If youāre an atheist or a nonbeliever/non religious person if you say āreligions are just a form of a cultā youāre being SO DISRESPECTFUL.
Maybe for you itās a cult,and depending of what religion it is actually a cult(actually if it's a cult it can't be a religion,but ok),but calling all of them a cult is very disrespectful.
For you is dumb but maybe a certain religion saved someone from a big depression they had,made someone happier,even made someone kinder.
So please,you can be against religion,but you canāt be disrespectful
y'all know Miriam from TikTok? She's a jewish woman dedicated to giving people insight into her and her family's personal life, specifically around her religion, Judaism, and educating people about their customs.
No shade against her - she seems to be a lovely woman and I love the energy she gives off but even here, no matter how positively she tries to portray her religion, I again can't help noticing mysogynistic patterns.
To name a few: not being allowed to touch other men except immediate family members and her husband, not being allowed to touch her husband at all during her menstruation, having to dress modestly and having to cover elbows, collarbones and knees, not being allowed to show her hair to other men outside of the family (the picture on top shows her going to get fitted for a custom made wig and you can guess how expensive it must be to pay for all of those wigs).
Especially the last thing... I just cannot understand how it is forbidden to show your natural hair to non related men, but then to wear wigs and aim for them to look as natural and unnoticeable as possible?
There are other things about their customs that are just so impractical for day to day life and i cannot fathom having to deal with all of these things.
You have yet to convince me that religion and feminism are compatible.
Warnings: Yes, warnings are needed for this chapter. 18+ | Religious Abuse | Blood | Wound cleaning You ever nut from getting your kneecap touched?
Two days passed since the incident on the porch and the sky turned the color of bruised peaches, low and wide above the trees. The land lay heavy with waiting. No wind, no birds, just the faint whisper of preparation. Somewhere beyond the wilted grass and barbed wire, men were praying to a God that skipped town for the night.
The Klan was coming tonight. And the SmokeStack Twins army was ready.
The simple barn on the north field had become a fortress, the fields laced with traps and the chapel ringed with iron and gunpowder. Men with devoted loyalty to the twins paced along the property lines with revolvers at their hips and rifles slung over their shoulders. Stack moved like a serpent through the ranks, flashing his gold tooth as he barked orders. Smoke worked quieter as he inspected every bolt, every nail, and every rifle in sight. His silence meant perfection and he would ensure no mistakes were made because perfection wasnāt a choice tonight. It was a demand.
But no matter how hard he tried to focus, his mind drifted throughout the day... Back to that prison he wanted to burn down and back to that redheaded angel he wanted to save. He hadnāt stepped foot near it since dinner two nights ago, and not seeing Sera was silently driving him half mad. Something was wrong and he could feel it like a fever under his skin. An ache started to develop behind his teeth and it wasnāt from nerves, it was because heās been trying to keep himself from killing that false prophet. And because the last time he saw her, she was shaking in that white dress trying to plead her case like she expected to be slapped for it.
Pastor Samuel slammed the door behind her that night like she was some plague to be locked away. Called her spoiled fruit and said she needed to be cleaned and purged of her sins. Smoke barely ate that night and couldnāt think straight. He had been picturing that demon's throat beneath his boots ever since the words left his mouth.
After ensuring everything was secure out on the field, Smoke decided to check the house. The porch groaned beneath him as he stepped up onto it like it was warning him to turn back. He hadnāt told Stack where he was going, and he didnāt plan on explaining.
The screen door creaked open like it knew better than to fight him and the second he crossed the threshold the air felt different. No smell of greens or fresh apple pie. No low hum floating from the kitchen. Just dust, old wood and silence that told on itself. Two days ago this place had life but now it was sterile with no sign of her.
Smoke moved through the downstairs layout with slow and deliberate steps. The only sound that filled the air was the ticking of a grandfather clock like it was trying to tell him a secret message he couldnāt decode. The tension in his jaw spread to his fists because he wasnāt stupid and he knew what this kind of silence meant. You donāt lock away a girl like that unless you plan to break her mind, body, and soul.
His hand hovered near the pistol under his coat. He didnāt come into this house to start anything, but he would make damn sure heād be the one to finish it without thinking twice. He passed Pastor Samuel's study, the kitchen, the parlor, and every room turned out to be the sameā¦ Empty. His jaw ticked again as Seraās absence began to speak louder to him than a room full of drunk men on a Saturday night playing poker.
If she was bruised, if she was touched, if that preacher laid one finger on her in the name of Godā Smokeās patience was unraveling and his mind was constantly racing with images of Sera. Not because of her beauty and innocence but because she didnāt know she was drowning in a house built to keep her breathless. And heād willingly dive to the bottom of the abyss to sacrifice his own life if it meant saving hers.
After ensuring everything was safe downstairs he made his way up to the second floor and moved down the hall, quiet as fog. But then his motions stilled when he heard a creak, then a faint shuffle and finally the splashing of water. He stopped near the bathroom door that was barely cracked open. And through the thin sliver of light, he saw her. Seraphimā¦ His Seraphim.
With her back facing the cracked door, Smoke saw how her freckled chestnut skin glistened from the bathwater as she clutched a too-small towel tight to her damp chest and grabbed a small jar of ointment before lathering it on her face. Her long ginger hair was heavy with water, curls sticking to her skin and clinging to her neck. She moved with the slow and unsteady grace of someone running on nothing but willpower and she also looked like she hadnāt slept in days. There were bruised half-moons under her eyes. The delicate brown skin was swollen and raw from crying or prayingā¦ or both. Her lips were chapped and her arms were trembling just from holding the towel. And then Smokeās gaze dropped to her kneesā¦ Red. Blistered. Bloodied.
The skin was torn and pink from where sheād been forced to kneel for two days straight. Her father had locked her in her bedroom with nothing but a jug of water, her Bible, and strict instruction to purify her spirit. Heād made her read until her throat cracked and he made her write until her fingers cramped. Sheād disobeyed him just now sneaking into the bathroom for a wash when she shouldāve been on her knees still repenting. She assumed no one was home but she didnāt know that Smoke stood like a phantom protector in the hall silently watching her.
She didn't hear him breathe. And she didn't feel the air shift as he stepped forward slightly, drawn by the tragedy and resilience dripping off her body like the water she just cleansed herself with. But when she finally opened the bathroom door their eyes met and she gasped with surprise. Her chest rose and fell while she clutched her towel tighter and shyly looked away. āMr. Smoke,ā she whispered, voice like a breath across broken glass. āIā¦ I didnāt know anyone was home.. Iā¦ I didnāt mean toāā
āStop. I was checkinā the house,ā he said quietly, voice low and deep enough to ground the storm brewing in her. āDidnāt know you were up.ā
Sera felt anchored in her spot and her cheeks started to burn. Her lips parted like she might speak, but no sound came. Just a soft exhale.
Instead she lowered her eyes to the floor and Smoke noticed her trembling fingers. It was like she was more frightened with the idea of him telling her father she stopped her punishment opposed to being practically naked in front of a man she just met. āMy daddy said I needed more than a bathā¦ā she whispered with her voice shaking. āSaid I needed to cleanse my soul.ā
Sera let out a hollow laugh that sounded like something fragile barely holding shape. āBut I couldnāt take the stink anymore,ā she admitted as her shame came rushing out faster than she could catch it. āMy knees hurt. Iā¦ I just needed a minuteā¦ā At that her legs wobbled slightly and she reached instinctively for the wall next to her, causing her towel to slip just a little on one side.
Smoke moved before he realized he was putting one foot forward and his hand twitched like it meant to catch her. But he didnāt touch her. He stopped just shy of her bare shoulder. Close enough that she could feel the heat coming off him in waves and close enough that her breath caught in her throat.
āYou alright?ā he asked, voice softer now, but still deep enough to settle into her spine.
She lied and nodded too fast, then winced. Her body jolted slightly as she tugged the towel back into place, her arms tightening across her chest, face turning redder by the second. āI will be,ā she said quietly. āJust need rest. And maybeā¦ maybe somethinā cold for my knees.ā
Smoke didnāt speak right away. He just stared intensely with his eyes pinned to her face, not her body. Not the flushed skin of her collarbone, or the droplets sliding down her thighs, or the chocolate pebbles where the towel hugged her too tight.
His want for her burned hot in his soul, curling low and slow like a fuse that refused to die out. But it wasnāt lust that made his jaw clenchā¦ it was pain. Her pain. Because behind the heat he saw the bruises, the cracks, and the places where her spirit had been pressed thin by a man who was supposed to protect her.
Smoke swallowed hard as images from his past flickered sharp in his mind. Flashbacks of his own fatherās shadow towering over Stack with his fist clenched and mouth foaming with scripture. Same shit, just a different Devil. He exhaled through his nose and steadied himself, grounding the fury before it reached the surface. āYou did what you needed,ā he said finally, tone gentle but firm. āAināt no sin in wantinā to feel clean.ā
Sera blinked, shook by the kindness in his voice. She looked up, eyes catching his for the first time since she opened the bathroom door and her breath hitched. There was something in his gaze she couldnāt pinpoint. Something that was hotter and caused her to drop her eyes again as her skin prickled with excitement.
āI didnāt mean for you to see me like thisā¦ā she said, her voice barely more than a low breath. āI thoughtā¦ I thought no one was home.ā
Seraās legs buckled beneath her as her posture faltered despite how desperately she clung to her dignity with that towel. She was a woman full-grown, twenty-five and already hollowed out from years of obedience. Not to God, but to a man who wore his name like armor.
And still, she said nothing cruel. She didnāt curse, didnāt complain, didnāt cry out about what had been done to her. She justā¦ endured it. That kind of quiet killed something in Smoke. Her innocence wasnāt just naivety, it was punishment. A sentence she didnāt even know she was serving. A life measured in silence and sermons, in her fatherās idea of godliness, not her own.
āI wonāt tell your daddy,ā Smoke murmured, voice husky and steady. āAināt nobodyās business but yours.ā
Sera looked up, startled again by his gentleness. Her big mesmerizing honey-warm eyes that always seemed to plead for mercy she never physically asked for stared at Smoke's impassive expression. And he couldnāt help but to hold her gaze for too long. Long enough for something unsaid to pass between them.
He took another slow step forward, close enough that she had to tilt her chin just a bit to keep eye contact.āYou aināt gonna make it down that hall,ā he said gently. āNot on them knees.ā
She opened her mouth to protest, but her legs wobbled once more and betrayed her before she could find the words.
Smoke held up his hand to stop any excuse she had ready to spit out. āLet me help. Iāll carry you.ā
Her eyes went wide and she nervously stammered glancing down at the thin towel wrapped around her. āI canātā¦ I mean, Iām notā¦ I aināt dressed proper, Mr. Smoke! Andā¦ and a man aināt supposed to stare at a woman, let alone touch her if they arenāt married...ā
Mr. Smoke. Mr. Smoke. Mr. Smokeeeā¦ If anyone else called Smoke āMr. Smokeā he wouldnāt think twice about it. But the way Sera said his name all breathy and flustered, stirred something primal in him and he finally understood what Stack was blabbering about the last two days.
Hearing his name in her mouth felt like a match against his skin. And he began to wonder what it would sound like if she said his real nameā¦ the one he keeps close to his heart. But instead he smothered the feeling down and buried it beneath something colder. Right now, this wasnāt about his desires. āI aināt lookinā at you that way,ā he said, quiet and firm. āAināt gonna touch what aināt offered.ā
She hesitated and let his words play in her mind as she tried to figure out how long she would have to repent after this. Then slowlyātoo slowlyāshe nodded.
Careful to not startle her, Smoke slipped his calloused hands beneath her tender knees and shoulders and lifted her like she weighed nothing. Her body tensed instantly but he didnāt take any offense to it.
Smoke was a man that had been to hell and back. A man that had seen the highest highs of the world and the lowest lows of the worldā¦ but he never thought not looking down at the broken angel in his arms would be one of the hardest missions heād ever have to endure. He didnāt let himself think about how soft she felt in his arms. Didnāt let his breath stick in his throat when her damp hair brushed against his jaw. And he definitely didnāt let himself imagine what her skin might taste like beneath that towel.
He just carried her down the hall like he was hauling something sacred. But when he nudged open the door to her bedroom with the toe of his boot his stomach turned.
The walls were stripped clean with no photos or warmth. Just a thin lumpy mattress on the floor and a single oil lamp in the corner that barely lit the room. And of course her Bible sat open right next to it. This was like a prison cell dressed up in false holiness. Smoke kept his face neutral, but it took everything he had not to spit on the floor and curse that bastard preacher by name. Instead he set her down carefully at the edge of her mattress, making sure she was comfortable before giving her some much needed space.
āIām sorry,ā she whispered, her once angelic voice had shame laced through every syllable. She reached for a nightgown lying near the mattress and clutched it to her chest before fumbling to pull it over her head. The towel that was being held together by a prayer finally dropped away in the process, and for one small fumbling moment Smoke saw more of her than any man had ever been allowed.
He didnāt move and made sure he didnāt blink as he let the image of her burn into his memory. Her nightgown fell soft over her shoulders and clung tight to her still-damp skin. Its material became thin as gauze in some places and turned damn near translucent in the lamplight. The now sheer material clung across her stomach, thighs, and the delicate curve of her hips. Smokeās throat tightened and a reflexive growl tried to crawl up before he crushed it down with a clenched jaw. If he didnāt get out of this house soon he knew he would crack a molar.
Sera sat on the edge of her mattress with her legs clamped tightly shut and her arms folded tight across her chest as though she could shield herself from Godās watchful eye. With her mahogany freckled face red as hot coals, she kept her eyes focused on the floor. āI didnāt mean to tempt you,ā she mumbled. The words fell out like they hurt. āI didnāt mean toāā
Smoke cut her off with a breath. He wouldnāt allow her to wallow in her ignominy like any of this was her fault. āThat aināt on you.ā
She looked up with a puzzled expression.
āYou aināt doinā nothinā wrong,ā he said with his voice as rough as a warning shot. āYou took a bath. Thatās it. Manās got no business beinā tempted by that.ā
āButā¦ā
āBut nothing.ā
Something tight and ugly that could no longer be contained started to bubble over in his chest. Anger. But not at her. He could never be mad at her. She could curse him to the high heavens and he would still figure out how to give her the world. āYou did nothinā wrong,ā he said sharply, with more growl than whisper. He took a cautious step forward before catching himself and his hands formed into fists at his sides as he thought about Samuel.
Sera flinched, just barely. And that told him another ugly unspoken truth.
Now wasnāt the time to lecture Sera about her father. Instead Smoke took a deep breath and tried to soften his voice again as he closed the distance between the two of them and kneeled near her without touching. āI can help with your knees,ā he said. āProperly. If youāll let me.ā
She looked down at them and frowned. Even though she tried to clean them during her bath they were still raw, red, and seeping in some places.
Smoke watched the hesitation in Seraās eyes. The way she wavered between fear and trust, shame and want. āIām just cleaninā āem, Sera,ā he added. āNothinā else.ā
Sera nodded slowly, letting her legs stretch toward him. Her thighs pressed together modestly, and she kept the hem of her nightgown tugged low over them even though the wetness made it cling to every contour of her body anyway.
Initially Smoke didnāt let his eyes wander and he didnāt want to let himself indulge. Keeping a stoic expression he reached into his coat and pulled out a clean cloth he always kept tucked inside, and a small silver flask full of his favorite liquor. The whiskey inside would sting, but it would clean her wounds until he could get her proper care.
āThisāll hurt,ā he warned.
Without saying anything else Smoke dipped the cloth in whiskey with his fingers coiled tightly around the flask. He steadied her knee with one hand and the second his skin made contact with hers, she twitched like sheād been shocked. Her breath hitched high and delicate and she let out a sound that wasnāt quite a gasp or a moan. It was something in between and made him stop for a second.
Donāt react. Donāt you dare react, nigga.
āThis shouldnāt take long. Grab onto my shoulders if it hurts too much,ā he commanded gently, causing goosebumps to appear on her skin.
Sera nodded and closely watched his every movement before unintentionally shifting and pulling her legs apart just enough for Smoke to be reminded that there was nothing underneath her nightgown. He shouldnāt have looked, shouldnāt have seen, but it was right there in his face. That soft, aching swell between her thighs pulsing and winking at him in a language heās fluent inā¦ oh so very fluent... He quickly looked away and grinded his teeth so hard he couldāve sworn he popped a blood vessel.
Sera's fingers hesitantly reached out to rest on Smokeās shoulder when the alcohol dripping cloth touched her torn knee and she whimpered. āAhāit stings,ā she breathed, voice breaking, and then, without meaning toā¦ āM-M-Mr. Smokeā¦ā
She said it like a confession. Like a prayer. Like his name alone was something dangerous curled on her tongue. And his blood turned molten.
He wasnāt a praying man but he started reciting scriptures in his mind over and over again to calm his growing lust. His eyes to stay on her wound, ignoring the high flush painting her exposed neck, the heave of her plump chest, and the way her thick thighs flexed as her muscles tried to keep still. Every movement of hers made the gown ride higher, and every breath she took drew it tighter to her skin.
āI know it stingsā¦ my love,ā he muttered, voice thick and gravel-rough as his thumb steadied the curve of her knee. āIām sorry. Iām almost done.ā
It had been years since Smoke addressed a woman like that and the words slipped out like it was second nature to address Sera that way. The moment he said them, he regretted it. He froze and inhaled a sharp breath then kept silently working and dabbing the cloth gently over the raw and torn skin as though nothing had happened. But Sera heard it and the nickname wrapped around her like a warm hug. Unfamiliar yet alluring as if a switch was turned on inside her brain. She whimpered again but this time quieter and more uncertain.
Smoke kept his gaze down and pretended not to notice the way her shoulders tensed or the way she bit down on her bottom lip like she was trying to calm whatever storm just bloomed inside her.
Her skin flushed a deeper hue, making her chocolate skin look deliciously sun kissed under the low light. āMr. Smokeā¦ā she whispered. Her voice was timid but clear. āYou called me somethinā just now.ā
He didnāt answer.
Sera shifted slightly, the nightgown sliding across her thighs, the wet fabric clinging to her in places it had no business clinging. Smoke focused on the edge of the wound and not on the way her legs moved. Not on the softness of her inner thighs. Not on the curve of her ankle hooked ever so slightly toward him.
āYouā¦ called meā¦ my love,ā she continued gently. āWhyād you say that?ā
He exhaled hard through his nose. āJust a slip,ā he muttered, voice clipped and rougher now. āDonāt think on it.ā
Seraās mouth opened slightly, like she might press the matter again but instead she let the moment pass. Her lashes dipped low and she gave a small nod of understanding.
She was raised not to question menā¦ especially men like Smoke who spoke as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. The kind of weight her daddy respected. The kind of weight that broke bones or bore secrets. So she folded the curiosity up inside herself, tucked it away like sheād done with all her other questions. The ones about God. About sin. About why lifeās enjoyments always came wrapped in warning.
Smoke didnāt look at her again. He poured a final bit of whiskey onto the cloth, the scent curling in the warm air between them. His hand moved quicker now, more business than tenderness even though the care didnāt leave himā¦ Just the softness. He no longer lingered where her skin trembled under his fingers and no longer paused at the sounds she made.
He wiped the blood clean from the last scrape on her shin and didnāt say a word when she flinched. When he finally pulled back, the cloth was stained with red and grit. He stood in one slow, deliberate motion, slipping the flask and rag back into the inside pocket of his coat as if nothing transpired between them.
Sera looked up at him from where she sat, legs curled beneath her now. Her nightgown still clung to every part of her that shouldāve been hidden, but her hands stayed folded in her lap and her mouth still soft with something unspoken.
āI didnāt mean to make you angry, Mr. Smoke,ā she rushed, eyes wide and nervous. āIāI only asked ācause my daddy told me how men say sweet things when they seeāā
āSee what?ā Smoke cut in. āSee a woman tryinā to survive her own damn house?ā The words came out harsher than he meant for them to be, but he didnāt take them back. And he couldnāt take them back because he was finally beyond his breaking point. Rage that had been simmering since the moment he stepped back into this cursed state. Since he watched her be belittled and punished with torn knees and a Bible-sized bruise on her soul. Since he saw the way Pastor Samuel looked through his daughter like she was nothing but a vessel for shame and sin.
Smokeās jaw flexed. āIām not mad at you. You aināt done a damn thing wrong, Sera. Not one.ā
She blinked, confusion pulling at her brow. She didnāt know what to say to that. She never had someone tell her that a situation wasnāt her fault . Her silence only fueled his fury.
He took a step back, needing space before the turmoil in his mind made him do something stupid. Like call off this battle with the Klan and instead let them have their way with that poor excuse of a pastor. āI oughtaāā Smoke started, then cut himself off with a rough exhale and looked away. āFuck.ā
Smokeās eyes snapped back to her, colder now. āYour daddy donāt know God. He just knows control. You donāt tempt nobody, Sera. Men just aināt used to seeinā a woman with that kind of light still in her. Donāt know what to do with it ācept snuff it outā¦ Now stay in this room and lock ya door. Donāt come out tilā I personally come back and get you.ā
A tense silence filled the room and for the first time ever in her life she decided to willingly follow the instructions of a man instead of doing so because itās what sheād been taught to do. āYes sirā¦ goodnight Mr. Smokeā¦ā
Those five simple words had Smoke's body singing with a song he hadn't heard in a long time as he left her bedroom and stood outside her door. Smoke knew he should leave. Knew the longer he stood there, the more dangerous this moment would become for both of them. But he also knew the truth, he was past the point of return. He wanted to protect her. Not just from the Klan but from her own father, from this townā¦ From everything that had ever made her believe she was less than holy.
Footsteps creaked up the stairs snapping Smoke out of his trance and he turned just in time to see Stack standing at the landing, arms crossed and a smug glint in his eye.
āThought you was doinā a perimeter check, twinny twin,ā Stack said, with his iconic lazy grin plastered on his face. āDidnāt know that included lickinā the preacherās daughter.ā
Smoke didnāt flinch. āI didnāt lick her, fool. That muthafucka got her knees all banged up. She was tryinā to get to her room. And I helped her wounds. Thatās all.ā
āMmhm.ā Stackās eyes flicked to the crack beneath Seraās door, then back to his brother. āShe too pretty to be locked away like a secret sinā¦ You aināt the only one wonderinā how the hell sheās still breathinā with a father like that.ā
Smoke didnāt answer. He just stared past Stack. āYou hate him,ā Stack added, quieter now while letting his hand linger over his knife he keeps hidden on his side. āOur daddy didnāt mean itā¦ but that fake ass preacherā¦ We should just kill him and be done with itā¦ Lemmeā gut him and write out Mathew 7:15 on his body so the Devil know where to place him when he get to hell.ā
āI hate what heās done to her,ā Smoke said with his voice rough and full of bloodlust. āI hate that she still thinks everything thatās been done to her is her fault. I hate that sheās been kneelinā for two days straight, begginā for forgiveness for beinā born with curves and a mind of her own.ā
Stack watched him, that rare flicker of seriousness surfacing. āYou ever seen us both look at a woman the same way before?ā
Smoke shook his head once.
āMe neither,ā Stack said. āBut sheās different. Real different.ā
A long silence passed and Stack cleared his throat before he adjusted his belt with a grimace. āThinkinā about her too long gets meā¦ restless.ā
Smoke shot him a glare. āControl yourself, nigga.ā
Stack grinned and raised an eyebrow, unbothered. āIāll try. But you better try too.ā
Smoke said nothing more as he turned and walked down the hallway, every muscle in his body tensed like a storm ready to break. He needed to fuck this tension out or drop a couple bodies. And since the only woman that had his attention right now was a virgin pure as snow on Christmas Day, the only other option was to turn this sacred land into a blood soaked battlefield.
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Everyone go blame @theethighpriestess for giving me coochie blue balls and taking it out on yāall in this chapter.
