneider: that she has 11 older siblings, and that she works in the mafia to support them.

However, it's very rarely that we're given a name and a face for these supposed loved ones. And even rarer is it that they're written well, not just as a ploy for empathy, but as their own character: Ladies, gentlemen, and esteemed guests: I present to you, Marian.

Marian is one of my favorite characters just as a stand-alone: she's realistic, she's anxious, she clings to Schneider like a lifeline-- but she's brave, too. I'd love to do an in-depth analysis on her another time, but we're here for another reason.

Marian, first of all, shows us what Schneider's family is like. How they were raised, what they believe in, who they depend on. Soft topic, I know, but as someone of Italian lineage, it's very important to me that I point this out: Marian is extremely religious.

Immigrants of every kind tend to be religious. It gives them much more faith than they ever could have: a new lifeline. They managed to make it across such a winding sea? Oh, thank the lord. They haven't been kicked out of the Americas for emigration? Thank you, holy one. There's so many more reasons for this than "they need something they don't have"- maybe the fact that the rendition of god in every religion is said to love everybody, not just those who were born into wealthy families with the bluest eyes and the blondest hair.

When in a moment with no reason, and all different kinds of desperate measures being needed.. Schneider does what her family coaxes her to. She prays.

(I can't find a screenshot, but please refer to the iconic "I didn't know you prayed" scene, and the screenshot directly below this sentence.)

I also want to point out a large difference between Schneider and her family: Schneider's perspective on a 'god' differs so, so much from her family's.

She looks to whoever may be above, in her world, scornfully-- at least, in the present day. In her past, there is a particularly impactful line I want to debunk.

"The god there ... loves the world." Schnider's family seems to believe that god was the one guiding them, the one who will forgive them-- Schneider believed that it was a whole different entity. This kid believes that the god in Sicily, whoever they may be, does not love the world-- and mio dio, if that's not fucked up, I don't know what is.

And, when Schneider comes to America and sees that shit isn't as it's cut off to be, she's resentful of whoever this god may be. She gives a pray as her last bet-- what her family wants.

And it's not that she doesn't believe in this god-- no. She just doesn't believe they love her.

"Finally forgive me" -- Finally being the key word here. She's lived all her life never being treated to mercy or being 'forgiven for her sins' -- and at her most fragile, exposed moment, she relents to what her family has taught her. To what she truly believes-- to Sicily, to Marian, her sorella. Maybe even all 11 sorelle and her parents.

And, again, they're different at face value. Marian is calm, kind. She dresses modest and has her hair grown out: she's timid, too, not befitting of a mafia boss. She's different from her younger sister.. but she's still important. She shows us another side of Schneider: and, more importantly, she shows us what-- no, who Schneider is fighting for.

Marian provides us with extremely beneficial background context of where Schneider comes from-- and, in that process, gives many of us someone to empathize with. Yes, I too know somebody at least a little like her. You do too, likely.

Maybe, you're even like Schneider-- maybe she's someone you'd aim to protect.

,,aaand that's the little lore rant. Whew! Now to study for my math finals. I hope you have a good day :)

[acescorazon]

**12/16: Additional Changes Update**

Chapter: 18

Title: Satisfied.

Rating: M

Word Count: 2656

Warnings: Violence, Language, Crocodile.

Chapter excerpt:

Buggy pants as he gets up to his feet and spits out some of the blood in his mouth. He’ll wonder if he bit his tongue at some point or if he lost a tooth or something later. in one quick movement, he kicks Crocodile right in the gut, causing the other man to hiss sharply and grit his teeth as he clutches his stomach. Buggy can hardly breathe, in fact, he thinks Crocodile might’ve broken his nose, but he wants to keep on going. He pulls his leg back, ready for a second kick.

 

Kick him, klck him, kick h– 

Someone grabs him firmly by the shoulder and spins him around. Buggy’s so deep in fight mode that he almost swings again until he notices who’s in front of him. 

“Enough.” Mihawk orders through gritted teeth.

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‘C’mon, then. No bullshit or devil fruit powers. Let’s just fight and - win, lose, or draw - move the fuck on.’ Ah, fuck, Buggy got greedy, didn’t he? He did. He should have just forgiven Crocodile after that second pun–

‘Nah, fuck that,’ A voice says in Buggy’s head, loud and clear. Then maybe Buggy should stop here and tell Crocodile he doesn’t want to actually fight him. He can always make up some bullshit lie to save face, and– 

‘Nah, fuck that too,’ Says the same voice again. Oh.

Is it adrenaline or stupidity that’s giving Buggy this surge of courage? Maybe it’s a little bit of both, but Buggy hardly has the time to think about all that. His brain is chanting the same word over and over again in his head: ‘Fight. Fight. Fight.’

Don’t back down, fight. He’s been making a fool out of you for way too fucking long. Fight him and, even if you lose, at least you can finally say that you stood up for yourself. 

If Buggy’s going to actually fight Crocodile, he knows that he’s not going to win by doing things the right way. No bullshit, right? That means Crocodile wants a fair fight, or at least that’s what Buggy thinks. Why would he even attempt to have an honorable duel with Crocodile given their size and strength differences, though? Nah, fuck that. “Fuck it,” Buggy says before he lunges forward to tackle Crocodile, hoping and praying that he’ll be able to catch him off guard. 

It works. 

It works?

Fuck, it works! Once Buggy surges forward, momentum and gravity seem to be on his side, and the pair tumble to the ground. Crocodile hits the ground first, obviously, and lets out a sharp hiss, “You sneaky little bastard!” he yells. 

Crocodile’s words hardly process in Buggy’s mind at that very moment. Punch him, punch him, punch him. Don’t let him get a single blow in, because if he does, it’s over.

Buggy never thought the day would come where he’d actually have to fight Crocodile like this, and it’s like a completely different person has taken over him. Hm, maybe it isn’t a different person, maybe it’s the person he used to be before Crocodile and Mihawk started to push him around. Maybe it’s the person he used to be before he became complacent. Either way, he delivers a series of punches to Crocodile’s jaw; they’re rapid and full of a level of hatred that surprises even him. 

There are voices coming from all different directions all of a sudden, but they sound so far away at the moment. It’s like his surroundings are disappearing and the only thing in this world that matters is him and Crocodile. Crocodile tries to block Buggy’s punches to the best of his ability, but Buggy is just… Man, he’s just going all in and trying to hit him as fast and hard as possible.

He hates this guy’s guts. He doesn’t think he’s ever hated a person as much as he hates Crocodile, and that hatred compels him to fight like he’s never fought before. Fuck him. Fuck him for all that he’s done, fuck him for all that he’s going to do in the future.

Buggy’s luck only takes him so far, though. Crocodile grabs him by the arm the next time he tries to punch him again and counters the attack. He uses his hook to strike Buggy across the face and, fuck, Buggy had forgotten how much it fucking hurts to be hit by Crocodile's cold, metal hook. Buggy would rather get shot than have to get punched in the face one more time by that thing.

That one strike stuns Buggy and he quickly feels his world begin to shift. One moment he’s looking down at Crocodile, the next he’s looking up at him and his bloodied face and messy hair. It does not feel good to be on the receiving end of someone’s punches, needless to say.

Buggy briefly wonders how Crocodile went from begging for forgiveness to beating his ass like usual, but then again, that’s what makes Crocodile…Well, Crocodile, isn’t it? He can tell that Crocodile is a little shaken up from his sneak attack though. His own punches aren’t as precise and consistent as they normally would be. There’s one across Buggy’s jaw, one to the nose, one to the eye, and another one right above his eyebrow. 

Ah, fuck, he’s in over his head.

The voices are getting louder now, Who the hell is talking? It’s not Crocodile, he’s all grunts and pants as he sits on top of Buggy’s chest and beats his face in. In fact, the loudest sound he’s made was when he hit the ground with a startled grunt earlier. Buggy glances over to his side and just barely makes out the sight of several pairs of feet all around them.

Buggy doesn’t get to process the scene further because a second later Crocodile lands another strike to his jaw, and Buggy can taste something salty and metallic fill his mouth. Fuck, he doesn’t have time to worry about it, he has to get from underneath Crocodile.

 

His next move won’t be fair. In fact, it’ll be dirty and underhanded, and Buggy knows it but he simply doesn’t care. Buggy reaches up and jabs Crocodile right in the eyes. “You sneaky little fuck!” Crocodile immediately hisses. He’s just mad that he didn’t think of doing it first. With Crocodile blinded, Buggy lands two more quick, consecutive strikes across his face. This time he gets Crocodile right in the cheekbone before he shoves him off of him.  

Buggy pants as he gets up to his feet and spits out some of the blood in his mouth. He’ll wonder if he bit his tongue at some point or if he lost a tooth or something later. in one quick movement, he kicks Crocodile right in the gut, causing the other man to inhale sharply and grit his teeth as he clutches his stomach. Buggy can hardly breathe, in fact, he thinks Crocodile might’ve broken his nose, but he wants to keep on going. He pulls his leg back, ready for a second kick. 

Kick him, klck him, kick h– 

Someone grabs him firmly by the shoulder and spins him around. Buggy’s so deep in fight mode that he almost swings again until he notices who’s in front of him. 

“Enough.” Mihawk orders through gritted teeth. He looks past Buggy and at Crocodile, who’s still on the ground with a bitter look on his face. “Meeting time. Now.” he orders, and before Buggy can even get a word in, Mihawk yanks him by his collar and tugs him away from Crocodile.

Buggy’s head is throbbing and his vision is a little blurry from the fight but he finally makes out the shapes of his crew as Mihawk drags him to the meeting room. Shit, did his kids see all that? He tries to gauge their reactions, but he’s having some difficulties. They’re probably stunned right now. He kind of hopes they thought he looked cool during his brawl with Crocodile, though. 

“Why the hell are you getting involved, Hawkeye?!” Crocodile yells as he follows after the other two, but not before he screams at Buggy’s men to get lost. “We were settling things like men here.” He claims as he wipes the blood away from the corner of his mouth.

“You were settling things in such a petulant manner.” Mihawk snaps, “We agreed not to fight each other any more. Tell me, Is your memory failing you already, Crocodile?” He pauses, then looks at Buggy, “What about you? Do you have a bout of anmesia as well?” He asks.

Neither men respond to Mihawk’s question. 

Buggy didn’t say anything, why is he getting scolded? Plus, Crocodile was the one who said they should fight… and… and…Okay, maybe Mihawk has a point. Arguably, there was probably a hundred different ways to handle the situation that didn’t involve him and Crocodile actually fighting. This fight in particular was more gratifying than it should’ve been, though. 

Buggy can’t remember a time when he felt as courageous and powerful as he did when he was driving his fists into Crocodile’s smug face. He was…He was fighting back and it felt so good. That high might carry him through the whole week, actually.

 He thinks…He thinks they actually needed to fight, as crazy as that sounds.  

Mihawk releases Buggy after he turns on the lights to the meeting room. He waits for the other two men to be seated before he continues his lecture. “Please explain to me why you two were fighting in the middle of the night.” He orders, “Especially when we all agreed to keep things peaceful.”

Crocodile pinches the bridge of his nose, “Look, it ain’t none of your business. Me and him had some unfinished business that we were taking care of.”

Yeah…What he said. Buggy thinks as he tries to ignore the constant pain coming from his skull right now. Although, when he thinks about it, he has to admit that their reasoning for fighting sounds a little dumb… It was dumb, but they probably both benefited from it in a weird way?

“You’re such an honorless man.” Mihawk mutters as he grabs Crocodile by the chin, and examines his face, “You can’t even keep such a simple promise, can you?” 

…Yeah, what he said… Buggy thinks again. 

“Look, Hawkeye, it wasn’t even like that. We were just fighting so Buggy could finally let go of an old grudge.”

Mihawk goes oddly quiet for a moment. “You both are the most infuriating men i have ever had the displeasure of meeting. Wait here while i get a first aid kit.”

The room remains quiet until Mihawk is out of sight. Once he’s gone though, Crocodle rolls his shoulder in circles and mutters a quiet, “Yeah, you better run along and go get that damn first aid kit.”

Buggy lets out an involuntary snort. Despite the situation they’re in, he can’t help but chuckle quietly at Crocodile’s remark. He quickly pretends like he’s not entertained by Crocodile’s mumbling though, because why would he ever find anything that Crocodile says funny?

Crocodile clears his throat, “You okay?” He asks as he glances over at Buggy. Buggy can’t even begin to imagine what kind of injuries he actually has. Best case scenario: he has a black eye and some bad swelling all over his face. Worst case scenario: Crocodile broke something and knocked a few of his teeth out on top of what feels like a nasty eye injury.   

Despite Buggy’s injuries though, he didn’t get knocked out and he didn’t run away with his tail tucked between his legs. That knowledge effects his pride in ways that can’t even be described. So, how is he? Pretty damn good, actually.  “I’m fine,” He manages to say, and he’s not lying for once, how odd. “You?” 

“Shit, it would take more than a few punches and a kick to the gut to hurt me.” 

“You have to admit that I gave you one hell of a fight, though.”

Crocodile rolls his eyes as he grabs a ciger and shoves it between his lips. “Yeah, yeah, you gave me a fat lip and made me work up a sweat. I’m proud of you.” he replies, “Don’t get cocky now.”

A sheepish grin spreads across Buggy’s lips, “I mean, i did a little more than that. Let’s be honest here.” He doesn’t want to toot his own horn, but it’s the truth. It looks like he and Crocodile are sporting matching black eyes and bloody noses, and he's proud of that. 

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get a big head. We both know who would’ve won that fight if Hawkeye wouldn’t have intervened, and it would’ve been me.” Crocodile claims. 

This has to be the first time that Buggy looks at Crocodile and sees a man and not a threat to his well being or his executioner. He…He’s giant and intimidating, but he’s just a guy who’s a few years older than Buggy when he thinks about it. He’s still scary, but…slightly less scary now. “Are you kidding me? You weren’t even on your feet when Mihawk stopped the fight. I would have won, obviously.” 

Crocodile stares at Buggy for a moment, giving him a somewhat shocked look before he laughs. The sound is loud enough to make Buggy’s poor ears ring. What, what’d he say? Crocodile clutches his side as he continues to laugh for a good minute before he exhales a sharp breath, “Oh, shit. I needed that.”  

Buggy’s cheeks burn with embarrassment, “What’s so funny?!” He asks. “I’m serious. I had you on the ground. I was winning.”

“Only because you caught me off guard when you jabbed me in the eye!” 

How odd, they seem to be having a relatively pleasant conversation for once. This has to be another one for the history books, but Buggy doesn’t think too much about it. Instead he tries to prove that he had Crocodile beaten, and Crocodile laughs like he’s at a comedy show. It's all so weird, but Buggy feels like a weight has been finally lifted off of his chest in that moment.

Mihawk eventually returns with a first aid kit in his hand and continues scolding Crocodile of all people as he sits down to tend to the wounds on his face. The weirdest part is: Crocodile doesn’t seem bothered by any of it either.

“You said you wouldn’t fight anymore, now look at you. Look at you both, actually. Did this fight of yours accomplish anything?”

“It’s not that big of a deal, Hawkeye. We just needed to fight it out, right, Buggy?” Crocodile asks, and Buggy grunts in response. “And…I would say i gained a little bit of respect for the clown today. He put up a good fight. So, yeah, it accomplished something.”

Wait, is Buggy hearing things right? Did Crocodile just…? Oh, so now he has Crocodile and Mihawk’s respect, right? As he should, he’s the damn leader of Cross Guild, after all. They should be groveling at his feet, actually, and the only reason he won’t say that out loud is because he’s always been incredibly humble…

Man, maybe that fight did more for him than he thought.

Mihawk exhales a weary sigh, “You could have talked things out.” He insists, “You could have found a time and a place to actually sit down and… Oh, i’m wasting my breath. You never listen to me anyways.” he shakes his head, “No more after this.” He mutters.

Mihawk turns and looks at Buggy once he’s finished patching Crocodile up a little, “And you…” He shakes his head, looking equally as disappointed with Buggy as he is with Crocodile. “I understand you less than I understand this brute. At least he’s consistent.” What is that supposed to mean, Buggy thinks as he watches Mihawk turn his chair around and face him.

Wait, is he going to…?

Buggy’s eyes widen slightly (or at least the good one does) as he sees Mihawk reach for his face. He moves back out of instinct, and Mihawk sighs. “Oh, don't be like that. You know I won’t hurt you.” Yeah, but…

But…

“I don’t need you to take care of me...” Buggy murmurs but after a second, he relents and lets Mihawk tend to his wounds just as he had done with Crocodile a few minutes earlier. He can’t believe he’s letting Mihawk touch him like this, it feels weird.

“Of course you don’t, but let me do it anyways.”

The moment Buggy processes Mihawk’s words, his face begins to burn brightly.  It’s left over adrenaline, he tells himself. it has to be adrenaline.

It’s just adrenaline. Don’t think too much about it.

[joffyworld]

Love, Stage Left

They say love conquers all in time,

That we can rise above and find,

The love and trust, which holds and binds,

Which sews the strings that knot and wind;

Around and round this heart of mine.

But have you ever been deep in love?

Been surrounded by your lovers hugs?

Felt comfort, belonging so hand-in-glove?

It feels so perfect and wonderous,

There's no belief it could turn to dust.

But one day when love does so fail,

When the heart is betrayed and turned so frail;

It burns and seers, it screams and wails,

But the pains never end, it rains like hail.

We imagined once, a future perfect;

Now, come the future, love hath deserted.

Left us with such fickle purpose:

A family torn, rendered dead, reverted,

A crown usurped, from higher purpose,

A leader born, one dead, accursed.

Tell me, was such a life so worth it?

But when they look into my eyes,

It's love that looks back, deep inside;

The wound that remains is healing slowly,

Far too early to call the journey-

Over with, yet so it seems,

That though our love tears at the seams;

These threads are sown from godly things-

Godly things that withstand the seas-

Of passion! Of torment! Of love! Of pain!

Though our lives may never be the same again,

There's hope, and with hope we may love one day,

I have faith and pray, I may pay my way,

Into servitude, not as The One Who Waits:

But The One Who Loves, The One Who's Cherished,

The One Who's Love Could Conquer, Not Perish,

The One Who's Forgiven,

The One Who Stayed,

My love,

Please tell me,

Can I still find my way?

Back into your arms,

From my desperation,

My mistake.

(Inspired by @the-artist-grimm's Crimson Angel au, I promise it's really sweet and beautiful but I got hung up on the awkward, sad co-parenting phase 😭)

[zaurae]

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒏 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒍 𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇

𝘊𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘺𝘭𝘦

The first step to achieving a new goal; identity; a lifestyle is to overcome laziness. I am myself was and sometimes have my lazy moments; however, to really make a change and accomplish the goals you desire first starts with changing your current lifestyle to the one you want; the person you want to become; and to work hard for the goals you want.

Of course, with that being said, do not change your whole lifestyle in one day. That is overwhelming and impossible, you will just go back to your old ways and become worse. Others say to have a new goal each day; however, for a more stable and consistent change, have a new goal every month. For instance, this month you will focus on balancing your meals; and then the next month is to be consistent through your sunnah namaz.

Each time you make these monthly goals, it shifts your one percent better than before. And as always be kind to yourself if you ever fall back or feel like giving up. Change can be difficult and that is why it is also important to go at your own paste even if that monthly goal turns to a year. Try your best and have faith in yourself!

Inshallah these steps help you!

𝑭𝒐𝒄𝒖𝒔 𝒐𝒏 𝑨𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒉

When you begin to prioritize Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala I swear your life changes. You begin to have inner peace, confidence, a burst of imaan and happiness. No matter who you are, no matter what your past is, dont ever let it stop you from becoming closer to Allah the Almighty.

We all have a past, guilt, a deed we committed that we are not proud of. But let me tell you something, Allah forgives every sin, Allah loves those who repent and try to change, Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala forgive those even if they sinned their whole lives, and Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala loves us no matter what.

So, who are you to say you are not worthy of forgiveness? I heard doubting your lord's mercy is a sin itself. That just shows how much our lord loves us, how merciful Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala is.

I sometimes do have that feeling of me not being able to be forgiven but please remind yourself how much of a merciful lord we have that even if we repent just now, we are forgiven.

The most important steps to focus on Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala and be better is to do the following:

Be consistent and on time with your five daily prayers (Fajr, Dhuhr, Asr, Mahrib, and Isha)

I know Fajr is hard for others or any of the prayers; However, try your best and pray to Allah to make it easier for you, to be consistent, to be engaged in prayer and to connect with it too, Start by setting up an alarm for each of the five prayers, strengthen your imaan by looking up the benefits of the five daily prayers; perform wudhu 10-15 minutes before (I tried this and it definitely made it easier for me to be on time and to be more engaged in namaz).

Perform Dhikr (Whether you have tesbih or the tesbih counter, always repeat Allahs most loved words like Subhanallah; Alhamdulilah, Allahu Akbar; La illaha Ilalah; Agstafurillah, and the 99 names. Even when you are working or at school--no matter where you are repeat these words as they are light on the tongue but heavy on the scale.)

Read the Quran (Sometimes life gets in the way, and we become very busy and that is why I recommend downloading a Quran app so no matter if you're at school or not you can read an ayat or two which is still heavy on the scale. And also learning how to read the Quran. No matter what level you are on learning how to recite the Quran, try your best and know that you can do it!)

Perform goodness (Try your best to give up those bad habits, those bad deeds and replace them with good ones. No matter how big or small those good deeds are, always be consistent with them.)

Make dua (For everything I listed, always make dua to make it easier for you, to ask for the things you want and need, and of course before you even ask for anything always repent and ask for forgiveness, as your lord is the most forgiving)

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒔𝒆𝒕

Mindset is everything! Shift your mindset to a positive one! stop thinking that you deserve every bad event. Stop thinking that bad incident was the end of it all; or how that rejection you got is the end to your happiness.

There is something I stand by and believe, and that is whatever did not work out for you is an opportunity for something better to happen.

Regardless of what is happening in your life right now, just know it is a test, a test that Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala is making you go through because why? Allah subhanahu wa ta'alaloves those he tests and is going to grant something way better. What you need to do is for you to believe something better will happen and to never give up.

Along with changing your mindset--change your mind set about yourself as in stop thinking your this and that, that your "ugly" or "weak". First of all, your beautiful and beauty should not define your inner beauty. Change the way you view yourself, just like affirmations think and believe you are beautiful, your amazing, successful, smart, and going to achieve your goals.

When you start to think of yourself as the person you want to become--you start to become that ideal identity. As you think about how beautiful you are, your face becomes more brighter, or how you began to think on how smart you are, you begin to work harder. Believe it or not but mindset is number one in taking action for change so please think good about yourself and life and shift those bad events to better opportunities.

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓

Character is very important! By changing and improving your character, it overall changes your how you act and think. Character in islam is especially talked about. Following how our Prophet Muhammed sallallahu alaihi wasallam used to speak and his mannerism is an excellent example we should all follow.

Speak softly and to not speak unnecessary words (gossiping, lying, swearing)

Appear approachable (Have a positive demeanor and stop glaring at others!)

Have manners (Fix your posture, know your limits, and be polite)

Smile (Its sunnah!)

Know your limits (As mentioned before, being polite and to smile often; however, there are some people who take kindness the wrong way so make sure to be kind but you don't always have to be that cheerful bear. Make sure you are comfortable and know when to say no.)

𝑺𝒕𝒖𝒅𝒚

Education is soooo important!

I know some people hate school and listen I hated school too but! School is so important--education is. Jobs now days only look at your education history and whether you have a diploma or not, which is why you should focus on your studies and go to school!

Others, including me, have had no idea what to study--what to become and at times like that it is very hard and discouraging and I understand. I finally applied to college after finding a program where it did not seem too hard, and it seemed like a program that I could like.

That being said, if you are having trouble to find a career path to pursue, write down your skills, what you're interested in, and what you are good at. For instance, you like to write and like to talk to others--consider Office Administration as you are required to write a lot. Point is, find your passions and research what career you could put your passion in to. And trust me, it won't be easy (pray and make istikhara which career path to take) but I believe we will all figure it out and find that career inshallah.

Take advantage on the ability to be able to study and get that education!

I hope this helps!! and remember to have a good day!