#your religion is full of shit that makes no sense to people outside of it
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Christianity really truly is nonsensical and Christians acting like every single non-Christian who disagrees with it is too stupid or prideful to understand it tells me everything I need to know about Christians and their beliefs.
#ex christian#deconversion#atheist#apostate#sorry not everyone who disagrees or questions Christianity is stupid or prideful#your religion is full of shit that makes no sense to people outside of it#i know why christians act like this but its still frustrating to deal with
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I wanna hear about your beef with Mr. Claus, if you don't mind.
I've been sleeping on this ask for a minute, and it's time, honestly. I've had such a busy holiday season already, it's crazy! I mean, this year in addition to all the zombies, I'm trying to get through the training videos for taking over Hell, and they're meandering, awkward, and full of incoherent jargon. It's just a lot!
But the 6th was St. Nicholas's Day, and tonight it's Hanukkah, so I should definitely answer this one.
St. Nicholas is a decent guy, if a little stiff-necked. His thing is giving dowries to poor women so they don't have to go into sex work. And also bringing poor children back to life after they're sold for stew meat.
(Also, he was the one who proposed at the Council of Nicea that Easter be celebrated on the first full moon after the spring equinox, which tied it to the solar calendar instead of the lunar calendar. Granted, this was to reduce the Jewish influence on the religion, but it also made it easier for Me to celebrate Passover, and I really like Passover.)
So St. Nicholas Day ends up being a day where, instead of finding the nearest whore and offering to fund her marriage (sex work is work), you give money and presents to children. You can see the connection, yeah? Make sure kids have what they need growing up and they won't go hoing to make ends meet. Or have to be made into stew.
Meanwhile, we have this spirit over in the East called Ded Moroz, or Grandpa Frost. He's just, like, an old guy who freezes stuff. He'll take your kids if they wander out in the cold like you told the little bastards not to do.
And because of cultural drift, the duties of Ded Moroz get shifted over to Odin, another dude from the East. Originated somewhere between the steppes of Mongolia and Turkey, as far as anyone knows, finally made his way to Sweden and even the British Isles. Odin is now the Yulefather, the freezer of water and collector of the dead in the dying part of the year. Makes sense, because He's a wind god, since air is the element connected with Spirit at this time. (This is true for Hebrew and Latin, too! Pneuma and ru'ach.)
Well, the church doesn't like that Ded Moroz is a spooky guy who takes souls, decides he's a demon. But people like their Ded Moroz a lot. So now, instead of being a demon who takes souls, he's... Well, who do we have that's also from the East, Turkey specifically, and who is associated with giving or taking something, especially regarding children?
We have St. Nicholas! Who gives children presents instead of taking their souls, and coincidentally can calm the storm (of wind) that so often takes the souls of those lost outside in the cold. And his holiday is just under 20 days before Yule Xmas it's Christmas now. (Or, Yuletide. You know, whatever. Sheol is Hades now, who gives a shit.)
So it all gets kinda muddled up. Odin, St. Nick, Ded Moroz. Father Frost, Father Solstice, Father Christmas.
Well, I'm hanging out in the Holy Roman Empire, and I hear about this guy known as Sinterklaas. I think it's my old buddy and trusted employee Nicholas of Myra, who as far as I know has been buying, freeing, and funding the education and/or startups of slaves for as long as that's been possible. (He has six to eight African guys he ended up hiring on as assistants.) And I hear he's giving out not just coins and oranges, which prevent scurvy, but also toys and candy. And Nicholas of Myra is a good man, but he had zero sense of humor or fun and would never give a kid candy ("it rots your teeth, at least have an orange").
So I track down this Klaus, whom the kids also call Kris Kringle. I hear the kids have been doing all sorts of weird rituals to him, like the Spanish Yule log that shits candy, or the little pooping guy they hide in the Nativity scene (also Spanish, now that I think about it. What the fuck did the Inquisition do to people's brains over there?). And that he has a creepy BDSM goat called the Krampus for an assistant, who's in charge of dealing out the punishment to bad kids (that one's German and I thought it was just, like, the nation's id or something).
And he's smol. I mean, this guy is fucking Thumbelina sized. Roughly round, jolly as fuck, red fur trimmed in white, pointy toque beanie to match, and a miniature sleigh with eight tiny reindeer. Telltale pointed ears. Sparkling all over like they do.
Eight transmuted beings. Sleipnir (Dasher), Shiva and Baal Marquad (Dancer, Prancer), a kitsune (Vixen), a fallen star (Comet), Eros Himself (Cupid), and Thunder and Lightning -- Thor and Loki. Donner and Blitzen.
It's an entire Neil Gaiman novella of folks who've, I dunno, lost some kind of bet to him.
Okay. So he's one of The Neighbors. Gotta be careful.
I greet him like he's my old buddy Nicholas. I ask him how the soul collection is going and ask to see his inventory. He demurs, but I remind him that I'm his boss and they'll all come to Me eventually anyway. I just want to see if I think he ought to put any back. Oh, and can I just scan your company badge so I can establish that you made your check-in?
Well, I'm bluffing really hard, but he doesn't know that. He says he lost it. I tell him I'll wait with the souls until he gets back -- actually, whoa, looks like he's got a full load there. I'll take them in Myself.
That's when he laughs and says, "Well, Jesus, looks like You caught Me fair and square tonight. But how's about you and I make a deal? I'll spread Your Word and tell children to be good. And I will tell them to give to others all year round, because that's the spirit of Christmas. If they are good all year round, doing what their parents say, I will give them presents. If they are not good all year round -- which is to say, they don't do what their parents tell them to earn Christmas presents -- I will not give them presents. Fair?"
Note the wording carefully. Note where there's an and, and where there's not an and.
This works for a while. And then this song comes out.
Something seems wrong if kids are getting Santa presents according to the wealth of their parents, not their goodness over the year.
Then I find out that the primary metric by which Santa distributes presents is no longer behavior, but belief.
Not in Me.
In SANTA CLAUS.
I storm into his North Pole office yelling idolatry and he's got a fucking elven lawyer underlining shit. He didn't convert. He only promised to encourage charity. He didn't promise presents for charity, it's just for kids doing what their parents say they need to in order to get gifts, and right now that's belief in him.
I'm fucking steamed and he points out that I do exactly the same thing. Instead of doing good works or seeing the Divine in others regardless of social status or even fighting for equality here on Earth, Heaven has gotten twisted around to the point where believing in Me alone -- not what I stand for, which at this point can be nearly anything, but just the idea that I existed and did the Thing -- is considered sufficient acceptance criteria.
And I can't argue with that but I hate it. I hate that it's come to that. I hate what My section of Heaven looks like these days. I personally have been pleading for them to enact stringent, clearer, and above all objective metrics of entry, but I'm outnumbered in My own 5D connected consciousness in that opinion!!!
So. Fuck that guy. I'd literally rather you just worship Odin for Yule flat-out than fuck with Santa Claus, because at least He has solid advice for living and a comprehensive afterlife system.
I don't know what Santa Claus is doing with all that belief except get bigger, and it really scares Me.
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Mkay so help me out please
SO, here's a list of all the poetry I need to write AND all of the otherkin/alterhuman/therianthropy/non-human/ so many others/ stuffs I need to write PUT THIS SHIT IN MY ASK BOX PLEASE. TELL ME WHAT Y'ALL WANT ME TO WRITE ABOUT. Anything that y'all want me to write I'll get around to it quicker, but because I don't wanna ask more people about what they wanna see, I need others to motivate me to write, does that make sense? Basically seeing someone request shit mentally encourages me to write about that stuff. SO enjoy the lengthy list (I will do 3, one for poetry, one for werewolf stories cause why not, and one for non-human rants I can do)
First list, poetry:
Busy calming down
Wasting time (what I'm doing rn)
Something that makes you feel unreal (and tell me what makes you feel unreal if you request this)
Broken toys (but compared to humanity)
Sickness
Being able to put yourself first
Butterfly effect
Misunderstood
The Nimona book/movie
Nothing left anymore
Food magic
Demons
Going crazy
Out of originality
Too much of life
Losing a loved one
Silence
Rebirth
Love at first sight
Shouldn't have let someone in
Home
Small things that bring you joy (and tell me what does if you request it)
Fire
Aftermath
War
Controlling Fate
Any color (if you request it's your choice)
Full moon
Stranded on an island
Religion
Overcrowded
We always want what we don't have
Habits develop into character
Snow white
Ariel
AND THATS JUST SOME OF MY POETRY IDEAS (holy shit I'm going crazy)
Next list: The stuff people want to see written about non-humanity more (I am using this as an umbrella term)
We're normal people y'all
We have feelings
The day to day life of being alterhuman
Alterhumans complaining about humans ruining everything
Bugkin
Primatekin
Non-humanity being influenced by mental health
Species dysphoria
Kintype loss
People who are alterhuman due to zoanthropy or plurality
Ockin
Non-otherkin alterhuman Identities
Hearthome and otherlink
It's not a mental illness
Objectkin
Psychological kin experiences and about psychological otherkin
Transspeciess
Otherhearted representation stuffs
Fiction folk
Other vague representation
Multiple studies have come to the conclusion being non-human requires accommodations not fixing
Fictionkin representation
Otherkin being "disrespectful" with their identities
Respecting non-humans
The history of otherkinity
There's an interview I need to write up and post- if anyone wants to see that right away (it's with someone who has two spirits in one body)
The feral side of being non-human and the struggles that come with it
Relationship between neurodivergance and otherkinity
Recipes for alterhumans and their kintypes
The general pros and cons to being nonhuman
Otherkin not getting bullied (stories)
Not being comfortable in your own body
And that was a portion of the list I have for that :') NOW last list I promise. This one is for so many different werewolf stories (that I haven't gotten around to, I'm a failure, ik)
A werewolf ripping clothes they just bought due to transforming
A werewolf having to wear certain clothing to hide body parts when they're partially transformed (ex, a beanie for hiding ears, gloves for claws, etc)
A werewolf forgetting it was full moon
A werewolf growling at a dog cause it growled at the werewolf (also same thing for howling?)
A werewolf having to deal with stupid jokes
A werewolf having to explain claw marks around the house aren't from a pet to their landlord
A werewolf having to resist buying pounds of meat since they can't afford it
A werewolf doing dog stuff and not realizing it
a werewolf losing weight due to turning on the full moon
A werewolf not realizing their strength and accidentally hurting people
Werewolves with disabilities
These are all just portions of lists I have, anyways REQUEST ME STUFF FROM THEM. I will not shove it in my queue, it'll get posted as bonus content and also I will do anything outside of these lists to. I will write any short stories just nothing including nsfw stuffs or heavy gore (although I'm fine with some) and yeah. Please request because it will give me more motivation
#therianthropy#alterhuman#otherkin#therian#therian community#otherkin community#poem#alterhuman community#poetry#original poem#Poemblr#Short stories#help me out#Non-human#Sin Rants#Sin And Their Mission
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I thought radical feminism opposed hijab
dont worry, no offense taken lol, i dont mind ppl just asking questions, and youre far from the first to ask me abt this. if anything tks for asking lol ive been wanting to make a post abt this on this blog, just hadn't gotten around to it
so. this is going to b a long and tangeled one. my opinions and feelings on hijab are quite complicated and conflicting and they have been so for years, and i think its important that i say a)in all honesty by this point i dont know what my stance is 100% and im not going to pretend otherwise b)i dont think my opinion is the most important on the planet when it comes to this discussion c)opinions among islamic feminists are not uniform on this topic d)i consider myself to be heavily leaning twoards radical feminism, and i engage w the community bc at least youre still allowed to talk abt shit and ill take women who are critical of everything under the sun than women who cant discuss shit; however i wouldnt say im a full on radfem, moreso an orbitor whose mostly on board
i really dislike the way liberal feminism, both from outside of islam and liberal feminism imported into it, approaches this topic. theres a billion nuances and things to touch up on in this discussion which i wont even get to; none of this starts and ends at "choice." and to start and end the discussion at choice is to miss out on any historical, social, psychological, or even religious analysis - how are we to speak of choice when so many muslim sisters believe that an all powerful god is commanding them to do something? this is not choice the way the liberals wish to understand it. also, i always said that i dont think covering is a feminist thing to do really - just bc a woman chooses to do a thing dont make it feminism all of the sudden
it is true that hijab is historically tied to sexism, this is undeniable. in islam it came about mostly after the death of muhammad pbuh; at least, it became more common. the quran is not specific when it tells women to cover. it was also the influence of other cultures and religions of the period which had an affect on islam; orthodox christianity, zoroastrocism, etc. it is indeed true that the hijab is entangeled with patriarchy and patrilinial systems - while it may be about modesty, this modesty exists in a male benefiting system in which the woman is expected to be modest (and sexually "pure") outside of marriage - so that males, in a patrilinial system, may know that a child is theirs. in a way, it was a way to mark a woman as private property; slave women, sex slaves or not for example, were in many cases not allowed to cover their heads, because they were public property, not private - which considering the shit ive been through, i do find to be deeply uncomfortable and angering. its also the case that the wearing of the hijab was often split among classes; at times only higher class women would veil for the most part, at times only lower class women would, depending on the place and time.
now, knowing this, and not denying its origins. its also important to understand that hijab has also taken up other meanings, and has functioned differently through time and cultures.
there is something to be said about its practicality in the place where it originated and where it is still warn, which is the middle of the desert. muhammah himself pbuh for a time grew up among the bedouins. if we look at the clothing of the nomadic peoples of the deserts of north africa and the middle east, its not just the women who are covered; the men as well often cover everything but their eyes. bc in a place with burning sun, sandstorms, winds, and biting cold during the night, this makes sense. i can also say after living in a desert for a bit over half a year, having essentially a thin blanket to wrap yourself in and shield yourself from the elements is actually quite nice. if we look at traditional saudi clothing today, men also wear essentially robes and cover their heads. if we look at ottoman clothing, the men would also often wear robe-like clothes, or both men and women would wear shalvari, loose harem pants;;; theres also something to be said about veiling, or the covering of the head, not being a unique thing to women in many cultures, within islam, and outside of it, from a cultural but also a spiritual perspective. if we look at orthodox priests and monks for example, many wear very similar clothes to nuns. if we look at the sikhs, the men cover as well as the women. etc. if we look at traditional romanian culture, it was also undignified for a man to walk around with his head uncovered (though by a hat and not a veil).
there is something to be said as well abt the veil not functioning the same in many places and cultures. so much of the discourse around muslim women and ~oppressed muslim women circles around the veil, and this has been so since the dawn of conflicts between the west and east - this endless fascination with it, with either demonizing or sexualizing it; youd think the entire islamic world revolves around it. in truth there are islamic societies and cultures in which it doesnt matter that much, in which some women wear it and some dont and some or most wear it in a way that is not "proper" according to some (turbans hands and neck showing jewerly loose veils etc - thinking particularly abt many places in africa but theres plenty of others). there are places in which the veil has become moreso of a focus as a direct result to colonialization than it was before; partially bc when someone invades your country, disrespects your entire culture, and bans you from doing shit, when you get rid of them you're going to double down. but again, there have been and there are plenty of places in which it wasnt... that big of a damn deal. i always love seeing old photos of the balkans for example, bc its just..,, niqabis, hijabis, women wearing traditional clothes but not covering, women wearing western clothes, niqabis wearing western clothes but only covering their faces,,, all together
im not denying the origins of the veil, nor am i denying that on many of our sisters it is pushed; i am not denying that this is an issue. i fully stand by our sisters who are against it, completely or not, i fully stand by our sisters who hate it, i fully stand by muslim and exmuslim and culturally but not religiously muslim women who dislike it or have had traumatic experiences with it - and i wish their voices and concerns and frustrations werent so buried by this whole damn "choice" discussion. it is clear that changes have to be made, that it cannot be forced, neither by threath of violence, neither religiously and culturally by telling women and girls that they have to or else they are sinful, undemn, going to hell, distracting men, or whatever the hell else. we have to completely do away with these concepts; only then could veiling be a truly free choice for a woman. we have to analyze and critique how all these concepts that surround so much of this - purity virginity modesty etc - are in retrospect sexist. we have to look at how modesty in islam is prescribed for both sexes, but it is most often only the sisters who have the rigidity of hijab forced onto them, while muslim men feel comfortable wearing shorts and taking their shirts off, etc, and noone ever really calls them sinners, tempters, undemn, sluts, etc. we have to question how much it matters at all how we personally feel about the veil, if in material reality we are still doing what men want us to do - to not question this would be to fall into the same trap that the postmodernists fall into
at. the. same. time.
the issue of hijab and feminism is deeply entangeled, as i mentioned earlier, with imperialism, colonialism, islamophobia, and racism. this whole rhetoric that the muslim woman must be unveiled to be liberated is an old one, one which predates feminism. example, the forced unveilings in algeria - where as far as i understand the colonizers had to first get women to veil in the first place to then unveil them; they are the ones who made this a focus. what france is doing right now - banning the hijab in public buildings under the guise of "liberating" muslim women - is an extension of this imperialism, this racism, islamophobia, sexism etc. this idea of "liberating" muslim women - from their own culture and religion by enlightening them with the western one - is one that has been used as justification for invading entite countries and wrecking havoc, and the veil has always been a primary focus in this. this has come from both western feminists, but also from western men - who didnt give a single shit about sexism, they didnt give a single shit about the sexism they were committing against their own women, but they suddenly cared abt sexism when it was abt liberating muslim women (of colour) from evil muslim men (of colour)
there is also something to be said abt the hijab being taken up throughout time as a symbol of anti-colonial resistance. per example many muslim women started veiling after both 9/11 and after what happened in palestina, as a symbol of resistance and pushback etc. i do think this is an important aspect to remember and a part of this conversation - that in the west, and outside of it, some have taken up veiling particularly as an act of defiance, and a symbol of solidarity with our fellow muslims. this is technically part of the reasoning for wearing hijab too originally, so that a woman may be known as a muslimah by her fellow muslims - the veil is indeed an identifier among ourselves, but also a target which paints us as clearly muslim to others. i also think its important to point out that there is nuance in who and why and how some women choose to veil; there are those who indeed start veiling completely agains the wishes of their families, husbands, community, etc - and this makes the discussion of hijab both in the west and outside of it more complicated, bc then, by doing so, we are not necessarily even conforming to expectations, if that makes sense.
while the hijab may be part of islamic patriatchy, it is also at the same time the anthises of western patriarchy. there is a quote which goes, about algeria and the niqab, "the colonizer is frustrated by the woman who sees, but cannot be seen." in the western world, where a woman is expected to show herself, to be sexy, to be beautiful, to always be covered in makeup and get plastic surgeries so that she may be attractive to men, to have her beauty and sexisness always to be consumed by any man (and women who refuse to do so are demonized and seen as lesser), a world in which billboards with half naked women are everywhere and sex appeal is used to sell any god damn thing, etc etc etc, it is true that the hijab stands in opposition to this - a refusal to make oneself and attractiveness avaible to the eyes of men. in a world in which a woman is so judged by her beauty, to show nothing but your eyes and hands, and nothing of your shape or beauty, is indeed in opposition to what western patriarchy wants or expects (also not just the west tho, plenty of eastern countries who have taken up these sort of expectations for women: south korea an example). reminds me of a niqabi i know on youtube, whose husband never saw what she looked like before they got married - this woman indeed has the certainty that her husband did not get with her because she was attractive or sexy, but because he genuinely cared for her and her personality, who she is, bc he had no damn idea what the woman he committed himself to looked like. but this frustrates the western man, who thinks he is entitled to see any womans beauty whenever he may please. he is not.
one of the reasons why i still wear it, is less to do with modesty, and more to do with, i hate men seeing me. i spend my childhood being bought, sold, raped, endlessly used and sexualized by males. when i was a preteen men started catcalling me on the streets in romania. etc. i dispise, i truly do, men having their eyes on me to any extend whatsoever, i truly do. to me, it is comforting to have a big veil i can wrap myself around in, whose folds i can dissapear in, with which i can cover my face and the shape of my body. its comforting to wear niqab, bc it means no man is seeing any part of me much, and thats the way i like it. i don't consider this dissappearing from public life - im very much still there, and my loud ass mouth which always gets me in trouble v much means i dont dissappear lol. its a way to be in public without having to worry that any man can see my body, think that i have a nice ass or my hair is beatiful or whatever the fuck else. im also lol deeply traumatized and brain damaged, and maybe autistic, and i get sensory overload easily at times. its also comforting to have essentially a thin blanket to wrap myself around in whenever i want bc of this, i find it to be very grounding and safe feeling. i also like that when i veil, most men understand to keep some distance from me and not touch me, which i appreciate. now. thing is. i shouldnt have to dress any sort of damn way for men to not sexualize me, men should know to keep their damn eyes off of women etc, but. they dont. at the same time veiling truly isnt some sort of ultimate escape let me make that clear - men will sexualize anything and everything, and there are plenty who specifically sexualize the veil. a woman could walk around almost naked, or she can walk around in full niqab and chador; there Will be men who will sexualize her, sexually harass her, assault her, agress her, or at the very least judge her. because theyre pigs
i also still wear it bc its a cultural thing, and this matters to me. when i first started veiling at 14 it was partly to do with spirituality, partially to do with this. i didnt come to america by choice particularly, and ive done a truly bad job at assimilating into its culture - when i did try, it left me with much self hatred and shame, so. yea, at some point i snapped out of that and decided the whole assimilation thing wasnt for me. ive had a habit of dressing traditionally for years, and starting to veil when i was younger was a part of that - even though i am uncomfortable with how this tradition has affected some of the women in my family, and the way i was exposed to it when i was younger - i saw it as something i was, lets say, reclaiming. now, i dont think "reclaiming" the veil is much a feminist thing either btw, i think it is at best perhaps neutral. but it has mattered to me for years as a symbol of both culture, a connection i share with my grandmother and grand grandma, the older generations who were less western, and a symbol of resistance to the expectation and pressure of assimilation. also. lets look at another part of traditional clothing which has sexist origins - jewerly. in the balkans (and many other parts of the world) the jewerly of a woman was her security; if her husband died, or divorced her, etc, a woman would be able to sell her jewerly to survive (this is also why historically women are given jewerly as gifts in many cultures). the jewerly also signified her social rank and "worth" - in the context of weddings (in which a bride price would be payed to the brides family by the husband in an often arranged marriage, aka, she was sold), the woman or girl would often be adorned with much jewerly which had not only spiritual and cultural significance, but it was meant to display the wealth of the families and the worth of the bride, as if she were some precious item bring bought and sold. even so - even with the sexist entangelments of traditional jewelry - im not going to stop wearing that, either; nor do i think traditional jewerly has to be forever entangled in its origins.
and i still wear it bc of spiritual reasons; as said earlier, many cultures and religions have taken up covering as a spiritual thing, for both men and women. i do find that personally it grounds me and reminds me of a series of responsibilities that i have, and it is a constant reminder of the presence of divinity (or the divinity in everything etc). also growing up i always just thought it was beautiful, even when the rhetoric pissed me off, i always wanted to look like one of those orthodox saints. the virgin mary, maryam, had style, thats all im saying
.... no. the choices i am making do not exist in a vaccum of individualism, and im fully aware of that, and ive been going back and forth on what exactly it means to wear hijab for years. but if wearing hijab is a part of islamic patriatchy, i have to wonder if taking it off while im in the west, even as a act of solidarity with our sisters, would not be further feeding into the very old imperialist idea that the muslim woman ought to unveil in order to be liberated and free - as if the west is any less sexist, as if the expectations placed on women here arent also a damn nightmare. none of these "choices" exist in a vaccum, and i very much feel caught in the middle, and no, i dont have some singular answers or solution or opinion on any of this. i really dont
i also think there is something to be said about, there are different ways of going about, lets say, reforming what the hijab means and how it functions, which do not neccessitate its full dissapearance. in marocco for example the younger generation has been switching between wearing hijab one day, and not wearing it the next. this already breaks expectations and some of the values and ideas that surround it, and it normalizes it in a way which makes it just another item of clothing, rather than something that has to be strictly followed, or that has to do with a womans worth and purity or this super important thing. and again, there are many places in which the hijab is warn in a nonstrict manner, taken off, put on, worn loosely, worn with short sleeves or showing the neck or jewerly or whatever - which is also what i do. i think this may be a middle path to this issue to take
i also would like to touch up on briefely on the purdah - the sociatal segregation of the sexes, practiced in islamic cultures as well as hindu ones, and some others - of which the hijab&niqab are a part of. i have written abt this in this post; while the topic is complex, i do not believe the purdah has to be inherently sexist, and rather, id prefer if society was more sex segregated than it is, just in an egalitarian way - partial segregation as far as im concerned allows for a level of saftey and sisterhood for women, in the best cases
so. uh yea. idk probably a lot i didnt get to and this probably wasnt the most clear reply - all this to say, its a nuanced and complex issue which i do not have some sort of solid standing on. and which, again, among islamic feminists is also not a uniform issue. while i cant remember off of the top of my head whose written on this, there is an islamic feminist tag on this blog that you can look through, and you'll come across the names of many authors who have probably at one time or another touched up on it. theres also somewhere there a post with pdfs to several books, which may be a good place to start farther looking into this if you are interested. im sorry if this wasnt a super satisfactory or clear answer, its just an honest and complicated one
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Hiii, so idk who else to tell this too but backstory my family has never been religious but lately they have an some points they be making does make sense but some are like I have my own opinion of it
But what has gotten to me is that manifesting is a sin and that we should believe in God and God only and rn idk what to do because I don't want to sin but I also want to manifest my dream life just how I want to live it. The thing is I'm not educated enough in manifesting/loa/non duality even thought I been in this community for almost a year now, to actually tell them about it.
So now I'm stuck.
Religion is a trap, a bubble designed to keep you ignorant. It was created so that you look elsewhere for God when in truth it was you all along. Why would God make the Earth and then not partake of it? There is no other power but you as awareness. Nothing is outside of your control. Religion is full of fuck ass limiting beliefs to make you feel small and incapable. Society is crafted the way it is so that you never awaken to your true identity. It is full of distractions and unnecessary rules and whatnot.. constantly telling you bullshit like you have to work your whole life and slave away, life isn't fair, I'll believe it when I see it, daydreaming is a waste of time, glorified hustle,, superpowers are fantasy and the likes of such. All of this is fantasy to awareness. It is all imagination, a dream. And when you remember who you are, you consciously control the dream. Awareness is in a human body literally just for the experience, to be entertained by it all. You don't need to be educated because there is nothing to learn, just unlearn. This is your rebirth. Start from scratch. In the very first chapter of Genesis in the Bible, God created heaven and earth of of nothing. The world was void and out of nothing, came everything( this is the void y'all) literally mentioned in the very beginning of the holy book. Look it up for yourself. This is why religion and society have done their best best brainwash by the multitude. If people awoke to their true selves, where would there power and authority go? Surely they can't oppress a self-aware God. Lol and a bunch of teenage girls on tumblr fucking know this out of everyone in the world to exist at any point in time. Honestly, it's not even just about manifesting and stuff. That is what ego desires. You are pure awareness experiencing the human body and mind in a dream world. Nothing really matters, never has. You are always awareness. You were before you took on an ego and incarnated, you are during and will be after the character dies. This is a game and it's supposed to be fun! I'm really glad you asked ME this question because I feel I am perfectly qualified to answer. I come from a deeply spiritual family. Starting with my great-great-great grandmother, black magic was heavily practiced in the family, men and women. Seances and speaking to the dead, letting the dead possess your body and speaking through you type of shit. I've always seen and felt dark entities (was attacked a couple times but not anymore bc I'm above those shits) Anywayyyyss, point being that my family went crazy and it passed from generation to generation. Suicides, Drugs, Mental and physical disease, Severe abuse.. until my grandmother decided enough and looked towards Christianity. Now she is a FANATIC. Absolutely ludicrous! It's so amusing hearing her speak about Jesus and crap because in my head I'm going "if only you knew God was right here." She is also one of the dumbest women I know. She believes you shouldn't ask questions about the afterlife and stuff because that is doubting God. And she thinks Saturday is a holy day and you shouldn't even buy anything on that day because it's a sin. She forbids anyone to listen to music and thinks if a woman was raped she has to marry her rapist because sex is holy and the woman is impure... She became a Christian at 19 and now she is pushing 60 with nothing to show for it. She has nothing! Her faith in " God", who is supposed to be a man that lives in the sky, had gotten her absolutely nothing and it is because she is worshipping a false God instead of herself. I don't care if it sounds narcissistic.. Worship Yourself! The moment you want something, give it to yourself. You are not a pathetic little human with it's pathetic little problems. You are sooo much more than this. You are above everything. You are truly privileged to know the truth out of everyone. Everyone else is suffering and going through their own shit, and would kill to know what we know. Don't let this life on Earth go to waste when you can heaven right now! Feel free to DM me for anything
Xoxo,
Jezebel 💜
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If you don't mind me asking, why are you an atheist?
Oh, lots of reasons I guess.
I was never raised very religious to begin with, which didn't help. I was brought to church every Sunday my mom felt like going but when I was about... 10, I told her I'd rather sleep in than go to church and she let me. Just to get the ~vibe of how I was raised. I was already a skeptic and fairly atheist-ic even then.
But well... beyond that it's a combination of a lot of things.
I was also a very inquisitive and skeptical person, even as a child. I constantly asked questions, constantly felt comfortable correcting adults and pushing back when I felt like they were full of shit (I was also a very vulgar child and would USE phrases like 'full of shit'), and would get very, very frustrated when I felt adults were lying to me.
I asked a lot of questions in Bible school and didn't get a lot of answers. Beyond a lot of things not making sense to me logistically, a lot of things didn't make sense to me morally.
And then... my childhood was like... very full of tragedy very early on. Dead dad. Witnessed domestic violence. Related to that, my best friend was put into foster care and I was there when the cops came. Etc etc.
And so, I can to the conclusion, fairly young, that a god could not be all powerful, all knowing, AND benevolent. Because like... sure, free will can explain some evil in the world, but my dad couldn't free will outside of dying young. I was very socially conscious as well (shout out to growing up during hte bush years lol) and a lot of the injustice I saw in the world on a larger scale didn't make sense if you believe in a kind God. 9/11. Racism. Homophobia. Rent existing for single mothers, like my mom.
And, frankly, to me, a god who is not all powerful or all knowing.. isn't really a god. And I didn't want to believe in a god that wasn't benevolent. I wasn't going to fear someone who seemed like such a fucking royal cunt. SO I didn't.
I did get dragged into White Man's Atheism (you know the type) in my preteen years but focused all of my anger and "I can prove your religion is a logical fallacy" energy at Christianity, which I was mostly angry at. Watched shit like The God Who Wasn't There, read some Dawkins (yikes, not proud of that). And just.. felt very angry and hurt. But also correct.
And felt a lot of that anger and hurt continue as I watched people use religion to justify a lot of awful shit.
I've since lost that anger (or at least, I learned to focus it ONLY on the people using religion for bad and not all Christians) but the root of my belief is the same. The world, as it exists, could not be the creation of a kind or involved god. Theoretically, a god who isn't kind or involved could exist, but then... I don't need to believe in them. They have nothing to do with my life, so why spend time believing in them?
The world is a beautiful place to me because it is random. Because we can CHOOSE to be good even when it's hard, even when we aren't rewarded for it. We make our own lives. And when our lives end, there is only the peace of non-existence. That is wonderful to me. That is affirming to me. I don't need anything else to fill that gap.
Things like heaven seem miserable to me. Reincarnation seems fucking miserbale me. I don't need or want a moral code from some abstract fear or desire for reward. I envy some religious communities and think many have created beautiful, powerful things but don't TRULY want that type of community for myself.
I've participated in some religious ceremonies, I've been invited to UU church and had a decent time, celebrated some Jewish holidays and thought they were lovely, but like... it's not something that enriches my life the awy I crave enrichment. Always feel honored to be invited and welcomed into something so sacred but not something I desire on my own.
Even if I believed, I would be a-religious. I am not spiritual in any way. I don't even really believe i the more fun stuff. I don't believe in ghosts. I don't believe aliens are among us or have ever visited Earth. "Cryptids" don't intrigue me.
I'm a very fact based person and the beauty I see in the world often stems from the tangible--love from people around me, love in nature, love in random chance. I don't need that form anywhere else.
I don't begrudge anyone their belief so long as they don't wield it against anyone else. I think many religions have lots of good to offer. But for... other people. Not me.
Also, if I did believe, I wouldn't know what God to believe in. Not the Christian God but... there's hundreds more besides. I wouldn't know where to begin. And it's like... who the fuck am I to say "Yes to this god, no to this one?" If there is a God, idk if I'm the one to decide which traits and history belong to them.
#i'm an agnostic atheist to be clear#i believe i could be wrong#god could exist#but i dont believe in them regardless#i don't need to#lots of things COULD exist but i dont believe in them#squirrels COULD be living in my walsl rn but i dont believe they are
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Islam is really stupid and fucked up via /r/atheism
Islam is really stupid and fucked up
I was born into this shitty religion, and was put into schools specifically for it, and I was a around defender of it aswell, to the point I would ridicule other religions and calling them stupid, Islam is the best, blah blah blah.
Like everytime I think back on it, I feel like cutting my head. I used to believe in man slaughter, and pedophilia bro wtf😭
I pretty much stopped believing in it since like 5ft grade or something. It's really stupid and fucked up. Just read up the lore of it in Quran, some of it doesn't even make sense whatsoever and just a bunch of mush up fiction. The rules are dumb aswell, girls and boys can't do something as simple as a high-five, you also can't be in a single room together alone cause that is totally disgusting, girls have to wear hijab cause if not you would go to hell and drag your parents down with you(as if I care what happend to them at this point).
There is also Ramadhani, Wich supposed to be a "Holliday" but no, it's the month were you have to wake up as early before 5amnto eat so you could starve for the entire day.
I always saw how people mocking Christian bible, saying how oh it doesn't really hold the same meaning/value cause it have been tempered over the years, Like Quran is not the same aswell.
And apparently before we was born, our "soul" was to be shown how our life is gonna be like, and god/Allah will ask us if we want to live this life for 100 times. I could just imagine myself saying no for 99 times until I got fed up with god's bullshit and said yes and then he immidiently threw me down. Yeah no that ain't real.
To be honest with you all, if I were to chose to be in a religion, I would just pick christians, at least their more decent that this shitty ass religion.
Islam people especially the most religious ones are so delusional aswell. "Islam is the only correct religion" "you can only go to heaven if you believe in Allah" "other religions teaching is wrong" (even tough they all basically teach the same thing) "Islam will one-day rule the world cause all other religion is gonna be filled with gay people and can't reproduce" (this is actually something one of my uztad said).
Rules in Islam can be broken as long there is a rule that overlaps it or there was a direct order from god that requires you to break the rule.
Like no shit, there is a story about a dad being ordered to behead his kid, and the way he got the message was he woke up from a dream that told him to do so and the dream said it was a message from Allah. Like bro be so fr right now. A demon apparently tried to stop the man saying stuff like "dude that's your kid you can't kill your kid" "you have been expecting this kid for so long and now you are just gonna kill him just like that?" But that is wrong yk cause demon is bad and Allah's order is absolute. The kid got turned into a goat, cause got was like "oh yes this was just a test if you are really loyal to me" you could just tell the guy to not kill the kid at the last second instead of turning it into a goat but okay👍🏻. There is a bunch of versions of this story raging from the kid actually becoming a goat or the kid just got swap with the goat so the kid is still human or whatever, but the point still stands, a father is willing to kill his own kid just cause some guy told him so.
Allah also apperantly have personally send down a lighting to strike down a whole tribe full of gay people even tough they are Muslim and believe in him (just a fun fact).
You can't date aswell, you have to immidiently get married. (Sorry but I'm not gonna about to marry my guy immidiently without being absolutely sure it is a good idea to marry him, heck I'm probably not a good idea to marry too aswell💀)
There's a bunch of more shits I want to rant about but eh you guys get the idea already.
I swear once I hit college age I'm gonna go to a college outside of my country and never came back
Submitted March 11, 2024 at 07:15AM by poisonolivetree
(From Reddit https://ift.tt/XcuZYes)
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People put God in a box because that’s the only way some people can make sense of anything.. putting things and people and concepts in boxes. Indoctrination and dogma has completely separated everyone from truth and from one another. But God is so much bigger than any box that’s ever been placed on him (and her.. them, if you will.) This is one of those years you’re gonna see the lid of that box blown clean off. And in the years to come. Spirit… source… the universe… God…. speaks to people in many different ways… and they’re all valid. The biggest mistake humanity has ever made is believing only “their” God is the right God. The biggest mistake the so called conscious community has made is convincing people they are God all on their own. We are co creators. We are the Gods of our reality. But God is the palm.. and we are the fingers. Going by that philosophy, if you’re not connected to the palm you’re just an amputated finger.. lifeless & rotting. I’m thankful for the path God called me to. Learning about so many different spiritual beliefs, ancient religions, practices & philosophies. I see it all for what it is. It’s all extensions of the same energy source. We are all extensions of that energy source. As humans we are hard wired to worship, and if you don’t cultivate a genuine relationship with some higher representation of God and follow the principles set forth (cuz that’s what really matters ultimately), you are bound to worship money, material possessions, or something dark. & you’ll convince yourself that’s not what you’re doing. You can’t survive this reality without money… but so many people desire money not to merely survive.. but to run as far away from themselves and their truth as possible. I’ll never subscribe to this belief that healing means suppressing your feelings and ignoring the truth of our realities. We are fully divine, but we are also fully human. And that’s where God wishes to meet us. In our humanity… that’s why we’re here to begin with. To experience the full range of human emotions.. tragedy.. trauma.. triumph… and true healing. We are here to learn lessons that will aide us in the evolution of our souls. And we’re here to serve the bigger picture… whether we realize exactly what part we play or not, we all have a part to play. I’ve been stripped of everything 3 different times in the past 8 years. And I’ve been shown every time that God always provides. I grew up in a Christian family. I can remember being 8 or 9.. experiencing so much trauma in my home and just pleading with God. Telling God that I wanted to believe but everything I was experiencing was making it so hard. God made me a promise, a promise I’ll never fully share online. I’m reminded of that promise all the time tho, and I know God is real. The way God shows up in my life would knock most peoples socks off.. a lot of my experiences I keep to myself partially because I know it sounds crazy but mostly because it be between me and God for real. Im reminded all the time that my path is my own and extremely personalized. I’ve had a very unique path because I have a very unique destiny. There’s nothing in this world that can shake my faith… nothing. Other peoples hatred, pessimism, and boxes will never convince me my real lived experiences did not happen. I have my whole mind. And I know who I am. I have fully self actualized and I know exactly who governs this body. I also know I STILL wouldn’t be shit without the God outside of me either. I’ve healed bipolar disorder, chronic anxiety, and I’m on my way to healing c-ptsd too. Where I’m headed… the things God has called me to do… can only be accomplished by me and it requires me to heal all of this shit. So I can show others just how possible it really is. Thankful & blessed beyond measure. I get tired.. I grow weary & frustrated. But my trust in God outweighs every single one of my worries or frustrations. Even through the pain I remain grateful & excited for a future I can’t consciously conceive just yet.. but I know it’s coming 🥹
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So for a while I had a friend out in Cali that went to a Mormon church and like. Always partaking in rituals or events or gatherings cuz they were encouraged to be there as much as possible and strongly shamed anything sexual, masturbation, lgbtq, preached endlessly of virginity and purity which also meant by default encouraging men to value that over women being, you know, women, and all this among other things by proxy encouraged borderline abusive helicopter parenting in families.
For the longest time I thought no way, and ain't no way these temples exist for the purpose of this stuff.
Well. Guess who got to visit one. Lds mormon temple was completed out in Idaho and for the grand opening they allowed members of the church to invite small groups to tour the place granted we had scrubs on our shoes and didn't touch anything at all, not even doors, the members had to open them. As follows:
"Soooo why the scrubs on our shoes?" "Oh you aren't supposed to wear shoes inside but we're compromising today." Oookayyyy.
Being preached to the glory of Jesus around every turn.
Oh look white Jesus paintings
"Oh what's that fancy room for?" "(Some ritual)"
"Oh what about this room?" "(Some ritual)"
Oh look white Jesus paintings
Surely this one is something different- "(Some ritual)"
Mooooore white Jesus paintings, and more preaching. How much did you say this temple cost again?
Sees a room full of glorious lighting and carvings and an ornate circular marble pool with stairs leading up to it. Let me fucking guess.
"This is a lot of stuff, how often do you have things going on here?" "Oh almost always. That's why you're encouraged to visit and participate as much as you can outside of work and school." O-O
Oh look a painting that's not Jesus! Ah, it's Abraham, the dude about to kill his own son because God was self conscious about his followers devotion. Yeah that's a healthy dynamic.
"Obviously you guys are just visiting and that's sort of because to be a member other than being born into it you have to-(lots of social ladder networking, getting on your knees to kiss peoples feet(figuratively) and so on)"
"Oh alright, but what if you want to leave?" "(Really awkward convoluted answer that essentially boils down to you can't or else you're eternally dammed to the worst pits of hell and ostracized by everyone you know."
"Ah makes sense. But what if you absolutely have to move somewhere far away?" "Oh usually we can help you find a church or temple wherever you're going!"
More rooms and halls and congregation areas that quite literally cost a fortune and look like a palace-
Thoroughly anxious, nauseous, creeped out and still being praised to about God, I finally ask. "And what about the lgbtq? I'm pretty sure I'm gay."
Oh shit that worked. They're leaving me alone. They're actually physically moving away slowly but surely. Win I guess.
Anyways I learned a very important lesson that day. I was constantly dismissing that friend despite going through some of my own questionable experiences within churches. I actually had known a woman before her that escaped from a similar lds community and dismissed her too as a child. I still regret both immensely. This experience though also led to a deep dive on various religions churches while still being forced to go to Mormon and Christian events myself, and I slowly realized any "good" churches, regardless of religion, is actually by far the exception. That is to say doesn't have systemic abuse(mild to extreme) and/or have a history of sweeping under the rug abuse from members/preachers/organizers.
Lesson learned. Just because you're religious experience wasn't that bad doesn't mean it can't be far worse. In fact you're probably the exception, not them. Like, good on you, super glad you had a good experience. But now I know that's no reason to excuse the overarching theme and other people's worse experiences.
#i actually ended up becoming friends with some kids that went to that temple in school#whenever i pass by that place i wonder if the ones that wanted to leave have managed to yet#coincidentally or perhaps not none of them have any access to social media#tw religion#tw religious trauma#i still believe in a higher being just not really in religion anymore
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Fighting and Fucking Buddies (Boston and Rimita)
Chapter 1
This whole shindig had been a bust. A causal trip with their grandchild Viper to get them out of their whole house arrest situation had turned into a goose chase, trying to find out who blew up a centuries old temple, and murdered two civilians who had cybernetic enhancements. That led to a street fair to raise money on damages. Then going to a cult meeting to discover children were being pumped full of magical energy, committing some light arson, breaking and entering via a portal. More arson,more violence, splitting up the party, several times. Going back to some of the scenes of the crime, only for Rimita to get drugged and thrown into the back of a van. As she’s the old woman with candy! What an ironic and cruel twist. Luckily The rest of the people she’d come to find herself working with were able to get onto the bus, save her, and that’s about all they could do.
Rimita was standing outside the police department, with the tin man, Baldric, who seemed to be either zoning out or just enjoying the scenery. There wasn’t much conversation between the two of them. Despite being the “oldest” of this clusterfuck, they come from very different walks of life. Rimita, a halfling grandmother from the slums with a long history of participating in gladiatorial style battles, and Baldrick, the fancily dressed butler that was now hanging out with a pair of cowboys. It’s a bizarre circumstance to say the least.
“And that’s why I never like going to one of those buildings,” The human, Boston Jones, grumbled, lighting a cigarette while being followed by his… associate? side kick? The orc named Nash was a sweetheart who loved Rimitas sweets she carried on her. And the one trailing behind, who was definitely the one this message was for. The government worker, Fenrana, was unbelievably green, but was intelligent and cared. Rimita prayed that their sympathy never left them. The golden girl snapped back to the conversation at hand when Boston turned to Fenrana tapping off the ashes from the cigarette, “Full of people who do a shit ton of talking, not a lot of actin’.”
“Boston,” Fenrana sighed, looking back at the building, “The police chief said they’d assist in our investigation, right now we are in the waiting phase.”
“We’d better be getting paid for this fucking ‘waiting phase,’” Boston grumbled looking at one of the large century drones flying buy into one of its assigned parking. He looked to Fenrana asking, “Any particular address I should send this bill to? Considering I’m working alongside an investigator of your city.”
“Wouldn’t it make more sense for your church to pay your fee?” Fenranra asked. Boston’s cigarette dropped out of his mouth in surprise and probably anger. Not noticing the change in the cowboys demeanor, Fenrana continued, “This is an internal affair, with off brand cultists from their religion. The are at fault just as much-”
Boston shut Fenrana up real quick as his fist glowed with divine energy and left an imprint in the solid concrete. His hand paused and then retracted it, cracking his knuckles. He didn’t seem too surprised by that display. After a few more seconds of silence he walked off.
“I really want to fight you know.” Rimita blurted seeing the display of raw power from Jones. Boston gave her crooked confused look for a moment then continued the road.
“Thank you for not using that aggression on me,” Fen joked trying to see if they could make the cowboy laugh, Jones didn’t even let out a chuckle. They looked to the group and asked, “Should I go talk-”
“I think you’ve said enough bud.” Nash, the athletic orc grumbled to the inspector. Nash and Boston seemed to have an impressive bond. Rimita hadn’t seen any signs with how close they were, but they did time together, which makes the mind wonder. Rimita wanted to ask either of the cowboys but now didn’t seem like the right time.
“Where is Master Boston going?” Baldric asked, noticing that everyone else watching the cowboy wander away from them and the police station. No one responded so the automaton asked, not seeing the tension thick enough you could cut it with a knife, “Do you think he wishes us to follow?”
“I think-” Nash began to suggest but then Boston cut him off, overhearing the conversation:
“Stop standing around like a bunch of dumb fucks outside the police station,” Boston shouted back, taking out a cigarette, “You look like a bunch of tourists.”
The group followed after Boston but at a distance, they didn’t know if he was going to do something extreme, or dangerous. They followed him to a restaurant with a bar, surprising no one. They all shuffle after him, and he was ordering food and drinks for the party. It was happy hour, and it was packed. All were able to relax for the first time these four days they’ve adventuring together.
“What did you mean by that?” Boston asked, looking at Rimita giving her a fresh shot. He hadn’t breathed a word to anyone, not really, other than telling them to just eat and drink, they all needed a pick me up after going to the dud that was the police chef.
“What are you referring to?” Rimita asked,taking the shot happily. She downed it with one fluid motion, the buzz was on and the stresses of the bull shit were beginning to fade away.
“Define fighting,” Boston requested, eyeing the halfling woman. She raised a smug eyebrow, Boston shrugged, “There are many forms of fighting, I don’t want to assume shit.”
“Fair question,” Rimita confessed, spinning the brim of the shot glass on the table. Her cheeks glowing with color. She cleared her throat and then confessed, “Truth be told, either. This whole adventure has been kind of shit.”
“Kind of?” Boston scoffed, taking a drink from his own glass. Rimita had noticed in the two hours they had been here, he’d been hugging the same drink, probably for the best, but in this city? It used to be safe; you wouldn’t have to be stingy with your drinks. Boston finished his sip and said, “Has anything about this job been fun?”
“I don’t know, breaking and entering is always a bit of fun,” Rimita pointed out, but then looked down to their empty glass, “But yeah, other than that, these disappearing cultists are the biggest cock tease for my hammer and myself.”
“That’s a sentence I didn’t expect to hear from you today,” Boston winked, he then waved over the bartender getting another round of shots. He then gave a once over to Rimita, “But I agree, these cultists are the biggest killjoy I’ve dealt with in a while.”
“Thanks for the shot,” Rimita smiled at the bartender, who put on his best customer service smile and then hurried off to his regulars. Rimita looked down to the whiskey and then asked, “Does this shot come with any expectations?”
“Nah,” Boston shook his head, taking it in his hand, “Life is too cruel to have expectations, just live each moment like your last and you won’t have any regrets.”
“Spoken like someone who’s lost everything,” Rimita commented, Boston didn’t respond, and the halfling didn’t feel like prying, mainly because that would cause her to have to spill her own beans. She lifted the shot in a toasting motion, “To no regrets?”
“To no regrets.” And they drank.* * *
“Baldric either power off or piss off,” Rimita ordered the automaton as she dragged Boston by the belt to his room. The cowboy had no issue being dragged around, he had even less issues when she dropped, stripped his pants hungerly and smiled at his length. Using nearly two centuries of experience she smiled, “Not bad Jones, this will itch that scratch I have nicely.”
“I bet it will,” Boston smiled, enjoying the size comparison between his tool and the woman wielding it. He didn’t doubt he’d make it fit, nor did he doubt she’d beg him to stop. He then asked, taking a cigarette out for himself, “You just gonna hold it or am I gonna have to tell you to suck it?”
“Oh I will be sucking it,” She confirmed giving it a kiss on the top of his pecker. She then took a cigar out for herself and gestured to Boston to light it, “But not quite yet.”
“What’s the plan then?” Boston inquired, while lighting her drug of choice. She took a few puffs, seeming to focus herself before looking at Jones in the eyes as she unzipped her uniform in one fluid motion. He smiled, “You’ve practiced that alot.”
“I only show that trick to those that impress me,” She replied taking a long drag from her cigar, she looked over at him, “What you did to that concrete impressed me, your piece? Adequate for how you walk around.”
“Getting hard to keep it erect with all this sweet talking.”
“My point is,” Rimita responded, grabbing the cowboy by the balls, who flinched accordingly, “You will make sure I’m prepared for you, and then I shall return the favor. If you have the strength, I can grant you a chance to enter my baby maker. Do we have a deal?”
Boston didn’t respond, he picked up the golden girl and began to devour her rose, while still standing up. She let out a growl of surprise before inhaling the cigar. The blood flowed to her head and she started to stroke Boston's lower head.
“N-not bad cowboy,” Rimita complimented, her head becoming light, Boston didn’t respond, he continued his work, stimulating her ferociously. He didn’t stop until she shouted, “You gotta place me down, I’m either gonna hurl or faint, and I’m too old to go to the hospital just from oral.”
Boston put her down onto his bed, but his tongue never was out of her. She locked her legs around his head and began to stimulate herself while he did his work.
“Fuck,” She squeaked as she came hard on him, her legs cutting off his airflow, instead of attempting to escape he continued his work, perhaps his tongue trying to dig his way to a place with air. Eventually she let him go, and he gasped for air, clearly her grip was impressive. Watching this display she asked, “I’m assuming you’ll want the same kind of treatment?”
“If you don’t want to suck my dick then hop on it,” Boston said once his face returned to its normal color. She raised an eyebrow at him, he shrugged and explained, “I’ve seen you base someone's head in, I’m not forcing someone who laughs when they kill people to suck my dick.”
“Smart man,” she smiled looking over his piece before lifting her legs up making it clear she was ready for him. As he adjusted himself to enter, she put one of her feet on his chest, stopping him, and ordered, “You’ll cum when I tell you to, understood?”
Boston didn’t respond but he did thrust himself inside of her rose. She smiled and left out a small sigh, indicating pleasure, once he heard that, and got comfortable, he began his strikes. Rimita didn’t see the golden glow that he used to destroy the concrete, but she began to see stars for sure. He was through and knew exactly what he was doing. The old barbarian was trying to keep quiet, but the paladin wasn’t giving her a moment or for a reaction or a turn of her own.
“Are you a monk?” She gasped after her third climax. She attempted to make eye contact with him as she said the punch line, “Cause your poundings are quite the stunning strike.”
The attempt of a joke seemed to make the cowboy lose his cool for a moment because he paused to look down at her. His eyes were different, they seemed colder, more violent. Before she could ask what was wrong, he flipped her onto her stomach and reentered her.
“W-wait,” She gasped feeling him enter again, she didn’t think she needed to get a safe word, however she didn’t think she’d need one with him. After a few dozen strokes, she decided she wouldn’t want to use one anyway. Feeling used like this was something she hadn’t done in a long time. Both his hands were wrapped around her waist and guiding her, she felt his sack slap against her clit with every stroke and it was a sting of surprise every time. She finally lifted her head up to look back at him, he was watching her movements, not a word uttered. She then shouted smiling, “Fuck this and fuck you. Give it to me harder.”
That's when he lifted her up, wrapped his hands around her midsection and used her like a fleshlight. Perhaps not what she expected but she wasn’t going to complain. She could tell he was probably going to fail his constitution check soon as well, because after a few dozen thrusts, he changed how he was using her. She actually preferred this, feeling him reenter her slowly and then feeling his full length stab deep into her. It felt more sensual and less like he was trying to break her in half. Which, truth be told, wasn't what she told him to do, but this wasn’t something she was going to oppose.
“You know what Jones?” Rimita smiled after orgasm five, “Finish how you’d like, I think you’ve more than earned it.”
“I’ve earned it?” He growled pulling her up to his ear, she felt her body quiver, and not just because of the intense sex, it was almost fear. Fear of this holy man, or maybe his holy sword, she couldn’t tell but she was here for this. She began to say something, one of his hands grabbed her by the throat, “No, you will beg for my cum to fill you. Are we clear?”
“Prove it,” She said, biting one of his fingers, knowing full well that it would probably bite her in the ass. It surprised her when his dick made a wet pop and then was in her ass. She let out a yelp of surprise before commenting, “I didn’t think you were ballsy enough to try my back door.”
“You didn’t punch me when I did it,” Boston bluntly stated, He then thrust more of himself inside her, she moaned in delight, in tandem with her toes curling. Boston could only smile, “And you came when I put it all the way in.”
He waited for her to respond but it appeared she was in bliss. Either that or she was having a stroke, but the cowboy checked and she seemed to be just fine. So he did the gentlemanly thing and fucked her ass till he came inside her.
“Guess you’ll have to invite me to the bedroom to get me to take orders,” He smiled, laying her down and then smacking her ass. Her body twitches involuntarily, his holy cream dripping out of her. He laughed to himself as he covered her with a sheet and blanket and laid himself down on the floor with one of the spare pillows. He then recalled something and opened calms to his original roommate, “Hey Baldrick, you can return to the room.”
“Certainly Master Jones,” The brass automaton responded. It was under a minute before the cowboy heard a knock on his door, he let the former butler in who, when seeing the covered woman face down ass up, asked, “Will Lady Rimita be staying in here for the night?”
“Probably,” Boston nodded, finishing a cigarette. As the butler went to check on her Boston shook his head, “She’s alive and well, we had a sparring session.”
“I see,” Baldric nodded, looking between the two of them. He then asked Boston a knowing twinkle in his blue bulb eyes, “I assume it was a fruitful match?”
“We’re both sweaty and tired,” Boston replied,adjusting the pillow and blanket, “So yeah, I’d say it was fruitful, as you put it.”
“Should I expect such matches to commence in the future?” Baldric said going to his designated charging corner.
“Up to her to be honest,” Boston shrugged looking over to where Rimtia was laying, “But probably.”
“Very well Master Boston,” Baldrick nodded, lowering his head, indicating he was powering down, before he did so he made a comment that still makes Boston laugh to this day, “Even despite her age,and unexpected pregnancy is very unlikely-using protection is one of the best ways to-”
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👀 PLease tell us your thoughts about the Jedi babies re-growing up among different cultural contexts.
Oh fuck okay
Context: original post, chrono
The specific post this ask is referencing: here
Summary of the AU: Disaster lineage got tossed back in time. Anakin stayed 21-ish, but Obi-Wan and Ahsoka got deaged, took new names for time-travel reasons (Ylliben and Sokanth, or Ben and Soka), are now staying with the True Mandalorians under Jaster Mereel because the Force said to, go back to the Temple after about a decade. They grabbed Shmi about three months after arriving.
So as far as the cultural background goes, Obi-Wan and Ahsoka had similar upbringings. She spent a few years on Shili first, but both spent the majority of their childhoods up to age 13/14 being raised in the creche. So that's the basis that they would default to, in a vacuum.
Nobody is raised in a vacuum.
Along with the Jedi cultural background, they're being raised by Tatooine natives in a Mandalorian environment.
Shmi and Anakin are both former slaves who have desert survival baked into their bones. The longer Anakin spends around her, the more his accent slips, the more he talks about old folktales, the more he uses idioms that don't exist on a cityplanet like Coruscant. All the things that he tamped down to be a Jedi come floating back to the surface, and Shmi's never known anything else. Anakin's knowledge of slave customs make her feel more comfortable, which in turn makes him feel better, and so on.
Mandalore is just... the culture they're living in. You don't grow up in a new culture with a new language without picking up on it personally. (Source: I moved to the US when I was a little under two years old.)
I think the thing I'm going to focus on as an example is the way each of these cultures approaches family, and then maybe how they approach the keeping of peace/what peace means.
Jedi: Where you come from means little, only the legacy you leave behind in your students.
Mandalore: You protect your clan and your children; adoption is a major cultural value, if not actually practiced consistently.
Tatooine: You can lose your family at any time, so you value what you have in all its forms. You don’t forget where and who you came from, to family of blood and family of choice alike. You cling to your memories and what little you still have of them, to what your master cannot take away.
These are all valid ways to approach family, and each of these approaches can have significant meaning to different people. But they do all, to a certain degree, conflict with one another, despite all three being fairly communal cultures.
The Jedi have a culture, one that’s built on a shared ability and religion over thousands of years. It’s not just an organization, but a continuous community with legends and traditions and art and records. But it’s one that is built on new blood coming in from the outside, volunteers who join because the religion speaks to them (near literally, given the nature of Force Sensitivity), given up by families who couldn’t or wouldn’t teach them in a way that let their talents flourish instead of pushing it all down.
For the Jedi, a culture built on people coming together due to something they have in common intrinsically that their families of blood do not, it makes sense to put emphasis on letting go of that past when they can, and to place importance on teaching lineages. It’s not just the official master-padawan pairs, either, but that’s the most obvious and easily paralleled element. Moreover, a lot of the Jedi culture is about gaining knowledge, so obviously spreading it is good, and also on supporting the galaxy to make it a better place; to view the Jedi order as a heavily communal culture would make sense, since their values are all about selfless betterment of the universe, which on a larger scale is about the galactic conflicts, but on a smaller scale is about supporting their own community, the children and the ill and elderly.
So that is the specific culture that Obi-Wan and Ahsoka grew up in, one that holds blood family as relevant but not particularly crucial to one’s identity, but is structured so people leave behind legacies through education in a manner that often becomes adoptive family (depending on your definition, I guess). Jedi are encouraged to connect to their home cultures, if not their families, with practices like the coming of age hunt for Togruta leading to the young Jedi taking a trip out to Shili to engage in that cultural milestone. This can also be viewed as a way for the Jedi to maintain personal connections to the wider universe, a (not entirely successful, but certainly attempted) way of keeping them from becoming too isolated and insular from the universe at large, and losing touch from what the galaxy actually needs of them.
They’re now growing up with two cultures that do place emphasis on blood and found family.
Mandalore, as presented in The Mandalorian, has their traditional values set as being heavily associated with their armor, battle skills, and childcare. While that’s clearly a set of values that aren’t actually followed by everyone with full sincerity, we can assume that these stated cultural values do have at least some impact on the way the society is structured, since we do see more traditional characters (Jaster, Din) adopt orphaned children and then have the Mandalorian elements of their immediate circles support that claim.
(We’ll ignore Jango and the whole clone army thing because the amount of Sith influence is up for debate and also holy trauma, Batman.)
However, we also see that a lot of Mandalorian culture is built on their family histories. On the New Mandalorian side, we see emphasis placed on the fact that Satine is House Kryze and that she’s a duchess. Her bloodline is relevant, though not the most important thing about her. On the Death Watch side, we have Pre and Tor placing emphasis on the fact that they’re Clan Vizsla, descended from Tarre, that this is important to why they deserve what the darksaber represents, this is part of why they not only deserve to lead, but should for the good of Mandalore.
Bo-Katan’s armor is a family heirloom. Boba’s armor was Jango’s, but before being Jango’s, it was Jaster’s. Armor is important enough to pass to family, but the family can be adopted. This all tracks.
The resol’nare specifies loyalty and care for the clan/tribe among the six tenets.
These two elements seem relatively well-balanced: the importance of adoption and the importance of family as a larger unit on the level of a house or clan.
And then you have Tatooine, which also balances blood and adoption, but for entirely different reasons, that being this: it can always be taken from you.
For all that a Mandalorian could historically expect their family to die in battle, and a Jedi could expect to lose their master the same way if things went poorly, those were usually choices. A Mandalorian was raised to walk into battle, and then they could make that choice to do so. It wasn’t often much of a choice, but they could feasibly turn their back and choose to be a farmer or a doctor or something, and support the people who went out to do battle instead of being the one on the field themselves. A Jedi could choose to be a healer or an archivist or join one of the Corps.
A slave does not get that choice. A slave can be killed or sold on a whim from their master. It’s not a one-time trauma, but an ever-present fear. Your parent, your child, your sibling, your spouse, all of them can be separated from you at any time. You can always lose them, and you have no choice but to grin and bear it, or try to run and die before you reach freedom.
In a context like that, I imagine Tatooine places a very heavy emphasis on family, both of blood and of choice, and on treasuring what you have while you have it. A person is always aware that they can lose whoever they have in their life, and so they make the most of their times together, have clear and consistent ways of expressing that love (I imagine primarily direct verbal confirmations and physical contact, practical gifts like water and fruit). Childcare is important, elders are venerated. Those who survived that far have valuable wisdom, and the children are to be given what happiness they can have before reality wipes that ability from them.
The family ‘networks’ among Tatooine slaves are smaller and tighter knit. There’s less trust for outsiders, but once you’re in, you’re in until you are taken away. Still, families are torn apart regularly, and often can’t contact each other after being separated if they’re sold far enough away, so families stay small because they’re always being broken up. Unlike Mandalore’s tribe/clan system, or the Jedi’s wide, loosely-structured community, Tatooine’s slaves form smaller groups that cling for as long as they can, and try to support each other. (There are selfish ones, of course, especially the newbies, but... well. Most try.)
Tatooine is also much more likely to assign a familial role (e.g. referring to an elder as ‘grandmother’). It’s not uncommon in the others (multiple Jedi refer to their masters as a parent or sibling, like Anakin’s “you’re like a father to me” line), but it’s not as baked-in that such a role should be given.
So on a structural level, we have two people from a community culture with little emphasis on blood family or formal familial roles are now being raised in a community that has them asking “what can you do for the people around you first, and then the wider world?” by people who tell them “your family, blood and found, is the most important thing you have; never let anyone take more from you than they possibly can.”
And that shit has an effect.
For all that Sokanth and Ylliben were once raised with a knowledge that their duty, their goal, was to better the galaxy as a whole, they are now being told that the community that raises them asks their loyalty back, because societies are built on support networks, and if you support the tribe, it will support you. There are parallels to that kind of thinking among Jedi, because it is basic social theory, but it’s not presented as the same kind of cultural value. It’s not given as something to strive for, just a basic fact.
This, for instance, means that once they’re back at the Temple, they have a tendency towards suggesting study groups and other ways of supporting people in their immediate circle, often structured in very unfamiliar ways. Again, this isn’t uncommon among Jedi, but it’s not done in the same way, or with the same emphasis. The Jedi also often approach problem-solving in a different order, so the step of “meditate on it and you may find your solution” often comes before “gather information from people who know more about it than you do,” while Ben and Soka have by this point learned to do it the other way around, because that’s what the Mandalorian system taught them: rely on your family first.
Meanwhile, the Tatooine element of their upbringing has them being much more willing to just... casually refer to ‘my dad’ and ‘my sister’ and so on. They use those words. It’s not just “my master is like a father to me,” but “this is my father.” They don’t hesitate to talk about the family they had and still have in Mandalorian space. None of the Jedi begrudge them it, really, but it’s always a shock to hear for the first time, and between the Tatooine refusal to pretend the connection is gone and the Mandalorian tendency to err on the side of roughhousing as affection, they’re just... odd. It’s not like none of the other Jedi know family outside the Order--some of the old books had Obi-Wan visiting his brother on Stewjon once in a while--or like none of the active Jedi are loud or boisterous, but the specific manner in which Soka and Ben interact with the Order, especially when their dad is around, is very weird.
More Soka than Ben, really, but that’s mostly just because Ben’s a very quiet person until he gets a little older, so it’s harder to notice on him.
Point is, while they still hold to their duty to the wider galaxy and will continue to keep that duty above almost anything else in their lives, the way they talk and act about the subject of family, especially in private, is heavily influenced by their new cultures.
This is already very long but I promised I’d talk about peace so let’s go:
The Jedi seek peace as an absence of war and conflict in the portion of the galaxy under their purview, in hopes that they will prevent as much suffering and death as they can.
The Mandalorians are varied, but Jaster Mereel’s group (which is the community the Skywalkers are with) is likely to view peace as unrealistic to achieve in the long term. They do not seek war, but they know the world they live in, and are prepared to protect against violence as their first resort. They always expect an attack, even if they don’t seek it.
The Slaves of Tatooine view peace as the calm in a storm. It is the status quo. Nobody has escaped tonight, for the guards aren’t searching, but neither is anyone dead. The Master you have is in a good enough mood to not sell you, to not kill you, to not beat you. Peace as an absence of suffering is impossible, so you seek for your master to be peaceful, that is to say: not raging at you.
The scope of each of these narrows significantly. From the known galaxy, to the wars that meet Mandalorian space, to the household one serves.
A community like the Jedi can choose to address peace as something to be sought on a large scale as an absence of war. They primarily function within the borders of the Republic, which has its problems but is largely structured to prevent such things from occurring until the Sith interfere. The Jedi have a structure that allows them to address peace as an ideal to be sought, at least within the borders of the territory they serve.
Mandalore, meanwhile, has been at war on and off for... ever. When they are not at war with themselves, they’re at war with someone else. ‘Peace’ is just the time between wars, and they know that if they do not attack first, they will be forced to defend. Jaster Mereel was known as the Reformer, and part of that was that instituting a code of honor, one that was intended to prevent Mandalorian warriors from acting as raiders and brigands, but rather acting as honorable hired soldiers, or taking roles such as the Journeyman Protectors. Given that, I imagine that he views war as something inevitable, but also something that can be mitigated.
War doesn’t touch Tatooine.
Oh, it might raise taxes and import rates. It might prevent visitors who come for the races. It can do a lot of things.
But to a slave, these are nothing. The only thing war does is affect the master, the person who chooses when their slaves get water, when they get beaten, when they are no longer useful enough to keep around or keep alive.
The peace of a slave’s live is dictated by how much abuse they are subjected to by the person who owns them.
What this means for Soka and Ben is... well, they are viewed as war-hungry by the people who don’t know them very well. They have armor. They focus on fighting, both with and without their sabers. They know tactics better than most masters. They claim that war is coming, and don’t seem too sad about it.
(It is a fact to them. War will come. All they can do is meet it. They’ve already done their mourning once.)
They also... well, Shmi tells them things in hidden corners. How to duck their head to hide the hate or fear in their eyes. How to watch for the anger in the tendons of a hand. The laugh of someone who enjoys the pain they’ve caused, not just the adrenaline of a fight. She is free, and so are they, but she has not forgotten how to hide in the shadows until the master’s ire has turned elsewhere. How to be small and quiet and unseen until the danger passes.
A Jedi’s first resort is words. Their second is their saber. But the Jeedai hold their heads high, and the Mandalorians do the same.
“You rely on the Force, and you have your pride,” she tells them, her hands on their own. “But there will come a time when you will not be able to remind people that you are free. You will not be able to say that you are a person, that you deserve the respect of a living sentient. Perhaps it will be a politician who treats everyone like that. Perhaps you will be captured by an enemy. Perhaps you will be undercover. You will not be able to fight, with words or with weapons, and you will have to know how to survive.”
Tatooine does not have peace. Tatooine only has survival.
And while Jedi fight for the survival and peace of the universe, they are refined and composed. Mando’ade fight like warriors of old, and Tatooine slaves fight like cornered, rabid anooba.
The galaxy comes first, but when the chips are down and the Sith come out to play, Soka and Ben do not need refinement, because they know how to toss aside their pride and live.
#Tatooine#Mandalore#Jedi#culture clash#star wars#the clone wars#Anakin Skywalker#Shmi Skywalker#Ahsoka Tano#Obi Wan Kenobi#Jaster Mereel#family#war#Phoenix Posts#Anakin and the Jedi Babies#Phoenix Answers Asks#I have no idea how accurate this is but it's what I'm working with
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Went down a rabbithole on Twitter about this webcomic artist’s 20+ year descent into madness. He went like edgy southpark-y centrist chauvinist disillusioned with religion, America, and capitalism to:
> Christian guilt over an unhealthy relationship with porn
> starts dipping his toes into second-wave feminism
> anti-porn radfem
> all men are irredeemable lust-controlled deviants who can never change no matter how hard they want to and the only pure love that exists is attractive androgynous cis lesbians cuddling chastely
> discovers TERFism
> trans people being trans is The Patriarchy in disguise
> the woke queers and their pronouns are suppressing free speech and trying to cancel me 🥺🥺🥺
> QAnon
> the deep state of evil Jewish lizard people that control the world are trying to destroy The West and The Family and good ol salt of the earth Christian patriots and are putting tracking chips in the vaccines and Big Pharma wants to turn everyone into transhumanist mind control gender robots and they’re indoctrinating your children with 5G brainwaves and gay preschool sex education and the only salvation is anti-SJW Jesus
And what’s really tickling me is that it was all very gradual right up until he hit TERF/gender critical ideology and then rapidly devolved into a conspiracy-brained, paranoid alt-right christofacist what seemed like practically overnight. And I feel the need to post about this because it’s just so fucking batshit reading through all that feels like I ate bad meat and hallucinated so hard I fell through into another dimension and I need other people to know what I just witnessed so I can double check to make sure it’s real.
But also, one of his most recent strips that’s getting meme’d on is like some boomer Facebook uncle shit where a little blonde girl is like “mommy my teacher said people can change genders what if I wake up half girl half boy tomorrow?🥺 will I forget who I am?🥺🥺🥺”
And it’s just so indicative of why a good chunk of transphobia is an actual phobia because these people literally do not know who they are outside of the rigid social roles they’ve been described and the idea that these categories they’ve based their whole sense of self on for their whole lives are just arbitrary, constructed cultural ideas that are mutable and fuzzy is like gazing into the fucking void for them.
And I don’t want to be flippant with the “queerphobes are bigoted because they’re secretly queer lol” because while that can definitely happen it’s often an oversimplification of issues that gets used as a free pass for leftists to make homophobic jokes and we shouldn’t project identity onto people we don’t know
HOWEVER
That comic is so full of rotten-egg self loathing I can’t tell if I should laugh or go take a cold shower and somberly contemplate the state of the world. It’s sure something.
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Alright, so here’s the thing. At this point, I actually don’t care what Artagan has or hasn’t done and, morally, what that means. It’s irrelevant. Interesting, but irrelevant. What I want to talk about is what the Nein, excluding Jester, know about him, and what they do with this information, and how they cast judgment.
Here are things that the nein have actually seen: fleeting glimpses of a figure in a green cloak. one conversation with a giant archfey who has recruited jester’s help in planning a convention. further, fleeting glimpses. very very brief phrases.
Here are things that the nein have heard about him from jester: he’s pretty cool, you guys :) . he’s got a chaotic streak, like her. he helps her pull off pranks. he’s always shown up for her. he’s handsome. he taught her magic. he kept her company when her mom was busy. he is her first friend. he is her best friend. he is her oldest friend. she really loves him.
and yes, they know he misrepresented himself to jester for years. they know he sent them to an island where you lose your memory every night. they know that he is sketchy as fuck and they do not know if he means what he says. and that is reasonable and understandable and fair.
here is something that i don’t know if you guys know about abusers, regardless of if artagan is one or not. (and he’s not. i’m not even going to say i don’t think he is, he literally is not abusive. words mean something; stop throwing them around because you personally don’t like someone.) you cannot tell their victims that they are abusive or awful or manipulative or horrible, and expect that to help. that makes it worse. the same is true of cults. you cannot, and i mean CANNOT, make yourself hostile, because then the outside world is hostile, and the abuser is safe. the outside world is hostile, and the cult is safe. furthermore you’re reinforcing what every abuser and what every cult plants in their victim’s heads--i’m the only one who would put up with you. i’m the only one who really loves you. everyone else will be cruel to me, but i’m the only thing you have. even if the nein had reason to suspect that the traveler was straight up abusing jester instead of just weird and shady, that is not a good response.
no matter how bad artagan is or isn’t, fjord, caduceus, and beau are still being condescending. they are still failing to trust that jester knows what she’s talking about. they are still trying to coddle her, they are still treating her like a child, and i want to talk about that. i want y’all to see that they’re still treating her like she’s emotionally fragile. like individually, i want to talk about that, and also the fact that everyone seems to want to lump caleb into this. (and yasha?? yasha has barely said anything about him, y’all.)
i’m going to skim over caduceus a bit because i don’t think his is a jester-centric problem. he tends to just trust that he either has the correct answers to a situation, or that even if he doesn’t know what’s correct, he knows what isn’t. this arc has been very interesting, because it’s been a lot of “i’ll play along with this because it sounds intriguing, but i’m going to be very self righteous about it the whole time.” like. the “we’re good” when jester brought up transferring followers to melora is haunting me. why “we’re good”? i get cad’s philosophy that not everyone is going to flock to one god--that’s fine, that makes sense. but the implication of “we’re good” really makes it sound like “mmm no thanks, none of these people would end up in my cool and correct religion anyway.” because he doesn’t know! he doesn’t know if any of these people would actually be happier and better off with melora. or. maybe he does know, or has decided, that they wouldn’t be, because these are not the kind of people that he could see himself falling under the same moral umbrella as. (lmao love how i said i was going to skim. anyway. again, less a jester thing, more a “cad is smug about everything” thing tbh.)
let’s move to fjord. he is quite honestly making me almost more uncomfortable than beau, because he’s making statements that i don’t really actually believe. “we just don’t want you to get hurt” is all very well and good. coupling that with agreeing with beau that they shouldn’t leave jester alone with artagan? without telling jester? does not jive. (i’m still not over the ridiculous of that, by the way. yeah this dude--no, this ARCHFEY, who could snap you in half in a moment--has been alone with her regularly for the first 20ish years of her life but now, now he’s going to try and kill her, and you’re going to be the one to stop that.)
fjord keeps saying things like this--that he trusts her--but he doesn’t actually act like it. at one point he even says “if jester has faith in the traveler, that’s good enough for me, i suppose.” but it’s not, and he doesn’t act like it is. you know who actually acts like that? caleb. caleb’s getting his own paragraph though this is getting long as fuck. but if fjord actually meant that? he would’ve told beau “listen i know this situation is sketchy and i don’t like him anymore than you do but because i trust jester i also trust that she knows what she’s doing here, and i’ll be there to back her up with whatever she needs/wants me to do”. but he did not say that or anything like that. instead he agreed with beau to essentially be bodyguarding jester--without consulting jester about it at all. he wouldn’t have told jester “he’s generally full of shit, right?” about the traveler. jester is continually telling the group over and over again that she knows what he’s like. she knows Exactly how he can be. and the sad thing is, if fjord actually believed that she knew what she was talking about when she said that and if he believed that he could actually talk to her frankly and not that her feelings had to be protected at all costs (my skin is still crawling at “we don’t wanna ruin jester’s special day”. it’s not a five year old’s birthday party), then he would have straight up told her. he would have said “hey we’re concerned enough that he’s going to hurt you that we don’t think you should be alone with him. can we help guard against that?”
and i’ll be honest, i’ve kind of been squicked out by all the romantic posts about fjord and jester because he’s spent the last few episodes genuinely treating her like a wonderful but vulnerable child who needs to be protected from the world. when he told beau "I'm probably the least clued in as to how jester feels” i was like YEAH NO SHIT. and i know he meant it in a romantic sense but i feel that it’s true in general. like i get that he’s scared to talk to her. that’s fine. he doesn’t have to talk to her about her feelings, romantic or otherwise. but if he’s acknowledging that he does not at all know how she feels then he has no right to behave as if he does know. and again i don’t mean this in a romantic sense. i mean it in a, he is making the assumption that she can’t handle reasoned criticism of the traveler to her face, kind of sense. he and beau both are opting for “random insults, threats, and judgments they have decided apply” over “genuinely this is why we are concerned”. there has been a lot of “you don’t need him” and “you are better off without him” and “you’re better than him” and “you have us why do you need that” and those are judgement statements that are essentially meaningless. all they do is further demonstrate to jester that they don’t actually understand why she’s upset or what she actually wants.
i think caleb, mr i-eat-encyclopedias-for-breakfast, likely just has a better intellectual understanding of the fae and that may be why he’s not as outwardly concerned as the rest, but he’s also actually decided to trust jester that she knows what she’s dealing with. she has demonstrated both verbally and with her actions that even if she may not have known about artagan initially, She Knows How This Works. and he trusts that. caleb truly went “alright, i trust that you know what you’re doing, where do you need me” and that was IT. i’m not saying that he’s not allowed to be suspicious or concerned or wary of the traveler: i just don’t think he is. and i hate that people keep lumping him in with the rest of the nein “treating jester like a child” because they think he’s predatory or something--especially as caleb and fjord are pretty much the same age--when he is literally the only FUCKING person consistently asking jester how she feels and then actually acting accordingly.
and the thing is, you don’t have to be caleb and largely unconcerned, it is actually possible for you to show concern and alarm and wariness for your friend’s best friend without condescending to them and veth has been doing that this whole damn time. we know how she feels about him; she decidedly does not like him. but she set that aside to really fully listen to jester and then tried to be helpful to her in deciding what to do next, without inserting her own opinion. veth is the only one acknowledging that, sure, this looks really bad and i don’t like that guy, but you know him best, jester, and you know yourself best and so it should be your choice what to do in this situation. she reminds jester--if he is really a friend to you, and he is doing things you don’t like, then you can talk to him about that and he should listen. i want to talk about how when jester suggested that artagan join the mighty nein, there were exactly three reactions. extremely lame excuses from everyone but caleb and veth, “maybe, like, an annex--” from caleb, because he knows what everyone else is gonna say, and “we don’t like your friend” from veth, literally the only person who has apparently decided that jester can hear that without dissolving into a puddle or something.
and i want to make it clear--i don’t hate the actors. and stories are supposed to make you upset and uncomfortable, to an extent. they’re supposed to make you think. you’re not supposed to be happy when darth vader blows up alderaan. you’re not supposed to be happy when edmund betrays his siblings to the white witch. these are all excellent, excellent character choices and i applaud the cast for making them. and i don’t hate fjorester. and like yeah there have been a lot of cute moments in the last few eps. and they are cute and their story is compelling and it’s interesting. but i wish people would stop acting like fjord’s attitude towards her is perfect and lovely and that he trusts her sooo much when he is going behind her back like this. i am...the biggest widomauk shipper. and i have to admit my heart does the swoopy thing every time i rewatch the forehead kiss. but that wasn’t great. it was overall really not a good read or handle of the situation. it was, there was an attempt. and i do think fjord is trying. and i think beau is trying too. and i think all of their attitudes however terrible just come from a place of loving her and wanting to protect her. but--and here i must point frantically back at artagan--loving someone does not mean that you’re not hurting them.
#artagan#the traveler#jester lavorre#fjord#beauregard lionett#caleb widogast#veth brenatto#the mighty nein#critical role#critical role spoilers#cr spoilers#thane watches critical role#long post
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I feel like 3H discourse gets fucked over a bit by people not taking into account that characters will say inaccurate information (without it having to be a plot hole). Perspective is a huge theme in Three Houses and characters are going to make, sometimes, dramatic actions based off that misinformation.
yeah
Like, Dmitri accuses Edelgard of being involved in the Tragedy of Duscur, but, she was like, 12 when that happened. It’s a lot more likely that Edelgard was being experimented on or recovering from experimentation during that point in time considering that the Tragedy happens not long after Edelgard and Dmitri last see each other.
do i think edelgard was involved? nah. it’s one of the few things i genuinely believe her on. however, it isn’t unreasonable for dimitri to think she was somehow involved. i mean, faerghast is pretty standard medieval when it comes down to fighting. was sent to quell rebellions at like 14. that’s really young. and in the middle ages the standard age that boys trained to be nights was at the very least seven (glenn was 15 when he was full on knighted). felix says he learned to fight before he could write his own name and dimitri was already swinging swords at nine. not to mention she was in the kingdom and then not long after she leaves the tragedy happened. so it could also look like she was a spy even if she didn’t set lambert on fire herself.
then there’s the whole shit of her saying nothing. a whole nation gets wiped out and she has no plans to ever vindicate them. hell, even dedue says that her being involved in any way is unacceptable and he’s fucking pissed. is he delusional? is he being irrational and unfair to edelgard? she isn’t the victim here, dedue, his people, the kingdom royals and co. are.
Likewise, Setheth accuses Edelgard of trying to become a false goddess when that’s not even remotely close to her goals.
ok this part right here is the reason that this fucking thing took forever to come out (sorry anon). i have so much to say and i wanted to write it all but i decided to put in my edelgard essay instead. i then waited to post this answer but sadly it’s taking longer to edit than i planned and i feel bad so you’re going to have to wait for this bit. so if you stick around i’ll talk about that in depth in the essay but just know that i disagree with the op very much.
Edelgard makes a ton of false accusations and misconceptions about Rhea. She accuses Rhea of being a power hungry inhumane tyrant who has no regard for life outside her own when that just isn’t remotely accurate.
And then there’s Claude, literally the only major faction leader that cares to uncover the truth and nuances of everyone’s decisions. He’s literally the only faction leader to not act like his version of events is the definitive truth. He acknowledges that he and Edelgard are fighting for similar things: a system overhaul of Fodlan. He also doesn’t oppose the Church because he’s learned enough about it to want to keep it’s institution in place. That’s why he’s the only faction leader that can survive in every route (I’d consider Seteth and Rhea to share the role as Church Leader since Seteth leads the Church Route but Rhea’s the one actually in charge of the Church). Claude is also the only leader that doesn’t make any false claims about other factions. I said a while ago that Claude would make the best ruler and this is why.
ok this is fine
But going back to what I said earlier about discourse, this impacts discourse drastically because people can just pick whichever version of events they prefer and there’s probably a character who claimed it went that way. The plot also doesn’t seek to clarify events one way or the other in any route. So even if you’ve played every route, it’s up to the player to make judgment calls on who’s speaking out of their ass.
except it’s literally not. we are told what routes have correct information from the devs themselves. and unreliable narrators can be proven and disproven when you put their words against everyone else, their actions, and the lore.
Between all the relevant character and plot details the game hides behind supports, endings, and other easily missable content and the fact that no two characters interpret the series of events that happen in the plot the same way (due to coming from various background, being present for some stuff but not others, having different priorities and biases that will cause them to interpret different things in different ways, etc.), no two players are likely going to interpret the events of 3 Houses the same either.
just because two characters interpret the events differently doesn’t mean they’re right. for example, the agarthans think the crest experiments are good but edelgard and lysithea would say otherwise. but you wouldn’t say that twsitd’s perspective is valid just bc they see things differently.
and when i see players trying to excuse some of the most horrific things bc they don’t want their fave war criminal to look bad yes i will judge them. you can like whoever but don’t excuse shit like imperialism and racism and we will be fine.
So, if you want to talk 3H, please acknowledge that none of the characters should be taken solely on their word, especially when describing major things. With the examples I gave earlier of misinformation in the game, it makes sense that Dmitri would place the blame of the Tragedy of Duscur almost entirely on Edelgard because he doesn’t know about the Agarthans or Edelgard’s history with them.
ok but she’s still complicate if nothing else. that’s still terrible. like if she was planning to clear duscur’s name that’s one thing but she isn’t. the only way to do that is to reveal twsitd and we know she doesn’t since it is a shadow war that the people don’t know about since that would reflect badly on her for working with them.
It makes sense that Edelgard has a lot of misconceptions about the Church because once you start completely rewriting and erasing history (and the Church does openly censor literature, which is shown in Claude’s route), any possible “true story” is more likely than the story you’re giving. Alongside that, Edelgard is getting most of her information from the Agarthans and a very private source only accessible to the Imperial Family.
fair but choosing war at like 13 is an extreme jump. maybe wait till your brain fully develops and you have a better picture of the world around you
It makes sense that Seteth might assume that Edelgard is trying to become a false god because he’s been helping lead a religion based on lies for centuries.
she is. also the religion isn’t based off of lies. sothis exists. she’s in your head. a few details were changed to hide nabateans from a red canyon massacre 2.0. however, the values are the same. also he came to the monastery 20 years ago not centuries.
When you’re trying to understand some part of Three Houses, you have to think about where that information came from, what factors might be biasing that information, and that there might be some detail that shines a new light on that information somewhere else in the game that you’re missing. And that’s generally a good philosophy to have when processing any information.
yeah
That’s something I like about Three Houses. I like how you have to sort through a ton of biases and misinformation within the game to understand the story. If you let your own biases get away from you too much, you’re going to miss the larger picture. The game let’s you know exactly where everyone is coming from in some way and (almost) everyone is given a sympathetic eye in at least one route. And (almost) everyone is viewed as irredeemable in at least one route.
the only people who are portrayed as irredeemable are edelgard and rhea (and maybe dimitri if you count edel’s contempt for him in cf).
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Homecoming - Chapter Six
(I know it's Henry and not Sy in the photo, but it just fit too well with this chapter.)
Summary: The day has arrived, Captain Syverson is going home. For good, this time. He is going home to a civilian life he can hardly remember and a wife he barely knows, with memories of the war still fresh on his mind. Love might not be able to heal everything on its own, but it’s a good start.
Genres: Romance, drama.
Story warnings: Smut (always fully consensual), mentions of PTSD and nightmares and mental health, angst, hurt and comfort, fluff, mentions of war (minor), mentions of cheating (minor), mentions of pregnancy (very minor), police appearance (very minor), violence (very minor).
Notes:
It’s my first time writing for one of Henry’s characters and I’m unsure I did Sy’s character any justice.
This is a Capt. Syverson x OFC (Ada) story, written in 3rd person POV but OFC’s physical description is very limited so it could also be read as Capt. Syverson x Reader, I think.
English is not my first language, so there might be some mistakes. Proofread, but not beta’ed. We die like men and all that.
Timeline is a little wacky: The movie takes place in 2003 and the U.S. forces were withdrawn from Iraq in 2011, but I never set a precise date because I don’t think it’s essential for this story. However, some elements might not be realistic because if we set this story in 2003: Phone cameras quality was not as good as it’s now, but for the purpose of the chapters, I will need you to imagine you could film great videos with your flip phone haha. Plus, it says Sy is coming back after being deployed for more than three years which makes no sense unless we set this in 2006 or later. I am asking you disregard any time inconsistencies.
Also: I am not American. I only lived in the US for six months and it was in the Midwest, not Texas so please bear with me if I write something stupid.
Finally: This will be a Christmas fic and I intend to post the last chapter (there will be seven in total) on or before Christmas. However, religion is never mentioned in this story and the Christmas-sy elements of this story are limited to family gathering, gift giving and tree decorating.
Chapter Six starts after the cut. (Chapter Five can be found here.) Let me know if you wish to be tagged in the last chapter or if you wish to be removed from the tag list.
I will post a master list soon and put the link in the comments to make it easier to navigate.
Chapter 6
Chapter warnings: Smut, Christmas themes, mentions of therapy, embarrassing moments.
Ada didn't mind being woken up with soft fluttering kisses on her neck. She definitely didn't mind starting the day with the tantalizing rub of his beard on her sensitive skin and the hard press of his torso against her back, their legs entwined and his morning erection nuzzled against her butt.
What she did mind, however, was when any of this happened at the butt crack of dawn. Ada opened her eyes just enough to read 6:50am on the alarm clock.
"Sy," she groaned, stopping his wandering hands with hers, trying to trap them beneath her breasts. "Hold that thought for later, okay?"
She heard him chuckle behind her, his chest vibrating against her body as he freed his hands from her weak grip. "Later is for putting up the Christmas tree and the decorations," he teased, his right hand now drawing circles low on her stomach.
Ada groaned again, wanting to fight his tempting touch but unwilling to move away from his body heat. "I'll get up at 7:30." Those were the last words out of her mouth before she had drifted off again.
When she woke up once more, forty minutes later with the blast of her alarm clock, her back was cold and the smell of breakfast wafted through the air, filling her nostrils. Damn Syverson and his military sleep schedule! She had taken all her days off to spend them with him only to wake up even earlier than when she was working.
With barely open eyes, Ada threw on his shirt that hung on the chair and slowly made her way downstairs, following the scent of pancakes. She found Sy in front of the stove, just finishing up the last one before setting it on the huge pile of pancakes that looked fluffier than clouds. Ada had quickly learnt that while Sy was a disaster when it came to the art of cooking, he was the master of pancakes and barbecue.
"Good morning, sleepyhead," he greeted her and then smirked when he noticed her attire.
"Morning captain," she mumbled, walking up to him before patiently waiting until he leant down so that they could share a kiss. It always made him laugh when she did that: the adorable pout on her face when he didn't bend down for a kiss fast enough was worth waiting the extra second every time.
They ate in relative silence, mostly because Ada definitely wasn't a morning person, but the fact that Sy had a habit of stuffing his mouth full of food also played a role. When she was done eating, Ada pushed her plate and glass away, and brought her knees up to her chest, hugging her legs on the chair. She eyed her husband intently, waiting for him to finish eating with a grin on her lips.
"Why are you looking at me like that, darlin'?" Sy asked, eyebrow raised suspiciously before taking the last sip of his morning coffee.
Ada blushed, suddenly looking bashful. "Well… I was hoping we could go back upstairs and continue what you started earlier," she admitted in a tiny voice.
Sy laughed, a booming sound that filled the entire room before a shit-eating grin spread on his lips. "Tough luck, darlin'." He got up from his chair, standing in front of her across the narrow table. "Should have thought about that before falling asleep on me earlier."
Ada's mouth fell open. The cheek on this man! And what made it worse, was his huge smile that made him look like a very amused bear, with his hairy, tempting chest. He was toying with her. "Are you really saying no to sex?" She asked, cocking her brow. Sy wasn't really the type to turn down-
"Yes, no sex." He stated, suddenly looking very serious. "We have to head to the store to buy decorations, then put up the tree and hang the lights outside." Ada tried her best not to laugh. He sounded as if he were explaining a major, life or death, mission to her – not Christmas preparations. "You’re dismissed but I expect you back here in fifteen minutes, dressed and ready to go." With that, he turned around and started gathering the plates and silverware to put them in the dishwasher.
"Yes, sir."
Ada knew better than to talk back. First, when he had something in mind, it was nearly impossible to talk him out of it. Second, she hoped that the sooner they were done with this, the sooner she could get laid. Third, he had used his Captain voice that somehow always managed to make an obedient little soldier out of her.
Though, rationally, she also didn't want to make it any more difficult for him. He had confessed to her a few nights ago why he'd felt so uneasy when they had gone grocery shopping: the gondolas were too tall which led to lots of blind spots and the amount of people meant he couldn't rely on his hearing sense to detect potential danger. 'It just screams ambush,' he told her.
Ada couldn't quite imagine what he must have experienced that a supermarket or a store would translate into danger, but it was not her place to question him. Instead, she had kissed his forehead in bed and offered to start doing their shopping on her own. Sy had promptly refused, suggesting they simply go early in the mornings, when there were less people and less distracting noises.
Now at Target, she was immensely glad she had gotten out of bed, the sight alone was worth it. It wasn't everyday you'd see Sy pick up a bunch of Christmas tree baubles and inspect each one of them carefully before determining which ones were worthy enough to make it to their living room. Ada sneaked a picture for safekeeping and then decided to send it to his mom as well. Family dinner was fast-approaching, and she'd seize all the cookie points she could get.
"Darlin'," Sy called, catching her attention. He was holding up an inflatable Santa who, instead of carrying gifts, dragged a bag full of liquor bottles and sported a drunk grin on his face. It was tacky beyond words. "Do 'you think we should get this, or will it just upset the neighborhood kids?"
Ada grimaced but tried to disguise it with a smile. She’d die before letting that thing on their lawn. “I think a neighborhood dog would tear it to bits within a second," she lied, trying to appear apologetic.
"Yeah, you're probably right."
°°°
The lights were up. It was a much quicker process with Sy's help. It was also the occasion for Ada to just sit back and relax because he was adamant, she shouldn’t step on a ladder to help. Instead, she had a glass of bourbon waiting for him for when he finished. It was 5pm somewhere after all.
"You said we had a tree!" Sy's deep voice reached her from the basement.
Ada threw her head back, sighing, before hurrying downstairs after him. "Yes, it's in that box over there," she pointed at a white cardboard box behind a couple of spare tires.
"Woman, it's tiny!" Sy complained, picking up the box and setting it down between them. It was about as tall as her. It was not that small.
"It's the one I've used every year since I moved in. It's pretty enough and doesn't take up too much space,” she defended.
In front of her, Sy exhaled loudly through his nostrils before rubbing his beard. She knew that move. It's what he did to remind himself she was not a soldier under his command, but his wife, and that he better measure his words unless he wanted to sleep on the sofa.
"Look, darlin'," he said calmly, enclosing her small hands in his much bigger ones. "This is my first Christmas home with my wife. I refuse to put up a minuscule, fake sapling in my home and call it a Christmas tree."
Ada was slightly taken aback. She didn’t know Christmas was this important to him. Though it was true he had been overseas on Christmas the past two years, so she could understand where he was coming from with wanting this Christmas to matter. Besides, it was endearing when he put it like that.
With a nibble on her lip, Ada gave in. "Okay. They're selling trees in that parking lot by the pharmacy."
Sy slowly shook his head, a mischievous look on his face. "No. We're going to get our own pine tree from the woods."
You gotta be kidding me, she groaned internally.
°°°
Ada had no idea where they were. It hadn’t been that long of a ride, but there were no more houses or streets to be seen around them, just endless fields and a forest. It was only when Sy took a right turn, that she started spotting cars and what looked to be a very colorful barn which had been converted into a cozy boutique.
“Where are we?” She asked, staring out of the window as Sy looked for a place to park his truck.
“The Dallagher’s ranch,” he replied. “They do a corn maze and a pumpkin patch in the Fall, and in the Winter, you can pick up your own Christmas tree. My dad used to take Claire and I here every year.”
Oh… This was a family tradition. No wonder Sy made such a big deal about having a real tree for Christmas.
Once out of the car, they walked hand in hand through the dirt road until they reached the makeshift counter made of hay where you could get a handcart before heading out into the man-made pine forest and select a Christmas tree. Most people she saw, however, were already returning the handcarts and happily carrying their trees to their parked cars.
The old man by the cash register seemed to recognize Sy instantly, smiling warmly as he greeted him with a one-armed hug. Ada realized it was the ranch’s owner. “I haven’t seen you in years, Jack!” The old man exclaimed with a laugh before turning to Ada. “And who’s this pretty lady?”
“This is Ada, my wife,” Sy said, introducing them. He watched with amusement as Ada stumbled as the old man hugged her without a warning, taking her by surprise.
“Well, it’s great to meet you, Ada,” the man nodded once he had retreated, and then turned back to Sy. “Should I be offended I wasn’t invited to the wedding?” He teased.
Sy was already wrapping his arm around her shoulders, chuckling. “To be honest, Dallagher, there were no guests at the wedding,” he replied, amused at the way the old man frowned in a confused manner at that piece of information. “Actually, we came here to get a tree.”
“Of course!” Dallagher immediately turned and ordered the young boy in overalls to fetch them a handcart. “What size did you have in mind?”
“Something around seven feet,” Sy said, looking pensive as Ada looked up at him suspiciously, trying to figure out how much seven feet converted to in the metric system. Once she’d done the math, she pulled at Sy’s flannel sleeve to protest – that was way too big, it’d take up the whole living room – but the Dallagher’s grandson was already handing them the cart and leading them to the entrance.
“Trees that big are at the very back of the forest, you’ll have to walk a little.”
This turned out to be quite an understatement. Ada felt like they had been walking for literal years. While they had still come across other people at the beginning, mostly families, they were on their own now – that is if you didn’t count the many squirrels that kept appearing out of nowhere.
She stopped, grabbing the back of Sy’s red tartan shirt so he would be forced to pause as well. “Can’t we just take one of these?” Ads suggested, gesturing at the countless trees all around them. They were all pretty enough and considerably taller than her.
Sy huffed, biting his lip in amusement as he looked at her dispirited face. He’d told her she should probably get changed and wear more comfortable shoes before they left home, but she had insisted she wasn’t going to change clothes just to get a goddamn tree. “These are only around six feet, darlin’. And,” he paused, eyeing the trees more closely, “they’re not Nordmann firs. I want a Nordmann.”
Ada sighed defeatedly, but nodded all the same, starting to walk again when Sy took pity on her. “Do you want to sit on the handcart?”
The change on his wife’s face was instant, the frown lifting into a smile as she climbed on the cart and sat down in the middle, evening out her weight for him. “Is that better, darlin?” He asked teasingly.
She turned her head back just to make sure he saw her rolling her eyes.
By the time they reached an area with Nordmann trees that Sy considered nice and big enough, her butt was sore from the conjunction of the hard, wooden surface and the uneven ground. She wasn’t even sure she had made the better call or whether it would have been better to suffer in her new ankle boots instead.
“Which one is better?” Sy asked, pointing at two pine trees that looked virtually identical to her.
Ada shrugged, almost saying that he should choose before realizing how much time that would take. The man wasn’t picky about food, bedlinen or even the pillow he slept with, but apparently, he had to make sure he brought home the most perfect tree. She still couldn’t wrap her head around that. “The left one,” she said finally.
“Which one? Your left or my left?”
Breathing in deeply, she decided to just point at the tree she was talking about. Sy nodded thoughtfully and grabbed the saw he had brought with him and started to work on the tree. While she had been most eager to get this whole thing over with, it became an entirely different story now as she dreamily stared at her husband getting to work.
With most of his back facing her and one knee on the forest’s soft ground as he started sawing off the Nordmann fin, Sy looked absolutely delicious. The red flannel shirt unbuttoned over his white t-shirt and the jeans made him perfect sight with anyone with a lumberjack fantasy. Ada had never considered herself as having such a kink. A uniformed soldier, or even better, a captain? Hell yes. A strong, rugged husband capable of her breaking her in half? Also a big yes. A lumberjack? The thought had never crossed her mind in the past but there was no point in denying it now as she sat back on the wooden cart, watching Sy carefully saw down the giant tree.
She was wet. Horny. Aroused. You name it. It also didn’t help that they hadn’t had sex that day. Yet.
"Sy," she whined, just loud enough to get his attention, while swinging her legs in the air like a child.
"I'm almost done, darlin'," Sy responded, not bothering to turn around to look at her. "I want a nice, clean cut."
Yeah, and she want a nice, dirty fuck. Pouting, she watched him for a couple more seconds as he knelt in front of the base of the tree, deciding from which side he should bring the saw to the trunk next in order to make it even.
That was when Ada decided she was tired of waiting. Shuffling quietly, she slipped off her wet panties from under her dress and rolled them into a small ball before throwing it at her husband. It hit his left shoulder and rolled down his chest. Grinning wickedly, she leaned back on her shoulders and enjoyed the view, the muscles on his back shifting as he picked up the garment off the ground. If this didn't get her laid, nothing else would.
"Ada Metz Syverson," Sy groaned out her full name slowly, his voice even deeper than usual. He got back up on his feet and turned to face her, looking stern.
Suddenly she didn't feel so brave anymore, not when he had crossed the distance to her in two determined strides and went to tower over her small, sitting frame. His jaw was set, and his eyes were a darker shade of blue than usual. Ada moved her eyes down his body, her eyes pausing at the defined pectorals on his chest before sliding lower. He was definitely hard, the bulge on his jeans prominent.
"Just remember you asked for this."
She wanted to ask what this was supposed to be, but he didn’t give her the chance. “Legs,” he ordered, patting his shoulder as he came to stand just inches away from her. Almost unconsciously, she obeyed his order, her ankles coming to rest on the front of his shoulders, her feet framing his neck. “That’s a good girl,” he praised her with a quick kiss to her right calf before his large hands moved to the front of his jeans, just over the protruding tent and began undoing the belt and snap.
From this angle, Sy’s cock looked even bigger, the shiny glans flushed a deep pink. Ada swallowed tightly, her legs already shaking with anticipation and he hadn’t even touched her yet. Pumping his shaft with his right hand, Sy brought his left one to her core, rubbing the rough pad of his thumb over clit once or twice before sliding it between her folds. She was a dripping mess. Sy smirked when she keened eagerly at his touch, enjoying his ministrations until he pulled his hand away and brought it to his mouth, licking off her slick. “It’s good you’re so wet already because I just can’t wait to take you, darlin’.”
He wasn’t lying when he said he couldn’t wait. The next thing he did, was grabbing hold of his throbbing, hard cock and guiding himself into her. Ada moaned loudly at the intrusion, drowning out Sy’s own growl as her walls clenched around his cock, trying to get used to the abruptness and depth of the penetration.
“Fuck, Sy!” She cried out, not even sure what it was she wanted. “Don’t stop,” was all she could muster as he ploughed into her like there was no tomorrow, hitting her pleasure all at once.
He knew they were being too loud. They might be alone, but they were still out in the open air, and yet he just couldn’t find it in himself to care – not when she felt this good around his cock and her noises only heightened his fervor. If someone happened to stumble upon them, then they’d simply be in for a premium show,
It wasn’t long until her legs started shaking almost uncontrollably up in the air, prompting him to remove one hand from his steely grip on her hip and wrap his arms around her legs to keep them steady as he continued with jackhammer thrusts. “Are you going to cum for me, darlin’?” Sy panted, groaning out the question between clenched teeth even though he already knew the answer.
Ada didn’t manage to reply, the first waves of her orgasm already coursing through her when she moaned his name. Her hips canted up, her body tensed up like a bolt, and Sy knew he was done for right then. Her warm walls squeezed him impossibly tight inside of her, milking the cum right out of his cock while he fought to keep his balance as pleasure overtook him.
They came down from their heights slowly, chests heaving. Sy lazily removed her legs from his shoulders, massaging the strained muscles on her inner thighs before he set her legs down. This woman would be the end of him. “That was…” he panted, bending forward over her body to kiss her forehead, unable to find a proper adjective to describe what had just happened.
“Yeah,” Ada breathed out, nodding slowly.
Sy ended up having to carry her and the tree on the cart back to his truck because there was no way she was able to walk straight after that.
°°°
They finished decorating the giant tree. Ada had to admit it looked pretty although the red and gold decorations clashed with the color theme of their living room. She handed Sy the newly purchased baubles one by one – he was the only one capable of reaching the top.
On their way back home, she had somehow managed to convince Sy to stop at the therapist’s office – the one she had found had the highest ratings on Google. They had booked the first available appointment, which was just after the New Year and Sy had made it very clear to their secretary it was just a ‘testing appointment’ and that there was no need to set aside time slots for follow-up sessions yet because there was no guarantee he’d be back. His reluctance was palpable, but Ada was glad he was giving it a try at least. And if he didn’t like, then they’d figure out something else.
In the background, their wedding video kept playing and she wondered for how much longer she'd have to hear the sound of camera flashes as the chapel assistant took way too many photos of them in the most cliché poses you could imagine. Sy has insisted they put on their wedding video since they’d never gotten around to watch it and it fit the season, according to him. Slowly, the annoying sounds began fading away and Ada sighed with relief. Watching herself on TV sparked too much embarrassment in her.
"Hand me the big one with Rudolph, will you, darlin'," Sy asked from behind her, still meticulously decorating the tree.
Ada nodded, searching for the bauble he had in mind. It was still in the shopping bag, she remembered, lifting it off the floor to dig inside it.
Ada froze as a female chuckle was heard, unconsciously gripping the glass ornament too tightly in her hand. "Not that fast, Captain."
Behind her, Sy frowned. "What did you say?"
"Tonight, I'm in charge," she heard her own voice say - no, it was more like a purr.
"Shit!" Ada cursed loudly, letting the bauble fall back inside the bag and she hurried to the TV, her worst fear confirmed.
Sy followed her quickly, stopping just behind her, his hands on her shoulders. "Is that from our wedding night?" He asked slowly, his eyes locked on the screen as he watched his younger self being tied up to the bedposts by his wife.
"Yes," Ada cringed, her face a painful grimace. "I didn't even remember the sex tape."
"Me neither," Sy swallowed loudly, admittedly rapidly becoming aroused at the sight of his Ada doing a striptease on camera. She wore that red ensemble with the garter belt.
"I think the assistant never really ended the video after our wedding, only paused it and we later continued filming in the hotel instead of starting a new video," Ada commented, now understanding what had happened. How they’d even came up with the idea of filming a sex tape on their wedding night, she didn't know. Alcohol had probably played a part in it.
Sy was still staring in awe at the TV, enthralled by the sight of his wife deviously edging him, her hips swaying slowly, when her words slowly registered in his head. "Didn't we send copies of the video to our families?" He stammered, his voice uncharacteristically quiet and hesitant.
Silence fell between them as they both realized they had been dumb enough to send copies before watching it themselves. "Fuck!" Ada barked, seizing the remote to pause the video. "We sent that to my parents, your parents, your sister...," she listed, her face losing all color.
Suddenly, the sound of Sy's deep laughter filled her ears. She turned to him, aghast. How could he find this funny? This was peak cringe! She’d be one needing therapy after this!
"You know, darlin', watching this video was the first time my parents ever saw their daughter-in-law, before even meeting you in person." Sy explained, shaking his head with amusement.
Ada was mortified. No wonder Mr. Syverson had seemed on the verge of laughter the first time they'd met and Helen had given her the side eye. The woman had a USB stick in her home with an hour-long video of Ada fucking her son. "You know, Sy, this wedding video is also the first thing my parents saw of you." He stopped laughing abruptly, his face red, all amusement gone.
They both sat down on the couch next to each other, slowly coming to terms with the fact that pretty much their whole families had seen this, and never said anything, probably keeping it as an inside joke.
Sy broke the silence, his large hand reaching to rub her naked thigh. "You know, I don't think we should be embarrassed," he said, prompting her to stare back up at him, eyebrow raised dubiously. "The way you tied up my arms really enhanced my biceps and you looked adorably hot like a vicious kitten from hell."
°°°
@colourmeinblue @hail-horror-queen @youthought-iwasa-nicegirl @kmuir1 @madbaddic7ed @coffeebreathy @purplelove75 @summersong69 @helenaellie @rn7rocks
#henry cavill smut#syverson smut#henry cavill x reader#syverson x reader#henry cavill x ofc#syverson x ofc
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Bring me down (Arvin Russell x Reader)
Plot: Rather than God, you find solace in your only friend in Coal Creak, Arvin Russel, not knowing that he just might need you just as much as you need him.
Words: 4,176
Warnings: None really? Some swearing, suggestive themes, Arvin beating the crap out of people
A/N: heeeeey so first post yay lmao. (I have another blog tho so yeah) but after watching TDATT I just had to write something about Arvin. The movie is so amazing and if you haven’t watched it I suggest you do. Plus Tom Holland in that movie was just absolutely amzing (and hot af). But I hope you guys like this! I also tried to make the reader as gender neutral and non specific as possible for everyone, so let me know if I messed up anything. Also let me know if you’d like to see more!
There wasn’t a whole lot to do in Coal Creek, West Virginia. Besides driving aimlessly or stopping at the few diners around town, there wasn’t much that people did other than go to work and go to church every Sunday morning. However, people that grew up in Coal Creek still found ways to have fun, whether that was getting their rocks off in some abandoned parking lot or terrorizing some unsuspecting soul walking in the night. Most resorted to just getting drunk on a Saturday night before going to church the next morning, pretending that their head wasn’t pounding from the mass amounts of alcohol they drank the previous night.
Which is why you couldn’t understand for the life of you why Arvin did nothing but get himself into trouble.
“Christ, Arvin,” you sighed, rubbing the wet cloth under his nose to try and clean up the dried blood. “I don’t understand how you get in these damn fights all the time. Can’t you just, I don’t know, talk to them maybe?”
You knew immediately how ridiculous you sounded when the words came out of your mouth. There was no talking to Gene Dinwoodie and his lackeys. You just hated seeing Arvin so beat up all the time.
He scoffed and pushed your hand away, looking off to the side to avoid your gaze as you frowned.
“Fuck that. That no good sonuvabitch is gonna keep messin’ with Lenora unless I do somethin’ ‘bout it.” He then let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Fuckin’ talking. Jesus, do you know who you sound like?”
You weren’t expecting him to suddenly face you, and you sighed as you sat down on your bed next to him.
“Emma, I know. I’m sorry. I just…” You reached over and took his hand in both of yours, thumb gently brushing over his bruised and split knuckles. “It kills me to see you constantly getting bruised and beat up. And I can’t even do anything about it.”
You felt Arvin squeeze one of your hands, and you brought your gaze back up to meet his, your eyes slightly drifting to the purplish discolored skin below his left eye.
“Now that’s not true. Who else would patch me up everytime I get the shit kicked out of me, hm?” he asked, his lips splitting into a grin.
You scoffed and took your hand out of his to push at his shoulder before laying back on your bed, resting your intertwined hands on your stomach and staring at the white discolored ceiling.
“You’re lucky I even still do this for you. My daddy’s startin’ to throw a fit, constantly seeing you over here.” You sat up on your elbows to look at the boy. “He don’t like you too much, y’know.”
Arvin hummed and laid down next to you, turning onto his side and resting his cheek in his propped up hand, and you felt yourself wanting to shrink under his gaze. You and Arvin had some unspoken thing between the two of you. You didn’t know exactly what it was, but you knew for sure it wasn’t something as plain and simple as friendship. You had never kissed or anything like that. Well, besides when you both were about twelve years old and wanted to see what it was like, constantly seeing the adults around you kiss like it was something they did all the time. You were both young and curious, and you couldn’t imagine doing it with anyone else, so it only made sense. Of course, it wasn’t anything spectacular. You were inexperienced kids, and at the time you weren’t really aware of your feelings.
Of course, you had loved Arvin since you were little. You met him when he transferred to your school after moving from Ohio. He was pretty quiet at first, didn’t really talk unless a teacher made him, and he’d get picked on and beat up by the older kids. He was new and didn’t have any friends, so of course he was an easy target. It wasn’t until he met you that he actually started opening up. You were friends with Lenora and often went over to her house, spending the night and going to church on Sunday with her and her family. Your relationship with Lenora sparked your friendship with her stepbrother, and you two were inseparable ever since.
As you grew older though, you grew distant from Lenora. You had stopped going to church ever since your mother died, your faith pretty much nonexistent at that point, and you began to question everything about religion. You didn’t blame God for letting your mother die. In fact, you didn’t really know how to feel. All you knew was that rather than getting her some actual help, all everyone did was pray.
“Pray for her, y/n. God will save her,” is what they said.
What a load of horse shit. Praying only seemed to make her worse. And when she died, you completely closed yourself off from the rest of the world. Hell, Arvin could barely get through to you sometimes. But despite how angry you were, you still found it in yourself to let him in. The town didn’t like you too much after all that. People who didn’t go to church in Coal Creek weren’t really accepted by the public. They were cast out as outsiders for not finding solace in the Lord’s name. Not that you minded much of course. The town was full of fake people that weren’t worth your time. The only person you cared about was the boy laying on your bed at the moment.
“I miss her sometimes, you know,” you muttered softly, teeth digging into your bottom lip.
Arvin raised his eyebrows, a bit surprised by your words. “Who? Your mom?”
You shook your head. “No… Well, I mean yeah, I do miss her, but… I’m talkin’ about your sister.”
It was silent for a moment, neither one of you speaking as you laid comfortably in each other’s presence.
“... Does she ever ask about me?”
Arvin sighed, running his hand through his slightly untamed hair.
“Sometimes. I mean, she doesn’t really ask about how you are or anything. More like she interrogates me about what we're doin’ when we hang out.”
You swallowed thickly and nodded, standing up from the bed and walking over to your bedroom window, watching as the sun began to set. You then heard the bed lightly creak and footsteps getting closer to you, and you’d be able to tell from a mile away that it was Arvin due to his signature boots. He rested his chin on your shoulder, and you slightly tensed up as his arms wrapped around you.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered softly, looking out at the evening sky with you.
You lightly shrugged. “It’s all right. You’re all I need in this shit town anyway,” you said, turning your head to look back at Arvin with a small smile.
You could’ve sworn you saw his eyes drift down to your lips for a moment, but couldn’t put anymore thought into it as you suddenly felt his lips against your cheek, closing your eyes at the sensation. It was over all too soon when he pulled away, your body feeling cold as he released you from his arms, and you wrapped your arms around yourself to try and get some of that warmth back.
“I should get going. I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked, picking up his jean jacket that he had thrown on the floor once he entered your room and slipping it on.
You hummed and nodded, giving him a small smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes as you resisted the urge to ask him to stay the night. He’d spent the night at your house before, but asking him now seemed a bit too intimate. As he walked towards the door, you felt something bubble up in your throat, and as he began to step out of your bedroom, you took a step forward, reaching a hand up before you could properly think.
“Arvin, I…”
He turned to face you, all the words you wanted to say suddenly getting stuck on your tongue, and you sighed as you let your hand drop to your side, feeling a bit pathetic.
“Please… Please be careful,” you said softly, your concern clear in your expression.
Arvin gave you a small smile and nodded.
“I always am, darlin’. Don’t you worry about me.”
You let out the breath you weren’t aware you had been holding once he stepped out, and you watched from your window as he drove away in his beat up car. It was a miracle that thing hadn’t broken down already. You two had so many memories and adventures in that car, staying out late at night listening to the radio or going on short road trips outside of town that you wished never ended. It was one of the only times you ever felt peace, being in that shabby old car with Arvin. And as you fell back onto your bed and reminisced, you couldn't help but feel your heart ache a bit, thinking that one day all of this might come to an end.
_____________
“So is there any reason in particular you need me to be here?” you asked, looking at the front of the high school building from the passenger seat of Arvin’s car.
Arvin puffed on his cigarette and turned to you, blowing the smoke in your face, which you in turn punched him in the shoulder for as you coughed.
“You never know when to stop askin’ questions, do ya? I’ll let you know after we drop Lenora off to see her mom.”
Your eyes slightly widened at the mention of his sister’s name. “L-Lenora?”
As if on cue, the girl came running out the double doors of the school, pausing for a moment when she saw you in the front seat, before finally hopping into the back, Arvin turning his head to meet her gaze. He then looked back towards the school when he heard Gene Dinwoodie and his buddies shout for Lenora as they ran towards the car before he sped off, and you could hear vague shouts of “sister fucker” as you drove away.
The tension in the car grew thick, and you could feel Lenora’s gaze burning into the back of your skull as you let out a shaky breath. You were going to kill Arvin once you got him alone. He knew your relationship with Lenora was rocky, and yet he decided it was a smart idea for you two to be in a car together?
“God fucking dammit, Arvin!” you thought, your fists clenching in your lap.
You glanced over at the boy, catching his gaze for a moment before he looked away, fingers visibly tightening on the steering wheel. Once he pulled up to the church, you all sat in silence for a moment, the only noise being the loud rumbling of the engine.
“That preacher’s a little flashy,” you heard Arvin say, and it was clear he was trying to relieve some of the tension between all of you.
Lenora then piped up from the backseat: “Are you not coming?”
Arvin shook his head. “No, I got some things to do before we go home.”
Lenora looked at you again before dropping her gaze to her lap, scrunching up her dress in her fists. “Does it have to do with them?”
You sharply inhaled and dug your teeth into the inside of your cheek, turning your head to look out the window to try and stop yourself from saying anything too mean. Why was it even any of her business? Sure, they grew up together and were basically siblings, but Arvin was a grown adult who could make his own decisions. And what, she had a problem with you just because you didn’t go to fucking church?
“Go on, Lenora. I’ll be back to pick you up,” Arvin said, looking at her through the rearview mirror.
She didn’t move at first until Arvin told her to go again, and she stepped out of the car, slamming the door a bit more forcefully than she needed to before stomping off towards her mother’s grave. Once she was out of sight, you immediately turned to Arvin and sent punch after punch to his arm, brows furrowed and teeth clenched in anger.
“Are you fucking kidding me, Arvin?! You couldn’t have given me a little warning?! Or maybe picked me up after you dropped your sister off?!”
“Ow, ow! Hey, would you just-!”
He grabbed ahold of your wrists, leaning over you and pinning you against the car door as you struggled underneath his grip.
“Would you cool it?! I wouldn’t have had time to come get you after dropping Lenora off, and I want you to be with me when I do this so I don’t fuckin’ kill someone, you understand?!”
You stopped struggling, looking up at Arvin with slightly widened eyes as your chest heaved, trying to catch your breath. You then became very aware of your position, face flushing as your eyes searched his face and trailed down to his lips. Before anything else could happen though, you pulled your hands out of his grasp and pressed them against his chest, feeling his lean muscles through his tight shirt, and pushed him off of you, quickly sitting up and pressing your back against the seat.
“What… What do you mean by that? So that you won’t kill someone?” you asked, finally looking over at Arvin.
He sighed and glanced over at you before putting the car in drive and driving away from the church, hoping that Lenora didn’t just witness the interaction between you two.
“Fuckin’ Dinwoodie and those other assholes aren’t gonna leave Lenora alone unless I do somethin’ ‘bout it. And I really just need you there to keep me in check. Make sure I don’t beat those sons of bitches too bad. You… You’re one of the only ones that calm me down, so…”
You stared at Arvin for a moment, taking in what he said before letting out a light chuckle and shaking your head.
“Fuckin’ christ, Arvin. You’re a damn idiot, you know that?” you said, your shoulders relaxing a bit as you noticed Arvin forming a smile of his own.
“Yeah, but you still put up with me.”
He sent you a wink and you rolled your eyes, letting out a small scoff as you crossed your arms over your chest.
“All right then,” you sighed. “Let’s go beat up some fuckers.”
_____________
It was raining by the time you and Arvin pulled up to the school, Arvin watching the doors like a hawk for Tommy Matson to come out. Neither of you said a word, simply listening to the radio as you both passed around a cigarette. This must’ve been what Arvin meant when he talked about waiting for the right time. He always mentioned it and told you it was something his daddy taught him when he was younger, but you had never seen him get into an actual fight, you were just there for the aftermath. Well, until now, that is.
Once you saw Tommy exit the building with some girl under his arm, Arvin let out a long exhale through his nose and handed you his half finished cigarette, stepping out into the rain as you took a few puffs. Your eyes then widened when you saw him walk towards the buses with a tire iron in his hand, quickly stepping out of the car and grabbing his arm. He turned around to look at you, the look in his eyes asking “what the hell are you doing?”
“I thought you said you didn’t wanna kill nobody. You’re gonna beat his face in with a tire iron?”
Arvin pulled out of your grip, shrugging his shoulders as if it wasn’t a big deal.
“Won’t hurt him too bad. Just enough to teach him a lesson.”
He then shrugged off his jean jacket and draped it over your shoulders, the look in his eyes telling you that nothing was going to stop him from doing this. Not if it kept him from protecting his sister.
“Stay by the car,” he muttered, parting with a kiss to your forehead and adjusting the tool in his grip.
It only took a few minutes for Arvin to come back, his steps a bit faster and his chest heaving, and he gestured with his hand for you to get back in the car as he threw the wrench he used to beat Tommy with into the backseat and got behind the wheel, speeding out of the school parking lot. While you wished that was the end of it, you knew he still had Orville Buckman and Gene Dinwoodie to take care of. And while you didn’t really like all the violence, you couldn’t help but feel a bit of adrenaline course through you as Arvin drove a bit past the speed limit, tongue swiping out to wet your bottom lip as you glanced over at him.
Arvin soon pulled up to the side of a garage, putting the car in park and stepping out, this time without the tire iron. You knew he probably wanted you to stay in the car, but you couldn;t help but let curiosity get the best of you as you quietly stepped out and followed a few paces behind him, watching as he came up behind Dinwoodie and slammed the hood of the car he was under against his head twice. The scene unfolded so quickly, you didn’t really know how to react, your eyes wide as Arvin kicked the door into Orville and sent blow after blow until his face was bloody, covering his face with a paper bag after rubbing a Twinkie in his face and punching him some more.
At first you didn’t notice it, but your eyes soon caught Gene getting up, regaining his balance as he grabbed a long wrench and began making his way towards Arvin who still had his back to him, completely unaware.
“Hey, asshole!” you shouted, purely acting on instinct as he turned to face you, and you sent a right hook straight to his face, your foot coming up to kick him in the groin afterwards.
You felt a strange, sick satisfaction as you watched him crumble to the ground, hands over his crotch as he wheezed, and Arvin looked at you in amazement for a moment before crouching down next to the moaning boy and putting a paper bag over his head as well. His hands held him by the neck as he made threats to kill him if Gene or his buddies ever messed with Lenora again, the boy wheezing out apologies through the bag, and once Arvin was satisfied, he got up and stepped over Dinwoodie, grabbing onto your hand and dragging you back to the car.
He drove until the garage was far behind you two, pulling over onto an abandoned stretch of road and letting out a shaky breath as he parked the car on the gravel. You two sat there for a moment, listening closely to the sound of Arvin’s heavy breathing before he reached across you and into the glovebox for a rag to wipe his bloody knuckles with.
“Here, let me,” you said softly, grabbing the rag from him and gently dabbing his knuckles with it.
You could feel gaze on you, staring so intently it was like he was trying to burn a hole through you.
“You’re staring, Arvin,” you said, your voice still quiet like you were afraid to speak up.
He didn’t answer, still staring as you grabbed his other hand to clean it as well. You let out a sigh, looking up at the boy.
“Arvin-”
His lips were on yours before you could get another word out, inhaling sharply and tensing up as you felt his hands on your face. It took a second or two for you to relax, melting into the kiss and placing your hands against his chest, gripping his shirt as you felt one of his hands slide around to the back of your neck, pushing your lips further against his as his arm looped around you to pull you against him. This was overwhelming, your mind not able to catch up as Arvin kissed you with everything he had.
“Arvin,” you muttered against his lips, trying to get his attention.
But he didn’t stop, his kisses only becoming more desperate as the rain pounded harder against the windshield, almost as loud as the drumming of your heart. You felt a calloused hand slide up the front of your shirt, and that’s when you knew you needed to stop this before things got way too far.
“A-Arvin!” you persisted, pushing against his chest, and you couldn’t help but feel a shiver go down your spine as he let out a growl against your lips, not happy with being interrupted.
“Fuck, what?” he asked breathlessly, his hand still pressed against your side underneath your shirt as your wide eyes searched his expression.
You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I… I-I just-”
“Y/n,” Arvin muttered softly, his thumb gently brushing over your bottom lip as you caught his gaze.
You let him kiss you again, Arvin capturing your lips with his and being a bit more gentle and slower than he had been before. However, when you let out a soft moan against his lips, it only seemed to spur him on, causing him to part your lips with his tongue and deepen the kiss as he gently pushed you until your back hit the passenger door. Your whole body felt like it was on fire, your skin hot to the touch, and you didn’t know if it was just you or if it was Arvin’s hands that were causing your whole body to heat up.
You let out a small gasp when you felt his hands go to the front of your jeans, attempting to make quick work of the button and zipper, but your hands stopped him, causing him to pull back with his brows furrowed.
“What’s wrong?”
“I-... Isn’t your sister waiting for us? I mean, we’ve been gone for a while,” you said softly. Not that you really cared, you were just trying to buy some time so you could catch your breath and think for a second.
Arvin scoffed in amusement and smirked down at you.
“Since when did you give a shit about what my sister thinks?”
You knew he had you there, and you saw he was about to say something else, probably just to tease you, so you quickly reached up and laced your fingers through his hair, pulling him down to shut him up with another heated kiss. His smirk remained as he kissed you, and in that moment he knew he would never be able to get enough of you. He had always been aware about his feelings for you, and he realized that waiting for the right time could be applied to more than just beating the shit out of people. But perhaps he had waited a bit too long this time, because as his lips locked with yours over and over, he realized he should’ve done this much sooner.
“Arvin, um…”
He pulled away when you began to speak, bringing a hand up to gently hold your face as his thumb caressed your cheek.
“Do you think we could um… maybe do this somewhere less cramped? My dad aint gonna be home til later, so…”
Arvin looked at you for a moment and nodded, giving you one last kiss before pulling away from you and putting the car in drive again. You would occasionally glance at each other during the ride back to the church, not able to help the blush on your face from appearing, and he chuckled at your embarrassed expression, reaching over to hold your hand. He knew once he got you alone, he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off you.
By the time you got back to the church, the sun had started to set, and Lenora didn’t say a word as she got into the backseat. And if she noticed Arvin’s hand resting on your thigh, she certainly didn’t say anything about that either. She didn’t even question her brother when he didn’t get out of the car after he dropped her off at home, just watching the both of you drive back towards your house in the rusted vehicle. The giddiness was practically radiating off of the two of you as you thought about being alone with each other, Arvin’s hand squeezing your thigh.
But little did you know, your lives were about to get a lot crazier in the months to come.
#arvin russell x reader#arvin russell imagine#arvin x reader#arvin imagine#the devil all the time#the devil all the time imagine#tdatt#tdatt imagine#tdatt fanfiction#arvin russell#the devil all the time fanfiction#tom holland#tom holland x reader#tom holland imagine#fanfiction#tom holland fanfiction#arvin russell fanfic
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