#I’m not even religious. but there a few songs with religious intent

[s-ccaam-era-crepe]

sometimes take it back by bug hunter plays and you just have to sit there bc if you do anything you’ll cry

[jinxificada]

thinking about... meeting jinx in a convent!au

jinx wasn’t the only one of her kind, but she might be the worst of them all.

it was a challenge for the nuns to control jinx since the moment she stepped in the convent. having been left alone at the most important age for a developing teenager wasn’t easy for her either, and even though she was hard to deal with, everyone loved her deeply.

the institution jinx lived at since 13 was a catholic boarding school, full with young girls sent by their religious parents hoping they’ll learn how to live by god’s rules. though, just like jinx, there were a few others that were simply abandoned.

it wasn’t perfect, but it worked. most of the girls behaved just fine. but oh god, was it hard to get jinx to respect authorities.

to get her out of the bed at 6am, make sure she doesn’t skip breakfast and make sure she actually attended her morning classes… it drove them crazy. not to mention her behavior in places she should be sitting down and listening in silence.

jinx was difficult, but only because she craved freedom. she was born to explore, learn, invent and make things blow up. hey! at least she was the best in chemistry.

even after celebrating her 18 years, she stayed. jinx surprised herself with the decision, but it was actually very simple. she loved it.

she loved being surrounded by [mostly] women. she loved having a routine to break. she loved innocently messing with these people. and she definitely loved feeling loved by them.

you, on the other hand, were raised in a catholic family. growing up you never questioned much your own beliefs, content with being part of such a dedicated community. you were observant, attentive. the question started flooding into your mind. why does everyone else seem so happy being a christian, and i’m just here?

so joining a convent was only logical for you, and you were encouraged by your family and friends.

you arrived with a nervous, shy demeanor. you took your vows successfully and perfectly adapted to the lifestyle, becoming a novitiate after six months.

yet again, the only difficulty there was jinx.

the blue haired girl took a liking to you the very moment she saw you. she approached you with a friendly, welcoming vibe you couldn’t (nor didn’t want to) reject. and the nuns thought maybe someone will finally guide jinx to the right path.

she brings a thrill to your life… a spark you’ve never felt before. she made it more complicated than it should be, particularly different than what you came looking for. but you didn’t have any intentions to cut her off.

having to make an extra effort to get up in the mornings was worth it if it meant you could still hang out until late hours in your room after she snuck in. getting shushed at mass was worth it if you could still feel her raspy voice hitting your ear saying silly jokes. taking another hour to finish your chores for the day wasn’t that bad if it meant messing around with her.

jinx made everything extra. and you liked it. to a certain point.

you didn’t expect it. the warmth in your ears, the knot in your belly, the chills in your spine, nor the trembling in your knees. it all came so gradually that when you finally noticed— it was too late.

you prayed harder, begging to be redeemed from this feeling.

though you still craved her. you simply couldn’t pull away from her lingering hugs. the way her hands roamed your back just felt so right. you couldn’t shut her up, listening to her nerdy rambles for hours like it was your favorite song.

you didn’t have it in you to cut her off completely. she practically had you wrapped around her fingers.

jinx’s mind worked a thousand miles per hour. always planning something, or just losing herself in a trace of thought. the girl barely had time to analyze herself. not to mention her lack of care for… anything.

so what if she purposely lowered the tone of her voice when she talked into your ear. what’s the matter if she chooses the most light pajamas she owns to visit your room late at night, cuddling you under your sheets. why is it anyone’s problem if she touches herself at the thought of you.

she knows what she wants, and hardly anything will stop her from getting you.

[kitten4sannie]

ᴛᴀꜱᴛᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴠᴇɴᴏᴍ

ꜰᴇᴀʀ ᴘʟᴀʏ/ꜰʟᴏɢɢɪɴɢ ➠ ʏᴜɴʜᴏ/ʏᴇᴏꜱᴀɴɢ

pairing: enemy emperor! yunho x empress! reader x scribe! yeosang

genre: historical au, smut

summary: you have another tension filled meeting with the stubborn man that wants nothing more than to conquer and own you. your new dedicated scribe records everything.

w.c: 4k

warnings: hard dom! yunho, bratty pillow princess! reader, bricked up witness! yeosang, monster cock alerttt, cnc, light mxm, exhibitionism/voyeurism, name calling/pet names, degradation, dirty talk (this man…he’s so nasty in this i’m not even sorry…), lots of manhandling, spanking/flogging, dacryphilia, half dressed kink idk, spit, hair grabbing, threesome elements, some cucky vibes, a little dash of praise, rough wall sex, creampie, yeosang licks everything up… AHEM, oral (receiving), fingering, cum eating, squirting

a/n: i was extremely high when i wrote this and i am down bad astronomically for yuyu and yeosang so yeah something religious happened to me during the writing process !! i mostly blame it on jackson wang bc that song is sooooo…. rfhhehwh it turns me into a rabid animal ngl anywaysss i hope you enjoy lovelies xx

Now Playing:

ᴄʀᴜᴇʟ ʙʏ ᴊᴀᴄᴋꜱᴏɴ ᴡᴀɴɢ

0:01 ❍─────── 3:14

Volume: ▁▂▃▄▅▆▇ 100%

ᴘʀᴇᴠ | ꜰꜰꜰ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ɴᴇxᴛ

As the empress of your country’s land, it’s always been up to you to partake in the anointed trivialities that required your royal attention. Aside from drawn out, traditional ceremonies to endless horse riding and archery lessons with a seasoned member of the congregation, you spent most of your time having meetings with your supposed suitors, having to listen to their boundless, self-important monologues about their days in battle, coming to know just how much knowledge they held in combat and war strategies, and fighting the urge to pull your hand away when they would hold onto it, pleading you with their eyes for your approval. It all bored you to tears. 

Though, there was a particular individual that you couldn’t seem to keep your mind off of, no matter how hard you tried. Jeong Yunho, an emperor from the land that bordered yours. A man from a bloodline that your family had gone to war with many times over the years. Despite that you were quite literally sleeping with the enemy, you couldn’t help yourself. You had never met anyone like him before. Instead of asking and pleading for your attention, time, and body, he simply took it. Took what he wanted from you without a care in the world. He wasn’t even bothered by that fact that your dear scribe still sat in the meeting room with you, hazily scribbling down everything that occurred and what was said, spilling bottles of ink onto his scrolls due to how flustered he was from witnessing the way Yunho forcefully conquered his dear empress with a domineering smirk plastered on his sweaty face, the panting emperor’s cock routinely disappearing underneath your disheveled ceremony garments and into your willing cunt. 

“Your Highness, Lord Jeong should be here any second now,” your fresh-faced scribe began from across the meeting room, setting up various sized brushes in a line, smoothing out a few creases he found embedded in the elongated sleeves of his ceremony robe. He suddenly looked up at you, concern present within his widened honey brown eyes. “Should I make more tea?” 

“That won’t be necessary, Yeosang, but your intention is very sweet, thank you,” you replied softly, making your way across the room in your heavy garbs, taking the time to run your fingers through your newest scribe’s hair, offering him a smile that made him drop one of his brushes. “Lord Jeong doesn’t drink much tea. He…prefers to get straight to business.” 

Yeosang’s smile dropped slightly when your hand left his hair, his eyes traveling your form as you sat on your knees in front of the meeting table, watching you take a sip from your steaming celadon cup and nod your head in approval of the flavor. “Have you considered his marriage requests? I’ve read some of the letters he’s sent to you…” The young scribe blushed suddenly, his eyes lowering to look at the blank spaces on his scrolls. “They’re quite intense. Does that sort of thing interest you?” 

You rested your chin inside the palm of your hand, your gold bracelets dangling from your wrist, squinting your eyes at Yeosang, your lips curling up ever so slightly. “It does, very much so. Lord Jeong is one of the most interesting men I’ve come across thus far…I’ve greatly considered his offers, despite him being the enemy.” 

Yeosang tilted his head, a few locks of his hair falling into his focused eyes. “If I may ask, your Highness…What’s stopping you from accepting?” 

You ran your finger around the rim of your celadon cup, looking at your reflection within the black tea, your smile fading. “I don’t want the excitement to end, Yeosang.” You looked back up at him, unable to keep yourself from smiling gently at his confused expression. “Marriage, as beautiful as it is, brings monotony, which brings contempt…” 

“Ahh, I see now,” Yeosang nodded slowly, giving you a sad smile back, feeling like he understood his empress a bit more in that moment. He squeezed his fingers around the intricately carved wooden brush inside his grasp.  “Your Highness, may I ask you a question?” 

Just as you were about to respond, the large, jewel-encrusted doors of your meeting room opened with a groan. A tall, handsome man dressed in an extravagant, hand-sewn traditional robe came strolling in like he owned the place, holding an expensive mahogany box within his large hands. 

“Oh, princess, I’ve brought you a present,” Yunho called out teasingly, walking up to the table. He acknowledged Yeosang’s presence with a nod, who bent over to bow. The confident emperor sat down across from you at the table, his eyes hooded, his lips quirked up perversely as if he was reminiscing about your previous meetings. “Hi. Did you miss me?” 

You rolled your eyes, pretending as if you didn’t care about the emperor’s arrival, despite your heart and core throbbing rhythmically from him simply sitting there across from you. “What did you bring me, Yunho?” 

“Something that’ll have your little scribe here pulling at his robes when I’m done using it on you…Maybe he’ll even spill his ink all over himself like your last one…” Yunho’s eyes shifted from Yeosang, who gulped, to you, who simply sipped on your tea, his long fingers rubbing along the smooth edges of the mahogany box. 

You tilted your head to the side, idly biting at the tip of your manicured nail. “Is that so? Well, get on with it. I’m a busy woman, as you know, and I don’t like when my time is being wasted with nonsense.” 

Yunho simply scoffed, shaking his head slightly, sitting there silently for a moment, the only sound in the room being Yeosang’s wet brush expertly sliding across the scroll and your nails tapping against your tea cup. 

All you registered was the sight of Yunho swiftly getting up onto his feet and heading in your direction, his feet thumping against the mat below. Before you even realized what was happening, you were laying face down on the table, watching your tea pool out onto the sleek wood, your intricately crafted tea cup now split in individual pieces. Yunho had you held down by the neck, his fingers closing around it, his warm body pressing against yours, able to feel his stiff cock against your ass, even through your thick robes. 

He chuckled at the gasp you let out, bringing his lips near your ear to purr huskily, “Am I still wasting your time, princess? Or is getting your little cunt all nice and wet for me something worthwhile?” Instead of letting you answer, Yunho simply reached past you, flipping the boxe’s lid open, bringing it closer for you to take a good look at its contents. Inside the box sat a hand-woven flog, the edges of it decorated with a silver finishing, making it glisten in the light. “Do you like your present? I got it made just for you.” He rubbed his cock along your ass, his free hand roaming over your upper thigh to the curve of your ass. “Can’t you see? I’m in love with you…” 

“Oh, please.” As you tried to get up, Yunho pushed his body weight down onto you, holding your wrists down with ease. “Do you really think I’m going to let you use your little toy on me in front of my innocent scribe, Yunho? Who do you think you are?” 

“I’m simply a man who’s head over heels for you, Y/N…Take some responsibility…” Yunho quickly reached past your neck and down to your chest to rip open your garments, tugging on them while you continued to resist until your bare body was revealed underneath the many layers.

Yeosang dipped his brush inside the bottle of ink with a shaky hand, his cheeks flushed, unsure if he should speak up, his eyes fixated on you, never having seen you in such an indecent state before. “Sh-should…I keep going, your Highness?” 

When Yunho forcefully bent you over his knee and pulled your disheveled robe up to reveal your ass, his large hands squeezing into it, you nodded your head weakly at Yeosang, feeling a bit dizzy from being treated in such a way with your lovely dedicated scribe watching on. “Please, don’t let us stop you from doing your job, Yeosang…you’re doing so well…”  

“Thank you, Your Highness…” Yeosang blushed from the praise, dipping his brush back into the ink, before pressing it to the scroll, thankful that his garments were thick enough to cover his stiffening length.

You weren’t able to reply to Yeosang when Yunho abruptly slammed his open palm against the curve of your ass, a moan leaving your lips instead of words. He smacked the other side of your ass to watch it bounce and groped along it, squeezing your sensitive flesh between his slender fingers. “That’s it…just look at that color…Wish you could see it, princess. Shall I add some pretty shades of purple and pink too? You’re my canvas, Y/N…I’m sure you’ll let me paint you with my cum next, right? Just like every time, yeah?” 

“Fuck off, Yunho,” you grumbled, attempting to climb out of his lap, throbbing at the feeling of him grabbing you by the waist and holding you still, knowing you couldn’t get away even if you tried. 

“You weren’t saying that last time, princess. You were begging me for more…” Yunho picked up the flog, running his fingers along the woven leather, before he cracked it in the air, making Yeosang and you jolt from the sudden loud noise, bringing joy to the emperor. “Take a deep breath for me, Y/N…” 

Just as you did so, Yunho brought the flog down onto your ass, watching the individual leather straps leave pretty red marks on your skin, groaning, “So pretty… you’re so pretty for me, princess…” and repeating the motion, lacking the proper self control to stop himself, even when you began to cry, his arm wrapped tightly around your middle. 

“F-fuck…! Stop!” You kicked your legs and thrashed around until you were able to wiggle out of his grasp, just barely making it over to Yeosang’s large scribing table, before Yunho slammed you down onto it, knocking over one of the ink bottles with his rough handling of you. 

“Crying just for me, princess? You’re making me so hard,” Yunho sighed into your ear, moving closer to your face to lick one of your tears away, his hot breath hitting your cheek, your ass stinging more when he grabbed it roughly, bolts of pleasure shooting into your core. 

 “You fucking asshole…” you choked out, about to pull yourself up when the emperor pinned your hands painfully behind your back, feeling his knee press in between your thighs. 

Yunho tugged more of your garments off without a care in the world, huffing and as he shoved his hand in between your thighs from behind, rubbing two fingers along your clothed cunt, before tearing it off with ease. “Ahh, that’s what I thought…You’re so wet for me, Y/N.” He looked to Yeosang, who was blushing wildly, still just sitting there and haphazardly recording the chaos that was occurring right next to him, knowing it wasn’t his place to interact in any way unless either of you allowed him to. Yunho continued to rub at your cunt, enjoying the noises you and your gushing slit were making. “Hey, scribe, make sure you make a note about how fucking soaked your empress gets from getting manhandled by an enemy emperor. That’s an important detail, isn’t it, princess?” 

You struggled underneath the man, starting to feel ink soaking into your expensive garments, some of it staining your cheek. “Yunho, get off of me, or so help me–” You suddenly found yourself gasping for air, having been flogged again, though this time some of the leather straps reached your cunt, feeling it sting pleasurably in between your trembling thighs. 

Yunho looked over to Yeosang, who had his fingers clenched around his brush, his free hand in between his clenching thighs. “Hey, Yeosang, do you know why the previous scribe quit?” When he shook his head, Yunho grinned, admiring the pattern of bruises he left on your ass, running his fingers lightly over them. “He couldn’t handle watching his beloved empress cry and take what I so graciously gave her, but you can, can’t you, Yeosang?” 

He bit his bottom lip, feeling conflicted, not sure if he should nod or not. He instead looked to you, his eyebrows knitted together with concern. “Your Highness…” Yeosang whispered softly, hesitantly placing one hand on top of yours, holding it tightly. 

You looked up at him, smiling gently, blowing a bit of hair out of your hazy eyes, reaching your other hand over to rub the top of his knuckles. “It’s okay, Yeosang…I want this…” 

Yunho grabbed you by the hair, forcefully lifting up your head so that he could get a good look at you, practically drooling at this point, his cock throbbing against your backside. “Say that again…Let me hear it…” 

You turned your head to look at him, smiling sweetly, before you pursed your lips and sent a wad of spit onto his cheek, satisfied with the way it dripped down along his tightening jaw. “If you hurry up and fuck me instead of continuing on with this bullshit, I’ll think about it.” 

Turned on beyond measure, Yunho grabbed your own jaw, forcing it open so that he could send a wad of spit straight down your throat, chuckling darkly at the moan that escaped your parted lips. “This is why you’re my favorite, princess. You’re such a bratty little thing, just aching to be put in your place, huh? You want me to do that? Fuck you into submission in front of your sweet little scribe? Just say the word….” 

This time around, Yunho could see the desperation on your flushed face, your lips forming a pout. “Please…” you whined, surprising yourself and the two men watching you with your sudden act of obedience. 

“Oh my god, that’s fucking it right there…” Yunho groaned, pulling at the sash wrapped securely around his slim waist and pulling it loose, so that he could gain access to his undergarments, quickly tugging his stiff, leaking cock out. “Do you draw portraits too, scribe? This slut’s pretty face should be kept in the history books…” 

Yeosang nervously shook his head, starting to spread the ink across his scroll from watching the way Yunho pushed you up against the wall, so close to Yeosang that his garments spilled into his lap, forcefully wrapping your legs around his waist, just as he fully sheathed himself inside you, your soaked panties pushed to the side.

“No? That’s too bad…Well, at least jot down the fact that I conquer your Highness’s tight little cunt every time I give her a visit…” Yunho huffed out, smiling at you with his canines showing, his hands cemented tightly around your bare waist, bringing himself down to one of your tits to suck it into his open mouth. 

“God, will you just–aaah–shut the fuck up and…nnngh…fuck me properly?” you asked in between pants, barely able to take the emperor’s thick, oversized cock without feeling like you were going to break, your nails digging into his straining upper back through his garments, one side of his robe starting to drape off one of his broad shoulders. 

“Yeah? You want it rough just like every other time, don’t you, whore?” Yunho groaned against your skin, dragging his tongue up over your spit-laced tit to attack your neck with his lips and teeth, leaving your skin in various shades of red and purple. “Write this down too, scribe. The people should know that this pretty princess can’t cum unless she has a horsecock ramming into her cunt. Isn’t that right, Your Highness?”  

You couldn’t even speak at this point, from the way Yunho lifted one leg up onto the scribe table, using the leverage to fuck into you as deep and hard as he could, about to cream yourself from the way he kept you pinned down, just using you like a doll made for his pleasure. 

Now almost directly underneath his empress and the enemy emperor’s rapidly joining bodies, Yeosang couldn’t help but look up, fixated on the way your cunt spread open each time Yunho slammed himself inside your clenching hole, feeling a few drops of your mixed arousal drip down onto his face and roll down his warm cheek. He gingerly opened his mouth and held his tongue out, now pressing his brush directly into the soaked paper, leaning his back against the wall behind him, his hand beginning to rub at his pre-cum soaked cock that was still trapped underneath his heavy garments. 

“God, you’re so fucking wet, princess…I think I might…slip out…” Yunho sighed heavily against your ear, roughly nibbling it with the aid of one of his canine teeth, slowly sliding his cock out of you and slapping his heavy cock against your abdomen, smearing his pre cum onto your skin. 

The feeling of being completely empty just as you were about to cum almost sent you into a full-blown rage, practically ready to start another war with Yunho if he didn’t stick his cock back inside you. You abruptly grabbed him by the hair, clutching a tuft of his damp icy blond locks, leaning in so that your lips ghosted his. “Fuck me, you goddamn bastard. Make me cum.” 

This time Yunho didn’t play any games, simply rubbing his cockhead back and forth over your throbbing clit just to make you shudder against him, before he slipped back inside, immediately pounding himself into you, essentially leaving you breathless. “Look at you just taking it, princess… I know it’s big…You’re doing so well for me…taking it so good, princess…I’m so proud…” 

The sudden bout of praise coming from the enemy in such a sickly sweet tone, especially while he began to pump hot loads of cum into you, sent you barreling over the edge, not doing your dear scribe any favors when you began to babble nonsensically, tears beginning to fall from your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure taking over your body. 

“Yeahhh, take it, princess…I’m gonna knock you up so you have to marry me.” Yunho chuckled darkly, his fingers squeezing into your hips, pressing a rough kiss to your lips, biting at your bottom lip before he pulled away. 

“You’re disgusting,” you huffed, grimacing at him, despite the fact that your thighs were still trembling. 

“Don’t say that, princess,” Yunho whined, leaning his forehead against yours, slowly pulling out inch by inch. “You know how hard that makes me…” He looked down to Yeosang, who was breathing heavily underneath the both of you, his mouth agape, splashes of arousal decorating his pretty, flushed face and damp hair. “Hey, scribe, you’ve been a good boy just sitting here and watching the whole time. You want a taste of your Highness’s used cunt?” 

Feeling sufficiently dizzy, Yeosang looked to you for approval, feeling his cock pulse at your slow dazed nod, bringing his hands up to your thighs to caress them, bringing his lips up to kiss and lick at the wetness around your cunt with a gentleness that would’ve had you collapsing if your legs weren’t securely hooked over Yunho’s shoulders. 

“Make sure you get it all…” Yunho murmured softly, completely pulling out of you with a wet, shlick sound, dribbles of his cum beginning to gush out of your gaping hole, allowing Yeosang to collect it inside his drooling mouth. Yunho brought a free hand to Yeosang’s head, holding him against your cunt, finding great joy in the desperate, sloppy manner in which he ate you out, like a delirious, thirsty man that had just found a hidden oasis. 

It was when Yeosang slipped his slender fingers deep inside your pulsing cunt, his hot mouth closed around your sensitive clit, that you began to whine and whimper, one arm hooked around Yunho’s neck for support, your free hand going down to grab onto Yeosang’s hair when Yunho let go, gazing down to find him already looking up at you with half closed eyes. 

“It’s so good, you’re so good for me, Yeosang, I’m going to…oh my god…”  

Yeosang clutched one side of your bruised ass with one hand, curling three of his fingers inside you and rubbing them against your clenching walls, lapping at your clit, his thighs closing together, his cheeks bright red from the praise. 

All the while, Yunho simply watched on, his chest swelling with pride, occasionally leaving kisses and licks on your straining, marked-up neck. “Cum for him, will you, princess? Won’t you soak his pretty face with your squirt?” 

Having your lovely scribe in between your legs, eating your cunt like it was his assigned job to do so, having your sworn enemy pressing his heated, sweaty body against yours, more filthy words leaving his lips for your shared pleasure was all far too much. “Yeosang…!” 

Yeosang found himself being covered in a warm spray of liquid, tasting your squirt on his tongue, closing his eyes for a moment to bask in the pleasure of it all, opening them back up just in time for you to pull him into your arms, your bare body against his half-dressed one. “Your Highness…” 

“I didn’t mean to do such a dirty thing to you, Yeosang, I’m so sorry…” You used your sleeves to wipe some of the wetness away from his face, blushing more than you had during the whole night. 

“Your Highness…” he repeated, softer this time, giving you a shy smile, pulling his robe apart until you could see what he had done to himself. 

Your eyes widened at the milky stains of cum splattered across the insides of his ceremonial garments, looking back up into his eyes, returning his shy smile. “If I had known you had such an affinity for me, I wouldn’t have looked for suitors this long. Who needs them when I have you?” 

Yeosang reached up to hold his heated cheeks, dumbfounded by the string of events, unable to believe that his beloved empress could feel such a way about him. “It’d be an honor to always be by your side…”

You giggled, reaching up to place a hand over his, your thumb brushing over his pretty birthmark. 

Yunho cleared his throat, running his fingers through his sweaty hair, his robe already wrapped ornately around his body, looking like he did when he first entered the meeting room, besides the afterglow he was now sporting. “I’d love to stay here longer and experience this beautiful moment with you both, but my job here is done.” He patted both of your heads, as if he were a proud father, before heading taking a few elegant strides towards the door. Before he left, he turned back to look at you, his tongue poking into one of his canine teeth, giving you a shit-eating smirk. “Until next time, princess.” 

“There isn’t going to be a next time,” you muttered to yourself, rolling your eyes, your arms still around Yeosang, watching your smug enemy leave the room with a soft chuckle. 

Yeosang chuckled softly, reaching up to run his fingers through your hair, feeling confident enough to share his thoughts with you. “Now, let’s not kid ourselves, Your Highness.” 

“Heyyy,” you whined, giving him a pout, watching him pick up his drying brush up from the table. “Don’t you dare write that down.” When he motioned to dip his brush into the spilled ink, you hugged onto him from the side. “Yeosangggg, I’m still your empress!”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you rested your chin on his shoulder. “By the way, what was that question you wanted to ask me?”

Yeosang gulped, studying the ink-stained table below for a second, before turning his head to look at you, your faces just centimeters away from one another. “Will you replace me one day, Your Highness?”

Your eyes widened slightly, taking in your scribe’s vulnerability, wanting to return the same energy to him, as he was deserving of it. “Never, Yeosang. You’re here to stay.”

Yeosang blushed fervently, dropping the brush back down to hug you into his arms, nuzzling your neck gently, his hair tickling your skin, about to melt inside his empress’s grasp. “Promise?” 

You wrapped your arms tighter around him, pressing your lips to his cheek, waiting for him to look back into your eyes to whisper, “Promise.”

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© kitten4sannie, 2024.

[hqbaby]

seven — i have a secret

mess it up — gojo x reader & sukuna x reader

⁀➴ when i told you i’m fine, you were lied to. when the love of your life falls for someone else, you decide to move on—by pretending to date your best friend, the campus fuckboy.

previous — masterlist — next

word count. 2k content. profanity, FEELINGS FEELINGS FEELINGS

You met Satoru by chance. Or at least that was what you thought until he confessed three months into your relationship that he’d devised the whole thing.

“You’re not serious,” you said, gaping at your boyfriend. “You couldn’t have planned that.”

The two of you were sitting in his car, seats reclined backwards as you shared a bag of fries and passed a milkshake between one another. The speakers were blaring a hodgepodge playlist the two of you had made, one you’d both added all your favorite songs to with no rhyme or reason that resulted in an eccentric mix of ‘90s rock, rap, and—courtesy of Satoru—Britney Spears’ entire discography.

Things were so much simpler then. Better.

“I planned it all!” he told you, laughing as you continued to stare at him in bewilderment. “I had a massive crush on you, what else was I supposed to do?”

“I dunno,” you gestured frantically, “maybe talk to me like a normal person?”

He snorted. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“You wouldn’t have given me the time of day!”

You gasped in faux shock. “I totally would’ve!”

He pointed the fry he was holding at you in wild accusation. “You turned down everyone who asked you out,” he said, all matter-of-factly. “Desperate times call for desperate measures, princess.”

You shook your head, grinning now as your boyfriend stuffed a handful of fries in his mouth. He’s such a boy, you thought.

“Let me get this straight,” you said as you sat up, placing your hands on your lap. “You took a class that isn’t even in your curriculum, purposely bumped into me after a game, proceeded to tutor me for a whole month just to ask me out?”

He shrugged, beaming proudly at his apparent job well-done. “What can I say? I’m a mastermind.”

You tossed a fry at him as you laughed. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I believe ‘amazing’ is the right term,” he said, sitting up now too. He leaned in towards you and brushed a strand of hair from your eye. Quietly, he added, “And you were totally worth it.”

His lips met yours and you swore that if you died right then and there, you’d have died happy.

What a shame it all had to end.

Your neighborhood is safe. Well, that’s what you tell yourself when you go rogue—against all of Maki and Nobara’s insistence and all your empty promises—and decide to go on a run in the dead of night.

You don’t usually take this kind of risk, resorting to early morning jogs before class or training, but you couldn’t sleep anyway and the tournament is coming up soon. You’ve never been one to half-ass anything, so you have no intentions of half-assing this. Safety be damned. You’ll run if you want to run.

The streets are still as you make your way around the block. You circle the park, the cluster of houses, the apartment buildings. There’s a convenience store that’s still open—you wonder what it’s like to work there, to tend to an empty shop. Maybe it isn’t so bad a life. Maybe you wouldn’t mind winding down in your old age and owning a 24/7 convenience store. Maybe you’ll have grandchildren by then, but that would require children and you don’t necessarily want to think about that just yet.

You distract yourself with the different sights, the mindless thoughts, the grocery list of things you need to buy the next day—anything to not think about the fact that you’re absolutely exhausted and could pass out at any point in your run.

You haven’t slept much since that brief reprieve afforded by Sukuna’s company a few days ago. You’ve gone to classes, dutifully attended meetings for your organizations, religiously beat your body into perfection in training. At this point, you’re just running on auto-pilot.

You wonder when this will ever end.

You circle back to the convenience store and your foot—so tired, so susceptible to minor inconveniences now—catches on a stone on the ground. At least you have enough foresight to land your ass.

It’s then that everything crashes down on you. You can do nothing now but sit on the ground and wearily massage your legs as you wait for the last bit of strength to return to you, just enough to make you get up and walk home. You just sit there, on the pavement of a dark street, fully aware that it’s probably not a good idea but also fully aware that you don’t have it in yourself to care.

You pull your phone out of your pocket. There’s a text from Maki asking if you placed the orders for the shirts you’re selling at the children’s rights fundraiser. Right. You forgot to do that. There’s a text from Kento asking if you have notes from that one class the two of you share. An email from Yuki with the details of the tournament. A meme from Sukuna, an image of a clown with the accompanying message “u.”

Then there’s the text you’ve been avoiding.

satoru <3 : can we talk sometime?

You should really change his contact name.

And it’s like the universe hears you. You don’t know if you’ve ever fully bought into the whole “the universe is listening” thing, but you might just become a full-fledged believer, because as soon as you look up from your phone, you find a figure walking through the shadows towards you.

A random straggler maybe? A murder with an axe? One of those zombies that keep chasing you in your dreams?

You know who it is as soon as the first bit of light from the dying street lamp hits his hair.

Satoru.

He’s walking with his hands in his pockets, head hung low like he’s tired or thinking or both. It takes him a while to even register your presence. It’s only after you put your phone away that he looks up, alerted by the slight movement.

His eyes meet yours. Blue piercing straight into you, like he can see your thoughts. Like he can read your mind. You always suspected he could.

“Hi,” he says.

He’s standing a few feet away from you, close enough to take in your weakened form but far enough to run away if you decide to lunge forward and strangle him for whatever reason.

You lift your hand, a tiny wave. “Hey.”

His eyes scan your body, already checking to see what’s happened. He notices your legs spread out on the pavement, the bags under your eyes. You look okay, though, he thinks. Not in any immediate distress.

“What are you doing here?” he asks. His voice is unsure, afraid of entering the realm of familiarity, uncertain if you want him there.

You shrug, “Oh, you know. Just seeing the sights.”

He nods. “Right.”

“You wanna sit with me?”

The question isn’t so much said as it just flies out of you. A natural thing, to pose this question. Akin to asking about the weather, akin to how you used to tell him you loved him. Exactly what was expected, exactly what it should have been.

His answer is just as expected too. “Sure.”

Satoru steps closer and crouches down to sit in front of you. He sits cross-legged, placing his hands on his knees as he looks around hesitantly.

“It’s really late,” he says.

“I know.”

“It gets dodgy here at night.”

“I know.”

“You shouldn’t be out by yourself.”

You crack a smile at that. “I’m not alone now, am I?”

Satoru looks at you incredulously before smiling too. “Maki is so gonna kill you if she hears about this.”

“Then don’t fucking snitch,” you warn him. Your words are harsh, but your tone is light. Easy. “I’m already in hot water with her.”

“What did you do?” he asks. He relaxes a little, placing his hands behind him and leaning back. “Did you lose her sweater again?”

You roll your eyes. “That was one time.”

“Nuh-uh.” He shakes his head. “I remember at least four times you came to me all panicked because you didn’t know where it was.”

“To be fair, half of those times I was just looking for an excuse to talk to you.”

He raises a brow. “You’re kidding.”

“Not,” you tell him. “You’re not the only one who made shit up to talk to their crush.”

The two of you laugh, remembering that horrifying period of time before you got together and routinely embarrassed yourselves for one another. 

You know this whole thing, laughing on the street with the boy you broke up with less than a month ago, should feel wrong, at the very least awkward. But it doesn’t. When you look at Satoru, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiles, you can’t help but remember just how much he meant to you. Maybe just how much he’ll always mean to you.

Satoru shuffles closer and says in a low conspiratorial tone, “I have a secret.”

You pretend to look around, check to see if anyone is listening. Then, you ask him, “What?”

He moves closer until his face is just inches away from yours. And he says the words you already knew he was going to say.

“I miss you.”

You let out a breath.

“I miss you too.”

You both lean forward, close enough to feel his breath on your lips, but not enough to touch his. His hand reaches for yours and squeezes it, holds it to his chest. There’s comfort to his touch, a familiar warmth. One that you’ve loved for a while now.

“‘Toru,” you say quietly.

“Yeah?”

You wonder if he can hear your heart pounding through your chest. You suspect that you can hear his.

“We can’t do this.”

His eyes flicker to your lips. You can almost read his mind. Why can’t we?

But he pulls back and so do you. He lets go of your hand, nodding as he takes his warmth away with him. There’s disappointment in his expression, but also a deep understanding. A deep knowledge that this isn’t right. You can’t do this.

You wring your hands and turn your gaze to a receipt on the ground. It lists a very specific assortment of things: a pack of cigarettes, a bottle of water, some lube, and a teddy bear. It must be Valentine’s Day somewhere.

“You’re good, right?” you find yourself asking. “With… Kimi.”

Satoru hums. He’s avoiding your eyes too, lost his footing in this whole interaction just like you. “Yeah, we’re good,” he says, words leaving a pit in your stomach that you try to ignore. “And you’re good with him?”

There’s a venom in the way he says the last word. As if he means to say, you’re good with him—him of all people. The scourge of the earth, that’s probably all Satoru can think about when he even considers the idea of Sukuna.

You nod. “We’re good too.”

Satoru’s eyes search yours and you do your best to hide the fact that you’re lying. You already know what he wants to see. He wants to see that you’re miserable without him.

That you made a mistake.

He doesn’t find what he’s looking for, so he just clears his throat, looks away, and says, “Good.”

You pull your legs up to your chest and wrap your arms around them. Suddenly, this whole thing feels like the kind of wrong it always was.

“You should go,” you say.

Satoru shakes his head, standing up and dragging you up with him. “I’m taking you home.”

“Satoru, it’s fine—”

But he won’t hear it. He’s already holding your hand and pulling you in the direction of your apartment building. As much as you want to, you don’t necessarily have the strength to argue with him, so you let him lead the way, one painful step after another.

When you get to the front of the building, Satoru drops your hand and motions for you to head inside. “Get some sleep.”

You turn to the door, then you hesitate, looking back at him. “Satoru.”

“Yeah?” His voice is soft, like he’s worried it might scare you away.

“I’m sorry,” you say.

His eyes widen just a bit as he tilts his head. “For what?”

You swallow. “For everything.”

You don’t expect him to smile, but he does. It’s all gentle and sweet. It’s exactly the way he’s always looked at you. The way he probably always will.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, princess,” he says. “It’s just the way things are.”

notes. if there’s one thing i know about me when i’m writing my love triangle fics, it’s that i refuse to let either side go down without a fight 😌

ALSO FINAL REMINDER THAT THIS SERIES HAS SMUT, so minors sincerely fuck off please, i'm not responsible for what you consume online.

[pkg4mumtown]

Without Fear

#1 in my Cowboy 9-1-1 Series

Pairing: Bobby Nash x Male!reader

Rating: Teen

Summary: You’re an LAPD Mounted Officer posted at LA Pride when the LAFD is called in for a patient. You expect the firefighters to be hot, but this Captain is fine.

Content Warnings: Male reader, reader is an LAPD Mounted Officer, Closeted Character, hard flirting on our boy Bobby, Bobby is having a major crisis, Unrequited Crush, Bisexual Evan "Buck" Buckley, Minor Evan "Buck" Buckley/Tommy Kinard, Pride Parades, drink water kids, Horses, Horseback Riding, not actually unrequited crush, POV First Person, no y/n, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Buck meddling in Bobby’s business, Bobby has religious trauma, Bisexual Bobby Nash

A/N: For all intents and purposes, Bathena did not happen in this AU. (I love them but…this one is for my boys). Very minor BuckTommy mentioned. We need some Bobby love up in here as of late. 😭

I didn’t name the fic after Dermot Kennedy’s Without Fear, but it’s a pretty song and I do recommend a listen.

I’ll open this Cowboy series up to requests here on Tumblr. Just know I’m busy and may not get to it in a timely manner. I also only really write for the older characters, so Bobby, Owen, Ty, maybe some Judd, and you could twist my arm for Tommy. If any requests are for reader fics, know they will be gender neutral or male readers.

Also available on AO3

Cowboy 9-1-1 Masterlist and Request Details

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

“Hi, uh, I’m at LA Pride and this guy just—folded like a lawn chair? Wait—uh—hey, what are your pronouns?”

“Is the person conscious?”

“Kind of? Um—they’re, like, super sweaty and having a seriously bad time.”

-

“Available units at LA Pride in the Park, requesting crowd control for on-site medical staff. Possible heatstroke and head trauma, center of the roundabout bridge. LAFD is en route.”

“R-06-E is on-site, ETA is five minutes. Code 3,” I answered into my radio.

My partner and I turned our horses around in the direction dispatch had communicated and made our way through the dense crowd. Thankfully, even inebriated, people had enough sense to move out of the way of the two massive horses. Once we broke through a denser portion of the crowd, we were able to safely speed up and made it to the scene just as the medical team from across the park arrived in a cart.

“Back up, back up!” We ordered, meandering through the crowd as they made room.

My partner took the entrance on one side of the circle while I took the other. The sun was beating down relentlessly on my exposed arms, lucky that our uniforms consisted of wide brimmed Stetson hats to protect our faces and necks.

“Keep moving, everyone. We need to make room for LAFD,” I announced.

Giggles erupted in the crowd at the mention of the LAFD.

“I know we want to see some hot firefighters, y’all, believe me—I need one of them, too—but they need room to work!” That got a few laughs and finally the crowd started to move back and lighten up as they lost interest, “Isaac Dunbar is playing in twenty minutes, that way! Go have a drink for me! Literally be anywhere else! Thank you!”

I finally caught sight of a group of uniformed LAFD members making their way through the crowd with a gurney in tow. My eyes landed on two of them first, one with brown curly hair and a well-built upper body, an intriguing mark on his left eyebrow. The other was more lithe and athletic, black hair, and playfully shoved the bulkier firefighter.

“Man, Eddie, I told Tommy I wanted to come to Pride this year and he said it’s an awful experience.”

“Tommy is hardly the party type, I can see why,” the dark-haired firefighter, Eddie responded.

“He’s right, Buck, it’s just drunk people and heatstroke for a day,” a woman with a shaved head commented, as her and another paramedic crouched near the patient.

“Yea, but it’d be my first one,” Buck punched his own palm, helping with crowd control while his coworkers took over for the medical team.

Aww, a baby gay, I thought to myself.

Buck caught me watching him during the interaction, finally noticing two officers on horseback.

“Woah—uhm,” he stumbled over his feet, seeing a horse in his face, looking from my hat down to my horse. “Uhm, m-my boyfriend is a helicopter—p-pilot.”

I laughed, the dry breeze blowing my fake, rainbow colored lei, “Don’t worry, honey, I like ‘em older anyway.”

“Buck, with our jobs, you’d feel too responsible to not be taking care of every person you met,” an older man spoke up, shaking his head at the young firefighter.

“Y-yea I guess, Cap,” he shrugged. Buck spared me another glance, “Cap’s single,” he pointed a thumb in the direction of the Captain, watching on as his people worked diligently with the patient.

The Captain’s graying-brown hair was closely cropped to his head, body broad and strong, with large hands resting on his hips. He spoke easily with his team, keeping them in order, while speaking calmly to the patient and their friends. He looked up as he saw Buck talking to me, furrowing his brow and walking over; trusting his paramedics to address the patient alone.

“Is there a problem here?”

“Oh—uh n-no, Cap! All good! Oh, Eddie needs a hand—”

Buck trotted off, faking being called away. The sudden movement made my horse take a few steps, horseshoes clanking on the concrete.

“Just small talk, Captain,” I gave him my best award-winning smile, sitting up straighter in my saddle.

He gave me a friendly, awkward smile and nodded his head as he started to turn away.

“I didn’t know they made fire captains who looked like you,” I spoke up before he could turn all the way around, his head turning back to look at me as I licked over my bottom lip. “Just when I thought I’d seen the prettiest eyes around—I think you have ‘em beat.”

The Captain’s mouth was agape, opening and closing like he was trying to catch his words, eyes going wide as he tried to keep a lid on the situation and give orders to his team. I leaned forward a little, giving him a teasing smile.

Ever the professional, he coughed awkwardly, his cheeks turning pink as he stammered out a response and tried to focus on his team.

“Uh—Alright, Hen, make sure we’ve got that patient stabilized...uh, Chimney, the backboard...” His words grew slower, more disjointed as he spoke without looking away from my expression.

With the patient, Hen and Chimney looked up with twin puzzled expressions as they still worked on the patient’s head and pushed fluids. The entire team looked at one another and back at their Captain, snorting and snickering over the flush that crept up the older man’s neck.

I chuckled, letting the Captain get back to his duties. Once the patient was loaded up on the gurney, they started taking the patient toward the trucks outside the park.

The Captain hung back, watching them walk off one by one. He took a step forward before turning back toward me.

“Can I—uh—pet?” he pointed toward the horse’s neck.

“Sure, honey,” I smirked. “You can pet the horse, too, if you’d like.”

His face flushed red, and if I hadn’t watched it happen in real time, I would have suspected he’d been sunburned in the short time he’d been outside. The Captain cleared his throat patting the side of the horse’s neck affectionately with a fond smile.

“I grew up in Minnesota,” he explained without me asking. “Not a ton of opportunities to visit farm animals out here,” he continued petting the horse.

“Feel free to drop by the stables any time,” I smirked. “It’s the station by Griffith Park.”

Giving the horse one last pat, he extended his hand, “Captain Nash.”

I took his hand, responding in kind, “Nice meeting you.”

Captain Nash turned and followed his team out, the crowd having dispersed by now for the most part. There were still some people gathered around, but it was nowhere near as bad as before the LAFD had arrived.

Turning my horse, I scanned the ground to make sure the patient’s belongings had been taken care of, when I noticed something black wedged near the edge of the concrete where the grass met it. It was half covered by a cheaply made fan with the Pride flag printed on it, probably belonging to the patient or their friends. I slid down from the saddle, flipping the reins over and holding on to them to keep a firm hold of my horse.

I dropped into a squat, picking up the pouch and standing back up. It was a durable nylon pouch, fairly nondescript. Standing, I unzipped it and found medical sheers and other sealed instruments. A penlight floated around inside, as well, brushing against a white tag on the inside of the bag.

“118” was written in marker on the tag.

Someone was going to miss this.

I looked in the direction the LAFD left in, lost in the crowd now. I climbed back into my saddle, seeing over the crowd and watching the trucks take off with sirens blaring. My lips tugged into a grin as I tucked the pouch away into one of my saddlebags and met back up with my partner.

-

I pulled up to the curb outside the 118 firehouse, double checking both the address I found and the number hung outside. I glanced into the garage housing the fire apparatuses, seeing all of the trucks present and crossing my fingers that I had counted their shifts right and that the correct shift was on duty.

I grabbed the pouch from my passenger seat, jumping out of the large truck we used to haul the horse trailers, and rounding the trailer I was pulling after an event. I smoothed out my black LAPD mounted unit button up, tucking it more firmly into my worn jeans that covered well-loved western-style work boots. I fixed the Stetson on my head, walking into the engine bay while holding a big breath.

As soon as I was inside, I took my hat off and smiled when I saw some familiar faces from the call. Casually writing on a clipboard as he roamed the floor was none other than Captain Nash while the other firefighters performed their various duties.

“Someone left their gear behind,” I stated, my voice echoing a little in the bay as I held the pouch up.

Captain Nash looked up, recognition settling on his face as I slowly made my way through the bay floor.

“Didn’t know if you made house calls, Captain,” I spoke, striding up to him, “or if I had to do some research and track you down. Figured this was easier.”

He met me halfway, taking the pouch and testing the weight in his hand.

“Thank you, Officer, one of my paramedics must have dropped it.”

“No problem, I was just heading back to the station,” I fiddled with the brim of my hat before finally biting the bullet. Before I could talk myself out of it, I was speaking, “Actually, I was wondering if I could get your number?”

“—uh—,” Captain Nash started but I continued.

“A-and maybe ask you out?”

“Oh—I’m not—um—,” he clutched his clipboard close to his chest like a shield, mouth opening and closing like he couldn’t find the words.

“Shit, I’m so sorry. That firefighter—um—Buck, I think, said you were single. I didn’t mean to make it weird or anything.”

“Oh, I-I am, I just…” he winced, trailing off.

“You’re straight,” I finished, thoroughly mortified, already walking backwards to run out of the firehouse without drawing too much attention to myself. “I’m so sorry, Captain Nash, really, jeez—uh—”

I raised my hat instead of continuing, finally crossing the threshold outside and putting it back on my head. I was speed-walking back to the driver’s side of the truck, letting my elbows rest on the warm metal with my fists propping my head up by my forehead as I let the embarrassment ebb away.

“Hey! Wait up!” I heard a voice belonging to the young firefighter from before.

“Bro,” I turned my head slightly to look at his wide frame but my head still lay on my fists.

“What? How’d it go?”

“You lied to me!”

“No I didn’t! He is single, I swear!”

“Maybe, but he’s straight as hell.”

“Oh, I—I didn’t know. You guys looked like you were flirting before we left.”

“Apparently, that was me just embarrassing myself because I’m mortified.”

“I-I’ll talk to him,” Buck crossed his arms over his chest, leaning his shoulder against the trailer only for my horse to stomp, scaring the firefighter into a stiff standing position.

“Please don’t.”

“Come on. It’s probably a misunderstanding.”

“I gotta go,” I finally sighed, pushing away from the truck to make room to open the door.

“Hey, can I get your number, at least? Maybe you can hang out with my boyfriend and I some time?”

Groaning, I stuffed my hand into my pocket, “You’re lucky you’re cute. Your boyfriend better be eye candy, too.”

Buck’s face flushed red as he accepted my phone with the screen unlocked, “He is,” he smirked at the phone sheepishly as he typed. Buck handed me my phone shortly after.

“I’ll see you around, man.”

“Yea, don’t be a stranger.”

“Tempting,” I muttered as I got in the truck.

I waited until Buck was safely back on the sidewalk before pulling away from the curb and heading back toward my station.

-

Knock. Knock.

“Yes, Buck?” Bobby answered without looking up from his mountain of paperwork, thin-framed glasses perched on his nose.

“Uh—I saw that—uh—that cop from Pride was here,” Buck smiled, hands clasping together nervously.

“Mhm,” Bobby hummed, taking the glasses off his face, setting them down and scrubbing his face for a moment. “You’re in a relationship, Buck.”

“What?” Buck was bewildered for a split second, “Oh—no—not for me. I was just wondering why he left so fast without saying ‘bye’,” Buck sat in the seat across from Bobby, slouching deep into the chair.

“Probably busy,” Bobby shrugged, sighing. “Did you tell him I was single?”

“…Yea,” Buck answered slowly.

“Why would you do that, Buck?” Bobby groaned.

“Well, you are…”

“Yes, okay, but I’m not…you know…”

Buck tilted his head, “It looked like you two were flirting after I walked away.”

“N-no, well...” Bobby trailed off before doubling back down. “No, that was all him,” Bobby didn’t even sound all that convinced to himself.

“Oh,” Buck licked his lips, thinking about how to approach this carefully. He spoke softly, “I’m sorry if me telling him you were single made you uncomfortable. I—I saw the way you looked at him after I walked away and it seemed like I had made the right call for once.”

Bobby was silent, lost in thought.

“But, hey, maybe I misread it,” he added gently. “Or, maybe you did like him. And if you did, Bobby, that’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with that—”

“—I know there’s nothing wrong with that, Buck,” Bobby practically snapped, but not harshly, just tightly.

Buck nodded in understanding, “You should talk to him. Even if it’s just to clear the air and tell him that one of your idiot firefighters made a mistake. Who knows? Maybe you’ll feel differently without a crowd watching you.”

Bobby was silent again, rubbing his forehead. His hands slid down his face before coming to rest under his chin, “I thought I was supposed to be the dad, here? When did you get so wise?”

Buck laughed softly, “I learned from the best. From you.” He thought for a second before pursing his lips and leaning forward until his elbows were on Bobby’s desk. “Well, I also told Eddie—when Tommy and I were on our first date—that we were going to find some ‘hot chicks’ after dinner because I panicked. I was scared to see Eddie there. I realized how messed up that was later. I—I learned a lot from Tommy about my sexuality and how to just—be—I guess. Without fear, that is. Like I didn’t have to hide or make up excuses.”

Bobby’s lips twisted in thought, “I’m sorry for snapping at you.”

“It’s okay.”

-

Bobby stood at the window in his small office after Buck left to continue his duties. Muscled arms crossed over his broad chest, staring out at the late afternoon light fading out of the engine bay. He hadn’t moved in several minutes, not even to touch the paperwork still piled on his desk. It was still there—neatly stacked with half-filled forms awaiting signatures and reports needing to be checked—but he couldn’t bring himself to get back to work yet.

The officer—had Bobby even caught his name? Maybe he had and just shoved it aside like he always did when someone got too close.

Buck was right, though, for once. Bobby had looked at him. Maybe longer than he should have. Maybe with more curiosity than he meant to show.

Bobby sighed.

The embarrassment in the Officer’s face had clung to Bobby’s thoughts more than he expected. Not because of what the Officer had asked him for—but because of how fast Bobby had shut him down. He had been defensive and even a little scared despite more than a couple members of his team being part of the club in various ways.

He hated that part of himself. Still. The part that hid and suppressed every problem in his life, thinking he could handle it on his own.

For a second, Bobby wondered what it might’ve been like to say ‘yes’. Not to anything serious. Not yet at least. Maybe something quiet without any labels or pressure. He shook his head and turned back to his desk, trying to pretend like that thought didn’t warm him deep in his chest.

But the thought did stay. Long after the paperwork ended and long after the station quieted.

By the time his shift ended, Bobby found himself in the parking lot with his keys in hand, debating which way to drive. Home—like he normally would—or north, toward Griffith Park.

-

Bobby almost turned around twice, to go anywhere else, before finding an open parking spot in front of the LAPD Mounted Unit’s small headquarters. He sat in his truck for a minute, partially in shade from an old eucalyptus tree, though the sun would be set soon. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, staring at the outside of the building.

He wasn’t even sure the Officer would still be here. for all he knew, the man’s shift could be over and he drove all this way for nothing. He had remembered the Officer saying he was on his way back here, though, when he awkwardly asked Bobby out.

Bobby looked to his right seeing a covered dirt area, fenced in for the horses to be trained and exercised. Someone was riding a horse there—slow with loose reins and a relaxed posture. The horse was a different one to the day of the Pride event, a much lighter brown, but beautiful all the same. The shape of the man though—it had to be him considering how much he’d been plaguing Bobby’s thoughts.

Bobby stepped out of his truck and walked over quietly, finding a shaded spot against the fence, leaning his forearms on the railing. He watched the Officer talk softly to the horse as they trotted in a circle around the ring. It was peaceful in a way that Bobby rarely felt unless he was home alone—but even then he was usually consumed by his own internal demons. Sitting with his found family or watching someone at ease doing something they loved, though, was different and occupied the space in Bobby’s head—leaving no room for any other thoughts.

The Officer finally noticed Bobby’s presence and steered the horse toward the fence. Bobby took a deep breath and debated running away, feeling anxiety and dread fill his stomach, but just stood straighter instead and smiled.

-

I turned in my saddle, catching sight of a figure resting against the railing of the fence. I squinted, not recognizing the form right away until…

Captain Nash?

Embarrassment churned in my gut again, not really wanting to relive it even if he was here to apologize. Wallowing on my own—with horses—would be much preferred.

I sighed and made up my mind, not wanting him to think I was rude.

I turned the horse in his direction before pulling the horse gently to a stop and waving in a greeting. I sat there for no more than a second before swinging down. I draped the reins over the front of the horse and guided her the rest of the way to the fence.

“Hey,” I greeted as I approached. “This is a surprise.”

“For me, too,” Bobby admitted, his voice sounding distracted and rough.

I gave him a small smile and patted the horse on the neck, “This is Kilo. Want to say ‘hi’?” I looked at Bobby, nodding toward the horse.

Bobby nodded, letting the horse smell his hand and smiling when the horse huffed at him. When the horse didn’t shy away, he ran his hand up the bridge of her nose. It was just the grounding experience he needed as his shoulders relaxed.

“She likes you,” I said quietly, watching how the horse pressed a little closer to Bobby. “And she’s a terrible liar, so that means something.”

That brought a smile to Bobby’s face, his eyes closing as he laughed at my poor excuse of a joke.

Seemingly more relaxed, Bobby opened his eyes and made eye contact with me, “I—uh—want to apologize for how I reacted earlier.”

I waved my hand at him, not wanting him to bother but also not wanting to relive the humiliation, “You don’t have to—”

“—I do,” Bobby interrupted but with a gentle voice. “You caught me off guard and that’s not your fault. I didn’t mean to shut you down like that.”

There was a beat of quiet, save for the soft stamping of Kilo’s hooves.

“Well,” I said after a moment, “You found me anyway.”

“Yeah,” Bobby exhaled, meeting my gaze. “I didn’t want to leave it like that. I don’t really do this. Not because I don’t want to, just…it’s complicated,” he paused, gathering his thoughts. “I—I grew up in a very conservative midwest home, constantly surrounded by the church. I—”

I nodded, letting him continue.

“I found—find—you attractive and the prospect of pursuing that scared me. I’m, well, I’m at the door of the closet, you could say,” he sighed. “Buck had some sage advice for once and—well—talking it out seemed like a smart idea.

I nodded, “Thank you for telling me that. I know it must have been hard.”

“I don’t know if I can make promises right now, but maybe…”

I nodded, “I get it. It doesn’t have to be anything serious. We could grab coffee sometime. No pressure, whatsoever.”

“I was going to suggest the same thing,” Bobby said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Somewhere quiet.”

“I know a place. Right near here, actually,” I pointed in its general direction over my shoulder.

Bobby nodded, the smile not letting up, “Okay.”

“Okay,” I repeated, smiling more fully now.

Kilo shifted between us, snorting softly.

Bobby gave the horse one last pat and looked back at me, “Thanks for understanding and—and not making it a big deal.”

“Thanks for showing up,” I replied. “That’s kind of a big deal.”

[ohtheewhorer]

Imagine you’re Dale “Longlegs” Kobble’s Chubby!Virgin!FWB whom he slowly corrupts (3.3k words)

So here’s what I’m thinking—follow me on this…

Warnings: Graphic Description, Shameless Smut, little bit of fluff, Desperate Sex, Passionate Sex Loss of Virginity w/ Blood, if you squint incubus!Dale, Religious Guilt, Blasphemy, stalker longlegs, yandere longlegs, Horny Reader, Loss of Innocence, Dark themes, Chubby Reader

A/N: I wrote a lot more than I expected as I always do 😩. Please enjoy my long ass blurb/fic about this hot evil old man. You can also read my fic on ao3 (I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE IMAGES USED)

You’re the preacher’s daughter who just wants some freedom from your overbearing, shotgun-toting, bible-wielding father. You’re innocent in appearance but if people really got to know you they’d know that you’re really a mischievous, horny little minx with a yearning for something dangerous; anything opposite to your sheltered life.

Then, one day, you run into Dale while visiting the local hardware store with your father. At first, you’re unnerved by his presence. After all, Dale is…unique-looking to say the least; his graying thin long hair, his filler plumped lips and face with skin that has an unnatural blotchy alabaster coloring to it which made him appear quite ghoulish yet somehow ethereal. But then there are those intense blue eyes of his that seemed to sparkle with joy the moment you entered his line of sight.

Dale made the bold move to approach you knowing your Paw was only a few distances away—something no man ever had the guts of doing in this small town—only to simply congratulate you on your upcoming 20-something birthday. You shrunk under his towering stature, eyes darting anxiously around in search of your dad. You weren’t sure whether you should be afraid of the fact that—regardless of it being a small town—how did some random stranger know your birthday? Or maybe you should be afraid for him considering he could very well be a victim of your father’s wrath. And all because the strange man dared to do the kind gesture of wishing the preacher’s precious girl an early birthday.

You even pitied the man enough to throw many discreet hints that he needed to back the fuck away from you before it got ugly. But the ever eccentric and bizarre Dale didn’t take any hints and ended up singing to you an old classic rock song that your worldly uncle would probably be able to identify.

Your father came around the corner and he had questioned Dale of his intentions while speaking to you, very well aware that his pretty princess had many suitors who vied for your hand in marriage. And you knew your father well enough to read his judging eyes as they scanned Dale’s entire presentation, scowling that a man like him would ever think he might have a chance regardless of if Dale ever had the thought to pursue you.

And Dale, oh, Dale…he’d speak broken sentences and barely audible words, euphemisms and epithets, riddles and rhyme and your increasingly frustrated father would curse him in biblical verses and claim that he’d spoken the ‘devil’s tongue’. And the moment your Paw calls out the lanky male as a ‘satanist’ instead of disproving his claim—preventing any potential small town witch hunt—Dale, instead, sends him a botched-lipped cheshire cat grin ending the interaction with a chilling line, “Your ignorance won't save you when the shadows you've denied finally come to claim you."

Goosebumps arise on your supple skin, staring up at the man with both fear and admiration. No one’s ever stood up to your father that way. Everyone’s always having to walk on eggshells around him, not wanting to be seen as a delinquent in the eyes of the lord’s appointed servant. But Dale has done it with that high-pitched playful lilt in his tone and that bright smile on his face. His courage alone was enough to spark your interest in him. He was dangerous and you wanted nothing more than to experience him.

And sure you could find plenty of pretty boys and bad boys in town that would happily sneak around with you and give you a taste of the wild side that you so craved. But you didn’t want just “a taste” nor did you wish to hide your deeds. You want to be very loud and proud with your degeneracy.

And so you made the effort to see him again, going to the hardware store within the next few days because it’s all you knew of him. You’d gone at least 5 times already, at varying times in the day; all alone, too, much to your father’s chagrin. Just when you planned to give up on your 6th visit, while turning to leave you could hear the familiar flowery voice from behind you that has you swiveling in his direction in elation.

He’d found you and so the rest was history. It didn’t take long after to build an intense bond with him that teetered the line of being sexual at times, especially once you got past the stage of learning each other’s name. He doesn’t usually leave his shabby house much so it made sense that you’ve not seen him around before. Though by his own horrifying admission he’d been observing (stalking) you for a while now and had already known about you. You’re just grateful to have met him; a man unafraid to push boundaries.

With him, you didn’t have to feel guilty for wanting to do things beyond what is appropriate within your conservative community. For one, you got to hold his hand that’s a lot more than you’ve ever done even while attending college. And when you asked to go even further like hugging…he lets you hug all over him (though mostly for his own selfish reasons since he’s as touch-starved as you). To most outsiders, doing these things aren’t much of a big deal but to you, a beginner hedonist, it meant everything. You want fun and Dale promised you this with every interaction; upping the ‘depravity’ as you went.

But then one day, Dale suggests to you that he could show you fun beyond the tantalizing ‘indirect kisses’ via sharing lollipops or the occasional lap sitting with added knee bounces for effect.

“You want to take my virginity…on my birthday…as a gift to me?” You ask incredulously. It was scummy of him to even think such a thing would ever be considered a gift. And from a man like him no less; much too old for you and quite terrifying to look at from certain angles. And yet…you felt a gush of your slick soak your panties. You needed therapy. You need to find God again. This is sick!

But it’s sooo damn tempting.

“I only want to open your mind to many great pleasures, Angel. Is that not what you told me you’ve been seeking?” Dale says, reaching a hand over the console of his car to rub one of your nylon-clad voluptuous thighs. “Be a good girl for me, just two more days… and it’ll be an even special day for the birthday girl.”

You tense a little, feeling his hand traveling higher up your thigh. “Do you think I’m ready?”

“That’s for you to decide, silly.” He giggles.

“I think I’m ready. I-I’m ready.” You repeat, giving him a struggling smile that falters when your breath hitches again. His hand is kneading the meat of your thigh.

“Oh, I’d bet these legs around my head would feel like just the loveliest hug.” He sighs dreamily.

You tilt your head in confusion. “I couldn’t. I wouldn’t want to hurt you like that.”

He laughs some more, running a calloused hand down your cheek and admiring its youthful elasticity. “You could never hurt me, angel. But I get the impression you have no idea what I’m talking about, don’t you?”

“I don’t think I do. I’m sorry,” You say, batting your long lashes and flashing your alluring doe eyes up at him. “Could you show me what you mean? I’d really like to know, pretty please.”

“In due time, love. You’ll have to first show me you can be a good girl when I ask you to be.”

“How do I do that?” You nudge your face deeper into his open palm, sliding his fingers over the edges of your jaw until they’re close enough to your pouty lips. Using your tongue you drag one long nimble digit into your mouth, suckling lightly on the tip. He has an earthy taste to him that you quickly grow addicted to.

Dale pulls his finger from your lips, webs of saliva connecting your lips to it. He smiles, wagging his finger side to side. “Tsk, Tsk. That was very naughty, angel. Being a good girl means you’ll have to listen to the sky father’s rules again. That means no premarital activities. You’re not allowed to touch yourself either. Wouldn’t want you to be a sinner before the big day? I’ll give you a pass for today although with some limitations. But then it’s 2 days of being on the nice list, missy. You’ve got 3 strikes if you lose them…you’ll be punished. And I beg you not to get on the naughty list or I won’t be making you sing pretty for me like the sweet birdie you are.”

“Why? Why should I go through all that trouble for you?” You hate having to bottle up your desires again when the excitement’s only just begun.

“Because it’ll make your blood much more pure for the sacrificial ceremony,” He jokes, then frowns when you place his hands away from you, turning in your seat so you’re not facing him. Dale leans into your ear, whispering. “You’ll know what real freedom is once you’ve had a taste of it and then it’s ripped from you like an anticipated treat stolen right out of a dog’s mouth. And if you cower from the dark side, back to your sheltered life, you’ll always feel as if you’re on the brink of going…FERAL!” His hand slaps against the window beside your face making you jolt up and stare back at him in terror. Your chest rises and falls, hyperventilating as he stares intensely into your eyes, his face is only a few inches from yours.

“So…I give myself to you and I’ll be free?” You question timidly. “Like you?”

Though he wears a big crooked smile, his eyes betray him as a tear runs down one plump cheek. “Why, of course, angel. You’ll be free…like me.”

You cup his cheeks, swiping your thumbs over the lumpy skin before placing your mouth over his. Your first real kiss! With a man you knew, at most, for a week. It’s a tender yet short kiss as you relish in the feeling while you can. His lips are slightly chapped and uneven in texture yet you moan into it because it felt so right. You pull away before you get too carried away and do something devilishly sensual like sticking your tongue down his throat.

You anxiously gauge his reaction. Is this strike one?

His eyelids slowly flutter open before looking back into your eyes again. He hasn’t experienced this kind of softness in forever. People are usually afraid of him and he’s used to being alone but having such a young beauty as yourself having just an inkling of interest in him blows his mind farther than any fucked up shit he’s seen and/or done.

But Dale’s just not capable of understanding these intense feelings he has for you and it makes him feel as if he’s losing the little control he has in his life. So he’s always jumping to the default of trying to creep you out as some sort of power move he possesses; proud that he can make people fear him by his actions aside from just his bizarre appearance. So now he’s just running his thick wet tongue along his puffy lips after your shared kiss, playing up the perverted gesture which should’ve been enough to make your skin crawl but you always match his freak.

Leaning over the console to invade his space once again, you touch the tip of his tongue faintly against yours just before he darts it back into his mouth. And if he were to give you a strike for that wicked move, it’d be so worth it.

Dale’s such a little shit, though, because he’d for sure make you watch some vintage porn that he owns and it’s not at all vanilla. It’s rough, dirty, pearl-clutching, thigh-clenching stuff. Choking, spitting, biting, bondage… it’s all so violent to a wide-eyed beginner as yourself. Your heart’s pounding a mile a minute, squeezing Dale’s arm and willing yourself not to look away or he’d consider it a strike.

And the next two days are even worse with little devil Dale making sure he tortures you through the agonizing march of time. He’d refrain from touching you at all, avoiding you like the plague. You’d feel like you’re going crazy like he’s some form of drug to you because all you can think of is him. Even while you sleep at night it’s as if his presence lingers around you. Now you’re beginning to understand why your father says that lust is a poison to a god-fearing mind. You’re convinced that Dale has sunken his gnarly sharp teeth into you, infecting you with his toxic venom so that you’ll never come out the same again.

When your birthday finally arrives, Dale knows for sure that you’ve officially surrendered yourself to him. He could tell it in the way you waited on his words hand and foot, wanting to follow whatever it is he asked of you with no question. He could make you up and break you down into the perfect little subservient minion of the dark side and you’d gladly sign away your life. It would be that easy.

He’ll take you to his special place, down in his dimly-lit basement, where there’s no chance of anyone hearing you scream. He’d start by making you cum with his mouth first just as he’d promised and you’re seeing fucking stars! The man feeds on you like he’s been starved for centuries. He didn’t even have the decency to pull off your cute lacy pink thong you’d carefully selected at some lingerie store for him to marvel at. He just flips up your pleated skirt, pushes your panties to the side and just digs in with an eager mouth and even eager tongue. Those same puffy lips you’d kissed the other day now sucking and making out with your own puffy lips while he gets his wish of you wrapping your pillowy thighs around him.

You’d offer to get on your knees and suck his cock the way you’d seen in one of his films but he’s too wired, wanting to fuck you right then and there on his dingy worn couch.

When he pushes into you, it’s as if you’re being split in two; surprising because, based on what you saw in those nudie films, Dale’s isn’t as big as those ones. It’s actually quite short, deliciously veiny with a hook. Girthy, too. As thick as coke can. Dale Kobble proves the theory of girth over length by a long shot.

He’s positioned you on your back to where your legs are pressed deep into your shoulders and now-exposed chest since Dale, in his impatience, lifted your shirt over your ample breasts and pulling them out of the cups of your bra to watch them jiggle and knock against one another other with each drive of his hips.

This man has zero patience for anything actually. He’d just push into your tight heat in one fell swoop and you’d gasp out loud, feeling the faint tearing within you. He’d pull himself out a little to marvel at the blood and cream coating his dick, gathering some on his finger to paint your sweet lips. And you’d flick your tongue between the spaces of his fingers wanting to drink in the essence and you feel so fucking powerful.

Once he begins his pace, it’s erractic, unrhythmic, desperate, and awkward but you fucking love it so much that it has you whimpering and clawing at his back. You don’t care how little experience he has, you never want him apart from you.

Dale would want to be as close to you as he could, falling over your masterpiece of a body with his full weight. He’s penetrating DEEP. He wants to give you all that dick no matter if it isn’t much. He’s all sweaty, his belly sticking to yours from all the worked up perspiration. You enjoy the feeling of his softness against yours, appreciating his torso (when you could at least) for the ‘dad bod’ built that it was.

He’s hoarsely gasping, whispering the dirty filth in your ear, caging you between his arms. You can’t push him away even if you tried but you’d be crazy to ever want to, squeezing your legs around his body in a death grip.

He’ll let his face fall in between the valley of your breasts, inhaling you. He doesn’t care to breathe anything else so to suffocate this way, would be an honor. High-pitched sobs and breathless whispers against your skin indicates to you that it’s been so long for him since he’s felt a warm body against his own. The more he thinks about how lucky he is to fuck such a tight, greedy cunt as yours it make him turn into an inconsolable mess; crying, spitting, and kissing all over you.

You’re no better, whining and mewling with reckless abandon. Your hands are anywhere clawing at his boringly pastel colored shirt, running your hands up his shirt to sink your nails into the sides of his ribs until you're settling on his long hair. With every bruising thrust, you tug hard on his hair earning pathetic “unh”’s and “ah”’s from him.

Whenever either of you muster up the strength to pull away from each other for just a few centimeters, you’d sloppily crash your lips together, swapping spit or devouring each other’s tongues then swallowing down your moans from each other’s mouths like passionate lovers who’ve known each other for years.

Dale feels like just as much of a virgin as you with how much you’ve reduced him to a sniveling lovestruck fool. He can already sense his approaching climax, not wanting to blow his load before you get a chance to experience bliss.

He’ll bring a finger to your clit, specifically the finger that dons that fucking ring so you could feel the cool metal against your sensitive button. And obviously, he won’t be nice about it, rubbing harsh, rapid circles on it until you fall apart. He’s not stopping until you’re sobbing—begging…you’re absolutely delirious. Your back arches off the couch cushions, eyes rolling into the back of your skull like it’s an exorcism. You can hardly breathe. This is exactly why orgasms are called ‘little deaths’ because you must’ve died and now you’re reborn again offering yourself to the soulless world.

Before you could protest he spills his sticky, hot cum inside of you. Your hands would instinctively try to push away but your legs keep him there, wanting every last fucking drop of Dale’s seed. The man’s got some big kahunas so you’re going to overflow with his essence.

And without a doubt, for all the money in the bank, Dale will scream “I love you” as he cums until he’s just whispering it while shuddering against you.

After it all, you’ll both lay together in an entanglement of limbs, cuddling in the afterglow while seesawing between either cleaning up or going for another round. Though considering you could feel him stirring up inside you again, you think it’ll definitely be the latter.

He’ll truly surprise you with your actual gift. A beautiful gold necklace with an amethyst pendant (and a secret tracker you don’t so that he’ll always find you everywhere even if you ever try to run away from him). And, of course, he wouldn’t forget to gift Paw something for having his part in the creation of you, so he mails him your bloodied lacy underwear as a reminder of the lost innocence of his precious girl.

Oh, and aftercare definitely involves those large hands of his giving you nice belly rubs and soft scratches along your skin with the occasional peppered kisses along the pudge. Then, you’ll eventually both come to the conclusion that you're each other’s anchor whether for better or much, much worse.

[fortheloveofshitsandgiggles]

Unreal Unearth is an album that means a lot to me. It’s one of if not the greatest albums I’ve ever heard. Each song impacts me in a different way, so I wanted to go through each song with my own experience and interpretations (disclaimer, some of these analyses are my personal interpretation or how I react to the song, art is subjective and is what you make it)

De Selby (Part 1): oh my god I’ve been dying to hear Hozier sing in Gaeilge. I actually sang a song in Gaeilge in choir a few years back, and while it was difficult for me pronunciation wise, it was super fun to sing and is a beautiful and underrated language in my opinion. I also adore how haunting it is. It sounds like the soundtrack to my crisis (and it has been). I struggle to explain it, but the melody is so tormenting, especially with the layered voices in the second half of the Gaeilge verse. They feel very ghost like. It’s such an incredible way to introduce us into the decent into hell.

Transition: Yes I’m giving this special section because it’s one of the greatest song transitions I’ve ever heard. It’s really difficult to transition from a slow song into an upbeat one, but this one did it in a way that allows my brain to adjust to the difference in tempo. First of all, it lowers in pitch until it matches the key of part 2, musically representing our slow decent into hell. Then it starts with this beat that goes into part 2, and to me, this represents a building of insanity, one that is further explored in part 2.

De Selby (part 2): This is one of my favorite songs on the entire album. First of all, the beat is so addictive and the song generally makes me want to shake my ass. But beyond that, this song encompasses insanity in a way that I haven’t seen before but is also so relatable. Even with the music video, like there are times where I have felt exactly like the guy in the video and I just want to run into the abyss and forget everything and hit myself with a shovel. Hozier has such a talent for making relatability so artistic and unreal (forgive the pun).

First Time: This song is so full of complex lyricism that I couldn’t even begin to dive into. It’s super vibey, which I appreciate. A few notable lyrics I’d like to point out is “But you spoke some quick new music that went so far to soothe this soul as it was and ever shall be, unearth without a name.” I don’t know if anyone’s talked about this, but this lyric was so similar to the “glory be” prayer (I grew up Catholic lol) that goes “glory be to the father, the son, and the Holy Spirit, as it was and ever shall be, a world without end.” I don’t know if that was intentional/ the direct inspiration but I def did a double take when I heard that lyric. If it is intentional, I love how he twists it from a praise god I’ll get into Heaven sort of plea into describing the limbo we are trapped in, unearth without a name. The other lyric is “These days I think I owe my life to flowers that were left here by my mother, Ain't that like them, giftin' life to you again” I just think that’s such a sweet line that appreciates the kindness in humanity, especially so many mothers including my own. I would like to give a shoutout to Hozier’s mom for birthing and raising him, I would love to shake hands with her.

Francesca: This is maybe one of the best songs Hozier has ever put out. It has been on repeat since the second he dropped it. First of all, the sheer concept of this song, to love someone so full and so deeply that you would endure every ounce of pain and suffering that is inflicted on you because of this love, that is so powerful and just has such an element of storytelling that is as thrilling as watching a movie. To endure such hardship for the sake of a simple touch makes me want to cry. We all want something like that, to be protected and to be worth the sacrifice of another. And the lyrics encompass that perfectly, especially “Heaven is not fit to house a love like you and I.” Now, being religiously traumatized myself, Heaven is a concept that I’ve gotten to know well. Eternal bliss and joy in the comfort of Jesus. It has hung over my head and has been used to keep me in the religion, especially as a comfort when it comes to the concept of death. But to say that even this place of eternal bliss and love and joy isn’t fit for the kind of love we possess just absolutely guts me. It is just beyond incredible.

I, Carrion (Icarian): As if Francesca wasn’t devastating enough, Hozier had to follow it up with this one. I absolutely love the use of Icarus imagery in songs, I love Icarus by Bastille (it especially reminds me of Crowley and Aziraphale from Good Omens). I know he used Icarus imagery in previous songs, and this is no hate to Sunlight, but I was def looking for something gentler that further explored the different perspectives of the story. And you know what, Hozier delivered. To paint the fall as something beautiful or as not even perceiving it as a tragedy is such a fresh take that I love the exploration of. “If I should fall on that day I only pray don’t fall away from me,” that hit me like a bag of bricks when I first heard it. Like, he’s plummeting from the sky, and still says “allow the ground to find its brutal way to me.” No matter what the ground holds for me, as long as I’m falling with you, everything will be alright. It becomes this state of delusion that is both heartwarming and devastating.

Eat Your Young: This song is what I have affectionately and repeatedly referred to as the “sexiest political commentary I’ve ever heard.” The melody and beat are so seductive, which just contributes to the appeal of the message, despite it being a pretty horrifying one. But it is from the perspective of the villain, which is an interesting point to write from. To say that it’s easier to cut out the middle man and eat your children rather than do atrocious things for power and money that will kill them anyways is such a relevant take on not only politics and capitalism but just the greedy side of humanity in general. The song is almost a trick, like it makes the greed sound so appealing and acts as a siren song to push the narrator’s unreliable narrative.

Damage Gets Done: I love Hozier songs that dive into the feeling of being young. Songs like Sedated and even Jackie and Wilson are reminiscent of that. We often think we’re indestructible when we’re young and we think we can do anything. We become reckless, but that recklessness isn’t what kills us. It’s the people in power who damage us with the laws they pass and systems they create. It sounds so happy like childhood, and yet it reminisces on what it was like to not be forced to participate in these systems such as capitalism. It felt good to just be free and not be tied down by the world. The melody of this song sounds nostalgic and hype like the energy of a young person. Also shoutout Brandi Charlie, I adore her voice on this track and in general.

Who We Are: We have to get through things one way or another, but “getting through still has a cost.” God, this line hits because even when the “damage gets done,” we still have to hurt in order to heal. And it hurts the most when you didn’t realize what you lost until it’s gone. The other lyric that hits is “someone with your eyes might come in time to hold me like water or christ hold me like a knife” hold me even though I’ll slip through your fingers, or if you can’t do that, wield me as something that can cause damage. And there’s nothing else we can do about it. Why? Because that’s who we are. Also, Hozier’s vocals on this song are absolutely insane, those high notes are so angelic. I don’t think I knew his range went that high but I was super impressed.

Son of Nyx: It seems like I say every song is my favorite (because they’re all so freaking good), but this one has got to be my favorite on the album. Despite the lack of words, this song stuck out to me the most. I want to kiss the composer of this piece. First of all, I’m an absolute slut for orchestral/ cinematic songs. And this song is unlike any of his other songs. It carries this haunting melody that is almost angelic in a way but the minor key pulls you back down into this journey of hell that we’ve been going on. It incorporates the melodies from other songs on the album beautifully. I’ve only been able to pick out the melodies from who we are and abstract, so let me know if there’s any others I missed. But the moment where the orchestra swells makes me actually ascend into the next dimension. I swear I had an out of body experience when I heard it for the first time. It’s so terrifying in a beautiful way and words can’t properly convey how this song makes me feel. It doesn’t need to have words for me to understand it, and pieces like that are especially impactful to me.

All Things End: Wow what a way to follow that. It definitely gives a bit of whiplash. First of all, I love the music video for this because the cut from Heaven Hozier singing with his little surgeon church choir to him dead on a table makes me giggle every time, it’s so abrupt. Anyways, it’s interesting that this song goes under the circle of Heresy, because the connection isn’t immediately obvious. But, to me, it does make a lot of sense. To say all things end, including Heaven and hell, inherently denies the belief in Christian ideals. Which, to me, is empowering in a way. This song is simultaneously hopeless and hopeful at the same time. It says that joy will end eventually, but so will the pain. It’s a comfort and an anxiety all wrapped up into one song.

To Someone From a Warm Climate (Uiscefhuarithe): I’m gonna be honest, this one was harder for me to figure out. It’s incredibly simple in a way that is so effective. To me, this song sounds like being unable to provide for someone what they need. And that’s one of the most devistating feelings, one that the simple sad sound of the song encompasses very well. I know what it feels like to be unable to give what someone needs. It makes you feel so stuck and so useless, a feeling which I despise. And Hozier, as he always does, broke my heart with this one. But he was only gearing me up for what would come later with Unknown.

Butchered Tongue: One thing this song reminds me of is how much history we’ve lost. I think about this a lot, the texts we could’ve had, the wisdom we could’ve shared with one another, all lost to the greed of other human beings. I think of the Indigenous cultures that were viciously stripped away in the name of god, the languages lost, the abuse endured. I think of the stories of LGBTQ+ people that remain untold because it didn’t fit the ideal image of those in power. I think of the untold thoughts and lives brutally taken to early. We build incredibly complex and beautiful cultures but we still put in the hours to tear them down. It’s a really upsetting reality, to know that loss happens all around us and there’s nothing we can do to stop it. But we are also encouraged to be kind, so if you take anything from this post, from this song, please show kindness to all, especially those whose stories remain untold.

Anything But: This one is just so groovy I always gotta do a little dance when I hear it. What’s interesting is this song is framed like a love song. But to me, this sounds like running from something or someone. Like “I don’t wanna be anything but I would do anything just to run away” like yeah same. I just want to run away from everything and move into a cottage in the woods or something. It really captures that feeling of just wanting to get tf out of here.

Abstract (Psychopomp): Circling back to the religious trauma thing, I’ve always had a fear of death. Or rather, what comes after death. With the threat of hell always hanging above my head, I was scared to step out of that narrative they always trapped me in with. I don’t wanna suffer for eternity after my short existence. So I’ve always struggled with the idea of dying. But this song frames the journey to the afterlife as something beautiful, which is so comforting, I can barely put it into words. The idea that a spirit guide could be escorting you to the afterlife and they tell you to look back at Earth and “see how it shines” makes me feel a relief unlike any other. I know this song is based on an experience Hozier had where he watched an animal get hit by a car and watched someone comfort the animal in its last moment. But the way this song treats the concept of death is just so moving. It captures the fear and the pain but also the beauty of having someone to share those last moments with and having someone guide you beyond. The imagery in this song is such pure storytelling I feel like I am recounting the memory as if it’s my own.

Unknown / Nth: Not only is this song the most devastating one on the album, it’s maybe the most devastating song I’ve ever heard. I went through a breakup a while back and every single lyric described every single thing I was feeling about that lost relationship. It captured me and my pain so well I’m convinced Hozier crawled into my brain and wrote this. He described feelings I couldn’t even fit into words. The teaser that Hozier posted for this song on tik tok actually came out right in that stage where I could feel they were drifting away from me. This was a long distance relationship, so first the “you know the difference never made a difference to me” hit hard. Not only that, I always called them my angel, so “I thought you were like an angel to me” was just double the emotional damage. Then, we get to the bridge. This bridge is the absolute most gut wrenchingly genius string of words ever written. “Do you know I could break be with the weight of the goodness love I still carry for you? That Id walk so far just to take the injury of finally knowing you” Holy. Shit. I’m someone who, when I love someone, I love them with every ounce of myself. I would bend the Earth if they asked me to, I would give them my life and soul to sell to Satan. For a long time after that breakup, I still loved them and that love just fueled my grief. I knew this person like the back of my hand, I knew every inflection in their voice, every joke they hadn’t yet made, every feature of their face. And they knew me, fully and deeply in a way few people do. They listened, and they made me feel heard. And all of the sudden, it was all gone. And I did break beneath that weight, because I still loved and knew them, but didn’t get to know anymore. I didn’t get to know what they were doing now, how they were doing, I didn’t get to call them every single night anymore. But despite all of the pain, I would gladly do it over and over again. I can’t bring myself to regret any of it. “And there are some people love who are better unknown.” All I’ve ever wanted was to be understood. I struggle to make friends, and sometimes when I do, I’m only relevant when I’m beneficial. I’ve only ever wanted to be known by those around me. And they knew me. But when they left, I felt like I was unknown again. And I too resigned myself to that idea that maybe I am better unknown.

Transition: The transition between Unknown / Nth and First Light is much more subtle than the one between the De Selbys. But it’s there and it’s worth mentioning. When Unknown / Nth ends, we are left with this sinking and hopeless feeling that we will forever be stuck in that ice, flapping our wings. That hopelessness is drawn out in this ghost of a lingering note that pulls through the end of the song. Then the very first note of First Light is the same as the last note of Unknown / Nth.

First Light: The beginning of this song sounds exactly like rays of light spilling through the cracks. It sounds like the relief of light hitting your eyes after being trapped in a place of darkness for a long time. As the song goes on, it starts to sound more like an ascension. The vocals become very angelic and the whole song grows into this powerhouse of force that just gives off such a hope and determination that we haven’t felt for this whole album. To me, it’s very interesting that Hozier decides to end this album on such a hopeful note despite how devastating every other song was. I was convinced he was going to end the album on Unknown, and he very well could’ve done that. He could’ve left us in the deepest circle of hell. But he chose to end on this super optimistic note of finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. I think it just gives us a look into his own optimism and his belief that our resilience as humans has and will pay off. We are constantly faced with adversity and won’t stop until we take our last breaths. But our desire to keep fighting is what makes us such a uniquely incredible species. And the payoff afterwards is a satisfaction that nothing else can quite compare to.

Hozier has such a way of turning the human experience into something otherworldly. He never ceases to amaze me with how his mind creates. I hope I get to tell him one day how much his art means to me and how deeply it’s affected me.

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Getting Together (7) Masterlist

part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six

a game of chance (ao3) - danhoweiis

Summary: Phil worked at Chance and Counters, a board game cafe in North East London. One definite perk of the last few weeks had been the guy who Phil was now delivering a coffee too. Phil had been smitten from the second he stepped through the door which was something he now wished he hadn’t told his friend and manger Nate, so he could have saved himself being teased every time Cute Dan (as Phil had affectionately called him after overhearing someone say his name) came in

A Perfect Pair (ao3) - husbants

Summary: Dan, a struggling actor who works retail by day, and Phil, an ex-YouTuber-turned-porn-star, end up matched together on the new reality show, Perfect Pair.

cat got your tongue? (ao3) - megiaolf

Summary: A near wholesome cat cafe au.

Communication Is Key (ao3) - philsmeatylegss

Summary: In which au Dan and Phil are friends with benefits despite the fact that neither of them want to be friends with benefits and Dan just sucks at talking about his feelings

company policy (ao3) - watergator (orphan_account)

Summary: dan works in a bakery-by-day, gay club-by-night bar. phil owns said bar. things happen.

dan is not a pianist (ao3) - Marranje

Summary: How Phil went from watching the pianist and youtuber Dan from afar to being by his side through the most important moments of their lives.

Fade into View (ao3) - nic0ler

Summary: Phil works as a receptionist and he loves it. Dan works as an editor for a fashion magazine and he kind of hates it. Dans really pretty and Phil notices. Dan doesn't notice Phil, until one day, Phil makes himself noticed by everyone.

fade to black (ao3) - sierraadeux

Summary: That’s the thing about Phil. He’s a tease.

or

films, flirting, and other things that start with f.

knight of wands (ao3) - dizzy

Summary: Some days are just boring.

(And some aren't.)

linger on (ao3) - dizzy, waveydnp

Summary: A recent loss has ground Phil's life to a halt. At 33, he's static in his grief and living in the house he grew up in - until his mother kicks him out.

In a fit of indignation and with nothing to lose, he answers the first listing he finds for a room to rent in London... a listing posted by a guy named Dan.

more than convenient (ao3) - baroquen

Summary: In which Dan keeps seeing Phil as the closest profile on Grindr and finally says "fuck it."

(Except it's very sappy)

Neighbourly Nook (ao3) - wednesday_ukiru

Summary: The stranger had a dimple on his cheek that appeared when he laughed.

“I’m Dan,” he said, extending his hand. Phil reached for it with extreme eagerness, their knuckles knocking together in a particularly painful way, and they both winced, but Dan immediately broke into a smile. “I don’t know why I offered you a handshake, I never know how to do them.”

Orally Fixated On You (ao3) - dickiegreenleaf

Summary: Dan's a stickler for oral hygiene. He brushes twice a day, flosses religiously, and makes sure to go to the dentist every six months. His strict dental regimen has nothing to do with the way it feels when he's got tools scraping his gums, and it certainly has nothing to do with his adorable dental hygienist.

Revolving Door (ao3) - intoapuddle

Summary: Phil really doesn’t want to think about what Dan said. He really would like to leave, and take this strangled feeling elsewhere. But he can’t stop listening to Dan’s song.

scratch bark bite (oh, love me, i lied) (ao3) - Tarredion

Summary: Music & Drama teacher Dan Howell has a well-known rivalry with his coworker, English teacher Phil Lester.

An unforeseen event flips everything Dan thought he knew about Phil and himself on its head. Slowly but surely, the grudge withers, and the two of them cross the line between enemy and friend. But what will happen when their true intents and feelings get revealed? And was what they had ever really a rivalry? Was it even mutual?

Soft Speak with a Mean Streak (ao3) - Nefertiti1052 (Succubusphan)

Summary: Phil was a lonely film student; Dan was a mysterious new classmate he got stuck in with for a big project. It was only a matter of time and the right circumstances.

Take a Picture (It'll Last Longer) (ao3) - phantasticworks (steddieworks)

Summary: Dan and Phil meet at 2 a.m. in a coffee shop. Phil is a photographer looking for a model, and Dan can't say no to pretty boys.

The Boy And The Builder (ao3) - intoapuddle, jestbee

Summary: Dan is stuck in a house full of builders feeling sorry for himself. Until he meets Phil, that is...

The Problem With Travelling During The Holidays (ao3) - Nefertiti1052 (Succubusphan)

Summary: Dan is in a tricky situation, running to catch his connecting flight with no other than his annoying enemy right on his heels. If he could just get on the plane and be away from Lester that would save Christmas.

Luckily for Dan, things don't tend to go his way.

The River (ao3) - Portia331

Summary: Dan arrived in Melbourne two weeks ago with just one suitcase crammed with running gear, psychology textbooks, and a mere fraction of his wardrobe especially curated to fit both his aesthetic and the Melbourne weather.

He's about to start in the role of a lifetime on a 12 month contract, but he's barely ready for the Australian summer heat, let alone what the world is about to throw at him.

vacation getaway (ao3) - angelmichelangelo

Summary: phil burns easily, but that soon proves to be not such a bad thing

what might come with the dawn (ao3) - cloud-gays (wind_brewed)

Summary: The Island has a Guardian, that's what people say. Phil doesn't know if this guardian is a mythical being or just a piece of gossip; a made-up story to make people feel safe during storm season. A made-up story just to make them feel secure.

Now that he decides to move in with his parents again, Phil needs the protection. Maybe he needs to reach out to this lonely, black-clothed being; reach out to the lonely man of winter.

Also called: Phil is a storm-chaser of sorts and Dan, a storm-magnet. In between running and hiding, they find each other inside the calm of the storm.

[thisworldisablackhole]

Cristopher Owens I Wanna Run Barefoot Through Your Hair

🌕🌕🌕🌕🌑

FFO: GIRLS, INDIE, PSYCH & SURF ROCK, DREAM POP

Although I’m certain Christopher Owens wouldn’t want every review for his first solo album in nine years to turn into a pity party, or an exposé on his personal life, it’s pretty clear that the man has had a rough few years. Death, heartbreak, homelessness, addiction—you name it, Owens has been through it, and that’s not even mentioning his upbringing in a religious cult that was rife with allegations of abuse. However, I Wanna Run Barefoot Through Your Hair is pretty clear in its intent to lay it all out on the table, in all honesty. “No Good” immediately sets the tone for the album as Owens sings his opening lines; “No not another love song, not one more song where I’m pretending everything will be okay”. It’s no surprise that some of the most interesting people aren’t necessarily the happiest.

I Wanna Run Barefoot Through Your Hair is a pretty big moment for Christopher Owens. He’s back on his old label again, and working with his old producer Doug Boehm, who played a big role in making Girls’ sophomore album Father, Son, Holy Ghost such a smashing success. The ball is in Owens’ court for the first time in a while, and he’s been teed up for a good shot at redemption after a string of solo albums that were misunderstood at best. So without further ado, I’m happy to report that Owens did not fumble the bag at all.

Anyone who has been out of the loop since the Girls era will probably notice a distinct shift in tone here. To put it bluntly, the guy just sounds tired, and naturally so. As I mentioned, life hasn’t been too kind to Owens, and it really shows in his voice. The thing that makes this album so impactful though, is the contrast between Owens’ downtrodden heart, and his band, which sounds more invigorated and full of life than ever. They keep things as loose and breezy as the Californian surf in July, but they are undeniably locked in, shifting like a current from a creek of intimate jangles to a roaring river of organs and fuzz damaged cry baby guitar solos. It’s the kind of backing band that Owens deserves after struggling to lock things down for so long, and it’s really beautiful to see.

The band rocks out with the kind of veteran chemistry that just feels natural and matured, so when they do lock into a groove, you bet your ass they are gonna linger on it for a while. There are some long jams on this album, but they stay engaging as we listen to Owens ponder about life, death, and Heaven, almost as if he is journaling in the studio. At six minutes, “I Think About Heaven” is still only the third longest song on the album, but the dreamy electric guitars combined with djembe percussion and Owens’ acoustic strumming creates a hypnotizing warmth that I could stay swaddled in forever. Even as a non-believer, I can admit that there is something pure and beautiful about the idea of our passed loved ones waiting for us beyond the clouds, and when Owens’ sings “my soul cries out for the one I love”, and smiles at the thought of Heaven, I know exactly the type of comfort he is seeking. I think we all seek it in one way or another.

While the rest of the album struggles to keep up with the incredible poignancy of the first three tracks, there are still some pretty strong highlights to be found. “I Know” picks things back up with a sun kissed dream pop tune that ends in a crescendo jam of harmonica and organ that sends the song absolutely flying off the runway. “This Is My Guitar” finds Owens’ reflecting on his talent, fully acknowledging the chance he has been given to shine some light back into the world all while crying out for help himself, and the backing gospel vocals on “Distant Drummer” and closer “Do You Need A Friend” gives us the sense that despite all of his pain, Owens is doing his best to move forward and surrender control to a higher power. Easier said than done though, as Owens' last words on the album repeat like a mantra for the terminally depressed; “If you really wanna know, I’m barely making it through the day”.

Despite the slight lack of consistency in the back end of the record, it feels impossible to not celebrate I Wanna Run Barefoot Through Your Hair with a full heart. It’s a humbling testimony to perseverance when all you want to do is quit, but more so, it’s about making peace with the fact that you’ve been knocked down, and asking for help to make that first step up. Hang in there buddy, we’re rooting for you.

[lifenconcepts]

stuff I gotta do for my show (won’t say the name but let’s just say the main guys..)

Lifen Heid- Moodboards (personality traits and mortal life wise (intentions and all), job wise - fucked up trader across the infinite world, secret third one), character analysis, psychological evaluation, assumption on past 2-?? Lives, experiences in this lifetime that formed his current beliefs, his exact date of birth and what Chinese zodiac and astrological personality he has accordingly (also just a vague idea of his geological place of birth),

Fhelix (Фlix) - personal goals/hobbies vs imprisoned rules he gotta now follow, why he spends his immortality by gardening, symbolism behind his rebellion to the usual devil/angel rules, what exactly his newer powers are (he’s OP but like. A fucker and does not give a shit in misusing his powers), mortal vs immortal love for Lifen,

Robin- in-depth background, desire analysis, background of his skills, use a template for his knowledge, reputation with social skills, prefered mediums of expression, where does his heart ache to go, how his parents treatment made him what he is now (he was loved deeply/srs).

Midas - is he really even needed??? How his vision words. Closest 4 fictional counterparts for personality. wing art study of various birds to see how to form his. Basic understanding of bullshit-dynamics and how he doesn’t care for physics too much and vague explanations as to why.

Westifer- how physical limitation of movement. History of his father’s line. How sentient is the blob. Euhhhhh some other shit about miracles and his strange religious practices that clearly aren’t being received by any god but how he still tries nonetheless (maybe with like.. those underwater designs? He thinks he’s making an offering through art but in reality just tending to his soul’s need of feeling the waves and emotional connection to the energy in art.) also idk. Bonus fact I made up now - he collects seashells. Has a fucking closet with them. You can’t come out the closet because it’s just SO FULL of seashells that he’s just screwed the handles shut.

and just some vague shit I gotta polish out with details - the translators and how they work (aka excuses why I use non-vague words and terms with CLEARLY HUMAN sources.. perhaps just fuck it up through a translator a few times and then add some random [REDACTED] here and there for other characters. And give Lifen German slang or something.. right.. plan: meet a German guy and like - figure out all their verbal quirks), the vague sense of self the other 10 or so characters have through moodboards and a handful of songs (may be most simplest to make when I got a headache and feel worthless lol. Through Pinterest obviously, even though it’s hard to only make ONE board for each character - they’re only side characters it’s okay).. , huh… and also some of my vague beliefs encoded here and there through the repetition of bad moments being balanced out with good ones, how the time loop excuses Felix’s hands sometimes being fucked up and sometimes not being skeletal - perhaps coming and going for about a month’s time before it stays for good? I do believe the proper age difference is something like.. uhm. 1:400? Where Lifen had a decade, Fhelix lived for 4000 years? Yeah makes sense. 2 years - 800 years. Idfk man I’m bullshitting it up until something beautiful becomes of it AND ITS ACTUALLY WORKING!!!! I think it’s divine intervention, they’re telling me everything themselves. Oh.. and…. Do I add queer symbolism too? Oh fuck it I’ll have them cry over bonding their soul and have you figure out the rest. (Fhelix made his and Lifen’s body bond through magical means and so Lifen not only is only partially mortal, but it also means his pain tolerance is much higher because it gets put on Fhelix, and he is a damn spirit which means he barely even feels physical pain.) and uhh… right. So if we got that I’ll add queer coding but at the same time will avoid claiming anything, I can proudly say Robin is pansexual and YET A KID.. (also no I’m not just shoving all the queerness on him, Batrose and Florence are LITTERALLY gay for one another and sadist x masochist the both of them,, and Lifen and Fhelix are litteraly soulmates and I don’t mean this in a metaphorical or theoretical way but the fact their souls LITTERALY have been in search for one another to fulfil this long bullshit quest that’s made them wait for dozens of life times before now Fhelix was told by the concept of existence “bro you are gonna be fucked up right now and also need to save your childhood friend from eternal torture” and Lifen is just ignorant to everything around because if he wasn’t then he would be eternally tortured and so basically Ф is experiencing the horrors while Lifen ain’t doing shit and is like ‘bro we should make a time machine’ and ф is like ‘uh-huh,, whatever you say sweetheart..’ and litterally bashing his head against the wall as he does so much work to fucking get the band back together and nobody really knows what he’s doing other than maybe just being kind to criminals (which they all more or less are. Robin is in a situationship with the law I swear he did no crime) and basically- *exhales* I need to calm down.)

there’s more than enough symbolism everywhere in the show too.. euwghsjhshxhd OH RIGHT their souls are like.. MLP vibes by how everyone plays a certain role and then eventually comes together to fulfil one another but also is so unique in themselves that

do I need a female. ? . . Bro I just forgot I made like 8 side characters and they’re all also male. But ig I won’t bother because like.. most the avengers are boys too and I don’t wanna force a character to just ruin the plot of the show by adding some female character and screaming “HEY! LOOOK!! HOT FEMALE PROTAGONIST THAT DONT NEED NO MAN!! DO YOU FEEL VALIDATED?!?!” If anyone ever questions why there’s no girls then uhhhhhhh.. robins is a trans guy. How about that. Fun headcannon from the author. Omg wait.. if I make headcannon then it turns cannon.. nooooo gotta make an alter ego now so nobody recognises that and I can still make wild claims about the show - wahhhh!

Planned to make this a show but like.. likely will turn into a book someday and THEN usher it to be made a show. Me as a direction and others just got their own freedom. But like. Vague descriptors.

EACH step of this damn thing is so well thought out that I’m paranoid if I share any deeper details, people will rob me of my greatest artistic joy of which is making another world, and so I’ve just kept it low.

[amateurvoltaire]

I am so happy to see this portion of the Vieux Cordelier mentioned. This gives me the perfect excuse to delve into it a bit more, which I'm always happy to do. It’s truly such an awesome piece of writing!

You can probably find many more polished translations out there, but I’ll also leave my own down below because I love structure and I like having my notes and translations in one place.

Now, let me provide some context about the Vieux Cordelier and where it came from. As usual, when you read something related to this period, remember this is an oversimplification of a very fascinating and complex situation that has been interpreted in a million different ways by different historians.

Le Vieux Cordelier: Camille’s Callout Post, 1793-style

In 1793, the First Republic, a year after its birth, was struggling to survive. It was at war with almost all of Europe, and the economic situation hadn't seen much improvement since 1789. The population was still more or less starving. Fear of sabotage and treachery against the republic had given rise to an inflexible repression of everyone who was perceived as an internal enemy. The constitution was suspended, anti-religious campaigns were rampant, prisons were overflowing, and public executions were on the rise. Camille was disturbed by these developments. He wasn’t alone.

Autumn of 1793, both Robespierre and Danton spoke against violent repression, signalling a unified stance that encouraged Camille to join the growing opposition against the extremist views of Jacques René Hébert and his followers.

By December 1793, when Danton had to defend his revolutionary commitment against accusations at the Jacobins—eloquently defended by Robespierre—Camille felt compelled to act against what he saw as rampant fanaticism and unnecessary bloodshed. He went home, and within a few hours, the Vieux Cordelier was born. This publication, his last, was more of a pamphlet than a journal. It will end up being a brilliant swan song.

In choosing the name "the Old Cordelier" and selecting Desenne as the printer, who was located at the then-named Palais Égalité-- a symbolic nod to the spirit of '89—Camille positioned himself as a veteran revolutionary intent on exposing the revolution's so-called false friends. His critiques targeted the extremist revolutionaries, condemned attacks on the Church, and warned against alienating certain groups. His writings were perceived as echoing the sentiments of Robespierre and Danton, even sparking unfounded rumours that they were the ones dictating the content, which broadened his readership.

It took just three issues for it all to go sideways.

In this third issue, Camille ingeniously referenced Tacitus' Histories to caution against the republic morphing into tyranny. He critiqued the oppressive actions of some officials, linking them to the tyrannical rulers of Rome, in a piece brimming with satire and historical allusions that would not have been lost on his contemporaries. Furthermore, his criticisms were also intentionally vague—was he targeting Hébert, Robespierre, the committees, or all of them?

Now, I’m speculating, but considering the pressure he was under at the time, Robespierre was probably not amused at potentially being called a dictator by one of his oldest friends. It also didn’t help that Camille’s next issue was infinitely more explosive.

The passage @cherrimerristrawberri quotes addresses Robespierre directly and, by doing so, Camille unwittingly drives an unfixable wedge between them that will have dire consequences. Despite his personal inclinations (evidenced by his pleas to the Assembly earlier that month to reconsider the cases of those imprisoned), Robespierre, as a member of the Committee of Public Safety, could not afford to adopt Camille's lenient stance towards the "enemies of the republic."

When Robespierre replied, he distanced himself from Camille’s moderation and the debate that ensued was epic, but that's a story for another day.

Translation

Note: I included the paragraph before the quote for more context

Oh! my dear Robespierre, it is to you that I address these words; for there was a time when Pitt had only you to defeat, where, without you, the Argo ship would perish, the Republic would enter into chaos, and the society of the Jacobins and the Mountain would become a tower of Babel.

Oh! my old college comrade, you whose eloquent speeches will be reread by posterity , remember these lessons from history and philosophy: that love is stronger, more enduring than fear; that admiration and religion were born from generosity; that acts of clemency are the ladder of lie, as Tertullian (1) told us, by which the members of the Committees of Public Safety have risen to heaven, and that one never ascended there on blood-stained steps.

Notes:

(1) Tertullian was an early Christian author and theologian. Camille uses the assertion that "acts of clemency are the ladder of falsehood" metaphorically to argue that genuine ascent to moral or spiritual heights cannot be achieved through violent or deceitful means.

You can find all the issues of Le Vieux Cordelier on retronews.fr

Ô ! mon vieux camarade de collége, toi dont la postérité relira les discours éloquens, souviens-toi de ces leçons de l’histoire et de la philosophie : que l’amour est plus fort, plus durable que la crainte ; que l’admiration et la religion naquirent des bienfaits ; que les actes de clémence sont l’échelle du mensonge, comme nous disoit Tertullien, par lesquelles les membres des comités de salut public se sont élevés jusqu’au ciel, et qu’on n’y monta jamais sur des marches ensanglantées.

― Camille Desmoulins, Le Vieux Cordelier, n°4 It is one of my favorite passages in writings of the birthday boy. Happy Birthday Camille!

[luna-redamancy]

Hi Luna! I know I've been gone a long time so if you don't feel like writing this I understand❤️

What about being from our world and suddenly finding yourself in Middle Earth, but besides English you know another language that don't exist there (Ex I'm Swedish, but any language is good), so everyone is kind of baffled and intrigued by it, maybe you try and teach them a song or just a few words too? You can choose if you want to do a short story (pairing of you choice as usual) or just like a headcanon with how different characters react, the important part is you having fun❤️

Hello, lovely! Don't worry at all about being gone, I'm glad you had a chance to step away and step back whenever you felt ready! I hope you enjoy this:

“Jobbig,” You murmured below your breath, annoyance running through you as you were instructed to go get firewood for the eighth time. Usually, the schedule switched among all the Company members, rotating on who did what so no one felt like they were being singled out - until now.

Setting your pack down, you rolled out your back. It wasn’t the worst task, but it wasn’t the nicest. The scenery definitely improved your feelings about it, getting to wander through wildflowers and mushrooms as you picked up the wood ranging from small sticks to large logs and fallen oak branches. 

“What was that?” Bilbo inquired as you turned to leave. 

“What was what?” You asked, raising a brow. 

“That word, it didn’t sound familiar,” Bilbo looked so lost, brow furrowing and his nose scrunching as he wracked his brain. Elvish? No, not as tricky, and it definitely didn’t sound as harsh as Dwarvish Khuzdul. It didn’t sound like common-tongue either. 

“Jobbig?” You repeated, realization dawning on you as Bilbo nodded. 

“It’s not Eng- common-tongue,” You corrected yourself, remembering how their ways of referring to languages were different than your world. 

“What language is it?” This got the Company intrigued, halting from their tasks as Bilbo questioned you. They knew relatively little about you, and since finding out that you weren’t of this world, they were suspicious of your intentions. Now was their chance to discover more.

“It’s the language of my homeland,” You explained, a rueful smile growing on your face. “It’s called Sweden, and the language is called Swedish.”

“You’ve never spoken it before,” Ori piped up in the background.

“Well I’m the only one here that speaks it, it would be kind of useless to,” You shrugged, “It just slips out every now and then like–”

“Jogib-” Kili attempted, accidentally interrupted you as he tried to mimic the word you spoke. 

“Jobbig,” You gently corrected, your grin turning gleeful as he successfully said it the second time.

“What does it mean?” Thorin now questioned, a curious expression covering his face. 

“It doesn’t really have a direct translation, like I imagine many of Khuzdul words are,” You began, feeling flustered with all of their attention on you. “It’s a descriptor of a task?” You struggled to explain, “When a task is tiresome or tedious, Jobbig.”

“Jobbig,” 

“Jobbig,” 

“Jobbig-”

Each of the members said it, one by one, a thoughtful look on their face before Balin chimed in. 

“Would you mind teaching us more, if you are comfortable sharing?” Dwarves were secretive about their daily lives, religious customs, and especially their language, so they knew above all how important it is when someone shares a piece of their cultural puzzle. 

“I would be delighted to, Balin,” Your grin was infectious, even having Thorin cracking a smile. 

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[daandyli0n]

*sigh* alright. i’ve made a dsmp sona (that’s probably closer to an oc but i don’t really care)

i’ve named her omen.

some facts about them:

-she/her, they/them pronouns baby!!

-15 at first appearance, 16 currently.

-some sort of weird chimera between a sheep and hellhound. by all technical accounts she shouldn’t exist, but here she is!!

-sheep parts: eyes, horns, hooves, hair (kinda)

-hellhound parts: the sclera of the eyes, ears (which is harder to tell, but still there), teeth, and tail.

-fun fact of the day! omen’s design (the fact that they’re a hellhound-sheep mix) and some parts of their character are sort of based on some very, very mild religious trauma i’ve got (it’s nothing serious, don’t worry! it’s just. There, y’know?). what i mean by that is how i still practice and am a part of the religion (sheep, which should give y’all a hint as to which one it is), but that i don’t agree with certain...normalized bits of the religion (the lgbtq+phobia in general; i don’t know how strongly i can emphasize that i’m very accepting of and am even a part of the community myself) and about how i’d date someone who’s trans and/or nonbinary, which are both things that would probably get me called a sinner irl (hellhound). omen also tries to disguise themself as a regular sheep hybrid; tucking in their tail, saying that they’ve just got weird ears and eyes, and trying to hide the fire magic. so take all of that how you will (sorry for the rant. i guess this is me projecting on a character).

-star freckles!! star. freckles!!

-look, due to how much of an introvert i am irl, i’m just saying that i’d probably get kidnapped for the revival experiments. however, that doesn’t mean that i don’t think i’d be able to get out >:3c (my guess on how exactly that happened was that they didn’t actually perma kill omen, but they believed they did. when everything went downhill for those two post-disc war finale, omen finally left. not without a lot of physical and mental scarring, obviously...and anger. let’s not forget the anger...)

-omen isn’t in the same universe as the other 8; she’s in her own timeline.

-they joined the server during the schlatt administration, took One look at the drama on the server, and Noped The F**k Outta There. they moved near the area that would eventually become logstedshire.

-because of this, they witnessed a few parts of tommy’s exile, but not all of it. they Do know that things were pretty bad, but not the extent of how bad things were.

-they were taken for the experiments around the time tommy left exile, and escaped back into the regular world around the time tommy died in prison. they decided to move closer to other people after what dream told them while reviving them once (which was the fact that he and punz went after people living on their own and were isolated from people)

-due to revival, her fire magic is is now soul fire.

-she and tommy just have a mutual understanding with each other that they both Went Through Something, even if tommy doesn’t exactly understand what happened to omen (and she has no intentions of talking about it).

-quackity approached them before the Red Banquet asking if they wanted to help go against the Eggpire. omen asked who was a part of that, and the Second quackity mentioned punz’s name, omen basically went “Sign Me Up!” look, quackity just gave them an excuse to fight punz (one of the people who put them through that pain), why Wouldn’t omen jump at the opportunity?

-they’re a potion seller and do also do tarot readings. they do this to get diamonds and other things as payment.

-she was Not Happy when dream broke out.

-her voice claim is lapis lazuli from steven universe.

here’s a picrew of them:

(picrew i used)

i guess a playlist for her?? here’s some songs:

“aura” by ghost

“hell’s coming with me” by poor man’s poison

“therefore i am” by billie eilish 

“arsonist’s lullaby” by hozier (the v i b e s)

“loser” by neoni

“darkside” by neoni 

later, i’ll post quotes and maybe memes about them. if you’ve got any other questions, y’all can ask them in the comments/reblogs in the post and i’ll answer them later when i can.

[gamergirlfriday]

I'm playing a crazy horror game tomorrow in my next "If You are Scared Go to Church" stream at youtube.com/@gamergirlfriday. I wrote a song about it for my blog. Wanna hear it? Here it goes!We are going to hop in our Wayback Machine, and take a trip to a land that few game developers have ventured off to in a video game setting. We will be going to 1980’s Taiwan in Devotion. It is a first person psychological horror developed by Red Candle Games. It was banned by steam, and the game is no joke, honey. Devotion is set in the run down apartment of troubled screenwriter Du-Feng-Yu who hasn’t written anything decent since Jesus was still in a manger. Not only do you play as him, but also as the other members of his family. They include his wife who is a retired singer and a somewhat mediocre actress named Gong Li-fang, and their bedridden young daughter Mei-Shin who has missed a lot of school due to a mysterious illness. The family has fallen on hard financial times, which not only takes a toll on the family life, but on his marriage with his wife who gave up her life of fame and possible fortune to be married to a washed up writer with no cash coming in. Instead of doing what was recommended and taking his daughter to see a therapist for anxiety, Feng-Yu begins to follow the teachings of a cult leader who knows absolutely nothing about what she’s talking about. You probably guess that, though. The fun doesn’t stop there, because it seems like his practices have welcome in some unwanted visitation.  The player explores the same apartment, only each one is labeled a different year, and is a different state. You must interact with random objects and collect some as you wander from apartment to apartment, trying to get a better understanding of this madness that’s going on. The game developers drew their inspiration from first person games such as P.T. and What Remains of Edith Finch(which is a personal favorite of mine). They wanted to introduce players to their Taiwanese culture which is rarely seen in video games. Despite getting banned from steam a week after it went for sale for it’s reference to the Chinese Communist Party’s General Secretary as Winnie the Pooh, the developers have stated that it’s intent was about religious fanaticism. They also cited difficulty translating certain Taiwanese concepts to an international audience of different languages. Even though they had difficulty with the translation, the game has received positive reviews for it’s story line which is definitely a wild. I hope to see everybody there. Don't get beat up!

[camdentown-library]

Bath-time with Zemo || Headcanons

𝕺𝖍, 𝖆 𝖇𝖔𝖔𝖐 𝖋𝖊𝖑𝖑 𝖔𝖋𝖋 𝖆 𝖘𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖋, 𝖜𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖎𝖙 𝖇𝖊?

Requested? No Genre: Fluff and light-smut

Why am I writing this?

I don't know probably because Zemo is an annually charismatic villain and i don't give a damn, this guy loves to take care of his body and why not do it with his loved one?

Anyways

In this headcanon Zemo is in the company of an avengers!reader, and it will be a spicy love / hate relationship

Arriving at his luxurious home in Riga, Zemo decides to take a bath and so begins to prepare a tub full of hot water and foam.

All very quiet except that the baron comes out of the bathroom to be able to prepare a glass of whiskey to drink during the bath, thus leaving his tub unattended.

And what could happen wrong, if not you, who are too tired from Madripoor's last escape, decide to take off your clothes and slip inside?

On his return Zemo surely finds himself pleasantly surprised, of course, relaxing in hot water with foam and scented essences with a nice glass of whiskey is one thing, but finding a girl as dangerous as you are in it is an aphrodisiac dream.

"Well, well this was really unexpected Agent Y/N"

"jESUS FUCKI-" you almost have a heart attack as your face turns red with embarrassment.

For a moment, you thank the foam that cover your body except for your face up to your collarbone.

Zemo on the other hand is leaning with one shoulder on the door jamb with only the bathrobe on and in his hand a glass of whiskey that is brought to his lips while drinking a sip, while his gaze seems to penetrate you deeply.

"STOP STARING AT ME, YOU PERVERT! GET OUT OF THIS DAMN BATHROOM!"

"... My apologies, but it was you who stole my bathtub and my much agonized bath-time" he justified himself without even getting upset and staying where he was.

Oh....oooh! So he wasn't prepared for you? Well ... shit.

"Although ... sharing a moment of relaxation with you wouldn't be so bad" he admitted tilting his head, with a small, thin, sly smile.

"I hope you're joking!"

"Listen, we don't have much time to give ourselves a respite after Madripoor, that's my tub and I'll go in to take a bath, after all it's my house, my rules"

"Well ... then I get out of the tub with pleasure!" you answered sourly, while Zemo's smile grew with satisfaction as he pretended to inspect the bathroom.

"But, I don't see any bathrobe for you anywhere, if you came out of the tub now, well ... I would see you naked and in all your dangerous beauty, agent Y/N"

You opened your mouth to say something, but then you closed it again feeling your cheeks flush, you don't know if it was from anger or shyness.

Well, after all, Bucky and Sam weren't home yet, so in case you and the freaky one would share the tub, no one would know.

"... Okay, come in" you said half-mouthed and pouting as an enthusiastic Zemo approached you victoriously "BUT! Put on a pair of boxers, I don't want to have you naked and stuck to me" you said stopping him by placing a hand ahead of its direction.

The baron seemed to think about it and then with a shrug he said: "As you wish"

And so here's how you found each other within a few minutes:

Zemo was sitting with his back to either side of the tub, his arms tied the marble rim with his glass of whiskey in his hand, while his head was tilted back with what looked like a cotton towel on the sides. eyes and forehead;

You found yourself with your back turned to his chest, while you were intent on reading a magazine to be able to kill time and not to think that you were literally stuck to your enemy.

the silence in that room was religious to say the least were it not for Zemo who occasionally hummed to his lips some song unknown to you.

"I know you like being close to me, no matter how much you want to deny it ..." Helmut said in an almost disinterested tone as he took a sip of his whiskey, waiting for your nervous reaction.

"I beg your pardon?"

"If you really didn't want to be with the enemy, then you should have killed me with your bare hands if you dared enter the tub" he explained as his hand tapped on the marble edge of the tub, catching your attention "But you didn't, so you like me, agent Yn and there is nothing that can help you deny it"

"Think of it as you like ..." you commented sourly, trying to go back to reading, but his hand gently took the magazine out of your hands making it slide to the ground "Ok you know what? You think you are a really charming man Zemo, isn't it?! Well, know that I wouldn't date a man who has your FANTASTIC dancing skills” you said with the intent of hitting a possible fragile spot of his ego.

Even if you turned your back to him, you can also just imagine him opening his eyes a bit stunned as he took the towel off his face with one hand to get a better look at your back.

"I really don't know what you're talking about" he said in a mock vague tone as you shook your head.

"Do not fall from the clouds, I saw you in Madripoor, confronting Iron Man with his robotic suit moves better than you if he were dancing, Baron" you said with a mocking tone and an evil chuckle.

Zemo seemed almost not to react or ignore you for a moment, but then you felt his lips brush your ear and his warm breath make his skin crawl.

"Mmmh what a rude girl, you not only stare at people in secret, but also make fun of them" his free hand gently grabbed your wet lock of hair, placing it behind your ear and casually, his knuckles brushed your warm cheek "And then I would be the degenerate, mh?" he asked in a mischievous tone, noticing that you did not move away from his touch.

"At least I don't stare at naked people" you tried to defend yourself

"Oooh no, you're even worse ..." he whispered bringing his lips to your hair "I think it was you who put yourself in this position, and you don't seem to mind the attention I'm giving you now ...." he explained, remembering your guilt "...are you sure you're not convincing yourself that you don't like me, agent Y/N?" his tone seemed to hypnotize you with every syllable, it seemed really difficult and to remain lucid.

His thin lips slowly approached your neck, kissing it with extreme delicacy, up to the back of your ear.

"I'd like to ask you if I'm wrong, but ... I know you'd be too proud to admit defeat" she whispered as her fingers caressed the stretch of your collarbone, up to the contour of your shoulder "It's probably this stretch of yours that drives me crazy"

By then you were too confused to think straight about Bucky and Sam and their opinion. After all, a little bit of unleashed sexual tension wouldn't hurt anyone, right?

Turning around and thus straddling his lap, you put both hands on the edge of the tub, to get close to his lips and capture them in a passionate kiss.

The man at first glance let out a surprised moan as his hands gripped your hips tightly, trying to put you back in your place.

Your fingers meanwhile slipped on his hair, always damned in order, as they grabbed some locks so they could pull him more towards you.

You walked away for a few moments to catch your breath, but not before Zemo had given up on the urge to catch your lower lip between his teeth, then let it go slowly.

His face had an expression of full enjoyment, after all he always got what he wanted in one way or another.

"Now try to tell me you don't want me, Y/N" he whispered to you, licking his lips.

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

tag list:

@nemo-my-name-forevermore​

[earlgreytea68]

This post got me thinking about Pete and religion.

Fall Out Boy lyrics are full of Christian religious imagery. You kind of get the impression that Pete was raised in a household where he was just casually surrounded by all of this STUFF, that he absorbed and turned over in his lyrics. I mean, “Knock once for the Father, twice for the Son, three times for the Holy Ghost”... (West Coast Smoker).

He’s preoccupied by Heaven as an exclusive party. The idea shows up again and again. The Black Cards (I *love* the Black Cards stuff, I need to devote a whole thing to Black Cards at some point) have an entire song called “A Club Called Heaven.” On “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Fame,” “Heaven’s got a gate full of metal detectors.” On “Thriller,” he shows up with his plus one to the afterlife.

But Pete’s not entirely sure he’s getting into that party. In fact, usually Pete puts himself in Hell: He might be dancing in a club called Heaven, but he knows the doorman in Hell personally. The road to his house is paved with good intentions in Hum Hallelujah (which is, of course, traditionally what the road to Hell is paved with); “we’re just Hell’s neighbors” in America’s Suitehearts (if we’re not in Hell, we’re right next door, and that could be Heaven but I don’t think so). To get on St. Peter’s list, you need to lower your standards, says Rat-a-Tat. This is what Pete Wentz lyrics do, a simple sentence like that is LOADED with meaning. Because after all, his name is Peter, and it could be Peter Wentz’s list he’s referring to there, and it could also be the list to get into Heaven, and it could be that getting on Peter Wentz’s list doesn’t actually take that much (lower your standards, I’m never getting any better than this) and it could be that it’s St. Peter at the gates of Heaven who needs to lower *his* standards (again: I’m never getting any better than this).

(My absolute favorite Heaven/Hell lyric, though, is when Pete throws in Purgatory, that place in Catholicism where you go to do penance for your sins before you’re let into Heaven: On w.a.m.s. Pete writes, “My head’s in Heaven, my soles are in Hell, let’s meet in the Purgatory of my hips.” The glorious beauty of the sex innuendo being the *purgatory*: what you have to get yourself through to get to actual Heaven. ugh, Pete Wentz kills me sometimes with the way he uses words.)

He left his conscience pressed between the pages of the Bible in the drawer, but what did it ever do for him? So asks XO, and the gorgeously ambiguous phrasing of those lines KILLS ME. What’s the antecedent to the “it”? His conscience, sure, that’s what he’s thrown carelessly in the drawer. WITH THE BIBLE. Which could also be the “it”: What did that whole faith thing ever get me anyway?

But he wants it *so badly.* My second favorite lyric from Hum Hallelujah (a song that is nothing but excellent lyrics is “I love you in the same way there’s a chapel in a hospital.” There is SO MUCH packed into that line. SO, SO MUCH. And one of the things in there is the ambiguous irresistibility of faith: Sure, maybe the chapel is a last-ditch effort when nothing else works, or maybe that chapel is the ONLY thing that works and the only thing that matters in the whole place. I love you like that, like I don’t know if you’re all I’ve got left or you’re the only thing that matters, and I don’t know which it is but wow, either way, it would be great if you gave me a sign. Ugh that liiiiiine. “Have you ever wanted to disappear and join a monastery?” asks 20 Dollar Nose Bleed.

“I will never believe in anything again,” says (Coffee’s for Closers), but who really believes that? The temptation of belief creeps up in between the proclamation (”kick drum beating in my chest again,” “preach electric to a microphone stand”), undercutting it in the same way that its over-repetition in the song starts to ring hollow (Pete doth protest too much). The comfort that religious people get from their faith in God, Pete wants that. But he can’t get there. He’s always hedging his bets (“in case God doesn’t show” --Thnks fr th Mmrs). He’s always doubtful of God’s good intentions if He is there (”when the world ends, will God go down with it?” --What a Catch, Donnie).

So he tries to find substitutes for this faith he doesn’t have. “My words are my faith,” says Hum Hallelujah, but then, immediately afterward, “To hell with our good name,” so that’s how much actual trust he thinks you should place in that. “We’re a bull and your ears are a china shop.” Look at what a mess my words can make in there if you let them in; that’s what faith does to you, buddy. His gospel is the gospel of giving up (Arms Race). “Follow the disorganized religion of my head,” says West Coast Smoker. “I can work a miracle,” boasts Uma Thurman. “I’m the holy water you have been without,” says Fourth of July.

But he’s not really what he wants to believe in. “We’re saints just swimming in our sins,” Twin Skeleton’s reminds everyone. “If we pray to the Lord,” goes the outro on w.a.m.s., “does he sing on a stage?” Maybe rock and roll is what he should be believing in? “I’m the last damn kid still kicking who still believes,” claims Save Rock and Roll. “I will defend the faith, going down swinging.”

All of which brings us to MANIA. Religion, faith, belief is ALL OVER MANIA. In fact, the entire album is constructed as a journey toward finding the thing you believe in, the thing you have faith in, and finally settling in to cling tight to it. The first song on the album, Stay Frosty, Royal Milk Tea, is struggling with loss of things to believe in: “All my childhood heroes have fallen off or died.” (Champion later has the same theme: “I’m young enough to still believe, but young enough not to know what to believe in.” The most explicit Pete has ever been about his journey toward faith.) But then, in the second song, Last of the Real Ones, the lyrics have found someone to revolve around, someone to be with forever: “the ultra-kind of love,” that ultimate faith. But it’s not quite there yet. There’s doubt in there. “Tell me I’m the only one even if it’s not true.” “There’s been a million before me.” The bridge is expert Fall-Out-Boy song ambiguity. “I’m done with having dreams, the thing that I believe / you drain the fear from me.” Is that “I believe that you drain the fear from me”? Or is that “I’m done with the thing that I believe”? The song’s phrasing lets it be both at once, both a proclamation of faith and a proclamation of doubt, all at the same time.

But things get better. We eventually get to “Church.” An entire song where the religious imagery is pitched toward love (or blowjobs, like, same thing, maybe, for Pete Wentz). “If YOU were church, I’d get on my knees, confess my love, I’d know where to be, my sanctuary, you’re holy to me,” is the refrain of the whole song. It can’t get any clearer than that. Pete Wentz has found what he wants to believe in, and it’s the YOU (whoever that might be ahem just saying that in “Sunshine Riptide,” the she says “I love you ‘til I don’t,” while the You is the “truest feeling yet”). The other enduring theme in MANIA is fakeness and pretend: fake tears, fake friends, people you’re pretending with and around. That theme shows up in Church, too: “I’ve got a few more fake friends and it’s getting hard to know what’s real.” But in Church the proclamation of faith is in the chorus, which means that no matter how anxious Pete gets himself in the lyrics, he resolves back to the central belief: I’ve got you, I know where I should be. YOU’RE what’s real, right here, forget everyone else. 

AND THEN we get Heaven’s Gate. Which revisits Pete’s favorite idea that Heaven is a party he’s going to have to try to crash. But here the song is all about how he’s no longer aimlessly looking for something to believe in; he’s found it: “I’m a missile that’s guided to you.” Maybe he’s gotten it wrong, that he’s chosen the You as his thing to believe in, that the only thing he wants is Your love, but if he’s gotten it wrong, he’s got faith the You is going to get it right and give him the boost he needs into Heaven. “Honey, please come through” and take me along with Your awesomeness, because I’ve decided it’s You I’m going to follow, Your dreams I’m going to make come true, and I’m not going to try to detox from You anymore, I’m just going to go all-in on this whole thing, and in the end, if I don’t make it on the list, will You slip me a wristband?

The album closes out with Young and Menace, with “I’ve lived so much life I think that God is gonna have to kill me twice,” which is such a beautiful bookend to “I read about the afterlife but I never really lived” in Saturday, like, ugh, that always kills me, look how far Pete Wentz has come, and then finally into Bishop’s Knife Trick: “I’m yours, ‘til the earth starts to crumble and the heavens roll away.”

Let’s go back to the places that we never should have left.

Idk, maybe you could read this as: Pete Wentz finally found something to believe in, and it ended up being the person who hasn’t left his side in 20 years, the person he’s never had to pretend with, the person who’s been there through all the fake friends, the person who’s golden and amazing and DEFINITELY going to get it right when Pete doesn’t. I mean, maybe you could read it this way.