#i cannot escape the bible

[aiscapades]

i hear amon pronounce the ou in your and i know that southern accent is fake

[todayisafridaynight]

I love coming back to read the reblogs of the bible yaoi reaction lmao, that wasn't even the worst panel

Seriously what is that top panel..

a second bible yaoi page as hit my eyeballs

[vulpinesaint]

i'm gonna start wearing catholic iconography for real. i'm gonna start being really insane about catholicism in my day to day life. noooooo you don't understand i mean it for Real this time i've been extremely normal about it so far

[auroreliis]

what if batfam catches reader listening to Ayesha Erotica? Or just "inappropriate" music in general? I know for a fact Tim would snitch so hard...

Ayesha Erotica 🔛🔝❗❗❗❗

Anyway, what they do depends.

Are you younger than 15? Then turn that shit off >:(

I'm not gonna send you nudes, chad--

WHAT VULGAR LANGUAGE!!!! DON'T LISTEN TO HER, CHILD!!!!

"But dad, she's Ayesha Erotica, she's 13 years old, and she's a porn star :((("

I don't think this would actually happen, but the image of Jason smashing a speaker with a bat (a baseball bat lol) flashed in my mind. I'm not saying that he would, but...

What if you're between 15 and 21? If your behaviour isn't getting worse after you started listening to Ayesha Erotica, then you MAY be allowed to listen to her music. If you're a good child and not too wild, then Bruce would begrudgingly let you listen to her. HOWEVER, make sure that he is FARRR away when you turn that music on >:(

He cannot for the life of him imagine you listening to that or even singing it!!!!! Let him remain in denial!!!!

Dick would be unsure if he agrees with Bruce's sentiment, but as long as you are good and listen to them (and are not a rebel), he wouldn't complain.

Damian would also be uncomfortable, but if father says it's okay, he will not comment on it.

You probably think that if you're above 21 that you could 100% listen to it, right? Well, no.

Again, it depends. Have you adapted to the family? Yes? Hmm...

After careful consideration, Bruce has decided that if you, from that point on, hadn't tried to escape for over 2 years, then he would begrudgingly allow it, but please, buy headphones.

Assuming that Bruce made it clear that you could NOT listen to Ayesha Erotica after he heard the lyrics of Emo Boy, you would be snitched on if anyone heard you listening to it.

Dick hears the song coming from your room? Snitched. Jason sees it on your screen? Snitched. Tim sees your phone screen on his pc and SNITCHESSSSSSS.

Cassandra sneaks up on you and listens to the music with you? Well, she may snitch, but she may also pretend that she was never even there. Stephanie hears the first second of Tome Mi Foto? Fuck it, she's singing with you.

Yes, the girlies are cool like that. They won't snitch. Anyway, it would be a pity if Bruce found out just because you refused to sleep in their room, right? ;D

Damian wouldn't even tell Bruce, he'd just tell you to turn that disgraceful music off. If you refuse? Snitched.

Duke would be on the edge, not sure if he would want to snitch or not. On one had, the music is making his head hurt. You're his sibling and shouldn't be listening to Vacation Bible School, because of the...interesting lyrics. However, he doesn't want to be a killjoy. In other words, it depends how you are to him.

[familiarscars]

Infamous Desire | Nicholas Chavez

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. nicholas chavez x female reader. ⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. With dreams becoming more and more real, you live in the impasse between succumbing to the infamous desire. ⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). dirty talk, somnophilia, knife play, explicit sex, murder, stalker, profanity.

With your palms together, you hear each word of his like music to your ears. He says “God, our Father, take away the sins of the world” as if he were not the bearer of most of them.

Light brown hair perfectly combed back, narrow gaze and broad shoulders over the dark cassock with red details over the cross. Father Charles was the definition of a heretic, frighteningly handsome and intoxicating beautiful, capable of warming parts hitherto unknown beneath the sacred vestments.

"May the Lord lead you safely to your homes, my brothers, I have heard that an evildoer is roaming Houston." Father Charles warns, closing his Bible and turning his attention to the faithful. "Pray, fast, keep evil far from your homes and avoid going out at dusk."

Leaving the only chapel in Houston empty, everyone followed the low sun due to the time and left after the end of Sunday mass, except you. Running her fingers over the dark wooden benches as she walked forward, her eyes never left the man standing at the pulpit, focused on the scriptures. From this point of view, his arms seemed larger, as if they were going to tear the tailored fabric at any moment.

A heavy sigh escaped her lips, dreaming about him every night after prayer had become a routine, and it was common for the temperature to fluctuate between her legs.

"Is everything okay, sister?" Father Charles' voice cut through your thoughts that seemed to be drifting into dangerous territory.

''Yes, yes" You answered a little shakily, adjusting your skirt as a distraction "Do you need any more help to fix the church?"

Father Charles gave you that look and smiled, walking towards you, flames coming out of his pupils and shooting through your body like embers. Since his arrival at the parish, nothing seemed to have returned to its normal state.

"Always so dedicated, sister…" Charles said in a hoarse whisper, leaning down until he was at your height, he lifted your chin with his fingertips and your faces were so close that the warm air of his breath blew against your face. "You deserve the best reward that heaven has to offer you."

With his fingers moving away from the contact with your face, you felt him blush and smiled shyly as you shrugged your shoulders. "Would it be bold of me to ask what it would be, Father Charles?"

"That's not an answer I can give when my mission is to only apply punishments."

"Then maybe I deserve to be punished." You say frankly, forgetting that you are in front of a Catholic authority, obeying only the command of the unbearable heat between your thighs.

"Do you wish to confess, sister?" He asks before half-closing his eyes.

Closed in the four wooden walls of a confessional, your fingers lowered the veil that covered the top of your head, and from the side view you saw Father Charles sitting in the next room.

"Father, give me your blessing because I have sinned"

You say without taking your attention off his erect body. "Every night in my dreams my object of desire manages to persuade me, without any effort, I allow him to take me, to soil my body with his sweet profanity and give me the cup of sin to drink with him. It is becoming more and more recurrent, I am no longer able to separate illusion from reality and being close to him has been torture without remembering the images we experience every night."

"It doesn't seem that serious to me, sister" he began with a deep voice filling the confessional. "We cannot control our dreams, there is no need to consider it a sin to have carnal desires."

"Not even if the object of desire, is you?"

An anguished silence formed in seconds, from the side view you noticed Father Charles closing his fingers on his own thigh, shrinking the fabric of his cassock. You didn't know what that reaction meant more precisely, but a wave of regret for saying those words slowly emerged.

Six Hail Marys and twelve Our Fathers was your punishment, not exactly what you expected after revealing to your parish priest the unbridled delirium he caused in your head every night. Charles left the confessional in silence and, with the discouragement of having done the biggest mistake of your life, you returned to your room at the back of the church.

Cold water from the shower on your naked body, eyes closed, and nothing could contain the maddening agony of thinking about that man from the moment you woke up until the time you went to sleep. Like a volcano, he left a trail of overwhelming destruction with just his intoxicating presence and the woody scent of his skin.

Your fingers sailed to your nipples, twirling around them in circular motions, allowing your mind to take you as far as possible. Heat, tension, stiffness on the soft skin, that was the effect he had on you as if he were constantly electrocuting you with high voltage wires.

All the shame spread in his presence and you just wanted to feel him, you just wished that instead of your fingers entering, it were his. In your core, you made rotary movements until your clitoris stiffened from the spasm generated by your body. A moan escaped your lips, you're at the height of pleasure, didn't care about being heard by the other nuns in the room as you sank two more fingers inside yourself.

Between the strands of hair, you raised your head and noticed a presence watching you through the bathroom window, but you didn't move to stop when you realized that having someone on the other side made you even more excited.

A short scream tells you that you came on your fingers, and a last sigh of relief leaves your lips as you relax in the hot water. The sight of another body in the window is no longer there, and you raise your eyebrows, curiously wondering where the figure that was stalking you was.

After turning off the shower, you wrapped your body in a towel and with bare feet felt the cold floor on the way to the back door of the room. The night breeze attacked you with force, with a wind that made the hairs on your arms stand on end.

You heard a grunting sound that seemed to come from the outskirts of the parish, and even though you were hesitant, you overcame your fear and followed wherever the noise was.

You covered your mouth with your hands to prevent your scream from echoing around the place as you saw Father Charles disemboweling a man's body in the middle of the lawn. His white clothes were stained with blood, his hair disheveled over his face, and he was panting like an animal as he finished taking the life of that being. Shock seemed not to be enough, your legs were frozen in place, and you forgot that your towel had slipped when you put your hands to your mouth in fright.

The dark and demonic gaze that had taken over Father Charles's body left the lifeless body and wandered towards you. Appetite leapt from his expression, as if the reclusive animal was finally free, thirsty for everything it needed to repel. He delighted in the fear on your face, and you tried to retreat as his steps advanced, but to no avail when he grabbed you by the throat and threw you against the church wall.

"Ask me, sister" he said softly, taking his hand from your throat to your hair, his face slowly nuzzled your neck and little by little you gave in as you wrapped your legs around his waist. "Ask me why my body is covered in the blood of a guy I don't know."

"Because, Father Charles…" You gasped when he passed a rigid tip at your entrance.

"Because he was watching you from the same place where I usually jump to see you every night, sister."

"You…

"No… it wasn't just a dream, we gave in to our desires together, every damn night since I got here." He blew and sent shivers down your entire body, pressing your legs tighter around his waist. The object he was using, cold and firm, pierced you and elicited a shy moan. "There is no sin without punishment, sister. Prepare to meet the worst of the devil in me tonight."

The handle of Father Charles' knife moved back and forth against the liquid that was running between your legs. Hot, voracious and with the taste of blood, it was the kiss of the man destined for the holy life who synchronized his tongues at the same time as he passed his lips over my face and pressed his body against the wall.

Infamous desire inflamed your veins and you used your hips to grind against the tip of the knife with the slow and sensual rhythm of the kiss. Your moans were muffled by Charles' lips every time he sank the object deeper.

"That's it, darling," he exhaled in a hoarse voice. "There's no need to rush to finish this dance, I'll always come back the next morning."

Every night was real, he invaded your dreams and confused your reality with the kisses on your belly and the rotating movements he made against your clitoris. Responsible for all the orgasms that flooded your bed the previous morning, Father Charles escaped your fantasies and came true before your eyes.

Taking the soaked knife out of you, he heard the plea you made when you felt you were empty. With a mischievous smile, it didn't take long for him to fill you again with his hard and robust member, too strong for your tight entrance. Charles tore the walls of your pussy as he forced himself against you, and your moan as he dug his nails into your wounded back sounded even louder.

Your breathing synchronized, and he looked deep into your eyes as he thrust and lifted your body with each thrust. You closed your legs to squeeze him, and you had never heard a sound as intriguing as the moan of a man like him. Your body gave the first spasm and your eyes rolled back with the high concentration of pleasure in your vertebrae.

Charles gave you a relentless sequence of penetrations, slamming your back against the wall, rough and delirious, he didn't waste a single drop of your body, running his tongue over your face, neck and breasts, as if it were his fountain of youth.

With a long grunt, you came all over Charles and drew a restrained smile from him. He used his own fluid as lubricant to continue his thrusts. The pause made him sigh and with his fingers digging into the back of your neck he led you to kneel in front of him. His entire length was entering your mouth with difficulty.

You thought it was impossible for someone to have something so exaggerated, but he did. Your hand helped you by stimulating his erection and you worked on smearing it with your saliva, tasting it as it hit your throat. Charles writhed silently and made up for his lack of control by squeezing your hair between his fingers.

Your free hand massaged his balls without breaking eye contact with him. You felt your legs slip again just seeing Charles blush at how slowly he sucked your cock inside.

It was definitely not just a dream this time.

[sir-davey]

King Saul’s evil spirit, also known as the Ruach Ra’ah

I want to show some of the characters from my Saul retelling, The Book of Saul, and one of the major ones that take part of Saul’s life is Ze’ev, who is King Saul’s evil spirit but personified as a spirit always taking the form of a wolf in Saul’s visions.

I have yet to properly introduce him, but I will now lol.

I draw him frequently with Saul and I have a lot planned for him. He’s his own character instead of simply being the vaguely mentioned evil spirit that attacks Saul in the Bible lol. In the story, there’s some heavy lore that Ze’ev carries, and when he first actively interacts with Saul (right after being rejected as king), he becomes Saul’s conscience, and a guide, as he twists truths for his own benefit and amusement.

To summarize Ze’ev’s character, Ze’ev can be interpreted in many ways. He is basically the essence of Saul’s subconscious containing his deepest fears and regrets. Saul’s mentality will be reflected on Ze’ev who guides Saul, seeking truths he desperately yearns for, through 7 seven visions. No matter how hard Saul tries, he cannot escape the spirit always appearing before him. And also, those 7 visions are basically Saul’s hell with different truths revealed to him. Ze’ev finds so much joy in watching him suffer, yet he is able to have Saul always running back to him for help. Ze’ev knows very well that Saul has absolutely no one to turn to as he takes advantage of his helplessness.

As for Ze’ev’s appearance, he is usually a wolf, and there are two reasons why Ze’ev appears as a wolf. One being the tribe symbol for Benjamin, the tribe Saul’s from, which is represented with a wolf, and in the past I had called Ze’ev the “Wolf of Benjamin”, but I ended up changing his name lol. But the second reason resonates with Saul more deeply, where in the story, Saul is terrified of wolves due to traumatic experiences with them, and it comes off basically as a phobia Saul has (I believe the phobia for wolves is called “lupophobia”, that’s what Saul would have oof). But ironically, Saul is from Benjamin, and he’d be surrounded by wolf symbols as a benjaminite king ruling the place. And plus, Ze’ev is almost always a wolf, and if you recall what I’ve said, Ze’ev is the essence of Saul’s mind made up of his darkest fears and regrets while appearing in Saul’s visions.

I could literally go on and on about the evil spirit Ze’ev, but I would be crossing spoiler territory if I do loll.

But some small things about him: Ze’ev shapeshifts a lot, and his form is always moving in place. And he has a HUGE tail that constantly flows.

But lastly, this one means a lot to me lmaoo, but hear me out on this. When it comes to Ze’ev’s voice, I usually either have him speak with both a male and a female voice that intermingles at the same time (for reference, it’s just like Satan’s voice from that creepy Mark Twain clay animation movie. Look it up if you’re curious lol). Or, Ze’ev speaks as a distorted version of Saul’s voice.

Butttt, I can’t help but headcanon his voice as Will Wood when it comes to visualizing him in my head. Ze’ev sings as well (he sometimes sings to lure Saul), and whenever he sings, all I can hear is Will Wood. Ack, Will Wood!!! 🔥 And I know I’m being biased because I LOVE Will Wood (pls if you’re a Will Wood fan you gotta let me know 😭). But outside of the book, I imagine Ze’ev’s voice as Will Wood’s lolllll.

I already have a bunch of Saul and Ze’ev animatics planned, but if I do make an animatic/animation with Ze’ev, it’s going to be a Will Wood song.

[sir-davey]

I’ve written something like this but it was David haunting Jonathan, and Jonathan goes a little insane 😭

What if, they haunted each other… like when David is gone and out in the wilderness, and Jonathan is all alone, his memories keep following him, and same with David when Jonathan is gone

But Jonathan haunting David, I think about it soo much, and have brainstorm it a lot, and I’ve always wanted to make something out of it aaaa

I have a spooky ghost Jonathan in mind that David sees in visions, to torment him muahaha

I think Yonatan should get to haunt David a little. as a treat

[sewinrat]

If you are/replace Sebastian includes;

*Reader is female mentioned but I could care less, you just have to be human. Have I done something like this before can't remember...

Oh you poor soul. You don't even know how you got in this mess. You were one day suddenly locked up in a plastic cage and this strange man bought you for an even stranger boy. Now you're stuck with them forever.

The closest you act to in terms of 'first meet' is close to Pomni. And yes you have went into the UNKNOWN and Luther had to pull you back but in this case, the unknown is much more dangerous.

And now you're trying your best to hide and run away from all of them in their weird crazy house of nonsense. Unfortunately you can't even hide well because Randal's dolls will always find you. Luther is another thing. You can't act out in front of around him or else you'll be a 'bad pet' and "that's not how girls supposed to act." His words not mine. Even if you've been put in the ridiculous jester outfit. You'd prefer if they put you in those discipline outfit forever if it means to leave you alone. It doesn't matter if you lose your body.

You got a high chance into being part of the family because Luther might want a little sister but let's not go there. This time.

The other two 'people' in the house, Nyen and Nyon, you thought you could trust but apparently not. You try to avoid them both, mostly Nyen because of the times he threatened you. Although Nyon doesn't do much, it's best to not engage in any way. Why am I describing things like this is your diary?

Actually you might have a diary. But hide them well or else everyone and I mean EVERYONE will read it if you misplaced it anywhere. Randal loves to snoop especially around you. Luther says it's to get to know you better but like a parent, he's a liar because if he reads anything he doesn't like, he'll punish you accordingly. Nyen can use it to manipulate you and make fun of you but Nyon reads it... And that's it. He doesn't do much about it but he's bold so he will gave it back to you even if it's open and in the middle of reading it.

After maybe weeks or even months if time manages to slip later because if you cannot make sense of time, how can you even know the time - you're getting use to it. Not comfortable of course but it's to the point where you aren't actively scared to even look behind you.

You know what, you should be just a little bit grateful that you are Randal's 'friend' while also being under him by being a pet because if you remember in Lucid 14, it shows that Randal likes to keep parts of his 'friends' as the bible recruiter dudes were leaving(But it could also imply that it's his first time doing it while alive or smth). So yeah that's one way to lose skin.

Ranfren Characters thoughts on You(ooc);

Randal: "Oh you met my friend?? Did she escaped again if you knew em... Eh impossible but since you know her, I KNOW YOU~!! A friend to my pet is a friend to mee now come here and let's have some funn." How did you get in touch with her- actually doesn't matter to Randal, more friends the merrier.

Luther: "Hm. Troublesome at first but oh well she's just getting use to her new home that's all so I won't blame them for that. Getting docile but still needs precautions." Somehow he treats you more of an experiment than a pet. Maybe you're those last options regularly people would consider to.

Nyen: He exited the interview because a reaction of the 'new' pet of the house from him is a waste of time to him. You're not worth his trouble. But he did said something about how fun watching you struggle when him and or his master catch you escaping.

Nyon: We couldn't find him to get an interview so we came to the conclusion that he has nothing to say about you. Maybe a little pity. That's all.

Bonus? Tsukada Satoru: "Ah she's quite cute but should keep a certain distance away from Randal. Hm? Jealous? In what way or to who exactly? Randal? Oh I could never. Randal is my best friend, I'm just protecting him away from her." Maybe if you play his heart well, he'll take more of a fancy to you.

[19871997]

i would LOVE recs please and thank you 🫶🏽

OKAY ! so. these to me are like 2997 required reading:

cover to cover and unbound by lighthousetowers (M, 24k) this is like The connorleon fic to me getting together whole figuring out who they are as players and people and to the oilers and to the nhl as a whole and how they built their legacy and write their story and how they’ll fit in to other legacies and stories it is spectacularly written the themes are so consistent and connor and leon’s voices and actions are so freaking realistic like even if you dgaf abt them u should read this and then gaf about them

he’s no jacob from the bible (but damn he made me pray) by softnoirr (M, 8.5k) easily the most devastating and crushing fic ive maybe ever read, definitely at least in the connorleon tag, postcareer and intimately exploring the effects of career ending head injuries and how to love one another when one of u barely remembers half the hours of the day. one of the tags is ‘connor mcdavid isnt a robot but probably wishes he was’ and i think that succinctly summarises the fic. one of those ones u read once and think about forever

a brief, unauthorised guide to tending an exit wound by stridents (no rating, 10k) getting back together fic of my personal dreams quite frankly. just a very very good concept delivered in an excellent manner with perfect execution every action they take feels incredibly in character. something something sometimes it isnt about how u get there but thr fact that you did get there in the end

take me back to the places i feel loved in by fishfoods (T, two works 1.6k total) THE. married connorleon series by my ride or die @bboes about loving and being loved so so freaking soft and fluffy and so quintessentially connorleon in that they love eachother above and beyond quite possibly everything else

bones in the foundation by cuprun (M, 8.6k) directly taken from the tags: this is NOT about wanting to escape the oilers, this is about how you can feel trapped somewhere even if its somewhere you don’t want to leave. sososo good gives u exactly what you come for really conveys connor and leon’s whole ‘best players in the world don’t want to win anywhere else but everything else is making it damn hard’ thing

be the one to set me free by notthequiettype (E, 31k) getting togetehr and learning about eachother and eachother’s bodies cannot recommend it enough also one of THE connorleon fics to me the way connor is written genuinely hits like a freaking line every single time and the way he interacts w leon and others is soooooo. oughhhhh

not strictly connorleon but something about us by lemonfractals (E, 19k) is connor/leon/dylan holloway but also the way connor and leon are in this like that is Them through and through truly truly such an incredible fic and made me a dholloway frontliner

goes without sayibg really but the rest of the fics by these authors are also an always recommend so i heartily suggest u check them out too!!!

[wolves-and-stars]

Beginner's Guide to Wolfstar (Long Fics)

(here's a list of my top 10 favorite long fics ranging from 259k to 59k words)

Momentum by children_of_the_shadows (ao3) 259k

If you have to ready any canon compliant (mostly) marauders through the years fic, this is the one, Children_of_the_shadows is one of the best writers ever, Top 3 fic authors.

2. Text Talk by merlywhirls (ao3) 141k

Everyone knows text talk, it's basically wolfstar bible, Non Magic AU where the boys meet by accidently texting the wrong number.

3. Time is a Fine Invention by bluepeony (ao3) 105k

Brilliant university non magic au, with the most imperfect and human characterization of both Remus and Sirius, read it if only to humanize the both of them and their relationship. Insecurity in a relationship and Coming of age and all the thoughts accompanying it are perfectly described in this. so much foreshadowing if you read it carefully enough.

It'll make you hate and simultaneously empathize with both characters.

4. Slughorn's Sanitarium for Troubled Boys by MelloPie 65k

TW: discussion of mental health, SA, institutionalization, ab*use, s*icide, self h*rm.

Non-Magic AU, set in a mental institution, where both noys have to share a room. Its one of the first long fics i ever read, so maybe i have a soft spot for this one, and every other fic on this list.

5. The Lad That Loved You. by MollyMaryMarie (ao3) 81k

I've said this once and I'll say it again, mollymarymarie is one of the best writers out there, another top 3 author for me, all of her fics are amazing, obviously including dear you holiness, we can pretend, the only living boy in new york, i might have to do a separate recs list for that.

But, if you had to read just one, i would say The lad that loved you is the perfect one, set in their 6th or 7th year? of hogwarts, they hide their new relationship by acting like they hate each other, and let me tell you, they are exactly, perfectly themselves in this fic, and by that i mean exactly how i imagine them.

There is not one single thing about this fic that i would change. Perfection.

6. Discards by picascribit (ao3) 76k words

I can't make a fic rec without picascribit. Cure for nightmares changed my life. Non-magic AU, Remus meets Sirius in the library he goes to study at, real love isn't always perfect and doesn't involve perfect people, is what i've take away from this fic.

7. ten reasons (to go to michigan) by greyeyedmonster18 (ao3) 59k

Top 3 Fics. If you had to read any wolfstar fic, it would be this one. I've read 100's spanning from 2016 - till date, and this is the best one ive ever read.

Remus is newly divorced, and he meets Sirius Black.

If you've ever lost someone one and had to re-learn how to live without someone you never thought you would have to live without, this fic will encapsulate the gist of it in words.

In one of their notes the authors says something close to 'the hardest thing about losing someone is finding out that the earth keeps spinning and you have to keep living'

8. Dating Remus Lupin by Children_of_the_Shadows (ao3) 83k

Top 3 fics. I can't explain this fic in any words, the writing style is brilliant, the characterizations are unique and wonderful and perfect. Everything about this fic is brilliant.

Set in Year 5, Sirius Black wants a boyfriend and James tells him about the only other openly gay boy in in their year, it just happens to be Remus Lupin. Much to his disdain.

9. Remus Lupin's Guide to Successful Courting by Children_of_the_Shadows (ao3) 87k

Non Magic AU, Remus Lupin finds harry in his yard having escaped from school and return him back to Dr. Sirius Black, who's new to town and coincidently doesn't have an inkling about Remus's past, his eyes clear of any judgement are what make Remus fall for him and pursue him, court if you will.

I again cannot explain this fic. Children_of_the_shadows is the most talented writer, i will make a separate fic list for their other brilliant work.

10. Sex Pistol by ArtificialAorta (ffnet) 86k

Musicians AU, Remus is punk rock, Sirius is akin to the prince of pop, how can they not fall in love?

[actual-changeling]

i am incapable of talking about an idea without automatically turning it into a ficlet. this was supposed to be a one-sentence post but uh. have this instead i guess

~~~

It's awkward at first, being around each other again.

They cannot talk about any of it, really, not with another apocalypse so close to succeeding that he can already smell charred earth and burned feathers. Opening that box, those six thousand years of something, would come with more than either of them is currently prepared to handle, and so they don't.

No apologies but no accusations either, only a silent but mutual understanding to save their home once and for all—and then they would have the rest of forever to verbally tear their relationship apart.

Still, despite keeping his distance, despite locking up the more tender feelings simmering in his chest, despite refusing to take his glasses off or coming within arm's length of aziraphale, Crowley can feel himself softening by the hour.

Three days. He makes it three days before he slips up—or rather, before Aziraphale slips up.

They are back in the bookshop, and Crowley is side-eyeing his usual armchair like he has been doing since he first set foot in the shop again, but for now he is content leaning against a pillar and watching Aziraphale sort through his bible collection.

"If only I could remember which one- I swear I read something relevant, I just need to find it again."

He discards another one after impatiently thumbing through it, and he carelessly sets it down on top of a swaying tower of scripture. Crowley briefly considers making it topple over—and then it does so without any demonic intervention, crashing down in a flurry of ripping paper and hardcovers, hitting the stone floor head-on.

"Ohh f-" Aziraphale stops himself, angrily staring at the mess as if it hadn't been mostly his fault in the first place. He takes a deep breath, then another, and to Crowley's utter surprise, he says, "Fuck."

A half-choked laugh escapes him, closer to a giggle than he would care to admit, and it's the word itself and the furious expression directed at a pile of paper that rips it out of him and through every carefully constructed wall.

The smile is foreign on his face, the sound of his own laughter even more so, and yet he finds it remains, small and fragile but visible, when Aziraphale's head snaps up. A myriad of expressions flicker across his face, too quickly for Crowley to keep up, and fear freezes him in place, his mind scrambling for some sense of control and finding none.

Aziraphale doesn't lash out, nor does he ridicule him; there is no bitter disappointment or confused anger. No, Aziraphale looks at Crowley with eyes the colour of the fading night sky and smiles back. A true, wide smile, all teeth and sunshine, and he is so disoriented by the entire sequence of events that it takes him almost a minute to label the emotion coming off of him in waves.

Relief. Aziraphale is relieved.

He steps over the mess on the floor, slowly and carefully, as if approaching a skittish deer, and considering the tension tightening his muscles, it is not an unfit comparison; he stops an arm's length away, still smiling.

Someone help him, the universe might be doomed because Crowley lifts one hand and pushes his glasses up into his hair, soaking up the breathless gasp he gets in response. So much for waiting.

"There you are," Aziraphale whispers, steadily holding his gaze, and Crowley's smile deepens, overshadowing the river of doubt coursing through his veins. For the first time since being torn apart, the world feels worth saving again.

"There I am."

[that-house]

SATAN’S PERFECT IDIOT OR: POP MUSIC AND THE BATTLE FOR SURVIVAL IN NEW SPACE CITY OR: INVINO VERITAS AND THE DOCUMENTARY TO END ALL DOCUMENTARIES (AND THE WORLD)

To explain why for me, universally-beloved pop sensation Invino Veritas, being drunk on The Every Night Show with Blue Jerry Seinfeld was a bad thing would require copious context that I’m too lazy to give right now, especially when it could be revealed at a more interesting and dramatic time later. Suffice it to say the conversation had started bad, and was going worse.

“is that legal?” asked famous talk show host Blue Jerry Seinfeld, bluely.

“No,” replied famous pop star Invino Veritas (me, in case you forgot), honestly.

We both trailed off into an awkward silence, the sort of silence that two famous people trail off into when one of them confesses to double-parking a private jet in front of the fire escape of an orphanage on live TV, but in my defense building an orphanage near the corner store where I buy my menthols was poor civil planning on their part. Hardly anyone got hurt, anyways.

“While we’ve got you here, would you like to say anything about your upcoming album, Always Read the Fine Print?”

I batted my eyelids coquettishly, my seventeen thousand dollar UltraGlitter eyeshadow emitting enough light to temporarily blind (and in one case, as my lawyers would later tell me, somehow permanently deafen) the audiences at home. “Well, let's just say it’s still a bit of a work in progress.”

Blue Jerry Seinfeld stared at me gormlessly and bluely. As part of his ten year contract with The Every Night Show, he was obligated to stay awake 24/7/365/10, or actually more like 24/7/365.25/10 to account for leap years. It gave him a miserable earnestness that drew his guests in and inspired them to share things they’d never even admit to themselves. He didn’t need that for me, though, because I was drunk.

“I’m actually delaying on purpose,” I continued.

Blue Jerry Seinfeld’s sleepless blue eyes bored into my soul the way a particularly blue soul drill might similarly bore into my soul, only bluer. “Tell me more about that.”

“You see, Blue Jerry Seinfeld, you know how I’m with Morgenstern Records, you know, the record label owned by Lucifer Morningstar?”

“The guy from the bible, right?”

“Yeah. He did porn for a while, too.”

“Yeah. I’ve seen that. Good stuff.”

“Yeah.”

We trailed off into another awkward silence, the sort of silence that two famous people trail off into while thinking about the biblical Lucifer’s penis and its frankly ridiculous proportions. Thirteen inches length, seven inches circumference, by the way. I know you were wondering.

“Anyway, what about him?”

“Yeah, so you know all those stories about how someone makes a deal with the devil, and then they get totally screwed on the wording?”

“I’m familiar,” said the man who was contractually obligated to go ten years without sleeping. He was kind of ugly, now that I thought about it.

“I don’t think you’d really get it, actually,” I said, dismissing his lived experience the same way I dismissed my first butler for not excitedly running to come greet me at the door every time I got home. I mean, it wasn’t in Gerald’s terms of employment or anything but would it really have killed him to go above and beyond every single day? (LAWYER’S ADDENDUM: Gerald MacDonald had a rare and little-known heart condition which would have killed him if he ever felt any excitement or joy, and the depressive spiral he fell into following his termination likely saved his life. You cannot conclusively prove that my client, Invino Veritas, was unaware of his condition or that she specifically ended his employment for any reason other than to protect him).

Blue Jerry Seinfeld bristled in irritation, shaking his venomous quills as if to deter a predator and making a noise that sounded like a blue, be-quilled clone of a 20th century comedian muttering “fucking divas, man” under his breath. “As you were saying,” he said, more audibly and bluely.

“As I was saying, I made a deal with the devil and then I got totally screwed on the wording.”

You know what, to save time, let’s just assume that Blue Jerry Seinfeld does everything bluely going forward, and I can just say that he did a thing and you can add in the word “bluely” yourself, because the way he did it, whatever it was, was undeniably blue. So next paragraph, when I was going to say “‘Much like me and my deal with the studio,’ said Blue Jerry Seinfeld, making everything about him, bluely,” I’ll just say “‘Much like me and my deal with the studio,’ said Blue Jerry Seinfeld, making everything about him,” and you’ll just have to keep this paragraph in mind.

“Much like me and my deal with the studio,” said Blue Jerry Seinfeld, making everything about him. Did you do it? Did you do the thing I told you to do? The super easy thing I literally just told you to do? Here, consult this flow chart:

Yes, I did as I was ordered by pop sensation Invino Veritas: good girl, or whatever you are. Keep it up!

No, I ignored the super easy request of a really hot woman: literally how did you fuck that up. The bar was so low.

“Sure, Blue Jerry Seinfeld. Whatever. Anyway, back to talking about me: so I have a seven record deal with Morgenstern Records, right? And in the last five years I’ve put out six albums, all to incredible critical and financial success. Selling my soul to the devil was the best decision I ever made.”

“But…?” said Blue Jerry Seinfeld (don’t forget).

“But… I may have neglected to Always Read the Fine Print. See what I did there? Anyways, it turns out that when the seventh album is done, I go to Hell, and so does everyone who’s ever listened to even a single second of my music.” And of course, due to my incredible popularity and sex appeal, my music is inescapable in New Space City, so every single one of the ten trillion people who live here has heard my music.

“What the fuck? My fucking kids love your music! Oh god! Oh god we’re all going to die! Oh god! Oh cruel and merciless god, all I have ever asked of you is the chance to dream again, and now it seems I will be denied even that!” Blue Jerry Seinfeld was having a panic attack, something famously pretty common in cheaply-made clones. He didn’t even have kids, he just had implanted memories from the 1990s.

It was frankly pretty embarrassing, watching this blue man break down and cry on the floor, and clearly the studio execs agreed. A crack team of clonehunters rappelled onto the stage and shot Blue Jerry Seinfeld until he stopped twitching. The corpse was dragged off stage, and The Every Night Show with Blue Jerry Seinfeld cut to commercial.

The commercial was an ad for dog food, and featured a few scandalously-uncollared dogs dancing at the club to my hit single I Literally Just Killed a Guy (So Let’s Make Out in the Back of a Cop Car), so if there were any dogs in New Space City who somehow hadn’t heard my music, well, they probably were going to Hell now, too.

A few minutes later, they’d defrosted a new Blue Jerry Seinfeld, and rammed an icepick into the part of his brain responsible for feeling fear. “Sorry about that everyone,” said the new Blue Jerry Seinfeld, oozing blue blood from a hole in his eye socket. “So, Invino, you were saying that we’re all going to Hell. I hear it’s nice this time of year.”

“Yeah, pretty much. Of course, if anyone kills me before I finish the album, I guess I’d be the only one to go to Hell.”

Why did I say that. Oh right, the context.

So when I was like, seven years old, I got into a wish-god’s windowless white van because he said he could turn me into a princess. When I told him my name was Invino Veritas, and that I lived at 3243293 Jelq Street, he started laughing.

I asked him what was so funny, and he said that he was going to turn me into a princess but then he had a way funnier idea, and cursed me so that I have to tell the truth as long as I have literally any alcohol in my bloodstream. It didn’t really affect me at the time, but once I reached the legal drinking age of twelve I started losing friends really fast because I couldn’t stop telling people that I thought I was better than them.

Who names their kid Invino Veritas, anyway? Like, that’s just asking for them to get bullied by an omnipotent, kinda pervy deity with a penchant for stupid puns. No one else in my family has a weird name, and still I got singled out for a stupid name-based curse from birth, the assholes. Whatever, I got to channel that rage into my music and I’m over it now. I’m over it.

“Could you say that again, for audiences at home?”

“Sure thing, Blue Jerry Seinfeld. When I finish my next album, every single person and dog and elf in New Space City will be immediately sent to Hell, unless I’m killed before it’s done.”

“Is there anything else you’d like to say, before a swarm of desperate fans looking to avoid eternal damnation storms the studio?”

“Just that I hear your complaints, and I’m listening, and I think I can delay the album for, like a year or two, so you should do whatever you want in the time you have before the world ends. Quit your job. Go on that vacation. Kill a guy and make out in the back of a cop car. Preorder Always Read the Fine Print, because I don’t think I can cash those royalty checks once I’m in Hell.”

“You heard her, New Space City. This has been The Every Night Show with Blue Jerry Seinfeld, and it will continue to be The Every Night Show with Blue Jerry Seinfeld until the world ends or my contract expires.” He turned to me, gripping my arm with the sort of intensity that you only get in freshly-defrosted clones. “You can escape out the back. I’ll hold them off for as long as I can. Good luck out there, Invino.”

Aw, that was actually really sweet of him. “Thanks, Blue Jerry Seinfeld. I’m sorry I called you ugly in my internal monologue.”

“Dying feels like falling asleep,” said Blue Jerry Seinfeld, still not releasing my arm.

“Okay, Blue Jerry Seinfeld.”

“Invino, even when I’m dead I don’t get to close my eyes. The cameras are always rolling.”

“Okay, Blue Jerry Seinfeld.” I tugged my arm free of his grip a little bit, but his grip was like magically-reinforced iron that was way stronger than steel or titanium, but probably weaker than magically-reinforced steel.

“The cameras are always rolling, Invino…”

“I have to go, Blue Jerry Seinfeld.” He let me go, and I sprinted out the back of the studio. Behind me, The Every Night Show with Blue Jerry Seinfeld cut to commercial again, and the screaming started.

[ask-sister-solaris]

sjsndbd you can keep sending me asks i literally do not mind them i love your ideas sm. you're actually helping with muse it's insane.

But since you insist, i had an idea in mind, and then i forgot, and then i saw your reblog and remembered again so !!

could i possibly get another egon x reader (i literally love egon i am not sorry about this) where the reader is a little bit religiously traumatized and they have a call there, but they physically cannot step into the church bc 1) their family went to this church, and 2) everything is coming back after almost forgetting about everything so egon has to comfort them.

Sorry if that's a little dark but that's me being angsty 💀

*rubs hands together* I also have religious trauma so les goooo

“I promise you’re okay Dove”

Egon Spengler x Reader

Warnings: angst, religious trauma, implied 🍇

Panic set in even before you’d gotten into the Ecto 1. The call you’d received was from a church, the Catholic Church to be precise. The one your parents attended when you were young. Egon knew you didn’t like churches somewhat but he thought it was just because you were a scientist and you didn’t believe the stupid bible stories.

You took your meds and got into the Ecto 1 all kitted up and ready. As Ray pulled up to the church your stomach did flips and suddenly you were back to your 7 year old self.

You were only young, seven years old nearly 8. Your parents were taking you to Easter service at the church near your apartment. You were dressed up in a pretty blue dress with a little bow at the back and your hair curled. You never understood why exactly this was so important but you enjoyed the free chocolate.

Of course you’d never worn a dress of this style to church. It came to your knees and was very poofy and femme. The dresses you usually wore were ankle length, and a peachy colour. You didn’t argue though because good girls never argued. As you approached the church the pastor was welcoming everyone, and though you nor your parents saw, he was eyeing you up.

You sat beside your parents and swung your little legs as the ceremony began. You were old enough to volunteer with the little show they put on and let kids get involved with. Of course you begged your parents and it didn’t take much for them to allow you to. The service itself went smoothly, afterward while children were allowed to play outside on the clear patch of grass and adults were sat around picnic tables talking, the pastor called you over into the church. He told you that you looked very pretty in your dress and that he knew God intended you to find a man soon.

This confused you because you were only 7 and boys were so blehhhhh. But you just nodded and smiled and turned to leave. The pastor asked you if you could show him your stockings because they looked so pretty and you foolishly agreed. You thought nothing of it and never mentioned it to your parents. And that’s how it continued every Easter service up until you were 15 and finishing up school.

He tried to get you to strip, going as far as to drag you into the confessional booth and rip your dress. Without going into to much depth he had his way with you and only after you were able to escape and run out screaming and crying. Your dress was in shreds, you were a mess makeup running down your cheeks, and all your parents said was, “you shouldn’t have been tempting him with how short your dress was”

You hadn’t moved from your seat in the Ecto one for a good five minutes, tears were streaming down your cheeks your breathing heavy. Egon told the others to go ahead and he would catch up. They agreed and he waited for you to calm down and come back to the real world. They had things in the car for if Egon ever had a panic attack. He grabbed a sugary drink and something sour for you and that helped you come back to the present.

He held your hand gently and you looked at him. His heart broke seeing how upset you looked. “It’s okay now my dove, I promise you it’s okay Dove”

When the ghost was contained and you were safely in Egons baggy clothes in his bed swaddled up with your favorite drink and snacks Egon put his favorite music on and worked on some paperwork at the desk inside the bedroom. Not even Venkman had cracked a joke about the church, and that was rare.

[aprilthearcher]

that boyish look [roman roy x reader]

a/n: this is almost exclusively dialogue, but it seemed to be the only thing i could manage to write, so here it is. not my gif! also, i know nothing about student debt because in my country most universities are free, so..

more roman <3

“I can’t go out with you, Roman”.

He rolls his eyes after letting out a frustrated — exaggerated — sigh escape from his lips. His relaxed body thrown on your green, velvet couch is the complete opposite of your tense figure. Hunched almost entirely on top of your books, your dominant hand occupied with a blue pen while the other holds up the weight of your head, you cannot help but feel envy towards the man who’s been nagging at you for the last fifteen minutes. You should be the one relaxing on that sofa — which cost you a fortune, may you add —, free from responsibilities; instead, enjoying himself on your couch is the COO of the country’s most important company.

“Come on,” he whines for what seems like the tenth time ��� it probably is the tenth time —.  “Can’t you leave that for another time?”

“I have an exam next Thursday, Roman. And another one the next day. I told you that.”

“It’s not like exams are that important.” He makes a gesture with his hands that shows how little he cares for your education, or for education in general. “Not more important than me, at least.”

“I’m not you, Roman. My father is not the owner of a millionaire conglomerate that controls half the media of this country.”

He opens up his mouth, surely ready to respond to what you’ve just said with something particularly witty but to which you don’t have the patience to hear, so you cut him off.

“And… if I don’t finish with my master’s degree in Business Law then my time as Gerri’s little lawyer puppet is done, and if my time is done here then…”

You raise your eyebrows at him, pulling a face that tells him “figure it out”.

“Then… you’ll be free from your slave?” Roman laughs at the annoyed way in which you roll your eyes at him and bite your lips in an attempt to stop you from cursing him. He is, after all, the son of the owner of a millionaire conglomerate that… you can guess the rest. He is also, in some way, your boss — which you definitely forget from time to time after being witness to the idiocy that falls out of his mouth and the way he acts on a daily basis —. He’s basically a short child that’s supposed to be an adult. Though, you kinda like his childish side. It’s refreshing compared to the constant humorless faces you see at the office. 

“No, Roman. Then… If I lose my internship, you’ll never see me again because I wouldn’t be of use anymore.”

His feet are on the ground as he gets into a sitting position, his right hand fiddling with the cufflinks of his white shirt while you see him lifting up his gaze towards you, still hunched over your desk. Piles of books of different sizes, though none of them smaller than the freaking bible you would guess, cover the right side of it; you can see Roman from the free space on the left. 

“Oh, please, (Y/N), you’ll always be of use to the company. If Gerri doesn’t want you anymore because you failed your master’s or whatever, then you can always become my assistant.” He says as if he’d just resolved all your issues, there’s a big smile on his face, his eyebrows are raised and his arms are extended while his hands try to copy the “jazz hands” movement. At least that’s what you think he’s trying to imitate. 

“No offense, Roman, but bringing you coffee every morning is not my dream job.”

“It’s every respectable woman’s dream job.”

“Sure, Rome.”

You annotate another characteristic concerning the law of succession as you feel Roman circling around the room. His shoes squeak against the wooden floor and you are one hundred percent sure he’s doing that on purpose. There’s no way his shoes worth probably thousands make that much noise.

Taking a deep breath that does nothing to increase your thinning patience, you glance at him. He has his hands on his trousers’ pockets as he waltzes looking at the walls.

“Why are you here again, Roman? Aren’t COO’s supposed to be really busy?”

“Actually… I only use that excuse when I don’t wanna deal with anyone’s cranky mood.” He shrugs his shoulders. “And, I came here so we could do something fun, but you and your lawyer-y books are so boring.” 

“Well, my boring books and I will get you out of a mess one day, and you’ll have to thank me. And it won’t be cheap. I should probably charge you my whole school debt.”

“Done.”

“What?”

“You want me to take care of your debt so you can stop studying for one second and we can go out to do something, anything!? Done.”

[thelone-copper]

Me waking up everyday knowing that Margo will never let me suck their tows as they wiggle in my mouth. I want them to show me their stinky feet, let the sweet odor escape their soles and release into my nose. But I bet they take care of their feet, robbing them if their natural scent, robbing me of true bliss. All I want is the divine privilege of satisfying their true desires, I know they want it, but cant. For they cannot fathom the amount of pleasure I can bring to them, doing what god intended. God can only do so much, but the sin of man has strewn him far from control. He can only hope, I can only hope, for the unattainable goal every man strives for.

“For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.”

Jeremiah 29:11

Margo is. Appalled. They don’t even understand half the words but. They know enough. More than enough.

(BELLA WHEN I CATCH YOU BELLA, BELLAWHENICATCHYOUBELLA, BELLA WHEN I CATCH YOU)

((IM STILLFUCKIMG SOBBINF OVER THIS ASK BELLA IM GONNA BEAT YOUR ASSBSBDBFHF THE BIBLE QUOTEEHEHEHDHFBCBC))

[na-t0]

𝘚𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳

Nicholas D. Wolfwood x reader (fem)

nsfw . male masturbation . multiple mentions of religious themes . minors please do not interact

"I believe in God, the Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth...shit, what's next?"

Despite of what others think, Nicholas D. Wolfwood has come to the conclusion that he is indeed, the perfect example to belie the thought commonly held by people that him, and all the other children of the Lord who is high in the heavens, are made in his image and likeness. He is just a man, a mere mortal, vulnerable and weak in the face of temptation, son of original sin. Trying to atone for, and amend, the errors that life has brought within his path, and from which he cannot seem to escape.

Same life that unfortunately has also placed him in the way of your so intoxicating self. As if it were an unforgivable and cruel test to endure the strength of his already cracked spirit, a test to prove how much he is capable of resisting when the sharp claws of lust slowly scratch his back when he tries to sleep and the image of your beautiful face invades his mind. He also claims being able to feel them scratching once again when, after what seems like an eternal week of waiting, he manages to spot you sitting among the 47 people that fit in the orphanage’s chapel at the time of the religious ceremony he presents on Sundays at 10 in the morning.

Nicholas talks to himself all the time. He talks about a whole bunch of different things to stay busy and distant from the loneliness that his profession entails. He also writes, on a small black notebook that shamelessly reads Holy Bible on its cover, which he keeps in the inside pocket of his suit all day. It is possible to find random thoughts scrambled between its pages, occasional unfinished sketches of the kids who visit him frequently, prayers and attempts at poetry that, despite the ease he possesses to release a speech towards an audience made up of people full of faith in the word he preaches every weekend, the simple idea that one day you might inadvertently read what lies on those yellowish paper sheets terrifies him to the point where he can feel each and every one of his nerve endings on the surface of his skin, pulsing with the same intensity as the wings of a flying hummingbird.

He writes for you, more specifically. Even though in life, there are weaknesses that sometimes, do not allow the deepest feelings of the heart to flourish freely.

"I am just an object waiting to be ashes, and it is precisely for that reason that I would like my body to burn until it is consumed as one with yours. So at the end, dust will be the only thing that remains of our spirits, mixed together, to be later carried away by the wind of this unforgiving desert we call home."

“I have reached such a degree of insanity that, not even with the help of a thousand divine healing rites, my composure will return. I have even considered exchanging the blood of as many sinners as necessary to the Devil in order to melt into the blazing but purifying fire that surely arises with the single touch of your lips, and if you allow me, to endulge in the perfect contradiction that lies between your legs. A place both sacred and infernal, a place where good and evil converge and is powerful enough to drive even the most righteous and ruthless of religionists to an infinite madness. A place that I can only imagine feels like heaven and hell at the same time, capable to burn but also soothe the wounds in the soul of a disgraceful believer, one such as myself, your humble servant.”

“And I am not ashamed to affirm in front of the cross in which the son of God was punished because of filth like me, that, your mere presence encourages me to violate every order imposed by the invisible power of my belief, all that for what he, the same guy I mentioned earlier, sacrificed himself for in the first place. He sacrificed himself for you and especially for me, and above all, for the atrocities that come with the human race to disappear from the world. Such as the kind of things that flood my mind when my gaze manages to distinguish a little glimpse of your underwear when you put on that pretty dress of yours and you take a seat in the front row. A dress I like to imagine you only use for me.”

When Sunday comes, the ceremony starts and it's your turn at the moment of communion. It all happens in a matter of minutes every single time, a fleeting contact that is difficult to remove from his system. The host is delicately held by Wolfwood's hands as he stares at you, the abyss of his obsidian orbs capturing your attention to ask for your permission. You nod and look back at him too, subtly batting your eyelashes and slowly sticking out your tongue in an inviting way, that more than innocent, seemed diabolical, as if you knew which cards to move to obtain an absolute victory. And he feels it, he feels something struck his chest. Like a pair of magnets who can't fight the silent attraction that tries to unite them. You glance at the thick fingers infront of you for an instant, and then once again, you lift your stare towards him to take the host. His breathing stopped the moment he felt the back of his fingers get in contact with the wetness of your tongue while accommodating the wafer on it, and he almost, just almost, stutters in his words, but he doesn't, it takes all of his will not to. He blinks and his hand moves away from your lips to continue with the the other presents. You turn around and go back to your place without looking back. Luckily for him, the robe that covers his body does not allow to reveal any trace of what could give away his growing hunger for you.

Reminiscing something that he himself already wrote once in his notebook.

“It’s a disgusting sight, truly. How you take the sacramental bread from the hands of a sinful bastard, how you try to be purified by the same hands that are permanently stained with the obscene thought of consuming your body, your entire being. But you don’t have an idea of how much I love it, how much I want you to be mine.”

The lecture finished at 10:57 a.m. Nicholas remembers glancing at the watch on his wrist to regain the track of time he lost when you got close to his body. Seeing that people were starting to get up, he decided to clean his instruments to leave everything in order, and at the same time, bring some peace to his mind. He didn't have long arranging his space when Wolfwood felt a sudden and intense urge to look back, and when he did, you were the first thing that he focused on, stumbling upon the surprise of your eyes already searching for his while walking to the exit, wearing the most precious smile he’s ever seen on your face. A smile just for him.

By 11:23 a.m. the chapel was completely empty and Wolfwood walked with an unbearable weight on his feet towards the confined space of the confessional, along with a box of matches in hand that he took from an old cabinet. He closed the door, took a seat and leaned his head against the wall, which protested with a slight screech, as if it knew what was going through the troubled man's mind. Of course you appeared immediately, the images of every time you two have exchanged greetings in the streets, in the market, or even at the events to raise funds for the orphanage.

First came the color of your eyes, which seemed to dominate and illuminate the darkness of the small space he was in, then your eyebrows and the expressions that characterize your words while speaking. Thirdly, your mouth, the Eden he dreams of so much, reflected in the shine that your lips acquire when you bite and wet them with saliva. Imagining how they move to the compass of your voice, if they are rounded, if you smile or if you stay quiet. Nicholas raised his right hand and gently touched his own mouth to try to calm the urgency of joining it with yours. He closed his eyes and remembered the slight meeting he had with it an hour ago. The warmth of your breath on his knuckles and the softness he touched with the pads of his mistreated fingers. How easy would it be to draw a whimper out of you, the sweetest sound he can think of. His pants began to feel more and more uncomfortable with every passing minute, the pressure exerted by the growing erection in his groin started to become unbearable. Will he be able to obtain salvation if he confesses everything, here and now?

"God...please" And just as he often does, he began to talk. "I want her more than...a-anything in this world...can't I have her either?" The hand that previously touched your lips, traveled up to his crotch and gave a first cautious squeeze, allowing himself to be carried away by the venom of the serpent that condemned us all as sinners centuries ago, which little by little contaminated his veins and blinded his sight. Now not only did he imagine the Eden in your beauty, he was about to enter that precious place, only to break the rules. "I haven't been...a g-good man, but..." His breathing began to falter, with great gulps of air, his chest rose and fell, trying to oxygenate his racing heart. "I swear I...I can treat her right." The restraint of the stiff bottoms was starting to be painful for Nicholas, so he reached for the button, hastily undoing it to reach into his underwear. The burning heat of desire greeting him. And as he could, he pulled out his member from the base without removing his pants. The cold edge of the zipper brushed against the prominent veins of his rigid sex while his hand tried to conciliate the relief he so desperately needed. He kept traveling with his mind through your neck, your chest, your waist and your navel, the unknown nudity that he longes for unfolding before him in an imaginary scenario within the four small walls of the confessional. His breathing became more and more disturbed and growls began to sprout from the depths of his being.

"I'm sorry, God...I'm so s-sorry" He started to apologize because he knows exactly what is next. He enjoys being rough with his wicked self, he is violent. Pulling his own hair with one hand while the other strokes himself harshly. He spits on the tip, and watches how saliva slowly rolls to the base. He grunts, an animalistic type of sound that reveals the wildest part of his existence, his human predatory instinct, the part that he tries to repress with calling himself a preacher of the Lord’s word. He likes to tighten the grip in his member to the point where the veins on his forehead begin to become visible and the color of his shaft changes entirely with the accelerated flow of blood. Suffocating in his own body, a prisoner of his dark desires.

"Our Father, who...a-art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, on earth as it is...i-in heaven." It was in that moment when he began to pray. And the drops of fluid that came out of his slit with anticipation gave his hand more access to stroke with a quicker pace. From outside the confessional, it was possible to hear the faint slippery sound of friction from skin to skin and the murmured pleas of a man sunk in perdition.

"Give us this day our daily bread, a-and forgive us our trespasses...as we forgive those who trespass against us, and lead us not into temp-temptation...but deliver us from...evil."

Would God be able to truly forgive such an act?

"A-Amen."

And it's just when he finishes his pleas that he finds himself betrayed by his own mind, letting your name slip from his lips, over and over again, like a renovated prayer, but profane and corrupted. The peculiar burning sensation in the lower part of his abdomen starts to approach. He bites the collar of his white camisole and drool escapes from the sides of his mouth in the delirium of a near orgasm. Squeezing his eyes shut he imagined your breasts swaying in front of his face as you grind on top, your angelic face contorted with the ecstasy of a fictional encounter, and your core eagerly receiving each of his thrust. The sweet aroma that your sweat must have and all the possible ways you could moan his name.

"Ni..cholas, ah...Nicholas...Nic..."

The entirety of his skin crawls to the thought. And his hips begin to move with an unbridled, involuntary frenzy, consequence of the carnal instinct that species keep hidden in their bodies.

"Oh...God..please, please...ple-please." He calls uselessly for the only one who could redeem him, the only one who could accept a sin like this. Finally, he rapidly drags his hand a couple of last times and the orgasm begins to hit his senses. A last growl comes out of his chest before his teeth unconsciously loosen the fabric of the shirt to let out a deafened cry. With some last thrusts, his hips rise in a lost rhythm from the bench on which he is sitting as his seed spills violently into his right hand, staining some of the fabric of his black pants along the way.

The warm sensation of contact with his own release brings him back to himself, and he can only at this point, contemplate more clearly the mistake he has made.

“Divine forgiveness, what a bunch of shit.”

He drops the other hand that was tugging at his brunette locks in the heat of the momentum inside his pocket, pulls out a cigarette, places it in his mouth and proceeds to wipe the remains of cum on his right palm with a handkerchief, so he can pick up the matches he had brought with him, light the stick, and take a hit, trying to quell with smoke the latent nectar of lonely intimacy impregnated in the air. He takes a few moments to let the haze of the moment pass completely as he watches the mess in his lap and his now softened member.

The cigarette is half finished, he is a fast smoker.

He inhales and exhales once more, and then, there’s a subtle, almost silent, knock on the door, followed by what he recognizes is your voice coming from the rusty confession room's grate.

“F-Father Nicholas...?”