#i hope when you think of it you think of gnashing teeth and angels.

[faaun]

i hope you lose it one day

[confusedraven1]

i absolutely love that jim is the one to keep the heart of stede’s crew alive while ed did everything he could to destroy it.

one of the first comments ed makes to stede’s crew in season 1 is “everyone’s covered in rope!” so what does jim do? literally covers themself in rope, to remind ed that, as long as they’re alive, that hope and love isn’t going anywhere.

not only that, but, in the bible, rope is a symbolism for trust and security. jim became a secure place for the crew to tie themselves to while just trying to stay alive.

of course, i then had to look into why they have a fishing net around their shoulders as well, and found The Fishing Net Parable from the Book of Matthew (13:47-52):

"Once again, the kingdom of heaven is like a net that was let down into the lake and caught all kinds of fish. When it was full, the fishermen pulled it up on the shore. Then they sat down and collected the good fish in baskets, but threw the bad away.”

“This is how it will be at the end of the age. The angels will come and separate the wicked from the righteous and throw them into the fiery furnace, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.”

jim amputates izzy’s leg, despite having never done it before. they quite literally separate him from the rotten bits to save his life.

jim says, “he was your friend.” they separate ed from who he was before from who he’s allowed himself to become, not to punish him, but to remind him of the consequences of his actions.

jim tells izzy point blank, “you’re in an unhealthy relationship with blackbeard.” they aren’t trying to break them up; they’re just bringing to light whats true so things can (hopefully) get better.

jim shows archie that, just because pirating is normally done a certain way, doesn’t mean it has to—they separate archie from the toxic belief that “that’s just how things are, it’s just life,” and “why save him if he’s a dick?”

jim tries to separate the idea from the crew that ed is fine, because they immediately recognize that things are about to get much worse: “so, do we think he’s better?” “FUCK no!”

jim immediately says, “wasn’t the wedding thing a bit over the line?” they know they’re all pirates and have questionable morals anyway, but knows it was fucked up of them to massacre a wedding, an event that’s supposed to be joyful and full of life and beginnings, not death and destruction. they’re, again, dividing up the way things are vs. how they could (and should) be.

ed tries to pin them all dying on jim cause they wouldn’t kill archie, but they bite back with, “you would’ve done it anyway!” they know exactly where the lies are, and separates them from the truth, and ed can’t deny it.

jim separates themself (and olu) from the bounds of monogamy through their honesty. olu is still their best friend and lover and family even though they found and did things with someone else.

jim holds out their hand for olu to take when they’re escaping the red flag. olu’s interest in zheng yi sao isn’t bad and jim’s not trying to separate them, but is trying to keep together the things that are good: their family.

(later addition, edit) jim is also the one that “kills” ed. they’re the one to make that final choice, to say, “it’s you or us.” jim’s actions and choices entire first two episodes led them to that moment, like it was the “final judgment” of blackbeard.

jim is the rope and net of the crew. they’re trust and security and honesty, everything that stede was trying to get the crew to understand from day 1, everything stede is always trying to embody (and i dare say is starting to succeed at).

[starry-nights-garden]

Jaemin ✧ 10:06pm

✧ NCT Dream Jaemin x gn!reader ✧ words: ~1.3k ✧ genre: fluff ✧ warnings: none

Desc.: In which you try to get some urgent work done while your boyfriend Jaemin decides it's time to be very distracting.

It’s a perfectly quiet Friday evening. You’re sitting at your desk, typing away on your laptop, switching back and forth between several documents. Next to you is the cup of coffee you finished not too long ago - you’re aware that you shouldn’t consume any caffeine at this hour, but your deadline is drawing closer at lightspeed and you just can’t afford to lose even a single hour to inattentiveness at this point.

You gnash your teeth and shake your head at yourself. You don’t know why you always have to procrastinate until the last possible moment. You also don’t know why your boyfriend thinks now is the best possible time to start an attempt at distracting you. At first he simply walks into the room and puts his hands onto your shoulders, peeking at the laptop screen from behind. You expect him to ask if your work is coming along well, or maybe if you ate dinner - which you actually forgot to have - or if you’re not getting tired. But nothing. He remains silent, and when Na Jaemin remains silent in such a situation, you know he’s probably planning something. Feeling suspicious, you roll your shoulders back, hoping he would let go of you.

“What?” you mutter, too focused on not losing your train of thought to form a proper sentence. But still, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, his fingertips dance down your upper arms and eventually he puts them on your waist. A premonition makes a chill run down your spine, and at the same time you can feel yourself getting angry. Your hunch of what he’s about to do is proven right when you feel his breath against your neck, just before you can feel his lips touching that same spot too. You involuntarily let out a sigh, and for a second your body disobeys your mind and your eyelids flutter shut. However, no matter how much you want to let him coerce you into taking a break, a wave of internal stress reminds you that you have no time to lose. You lean forward, escaping at least his kisses while his hands remain resting on your sides, and you go back to staring at the screen in concentration.

However, he also wouldn’t be Na Jaemin if you could shake him off that easily. 

“Baby, let’s forget about your deadline for a while…” Despite him keeping his voice low, you don’t miss the underlying worry. You sigh again, this time pushing the air out of your lungs with more force, to which he spins you around in your chair, making you face him.

“I can’t-” You make an attempt at protesting, but the feeling of him cupping your face with one hand combined with the look in his eyes silences you. It’s not even an unexpected reaction, during the time you’ve been dating so far you learned how effortlessly he can sweep you off your feet and erase all coherent thoughts in your head, at least for a while. You collect yourself while taking a deep breath and try to suppress all feelings as he tilts his head to the side, questioning. “I can’t now,” you simply answer, making sure to sound as stern as possible. You feel him caressing your cheek with his thumb once, twice, and again you’re fighting your body urging you to just give in and take a rest. 

Jaemin brushes off your words as his gaze drops from your eyes to your lips, and when he leans in you don’t have it in you to stop him from kissing you. There is something demanding in the way he slowly moves his lips against yours, and his hand now placed at the back of your neck makes sure you don’t pull back before he breaks the kiss. But even then, he doesn’t move his face away from yours more than an inch or two, and you can feel his warm breath tickling your skin as he searches for some kind of answer to his actions in your pupils. Meanwhile, you can practically hear the angel and devil sitting on your shoulders as they argue and yell at each other over whether you should direct your full attention to your boyfriend or to the paper that’s waiting to be continued. In the end it’s Jaemin himself who ends the dispute in your mind, as he presses his lips against yours once again.

Your hands eventually find his shoulders, and when you rake your fingers through his short hair, he deepens the kiss, probably to show his approval. You part for air eventually, and as soon as you have caught your breath you whisper his name.

“You know what’d be real sexy of you right now?” you mumble, and this time you don’t let yourself be shaken when his gaze drops from your eyes to your mouth once again.

“Hm?” he hums, dragging the sound a bit and grinning in approval.

“If you leave me the fuck alone and let me finish this shit.” You pull back and point your chin at the screen of your laptop. Your words came out more sharply than you wanted them to, but he doesn’t seem fazed by the sound of them. He must be thinking again as his eyes rest on your figure, and eventually he gives up with a shrug. Wordlessly, he leaves, but only to come back not even a minute later. He got his own chair from his room, putting it right next to yours and sitting down. With his elbow rested on your desk, he scans your face, making you wonder what he’s up to now.

“What??” is all you say, hands already put on the keyboard, ready to resume working, and being very done with his antics.

“Do you want something to eat?” His question takes you by surprise. He follows it up with “I know you skipped dinner.”

“It doesn’t matter whether I want dinner or not. I don’t have the time,” you argue.

“I’ll make you something. Just tell me if you have any preferences.” Now it’s you who’s staring, eyebrows raised up high.

“You’re… actually gonna be helpful after failing in trying to seduce me into neglecting my work?”

“I didn’t try to seduce you into neglecting it,” he answers calmly. “I tried to seduce you into taking a break.”

“Same thing…”

“So? What do you wanna eat?” he asks again, all while never taking his eyes off your face. “I might be forced to order something instead of making it myself if it’s something too extravagant, though. I can’t stand in the kitchen for two hours while letting you starve.”

“I’m not starving…” you answer silently, though you have so much more to say. You consider pouring the gratefulness you’re suddenly feeling into another kiss, but since he might take that as another opportunity to try forcing you into a break, you decide against it after all.

“Just… some fried rice, or something simple,” you eventually say.

“Hmmm,” Jaemin hesitates, and then eventually he sits up straight, signaling that he’s about to get up. “I’ll make it so it will give you enough energy to power through this.”

“You’re putting coffee into it?” you joke and you lure a short chuckle from his lips as he stands up. He gives your shoulders a gentle squeeze and then captures your chin between his thumb and index finger. You let him turn your head towards him, and after giving you a peck on the lips, you feel the deprivation course through your body more than anything.

“Don’t be like that…” you mutter, and this time it’s you who’s hiding a whine in your voice. Jaemin gives you a big grin and pats your head.

“You’ll get proper kisses when you’re done here,” he says, before disappearing into the kitchen to prepare you a late dinner. 

[west-tokyo-incidents]

Demonologist AU

Because cohost is mcfucking dying.

Kia/Vice with a side of Rage/Paresse/Fussa

---

"What th-- What the fuck is this? Hah, little bitch has done her research this time, huh? You really think these binding rings will hold me for more than an hour?"

"Research and a bit of backup. And an hour is more than plenty of time."

Another voice rings out before he can get a good look at his prey. He whips around and snarls at the unexpected guest. His eyes fall upon stark white hair, piercing green eyes, tattoos of sigils and binding spells burnt into pale skin. Pretty round tits sit just half hidden by a loose black shirt, sharply juxtaposed by the gaunt, angular face sat above them.

A growl draws his eyes away from the demonologist, and now he sees the two at their feet. One, feline in disposition and black in color, has her lips drawn back to display sharp golden fangs framing the ivory of others. Her eyes glow a golden brown, gold claws dig into the wooden floor. A succubus. The other is her opposite, stark white with vivid blue and silver decorating his canine-like form. An incubus. On both are collars, matching the one on their lounging master. Other demons, chained to a mortal.

Said mortal tilts his head back, "He'll be a bit tougher to break."

"Break? Me? Hah! Just because you got two sluts chained up means nothing. I will not be broken, much less bound, if that's what you think you're going to do." The spines on his back stiffen, extend from his back. Unfortunately, he is so caught in his prideful sneering that he doesn't feel the barriers shift, allowing the woman behind him to sneak up... and latch a collar around his throat. He lashes out, spinning around and catching her arm as she flees backwards. He charges the barrier and slams against it, demonic, needle-like teeth gnashing as the scent of her blood curls like a cat against his senses.

Her companion is up, coming over to help her up and apply pressure to the wounds.

His fury is deflated as the metal around his neck begins to heat up, "You better hope you got these sigils right..." He groans low, "You're not getting a second chance." He lifts his claws up to start scratching at it, hoping to ruin any engravings or paintings, but the outside surface is smooth, untouched. He shouts his frustration, now trying to claw at the inside of the collar without slitting his own throat. The sigils were engraved on the inside.

"Clever bitch." He breaks the decorative o-ring on the front. He twists the hinges, but they don't yield. The warmth continues to build. It doesn't burn, though. He huffs and turns to glare at them, his eyes meeting that of the two other demons, now lounged between the barriers and the mortals. He laughs, "Fine, you wanna fuck? I'll put a baby in you if that's what you want. I'll even let you keep this thing on me while I do it. After that, we go our own separate ways and we forget this whole little 'soul' deal, hm?"

He's met with silence. Neither mortal moves. He hears a snicker from the gold demon.

"Bargaining already? I thought you weren't going to be easy to break."

Infernal tongue hisses along his senses. The silver demon skitters away from the barrier with a laugh not unlike a hyena when he charges the barrier again. It holds steady, however.

"Well, you saved me the trouble of cutting my palm open." His prey speaks at last. He whips his head around to face her, finally taking her in. Her companion seems to have helped her chose her outfit, ritualistic embellishments on her dress saying such absolutely wicked things she couldn't have known, symbols meaning such lewd things no human would repeat them. He licks his teeth as he watches her press blood into a groove on her necklace. The collar grows warmer. It still doesn't burn.

Oh, it feels good. He knows what these sigils are for. Ancient ones, meant to fold a demon into the service of a human. Sigils taught to man by angels to assist them in an ancient holy war. These were meant for demons of lust. Each set of sigils were carved to give the gratification of different sins, each to lure different demons to serve. He was no lesser demon, though, he could resist this. He was not bound to one sin, one carnal pleasure.

He indulged himself in wrath instead. He clawed at the barriers, lashed out with insults towards the mortals, the demon slaves at their feet. He hesitated when he heard mumbling. His eyes focused on the grey-green of the woman he'd preyed upon as she stood a mere inch from the barrier. Infernal whisperings that urged the blood in her jewelry to dance along the ritualistic engravings. His golden-green eyes followed hers as she paced around. He watched her lips move, felt his body warm under her gaze.

"...you don't even know what you're saying, do you? Do you know what filth you're promising? What each hiss in the back of your throat means?" His voice is weaker than he wants it to be. How long has it been since she started? He turns and his knees threaten to buckle, "You can't possibly keep your end of this binding..."

She smiles, but keeps mumbling. Never once faltering, no matter how he distracted her. He growls and slams his shoulder against the barrier. A voice rose up, in time with her mumblings. The gold demon speaks with her sandpaper-rough tongue.

"I will bind your broken soul with mine. You will be at my command. I will stoke the fires of hell in your gut. I will use them for my own. You will not fight." The caged demon roars at her, "You will take nothing of mine. I will use your body as a tool. As a toy. As I please."

The silver one grins, the flash of lightning between his fangs.

"Your cock, your cunt, your mouth, your ass, your hands, you are but a weapon for my battles." Her tongue trips up. She cannot speak the next lines as her master hooks a finger in the rings of her own collar. One so ornately decorated and lovingly carved.

"She knows what she's saying." The low, tempered voice of the demonologist purrs, "There is no end for her to keep. This isn't a deal, and you know it." The succubus whimpers softly as her master starts mouthing at her neck, pulling her into their lap.

His name, his name comes from the mouth of the one he'd once intended to enslave himself and his knees give out beneath him at last. Her hands come through the barrier and cup his face. Even though he wants nothing more than to bite her hands off, he can't move. He's numbed from the words, her touch the only thing he can feel by comparison.

In infernal, she declares, "You. Are. Mine."

And he is. He doesn't know how many times she had to repeat the ritual. He should have paid closer attention. He should have been trying to distract more than just lash out. He never was good with words. He presses his palms to the barrier, panting softly.

"...Paresse, is it...?"

"It is. He would have eaten one of your hands if it wasn't nearly done."

Nearly. It isn't complete yet... He wants it to be complete. He wants her to make him hers. He presses up against the barrier, pressing into her hands, whimpering. She smiles at him and steps closer, entering the circle, and he moves back to let her. She pushed him with just the smallest amount of force and he understands her desire. He lays flat on his back, eyes wide and watching her. He can see the amazement on his mistress's face. All the things he had done her, and now he was pliant beneath her.

His tail lashed with need. His hips buck a little as she straddles his hips.

He hears a moan from across the room. No doubt the other human indulging in their own servants. But he only has eyes for her.

"Please..." He whispers, slit pupils blown wide. His golden-green irises only thin rings now. He takes in every detail of her, every pore, every little drop of sweat from her brow, every little crack in her lips. His heart thuds as she descends upon him. He wonders if this is how mortals he's fucked have felt about him. But only briefly. The very floor beneath him, concrete and rough, doesn't even concern him anymore.

His world is filled with her. Nothing else matters.

[rubberduckydemonking]

All of the snarled words and gnashing teeth, it was as though Lucifer were attempting to reason with a wild animal. It dawned on the fallen angel that there was no way that his words were going to suffice to dampen the fierce, fiery, anger that had overtaken the First Man.

Lucifer merely stood his ground, silent and unflinching, his expression a mask of unreadable indifference as Adam leant in, their faces mere inches apart. If he weren’t the all-powerful ruler of the realm then he might have been intimidated.

“That’s an impressive deduction — I would ask what it’s based on, but we both know you’re just pulling insults out of your ass in the desperate hope to say something cutting,” As far as Lucifer was concerned, Lilith couldn’t have cared less whether or not Adam moved on from her. After all, she left him, not the other way around. Adam and Lilith had been a bad match-up. Despite being, quite literally a match made in heaven, they weren’t comparable. Heaven fucked up, but there was no harm because they created Eve and their little holy project continued.

“Oooh, a stupid fucking dog?~” the king laughed softly, quirking an eyebrow upwards, “I’ve always rather liked dogs, but please, go on, tell me more,” Lucifer had decided that apathy was his best armour. Allowing Adam to get a rise out of him would be when he’d truly lost.

“…and tell me, my self-righteous friend, what was your intention when grabbing my daughter by the neck? when you told her that it was time for her to die? that was just an expression, huh? You only let her go because I made you,” Lucifer sneered as he spoke, before throwing up his hands in mock surrender, “Look, an eye for an eye. That’s your code up in heaven, I get it…but I won’t sit idly by while you hurt my daughter.” With those words, the devil merely shapeshifted into a little dove that settled on Adam’s head.

“That’s what humans do, Adam. They die,” his apathetic words spoke out, “but, hey, death isn’t so bad. In fact, it’s really just the beginning of the journey — and who knows? if they’re really obedient, bow their heads in subservience and thoughtlessly follow some arbitrary rules…well, then they might just luck out and make their way through those pearly gates,” The king transformed back into his usual shape, perched idly on the shoulder of Adam’s giant form. “…and while you welcome in the mindless flock, I’ll be here to house those with the guts to exercise their free will and dare to think.”

@rubberduckydemonking

Adam met Lucifer's gaze with a look of utter hatred. Once, long ago, maybe they were friends once. Civil.....friendly. But no more. Thousands of years in Heaven. Thousands of years of having that fucking lying BITCH rub it in his face how she chose that little cocksucker and turned around to fucking poison his wife....

Only to make THEMSELVES the victims....

All those years of rotting completely alone in Heaven. with nobody there for him, had twisted Adam into something utterly disgusting. And now, a sinner in Hell, he wasn't the arrogant angel he had been in Heaven.

Instead, he was angry, ready for a fight. He wasn't going to let Lucifer get him this time, no way.

At the king's words, Adam burst out laughing. It was a noise full of maliciousness and cruelty.

" Are you FUCKING kidding me?! What creation?! All you've ever done is fucking ROT everything because you couldn't just FUCK OFF and leave well enough alone! "

Adam motioned to the cesspit around them.

" If this is your idea of creation than I should have upped the Exterminations earlier. There's no fucking way any of THIS shit is somehow beautiful!"

Easy huh.....Adam's eyes glowed as he snarled. He was still massive, almost hulk-like. Horns like Lillith jutting from his head as he bared his fangs at the king of Hell and the lord of pride.

He looked so much like Lillith, yet the rage in him.....

" I'll never fucking bow to you, Lu. You or that bitch of an ex-wife of mine."

[house-of-laminations]

Hi there! I absolutely love your "From Afar" series! The way you wrote the brothers so sinister really is awesome! I wonder, if there's any personal headcannons you have about their "true" forms?

Thanks so much! You have no idea how happy being asked this makes me bc its so fun to think about!

Before I start I want to give a big shoutout to @itsthesinbin and @vidyagamereference for bouncing around ideas and inspiring a large part of this. You guys are phenomenal 💛

I guess to start with I'll mention that I personally headcanon that 'true form', kinda like 'human form', 'angel form', and 'demon form' are just ways of addressing how they're currently presenting. I feel like their shapes can change with their emotions, their desires, the influence of humanity, etc, but there are some constants, and a level of comfort and familiarity.

Lucifer existed before humans, before demons, before the physical, and even before light. 'Humanoid' form for him is one that he's known for a shorter time compared to how he existed before. Looking at his true form is like staring at the collision of supernovas from the edge of the event horizon. It draws you in, and you feel like you could get closer without falling.

Mammon is all sharp beaks and wings and claws that grasp and catch in your hair. There is gold and gems and precious metals that cut into hands and faces, bleeding him dry. Its messy and writhing and busy and completely distracts from the centre, which is completely hollow.

Leviathan is freezing. His is the dark sea that swirls beneath your ship, that ominous shape you swear was moving but it's so big, it can't be anything alive. Black snake-like scales span and wrap and warp around and around and around and you cannot see their beginning or their end. Poison drips from his tongue, and his teeth are large enough to consume the entire world. Within his form are currents and riptides that threaten to drag you down and crush.

For all that he is the "fourth brother", Satan as an individual being is still quite young. This is shown in the way that he reflects the shapes of humans, creatures, and spirits much more concretely. His form is razor wire and sharp edges that tie together bones and broken glass. A sword juts through the skull of a horse, creating the visage of a grotesque unicorn. This form would be heralded as an omen of war and death and retribution - that is, if you could leave with your eyes or your sanity in tact.

Asmodeus is beautiful. Not because his many eyes and faces and limbs that clutch at his own figure fit into any human standard of beauty but because he very clearly loves himself and everything that he is. He's lighter than air, a mist that fills the air and your senses, suffocating you. You breathe him in until you can't breathe without him.

Beelzebub sounds like the buzz of flies and gnashing teeth. Everywhere you look is a mouth with teeth and fangs, sharp and blunt to bite and chew at every imaginable offering. Some appear to even be consuming themselves. He is both one singular entity and many - a host of flies feasting on himself as carrion, a sprawling, yawning void that increases until it threatens to consume everything.

You're lucky that Belphegor even manifests himself physically at all. When he tires of human or 'demon' shape, you could find him in the heavy, dark mists that crawl through the countryside and cut you off from everyone you know. He's the comforting weight of isolation, of nihilistic realism. Occasionally in this mist you might see the shining of a star - or is that perhaps the remnants of a halo? - glowing with hope but too far away for you to ever reach

Diavolo has an allure that beckons to human souls, that promises everything they could desire: love, wealth, power. That is, until you get too close and by then it's too late to see his jaws clench into you, claiming you. Get too close and you see the horns and the claws and the chains that bind him together, holding in that suffocating miasma that is every unkind thought you've ever had.

Watching Barbatos is like trying to watch a movie that occasionally misses a few frames. These dropped frames reappear in his movements later on, until you're unsure what or when you're looking at. Like Leviathan you could mistake him for a serpent, though Barbatos is both more and less distinct. You think, maybe, it could be swallowing its own tail, but there you see another tail wrapping around and strangling the head.

Simeon has many faces. A lion, an own, a snake. He has two, no - three? six? wings, though their feathers are made of dripping viscous oil and are burning away in places. His halo is a ring (a chain) that keeps him bound, cutting back the wings that try to vie for freedom.

If Lucifer is a supernova, then Luke is all the potential of a nebula, with star stuff chaotically drawn towards a small, bright centre. He still doesn't really know who he is or who he wants to be, and that's reflected in the way his form scatters and brings itself together, but there is one consistency: the shape that settles the easiest is one with a human heart.

Describing cosmic horrors beyond human comprehension can get kinda vague, so I hope that I was able to get across the vibe that I imagine at the very least! I personally also really love these depictions by Mirlambda!! They're so beautiful!

[badluckinawasteland]

last night i got drunk and got hit in the face by a door. and my friends dragged me up to the 2nd floor to wash the blood off my forehead. and while we were waiting for the bathroom to open, slumped and snickering on the floor i looked up and realized that the last time i saw an angel with a hairspray halo (1 hour 36 minutes and 17 seconds ago) he was wearing those boots those jeans that chipped nail polish that shirt that style smudgy eyeliner. i dont think you know my name but you chipped one of my teeth 6 weeks ago and kept the shard. my friends say not to fall in love with angels out of heaven and i say who said anything about love and they said well fine just dont fall but when you half sneer half see me like you're looking past me im down. you might not see me but i see the slump of yr shoulders when yr out of the spotlight like ink smudges, writer's bleeding, on yr finger the side of yr palm yr long sleeve shirt cuff like the anguish in the middle of your messy eyeliner and ghosts of bruises and scrapes and gashes that aren't just from playing too rough i see you i see you i see you. and i opened my mouth to say something after that all exploded in my brain and yr lips sneered but yr eyes showed a glimmer of fear. and then you were gone. at first i thought it was a trick of the half-second sliver of too-bright bathroom light, or in a premonition of the oncoming now detonating black-eyed bruise blossoming fight, but now that you're being pulled out by your hair, eyes flashing teeth gnashing and some are whispering "divine intervention" thinking but not adding "through white-line-on-mirror tension" i know for sure. that you know they dont see you as much more than a bloody nose pressed against your black leather sleeve. that you know they've decided on your damnation and they're praying for some kind of imagined salvation from the consequences of their actions. and that it hurts. more than hurts. four letters don't cover the pain and sting and smarting and misery from how they look and they laugh and they lie and they smile (smug self-righteous sons of bitches) like they're in the right for punching what punched back. and i feel so stupid for not seeing it sooner. you spit blood at their feet and speed away, double kick pounding through your shitty car's speakers and open window. and i stand on the dead grass in saturday night's gloom watching red tail lights turn to pinpricks and i think about how most real stories about an underdog end the same way: got the shit beat out of them. but i cant help but root for you and hope somebody will wrap your bloody hands and ice the bruise on your side. and deep down i want that somebody to be me

[sasukelore]

Headcanons of deku, baku, and todo for how they are while giving 🧠??? 😌

summary ↳ the future big three and how they give head

authors note ↳ I had a lot of fun writing this! I tried a slightly new writing style, So I hope you like it ❤️

characters ↳ Izuku midoriya, Katsuki bakugou, Shouto todoroki

warnings ↳ oral sex, degradation, temperature play (shouto), hints of sub virgin izuku

Izuku definitely would always want to make you feel good, but he’d usually be to shy to initiate it

A little nudge from you, to show that you want him, would ease his nerves as he fidgets with the hem of your shirt. Maybe try to take off an article of his clothing? Just to show that you want him and to make him feel more comfortable

He’d nervously laugh about him never doing this before, but always wanted to, and to tell him to stop if he’s doing something wrong, which he won’t. He’s so inexperienced, you being one of if not the first for him, in terms of sex in general

He’d be shaking as he fidgets his fingers to pull down your little frilly pastel panties, blushing at the way you clench your wet hole on nothing

It would take Izuku just a minute to really get a technique down. He’s experimenting with everything, what his hands are doing, how he moves his tongue. He’s so cute when he’s the one whimpering against your slit all shyly.

He’d be taking notes internally though, occasionally looking up to see your facial expression, furrowed eyebrows and your eyes scrunched up.

He’d give your thighs a reassuring squeeze as you start to twitch and shake in his grasp. He’d get better and better and more confident along the way.

He’ll tell you what a good girl you are for him, and him only. And how good your legs opened for his mouth. His sweet princess, he’s so proud of you.

But the sub in him will need a lot of praise tbh, he needs to know he’s doing a good job or else his movements will become hesitant and unsure

Baby will try so hard 🥺 gold medal. But honestly he doesn’t even need to, it comes so naturally to him he’ll have your back arching in a couple of minutes

He’ll ask you more boldly if it feels good, his top lip moving against against your nub. Your hair sprawled out on the pillow all messy makes you look like an angel. He’ll zone out looking up at you, but his mouth doesn’t stop.

He’ll tell you how good you taste, how pretty you are. He’s so soft with you.

He’s definitely a pleaser rather than the one getting pleased in everything. Tbh he might neglect himself if you let him

Bakugou has been eating you out since day one. He probably tried to get a taste after the first date. He’d want you so bad, he already had been from the moment he saw you, with your innocent doe eyes and rosy cheeks.

He’s so fucking cocky about it too. The way he swirls his tongue around your throbbing clit and how he makes big fat tears roll down your cheeks, and your tongue loll out sloppily

He definitely makes you put on a little show for him. So everytime he looks up to your cloudy eyes, they’re crossed. And he just knows you’re seeing stars, and he hasn’t even fucked you yet.

Bakugou definitely wouldn’t be shy or vanilla. And that’s only because he could fantasize about it for hours, all the ways he could make you come undone while he’d have his mouth on you.

He’s sloppy with it, he doesn’t have a set motion he uses on you. You might feel some teeth gnashing against your bud, as he aggressively licks and sucks your soul out all the way down and into his mouth.

Your thighs will have scratches and bruises, and marks from when he set off his quirk, because bakugou goes absolutely feral... Slapping your thigh constantly til it’s all red and purple with his hand prints.

He’ll just get rougher and rougher- I’ll just go ahead and pray for you because when Bakugou wants to, he’ll overstimulate you to the point where you’ll beg for him to just hurry up and fuck you already, and how it’s too much for you.

Growling. Into. You. He’ll send vibrations through you, which will once again, overstimulate. He loves watching your eyes roll back and beg him that you can’t take take anymore

“You’ve done it before so you’re doing it a- fucking-gain, princess.” He’ll say as he looks up, making his eyes bore into your pleading ones

Legs will be sore, jaw will be sore from screaming, Bakugou’s scalp will be sore from when you grabbed and tugged (he’ll give you grief for it later...)

Shouto is the most curious out of the boys! God, he’s so blunt and straight forward about what he wants...

He always asks you to try new things, and oral is one of the first things he’d ask if he can try on you 🥺

But the thing about Shouto is that when he asks he usually means he wants to do something immediately.

So, when you’re in the empty common room... He may or may not try to pull your panties down from under the skirt, his wrists grazing the hem.

Try to be quiet and you’ll get a reward.

God, he’d love having your squishy thighs squeezing his head. He wants to be suffocated.

He’s pretty delicate with almost every movement he makes. Fluid motions with his tongue and little thumb rubs to your inner thigh

He really wants to make it loving and careful, and not as much edging, rough and careless. He values intimacy with you too much.

He’d be able to go all night if you let him, you’ll be like?? Sir, does your jaw not hurt??

Speaking of, if you think he won’t make his tongue hot to cold in an instant if you keep squirming, you’re happily mistaken.

Of course, does he really think that making your little pretty core gush with heat will make you squirm any less? No...

But the truth is he loves watching you buck up into his mouth as if your life depends on it.

He’ll throw it right back in your face that you said his jaw isn’t tired? But what about your hips, baby? Are those not tired either?

He has this sweet little condescending attitude that makes him seem like he’s so endearing, when in actuality he’s actually imagining every possible way to make you convulse and sing his name.

Letting him eat you out is just giving him time to think about it some more. There’s so many ideas that pop into his head in such a short amount of time, in which he’ll already have you wrapped around his freezing cold finger he’ll have plans to use later.

[obeymeluv]

(Pact) Marks the Spot - [Beelzebub x Fem!Reader]

It’s 1 AM. Have some Beelzebub smut.

Now I’m getting all kinds of pact mark ideas. May put out some pact mark headcanons. 

Unedited because it’s 1 AM.

Despite the thousands of years demons had been alive, pact marks were exceedingly rare. Mostly because humans had lost the ability to summon. Most people who managed to summon demons did it by sheer luck or for nefarious reasons. Sometimes it took multiple attempts to pull a demon; half the time demons took pity on the humans and showed up for the hell of it (and a snack). At the end of the day, demons had to choose to make a pact and that was rare in itself.

Giving your real name had inconceivable power in a world like the Devildom, where non-humans roamed. Making a pact had the same weight and bore the same vulnerability.

And yet you had several.

Mammon’s pact mark was on the side of your arm where bicep meets shoulder, Levi’s was on the back of the opposite shoulder (even his pact mark wanted to stay away from Mammon!) and Beel’s was adjacent to your belly button, basically on your hip.

It was rare for a human to have one pact mark, let alone three. You were slowly learning things about pact marks. Things that hadn’t happened in so long they were basically speculation in the Devildom. Demons could “pull” on the pact marks just like humans could, and each brother had a different sensation. When Mammon secretly vied for your company, it felt like a hummingbird beat against your shoulder, a little kid pulling hesitantly on your sleeve. Levi rarely “pulled” on his pact mark, but when he did it was a long push with gentle pressure, like fingertips on your skin. Beelzebub never consciously pulled on your pact mark and you swore you only got his muscle pains.

Satan was absolutely bewildered by the concept. Shouldn’t you be able to feel something else with Beel? Surely you’d at least be a little hungry, right? It sparked many conversations between the brothers and Diavolo. Did Beel not have this ability for some reason? Was it because he was sixth-strongest? Could you only feel things with Mammon and Levi because they were second- and third-strongest, respectively?

Beel was basically already linked with Belphegor…did that hinder his ability to “pull” with you? Satan, for all his infinite knowledge and even greater amount of books, could not answer this. There were ancient scrolls in Diavolo’s castle that were too frail to unroll. No one wanted to test it, honestly, and appreciated them as the relics they were. They had been translated and written up several times over the centuries, but the books were either missing pages or just gone completely.

Humans who’d summoned demons in the past liked to ask for Devildom “souvenirs” and textbooks were a favorite. So many had been traded for favors from summoners or witches. Diavolo vividly recalled a brazen attendant spiriting one away now and then; he was convicted and executed for selling them to traders. Most of them were never recovered.

Beelzebub could come when summoned and that’s what mattered. They chose not to look into it any farther than that. What would it matter? There was nothing written on it anymore. There were quiet whispers that maybe you couldn’t feel Beel “pull” because you weren’t as close to him as Levi and Mammon. As in: you could pull from him per the ‘master’ clause of the pact, but he chose not to pull on you.

That hurt you, honestly, because he was an absolute sweetheart. Out of all of them, you could definitely SEE the ex-angel in him and how he acted. How he treated people. You thought you got along well! You liked to go on walks, try new food, and sometimes he used you as resistance weight when he practiced!

If that wasn’t being close, what was?!

You’d been thinking about it a lot, so used to Mammon’s ghosting squeeze throughout the day. It was like his way of checking on you without saying it aloud (because he could never be honest). Sometimes you could feel Levi’s frustration, your shoulder prickling like a knot forming on the muscle. But Beel? You didn’t feel anything in particular when you brushed your fingers over the mark, shirt held up in front of a mirror as if that would give you a sign.

When you touched the pact mark for the other brothers, there’d be a push back. Almost like a question. Yes, do you need something? It was crazy how the sensations could put words in your brain. Almost like they were translated for you, a human, to comprehend. That human-demon translation was possible; Satan had found that much.

So the brothers were basically telepathic. To an extent.

You’d pout in front of the mirror and wish to feel something. You’d stand there for ages, wondering if you were pushing any buttons in Beel’s brain. Triggering a want to send you a sign. When nothing happened, you’d let your shirt drop down and go about your day.

Your wish was finally answered one morning when a low, throbbing warmth seemed to radiate from the mark. You didn’t get your hopes up. It was probably a muscle cramp, some kind of post-stretch that had Beel feeling tender. A sharp pain bolted through you as you changed into your RAD uniform, the force of it enough to make you lean into the wall for support. It definitely felt like a muscle cramp, like someone who’d done a lot of ab work bent too low the next day.

It scared you to think this was only a fraction of what he felt. The pact mark was supposed to filter down emotions and sensations to levels that humans could tolerate, but only when the demon focused. If the demon was taken by surprise or felt something stronger than they anticipated, that would reflect in their pact mate.

Whatever he was feeling had your stomach in a flutter. The throbbing had dulled but a twisting sensation had taken its place. You felt something building, building, building in your stomach. A warmth overtook you, first nice and relaxing, then searing, and you wondered if Beelzebub had put on some kind of muscle cream. Half-dressed, you ran to the twins’ room to see what he was doing.

It was a brief run, and the rush of air seemed to cool your stomach. You thanked your lucky stars that Belphegor was nowhere to be found as you burst into the room. The throbbing sensation returned with a vengeance, the heat swelling in you as you drew upon the bathroom. One of the brothers was showering in there.

You started for the bathroom, whimpering when the throbbing grew strong enough to make your thighs shake. Clutching the doorway, you pressed your thighs together. A light-headed feeling overcame you and you swear you saw glimpses of white. Glimpses of Beel with an unnaturally long tongue snatching the shower curtain back and watching you with an intensity that made your heart stutter.

That flash of light must’ve only been seconds but you awoke to droplets of water raining down on you. Beelzebub towered over you, naked and freshly showered and radiating a warmth almost identical to what you felt in the pact mark. He slammed the door shut with a shove that snapped you to your senses.

You felt like you were recovering from a shockwave. Ripped from a dream.

“Fuck,” you heard Beel hiss. A grumbling, guttural sound rolled in his throat as he propped you up, hands scooting you back against the door, pushing your legs flat, pulling you up by the shoulders so you sat a little straighter, and propping your chin up against a few of his fingers so you could look at him.

His horns were out.

“Why are you mad at me?” you slurred, sounding offended.

“I’m not.” He gnashed his teeth in frustration and it was the first time you’d seen them up close. He and Satan had the sharpest teeth in the family. That was something of a bragging right between the two, enhanced by their sins, but they looked even sharper now. “I’m just…” Beel struggled with his words, his brow furrowed in thoughtfulness and agitation, “feeling a lot of things right now.” his chest heaved as the words finally came out.

Those big hands flexed in emphasis, in frustration that he couldn’t make you understand.

“Like?” the fog was starting to clear from your brain.

“Like how I choose not to connect with you because I care about you. I don’t want you to feel the endless hunger I feel, the absolute power it has over me.” Beel was starting to find his center, to calm down. “Like how upset I felt when my brothers even suggested I can’t pull on your pact mark because I feel nothing for you.” His horns flared again, cracking audibly as the spiraled around his wet hair. They seemed to harden and curl with conviction.

Kind of like a bull getting ready to charge and gore someone.

“Then what the hell was that?” you make a point to look at his face, to crane your neck up so he doesn’t think you’re following the lines of his chest or looking between his legs.

His eyes softened as he looked at you. They glittered against the bathroom light and wet floor. Beel’s lips lifted in a sweet smile hemmed with fangs. A blush lit his cheeks, starting at his cheekbones and spreading, when he broke your gaze. “I pulled on your pact mark.” Beel’s eyes shot to yours with a suddenness that made you flinch and hit your head against the wall.

You felt frozen in place. His eyes were hard and dark, like a real violet crystal. “Wh-what was I supposed to feel?” your voice was so small you wondered if he heard it. You had an idea of what it was, but you wanted to hear him say it. To have him admit it.

“How much I love you.” Beel said slowly, his face completely turned away from you. He couldn’t bring himself to look at you if you felt anything less. There was something else he could say, but he was afraid it’d be too much considering this ‘confession’ happened because urges got the best of him. Because he let his feelings sit for too long instead of being honest with you.

“Was it supposed to feel like an orgasm?”

WHY DID IT COME OUT OF YOUR MOUTH?! IT WAS TRUE, BUT WHY?! Here Beel was with his beautiful soul and his shy confession and you just STEAM ROLLED OVER IT!

The heat flared in your stomach again, swift and hot and somehow worse despite the fact you were sitting on a cold bathroom floor. Beel’s fingers reached for one of your ankles and he stopped himself. Burning eyes stared into you, and it was the first time you saw the muscles in his throat and jaw strain to hold his tongue. It slithered between his teeth, serpentine and seeking. “I love you that way, too.” Beel mumbled shyly, looking down.

Looking away, as if he was ashamed to say so.

You felt yourself melt against the floor, hoping the cold would soothe your burning body and calm your beating heart. Beel fell down around you, propping himself up on a forearm carefully placed by your head. “It’s a different kind of hungry,” he whispered with a hint of anguish and terror, forehead against his fist, “and I am not made to bear it. This isn’t supposed to be my sin.”

Beel wanted to cry. He was afraid his feelings were too strong for you, a human.

It finally hit you. This beefy cinnamon roll loved you and lusted over you. He was so overwhelmed with the sheer love he had for you—more than one kind—that it finally broke through his pact mark filter. When you realized that it made you feel even more special. It meant he’d been thinking of you, focusing for your benefit, this whole time.

“I can share that burden,” you whispered quietly, bumping his chin with your forehead. He pushed himself up onto his hands and knees lightning fast, slipping a little on the floor. Your hands shot out to hold his shoulders in case he fell (not that it would do anything).

“You mean it?” Beel’s eyes were wide and searching. “You feel what I feel?” he asked, cupping your face in one hand, fingers reaching around the back of your head to cradle it.

“Yeah.” You blushed, pressing your cheek into his hand as you looked away. That big purr rolled in his chest, the one he was happy to give when you hugged him. The pact mark gave off a subdued warmth that surrounded you and comforted you. It felt like he was hugging you to him. It translated to Look at me, and you saw his violet eyes blazing, tongue slithering out in its ravenous glory.

It was one of the first times you’d really seen his “demon” qualities shining through. It was fascinating in a shameful way; you couldn’t look away. Didn’t want to. I’m about to feast, you could feel the cold floor on your bare skin now, and you wondered how many pieces your clothes were in.  

He was starting to salivate a little and your heart leapt in your throat as those sharp teeth winked at you. Beel pressed himself flat against you, peppering your naked stomach with sloppy, hungry kisses. A small part of you—an irrational, stupid part—thought he’d start burrowing through until he hit muscle and organ. Instead he traced with his lips and tongue, strong hands coming up to grab at whatever he could reach. Beelzebub kissed his pact mark and you swore he conspired with it, your walls clenching around nothing and desperately wanting something.

“So beautiful,” Beel’s groping turned to massaging and kneading. Wet kisses slipped down towards your sex and he hummed against you. Hummed in restraint and desire. In contentedness that he could have this moment. His fingers found you first, teasing your clit and running the length of your slit before delving inside. You both cursed, probably at the same time.

You braced one foot on his chest as he propped your hips up with his free hand. Your back arched, head bumping into the wall. Beel’s fingers kept a steady, surprisingly tame pace. A total contrast to the eager head you could feel prodding at your back as he rolled his hips. His fingers dragged along your walls, curling in ways that made your body clench.

Everything was hot and you didn’t know if it was the closeness of him or the pact mark. Was he sharing his feelings with you or just exploiting your deliciously sensitive human nerves? It didn’t take long for you to orgasm. You looked at him through his lashes, mewling as he gingerly folded your knees to your chest and opened you up. It was stretching muscles and kindling feelings that had barely started to die.

“You look pretty like this,” Beel rasped in a voice cut with fangs. He kissed your ankle a few times, moving towards the bend of your knee as he stared down at you with a mix of love and pure hunger. Humans were delectable all their own, but the tang of your orgasm was something he’d rip people apart for. The desire to taste you overtook him, his tongue snaking out of his mouth as he buried himself between your thighs.

You gave a wanton moan that damn near made him orgasm. As an angel, he never understood how demons could torment humans so. Now? Now he perfectly understood the almost obsessed drive to coax all of these pretty noises out of them. How such a thing was worth the damnation, the rumors, and the reputation.

He was kissing you and suckling you and you saw the white come back into your vision again. You thought your heart was going to give out! You bobbed in and out of consciousness with each throb of pleasure, your body trying desperately to clench around the muscle. Beelzebub indulged in your orgasm like the last bite of an exquisite meal, daring to flick your swollen clit with the tip of his tongue as he drew it back into his mouth. The Avatar of Gluttony licked the corner of his lip, as he often did when he was satisfied with a meal (a small quirk you’d picked up on).

His lips were puffy and shiny, much like yours. He let you catch your breath, resting one leg on his shoulder. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you how I felt,” Beel muttered as he rubbed the leg on his shoulder comfortingly. He put your other leg on his shoulder, squeezing your calves now. “I knew I would always be hungry. I would always want you. I didn’t want you to feel like meat….like an object.”

“But I liked how that felt.” You smiled at him.

“I’m trying to be serious,” Beel huffed, sliding your legs down to his hips as he moved between your legs to meet your gaze. His lips ghosted over your chest and latched onto your neck. “I could eat you all day long,” he said more to himself, the words muffled by his lips. Beelzebub started to rut against you. At some point he must’ve orgasmed because his cock was slick, sliding across your sex and rubbing on your stomach.

His teeth pinched your neck and you gasped. Beel’s cock twitched.

“You have control, and I know you love me. Sex is just a bonus.” you wrapped your arms around his neck. Beel’s kisses turned almost kittenish as he basked in the feel of you hugging him, cradling him so gently. His heart swelled with love as he nuzzled against your skin. He felt your legs winding around him as you tried to angle yourself for his cock to find. He reached between your bodies to stroke himself.

“If I don’t,” he managed between grunts of ecstasy and frustration, “I’ll get you pregnant.”

Was that a warning or a promise? He certainly had the stamina for it.

Was there scientific evidence of demon sperm being especially potent for humans? Beel finished on your stomach before your thoughts could wander too far. He felt the desire ebb for the first time in what felt like ages and leaned back to take in how angelic you looked on the floor with your messy hair and tender body just starting to blossom with the colors of his affection. It seemed impossible, but that sight was more satisfying than fulfilling a craving. He laughed to himself—poor little dazed human. A cute little dazed human, though—as he cleaned you off with the towel he’d set aside for his shower.

Beel swaddled you in a new towel, wrapped one around his waist, and stood to collect you. He set you on his bed and shrugged into some clothes. The sight was just as nice as the sex, if not better. He handed you a shirt, his eyes shining like an excited puppy as he waited for you to put it on. You slipped it on and he purred long and deep, sliding into bed with you. The sixth-born scooped you into his strong arms, pressing your stomach against his face and bringing you up towards the headboard.

“I love you,” he kissed your stomach. Kissed his pact mark.

“I love you,” you petted and played with his drying hair. The post-sex lull sauntered in and your thoughts began to slow. The last coherent one you remembered was how were we not interrupted?

“I told Asmodeus I was going to confess to you and Lucifer overheard. He was a little concerned things would ‘evolve into impropriety’ so I made a bet with him. If he and my brothers could pin me to the floor, he could supervise the confession. If I won, I could do it my way.”

You stopped petting his hair, now wide awake. “You beat all of your brothers?!”

“Of course!” he laughed into your stomach. “Well...sort of. Levi didn’t try, Asmodeus sat out as a protest, and Satan and Belphie just watched. Mammon was going to take bets but Lucifer said if he helped, he’d pay off some of his credit card debt.”

“So you beat up Lucifer and Mammon?”

“Not totally,” Beelzebub shimmied up the bed until you were nose-to-nose, wrapping his arms around you. “I threw Mammon out of the house a few times; he finally decided to watch through the window. Lucifer fought the hardest.”

“When are they coming back?”

As if to answer you, his D.D.D started going off. Beelzebub reluctantly untangled himself to grab it. You could hear him opening and closing chats. “Soon,” he replied as he set it down. “It took them a while to agree on furniture.” He tucked himself into you again.

“Furniture?!”

“Well…we broke a few things.” He admitted bashfully. “A lot of things.”

Now you were tempted to go down and see what the first floor looked like. Beelzebub felt your leg stretch over him, your body trying to push off the bed. There was a gentle insistence in your stomach, like a little weight pressing you to the bed. A sweeping feeling of comfy and cuddle me that sapped your willpower. Beelzebub was pulling on your pact mark.        

[hieromonkcharbel]

You must avoid continually wasting time outside your cell, if you have indeed chosen to practice stillness. For it is most harmful, depriving you of grace, darkening your mind and sapping your aspiration. This is why it is said: "Restlessness of desire perverts the guileless intellect' (Wisd. 4:12). So restrict your relationships with other people, lest your intellect should become distracted and your life of stillness disrupted.

When sitting in your cell, do not act in a mindless and lazy manner. 'To journey without direction', it is said, 'is wasted effort.' Instead, work purposefully, concentrate your intellect and always keep before your eyes the last hour before your death. Recall the vanity of the world, how deceptive it is, how sickly and worthless; reflect on the dreadful reckoning that is to come, how the harsh keepers of the toll homes will bring before as one by one the actions, words and thoughts which they suggested but which we accepted and made our own. Recall the chastisements in hell, and the state of the souls imprisoned there. Recall, too, that great and fearful day, the day of the general resurrection, when we are brought before God, and the final sentence of the infallible Judge. Bring to mind the punishment that befalls sinners, the reproach, the reprobation of the conscience, how they will be rejected by God and cast into the age-long fire, to the worm that does not die, to the impenetrable darkness where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth (cf Mark 9:44, Matt. 8:12). Meditate on all the other chastisements, and let your tears continually drench your cheeks, your clothes, the place where you are sitting. I have known many men in whom such thoughts have produced an abundance of tears, and who in this way have wonderfully cleansed all the powers of their soul.

But think also of the blessings which await the righteous: how they will stand at Christ's right hand, the gracious voice of the Master, the inheritance of the heavenly kingdom, the gift which is beyond the intellect's grasp, that sweet light, the endless joy, never interrupted by grief, those heavenly mansions, life with the angels, and all the other promises made to those who fear the Lord.

Let these thoughts dwell with you, sleep with you, arise with you. See that you never forget them but, wherever you are, keep them in mind, so that evil thoughts may depart and you may be filled with divine solace. Unless a soul is strengthened with these thoughts it cannot achieve stillness. For a spring which has no water does not deserve its name.

This is the way of life ordained for those who live in stillness: fasting to the limit of one's strength, vigils, sleeping on the ground, and every other form of hardship for the sake of future repose. For, says St. Paul, 'the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us' (Rom. 8:18). Especially important is pure prayer - prayer which is unceasing and uninterrupted. Such prayer is a safe fortress, a sheltered harbor, a protector of virtues, a destroyer of passions. It brings vigor to the soul, purifies the intellect, gives rest to those who suffer, consoles those who mourn. Prayer is converse with God, contemplation of the invisible, the angelic mode of life, a stimulus towards the divine, the assurance of things longed for, "making real the things for which we hope' (Heb. 11:1). As an ascetic you must embrace this queen of the virtues with all your strength. Pray day and night. Pray at times of rejection and at times of exhilaration. Pray with fear and trembling, with a watchful and vigilant mind, so that your prayer may be accepted by the Lord. For, as the psalmist says: "The eyes of the Lord are on the righteous, and His ears are open to their prayer' (Ps. 34:15).

St Theodoros the Ascetic

[childofchrist1983]

As therefore the tares are gathered and burned in the fire; so shall it be in the end of this world. As therefore the tares are gathered and burned in the fire; so shall it be in the end of this world. The Son of man shall send forth his angels, and they shall gather out of his kingdom all things that offend, and them which do iniquity; And shall cast them into a furnace of fire: there shall be wailing and gnashing of teeth. Then shall the righteous shine forth as the sun in the kingdom of their Father. Who hath ears to hear, let him hear. Again, the kingdom of heaven is like unto treasure hid in a field; the which when a man hath found, he hideth, and for joy thereof goeth and selleth all that he hath, and buyeth that field. Again, the kingdom of heaven is like unto a merchant man, seeking goodly pearls: Who, when he had found one pearl of great price, went and sold all that he had, and bought it. Again, the kingdom of heaven is like unto a net, that was cast into the sea, and gathered of every kind: Which, when it was full, they drew to shore, and sat down, and gathered the good into vessels, but cast the bad away. So shall it be at the end of the world: the angels shall come forth, and sever the wicked from among the just, And shall cast them into the furnace of fire: there shall be wailing and gnashing of teeth. - Matthew 13:40-50 KJV

Which would you be? Which would I be? We all would like to think we would be among the righteous, but can we really be sure? You see, we're not the ones doing the judging! That's both a good thing and not so good. It's a good thing, because we would probably throw away a lot of good people just because we didn't like them, were envious of their success, thought in a different way, or we considered them part of some enemy group. It's also a good thing, because people who don't like us or are afraid of us can't throw us away.

At the same time, it's a bad thing, because God knows everything including our thoughts and the opportunities to do good that we ignored. He knows our prejudices, our lack of forgiveness, the times we lied or failed to tell the truth when someone else took the blame for something we did. God knows the real us that lives beneath the surface. Our private face as well as our public face.

The reality is that we don't need to wait for the end of the world for judgment. We will be judged when we die (Hebrews 9:27). I'm pretty sure that all of us reading this will be waiting for the end of the world from the other side. Actually, I hope so. I don't want to be here for the chaos and turbulence of the end of the world as described in the Book of Revelation in the Holy Scriptures!

God keeps reminding us that He has shown us the way to peace, joy and eternal life in this world and the next. Let us make sure that we stay on His path of righteousness, that our private face is as righteous and humble as our public face, that we please God and do His will as we walk in His Spirit, so that we may one day soon enjoy eternity with Him and all the saints who came before as well as after. May we make sure that we take time daily to seek and praise God and share His Truth with the world. May the LORD our God and Father in Heaven help us to stay diligent and obedient and help us to guard our hearts in Him and His Word daily, May He help us to remain faithful and full of excitement to do our duty to Him and for His glorious return and our reunion in Heaven as well as all that awaits us there. May we never forget to thank the LORD our God and our Creator and Father in Heaven for all this and everything He does and has done for us! May we never forget who He is, nor forget who we are in Christ and that God is always with us! What a mighty God we serve! What a Savior this is! What a wonderful Lord, God, Savior and King we have in Jesus Christ! What a loving Father we have found in the Almighty God! What a wonderful God we serve! His will be done!

Thanks and glory be to God! Blessed be the name of the LORD! Hallelujah and Amen!

[shemakesmusic-uk]

Having already provided two tasters of her forthcoming second EP, ‘5’1’ and ‘Polyfilla’, both exceedingly different songs sonically, Greta Isaac continues to outshine expectation with her wonky and jagged yet cohesive and boundary pushing new single ‘NUH UH’. Her new EP I Think You’d Hate It Here will be released on April 1. ‘NUH UH’ is yet another example of Greta’s melodic prowess. With a killer guitar and synth riff played in counterpoint with the chorus’ vocal melody, she weaves a dizzying atmosphere reminiscent of a drunken walk home after a night out. Greta said: “I wrote 'NUH UH' around the same time as 'Polyfilla' and '5’1', although the tone and essence of this song could not be more different. 'NUH UH' is manic, delusional, desperate and super charged to the point where I don’t really feel like it’s me who’s singing it when I listen to it. Sonically it feels like the moment you have a “spark” with someone - a spike in energy, your eyes blacken, your skin gets hot and sweaty. I see it in myself and people around me, it looks like we’re all turning into vampires, desperate for human connection and the feeling of being wanted by another person. It’s fascinating.” The single has arrived with an equally surreal and flamboyant music video. Self directed by Greta, it continues her ongoing working relationship with stylist/creative director Suzie Walsh and sees Greta showcase a variety of outlandish outfits.

Last year, the Los Angeles-based musician Lael Neale released Acquainted With Night, her first full-length for Sub Pop. Now, she’s back with a new single, the gentle and hypnotic 'Hotline.' “I became interested in numerology through John Lennon and his belief in the significance of numbers, specifically the number nine,” Neale said in a statement. “Because this song imagines a late night call of desperation into a psychic hotline, I thought it’d be fun to act as that ‘psychic’ and connect with people directly, giving them a personalized fortune for this year based on their unique numerology.” [via Stereogum]

Cate Le Bon is releasing a new album, Pompeii, next month, the follow-up to 2019’s excellent Reward. She’s shared two singles from it already, 'Running Away' and 'Moderation,' and now she’s sharing one more, 'Remembering Me,' a burbling groove whose chorus goes: “Upset and out of touch/ Good grief, you missed so much/ Louder than empty rooms/ Face down in heirlooms/ Remembering me.” “‘Remembering Me’ is a neurotic diary entry that questions notions of legacy and warped sentimentalism in the desperate need to self-mythologise,” Le Bon said in a statement. Above, watch a video for the track by directors Juliana Giraffe and Nicola Giraffe. [via Stereogum]

Never underestimate the power of the mothers, Tanya Tagaq warns with new song 'Teeth Agape,' out now along with accompanying video animated by David Seitz. From forthcoming album Tongues, produced by Saul Williams and co-produced by Gonjasufi, 'Teeth Agape' makes two promises: to protect, and to attack. Growling and gnashing over trancing pulses, Tagaq transforms into a creature all claws and teeth, ready to reckon with those who do harm. It’s the fight that comes from survival, snarls Tagaq.

The London-based, pan-continental female instrumental four-piece, Los Bitchos share their latest single and video, 'Pista (Fresh Start)'. The whooping, hollering single which sounds like William Onyeabor discovering cumbia, is accompanied by a video, the final in a trilogy from director Tom Mitchell. The band said the following about the song and video: “We are so excited to put out this track. Some people may recognise it and we hope you enjoy the sassy makeover we gave it for the album. The video transports you to our life in witness protection following our game show/court room victory - the good life and new beginnings. Things aren’t quite what they seem though... We had so much fun shooting this video and didn’t want to leave our cosy, wholesome nest! Thank you to Dario Argento and Are you afraid of the dark? for inspiring the final instalment of this trilogy.”

YAQI has release her new music video for 'I'm On It'. The Y2K inspired single has an equally nostalgic visual. In collaboration with the luxury clothing brand PRIVATE POLICY, YAQI teamed up with an entirely POC led creatives who are not only experts in their own fields, but also activists in social equality and diversity. YAQI has dedicated the video to Asian female creatives, who have been stereotyped and ignored for too long. "Moved and impacted by events since the violence towards the AAPI communities during the pandemic, it is time for us to stand up, speak up, and support each other. It is so touching to see the enormous support from other groups," she says. "We wish to show the world and more importantly all the female immigrants and people who feel unseen while working towards their dreams that we see you, support you and you can do it! 'I'm On It' is the spirit in many women, we are here to cheer them on!"

Catherine Moan, like all infatuation junkies, knows that a fresh fling can be both wildly exciting and wildly destabilizing. The Philadelphia-based electro-pop artist illustrates this on her new single 'Soda Pop,' which is a sweet, sticky synth-pop concoction about crushing hard and crashing harder. Of course, the track also doubles as an ode to Moan’s carbonated beverage of choice. She knows the buzz won’t last forever: “It’s driving me crazy / And taking me all the way to the top,” she sings, “and I’m fallin’ down / I’m crashing bad.” Still, she’s hooked: “I can’t get enough of your / liquid love, liquid love / your liquid drug.” “‘Soda Pop’ is a song I wrote during one of my frequent energy drink binges,” says Moan. “If I have work to do I’ll slam back a Monster and treat it like medication for my ADHD. It’s a simple song about love, addiction, and withdrawal from someone sweet like sugar. Sometimes you don’t realize how deep you are in your obsession until it’s cut off from you and the pangs and manic thoughts come raining down. You can take the message literally or figuratively; maybe you drink too much soda and need a cola breakup anthem.” [via FLOOD]

Guerilla Toss have signed to Sub Pop and will release their first album for the label, Famously Alive, on March 25. The band wrote and recorded the album during the pandemic in the Catskills, and while their unbridled creativity and disregard for genre boundaries is still in effect, this is a poppier, shinier Guerilla Toss than you may remember. "You have to be with yourself all the time during the pandemic," says singer/lyrcist Kassie Carlson. "I had to figure out a way to manage my anxiety. The pandemic was hard, but it helped me get comfortable inside my own body. My peace of mind came out of being thrust into the deepest shit. This album is all about being happy, being alive, strength. It’s meant to inspire people." You can get a taste via 'Cannibal Capital,' which is effervescent and very danceable yet also makes room for very windmillable guitar power chords. [via Brooklyn Vegan]

Aldous Harding has announced a new album, Warm Chris, the New Zealand-born, Wales-based musician’s follow-up to 2019’s Designer. She once again worked with producer John Parish, and she recorded it at Rockfield Studios. “Listening back, it sounds to me like there’s something completely new happening with my voice. The vocals are tiny. I won’t try to speak about sound too much, because it’s here, and I don’t want to ruin or create a surprise. It reminds me personally/musically of a large horse trying to keep up with a train,” Harding said in a new interview with BBC Radio 6’s Lauren Laverne. Now, Harding has shared the album’s lead single, 'Lawn.' “This video is pretty luxurious for me, but that’s what I saw when I shut my eyes and said ‘Show me,’ that sort of thing. So that’s what we made,” Harding continued. “Turns out it was just the thing. Music’s wonderful that way. The video was directed by Martin Sagadin and myself.” [via Stereogum]

Mitski will release Laurel Hell, one of 2022’s most-anticipated albums, on February 4 via Dead Oceans, and will then embark on a sold out UK Tour. Now, Mitski presents the new single/video, 'Love Me More,' a disco-tinged and urgent number reflecting how Laurel Hell evolved “to be more up-tempo and dance-y.” "As ‘Love Me More’ was written pre-pandemic, lyrics like 'If I keep myself at home' had different meanings than what they would now, but I kept them on the album because I found that some of the sentiments not only remained the same, but were accentuated by the lockdown," says Mitski. "‘Love Me More’ went through the most iterations out of all the songs on the album. It’s been too fast, too slow, and at some point, it was even an old style country song. Finally, I think because we had watched The Exorcist, we thought of Mike Oldfield’s ‘Tubular Bells’ and experimented with floating an ostinato over the chorus. As we steadily evolved the ostinato to fit over the chord progressions, we began to hear how the track was meant to sound." The 'Love Me More' video sees Mitski collaborating once again with Christopher Good, who directed the video for Mitski’s 'Nobody.' It was shot in Kansas City in December 2021.

Boy Harsher have shared a third and final pre-release single from their forthcoming album The Runner (Original Soundtrack) out January 21 via Nude Club/City Slang. Following the heavy presence of lead single 'Tower' and the flirtatious 'Give Me a Reason,' new single 'Machina' is a HI-NRG homage performed by Mariana Saldaña of Boan, sung in both Spanish and English. On the surface the song is cheeky and playful, but it truly is an uptempo cautionary tale. In her lyrics, Saldaña describes a cold, sterile entity, the Machine, that is soulless and without a heartbeat. The cryptic message repeats throughout the song - 'I can’t spend tonight with you, I can’t dance with you, I can’t end my night with you, I can’t feel your heart beat too'. The implication is that contemporary obsession with the 'Machina' is a lonely reality. The content is dark and intentionally witty: who are you going to dance with, when the machine is your only companion? Muller marks his time spent in Mexico City, at the renowned dance club Patrick Miller, as sonic inspiration: "I was reminiscing about Friday nights at Patrick Miller. I was trying to create an artefact from a club in a far off place and an unknown time. Mariana and I were sending each other old freestyle and Hi NRG videos and just having fun." 'Machina' blends the bright cheery palette of HI-NRG and Italo Disco, with Boy Harsher’s shadowy aesthetic merging the best of both worlds. The electrifying self-directed video produced by Muted Widows comes from the world of The Runner, presented as an exclusive NUDE TV studio performance by Saldaña.

Norwegian 7-piece band Fieh are ready to unleash new LP In The Sun In The Rain, which is slated for release on March 4 via Jansen Records.  Now, the group has shared brand new visuals, by Nikolai Grasaasen, for minimalistic soul banger 'Telephone Girl'. The track itself is dedicated to the very modern phenomenon of telephobia. “I’m not a telephone girl, that’s why I never reply when you call me” sings Sofie Tollefsbøl. “This song is a public apology to everyone who’s ever tried to call me. It’s not you, it’s me” she jokes. Of the new video, she says: "Warning: This video contains orange snakeskin pants, guitar solos in the desert, girls drinking highly toxic pink drinks and dangling telephones around and other depictions of a day in the life of a NON-Telephone Girl. You could start your new telephone free life today too – just stop answering those calls. Had a lot of fun with this one, many shoutouts to Nikolai!"

London-based, soul R&B artist Taloula has released the music video for ‘Quick Fix Love’, taken from her debut EP The Evolution of Taloula out now. The introspective ‘Quick Fix Love’ is a candid R&B slow jam addressing dependency in relationships. Directed by Taloula and Jack Thompson, the striking new visual sees Taloula and dancers Josh Denyer, Darius Drooh and Camille Corgeron, perform a beautifully choreographed aerial dance that brings feelings of emotional dependency to life. “This video was a huge challenge for me, personally as it was my first time directing a music video, and also as we technically chose to do a single shot with a film camera. With Zack we imagined these sequences highlighting the dependence on others. The intensity of the movement shows the hold people can sometimes have over you," says Taloula. "I talk about how I've always been dependent on others, whether in my romantic or professional life, putting aside my opinions and needs. Subconsciously, I never allowed myself to think for myself, always needing the approval or direction of others.”

With their new album IRE due Jan 28 via ANTI-, New York-based Latinx quartet Combo Chimbita have shared the final single and video from the record 'Yo Me Lo Merezco', which is the fourth and last in a series of auto-fictional narrative videos with prominent queer and trans performance artists to be featured alongside tracks from Combo Chimbita’s upcoming record. The video for 'Yo Me Lo Merezco' features Black trans artist Teresa Karolina wading through a river of affirmations and seeking abundance from Yemaya, orisha of nourishing waters. In the video we find Karolina emerging from her everyday routine and into a dreamy simultaneous dimension where she commands the lyrical manifesto of divine feminine strength and radical self-love.

Adele — torchbearer of the CD revival, conqueror of album sales — returns today with a brand new video for 'Oh My God,' a highlight from her recent smash album, 30. The singer teased the music video ahead of its release with a short trailer on YouTube and social media, although anything with Adele’s name attached doesn’t need much teasing to cause a commotion. Playing into the song’s conflicting themes of wanting to let loose while carrying a load of responsibilities, there’s danger in the 'Oh My God' video: “Maybe, baby, I’m just losing my mind/ Cause this is trouble/ But it feels right teetering on the edge/ Of heaven and hell,” Adele sings, surrounding by evocative dancers, stunt people, and plenty of flames. The video also has a surreal element to it, with Adele often appearing beside herself. Directed by Sam Brown and choreographed by Megan Lawson, the 'Oh My God' video is a spectacle — but it’s not like we expected anything less. [via Consequence]

Aluna has dropped a new collab with Diplo and Durante, ‘Forget About Me’. The track – which follows on from Aluna’s debut album – was co-written with Kelli-Leigh, and co-produced by Aluna, Diplo and Durante. “This song is about that moment when you’ve cleaned up the trash pile that was once your heart,” she explains, “you’re feeling yourself and you’ve worked out how to be alone but the past comes back to haunt you, hungry for your new self love and abundant vibes. Those are the moments you have to stay strong and really forget about your old love so that new fresh love can waltz into your life. When the one that got away comes back…what you gonna do? That’s not what I call destiny, you deserve better.” [via Dork]

UK R&B force La Shana Latrice returns with new single 'Let It Flow'. The Birmingham raised vocalist has always been infatuated with R&B, so much so that she moved to Atlanta, Georgia to chase her dream. Finessing her skills, she returned to the UK and released her debut album Everything Is Changing in 2020, a potent display of her abilities. New single 'Let It Flow' takes her into a different plane, with the clinical production helmed by Reginald 'Regg' Smith. Her divine vocal lifts the song, with 'Let It Flow' locating that sub-zero charm. Reginald 'Regg' Smith sculpts the visuals, building a universe for La Shana Latrice to inhabit. [via Clash]

Raveena returns with new song 'Rush'. The R&B auteur has inked a major label deal, with much more to come in 2022. Her new chapter opens with 'Rush', a hallucinogenic feast of future-facing soul music. Global in her sweep, Raveena matches aspects of her heritage with outward creativity, a fusion approach that breaks new ground. 'Rush' came to Raveena back in 2017, after coming up on a psychedelic trip while absorbing an Eastern sound installation at the Rubin Museum. The visual echoes this lysergic encounter, with Raveena co-directing alongside Munachi Osegbu. She comments... “I wrote 'Rush' a couple years back and the song was the genesis of me exploring a more intense marriage between Bollywood sounds and the pop/R&B music that I grew up on in America. The song and video are centered around a character I created named Asha, a Punjabi space princess who is transported to a distant planet and learns highly advanced spiritual intelligence from the beings that live there. In the video that I co-directed with Munachi, I wanted to create a campy ode to the colorful 80’s Bollywood movies and 70’s Western sci fi movies that I’m obsessed with, complete with a choreographed dance sequence alongside Asha’s alien friends.” [via Clash]

Toronto-based composer Maylee Todd has announced her debut album for Stones Throw Records — Maloo is arriving March 4, and Todd has shared the video for first single 'Show Me.' In a statement about the record, Todd described Maloo as a concept album of "science fiction lullabies" named after the digital avatar featured on the record's cover. The album is inspired by the utopian possibilities of technology, informed by Todd's experiences with VR during the pandemic. "Often we place too much emphasis on status, wealth, and clout on social media," she wrote. "Instead, what if we find ways to share our dreams and goals for ourselves and society? Tapping into our creativity and imaginations rather than having to preserve status or identity for acceptance." The songs on Maloo are told from the titular avatar's point of view, set in a world called "The Age of Energy" where empathy, mental health and creativity are essential elements of survival. This world, as seen in the video for 'Show Me,' was conceived, created and animated entirely by Todd. [via Exclaim]

LA-based artist Celeste Tauchar is the mastermind behind the new project talker. After gaining momentum with the singles 'Sad Chick' and 'Summerlin,' Tauchar returns with the sizzling tune 'Don’t Want You To Love Me' and to announce the debut EP, In Awe Of Insignificance. Directed by Chanel Samson, talker’s 'Don’t Want You To Love Me' video shows Tauchar hoping that a mannequin will stand in the place of the perfect boyfriend. She dresses him up at the for a disco dance party and even creates a picnic in the back yard. But she eventually realizes that even a the plastic man isn’t a stand-in for the one she really wants to be with. Speaking about the new track in a statement, Tauchar says she was inspired by the unfortunately all-too-familiar feeling of someone not feeling the same way as you do about them: “When your past shows up to haunt you, you have to decide if you’re going to open the door. And when someone comes back, you have to weigh the options and decide if you’re willing to put yourself through the ringer again for them. It’s easy to just block anything that knocks you off your course. A classic he loves me/he loves me not/will they/won’t they – but sometimes you have to silence your rational thoughts and trust your emotions. This song is me doing exactly that.” [via UPROXX]

Singer, songwriter, actress, and activist Sofia Carson has shared her female empowerment anthem 'LOUD,' along with the breathtakingly bold music video. 'LOUD' follows the journey of a once silenced voice breaking free. Carson worked with songwriters Alida Garpestad Peck and Paris Carney on the anthem. 'LOUD' mixes together pop and R&B, as Carson’s powerhouse vocals captivate with depth and soul. About the song, Carson commented, “From the bottom of my heart, this song is dedicated to YOU. The women of the world and all the LOUD voices of change. Because we were all: Made to Be LOUD.” Through the metaphor of a butterfly coming out of her cocoon, the video, directed by award-winning director and frequent collaborator Uri Schutzer and choreographed by the acclaimed Avihai Haham, tells the story of a silenced voice, spreading her wings, taking flight, and breaking free. Louder than ever. [via Vacancy]

It’s been less than a year since Israeli pop star Noa Kirel first started releasing English-language singles and she recently capped off 2021 with her biggest gig yet. She took the stage for a showstopping performance of her single 'Bad Little Thing' on the televised Miss Universe 2021, opening the night with a captivating choreography. Now ringing in the new year right, Kirel returns with 'Thought About That,' her first new song of 2022. 'Thought About That' arrives alongside a futuristic and fun video directed by Roman Buchatsky. It sees Kirel waking up in a sci-fi fantasy world characterized by towering buildings and flying cars. She realizes her man has left her behind but has no problem dancing through a broken heart. “Oh did you think I’d hate dancing alone / Oh did you think I’d stay home / You should have thought about that before you broke my heart,” she sings. In a statement about the dancefloor-ready track, Kirel said she hopes the song inspires young women everywhere to prioritize themselves when it comes to relationships: “I turned 20 this year and it’s so important for my music to inspire young women to be independent and stand up for themselves, especially in relationships.” [via UPROXX]

Platinum-selling pop artist Alicia Moffet released the music video for her new single 'Lullaby' via The Orchard. The new track is a sassy song that infuses electro-pop with rich and complex sounds of RnB and soul, while exuding Alicia’s disarming charm. The music video, shot at Windsor Montreal Salon Versailles in Montreal, QC, and directed by Jaycee and his team at Moonstruhk, features a party where abundance, good looks and superficiality are at the heart of all the interactions between the guests. We follow flamboyant and clichéd characters who seize the opportunity to boast about themselves, as Alicia wishes to represent in a clean or figurative way enters several uncomfortable situations she has experienced in the past by demonstrating her discomfort and nonchalance to all the superficiality that surrounds her.

[crybabyhyuk]

confiteor ; lee felix

Pairing: nonidol!felix x fem!reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: 18+ material, religious desecration/sacrilege, implied corruption kink, religious guilt, explicit mentions of biblical text + Catholic liturgy.

A Word from the Author: hi everyone! I am so excited to finally be back to posting. Some of you may know me from @ourladyofseijoh​, but this is my first official work on this blog :’) this is an old piece I wrote for kinktober 2020 that never got published. I am super excited to be writing again and I hope you guys enjoy :’)

。.:☆*:･' 。.:☆*:･' 。.:☆*:･’

Felix is a good boy. He says his Hail Mary’s when told to, he sits in his pew every Sunday, and he walks the straight and narrow. He knows he isn’t perfect, no one could ever be, but he tries his best. Despite his lashing tongue and his judgmental heart, he is a good boy.  Felix knows this is wrong. There is no way to avoid it. No matter how many deluded lies he paints to himself, this is wrong. He shouldn’t be entangled with you, so soft and innocent, staring up at him like he builds the world with his own two hands. Somehow, he finds himself falling into temptation. You look so soft, laying under him on your pure white sheets, the picture of chastity and virtue. 

I confess to Almighty God, and to you, my brothers and sisters...

The desire to feel the flesh of another is almost carnal. When the feeling takes, it devours the mind of its rational and sinks its teeth into you with such enthusiasm that it burns. Felix can’t pinpoint where this urge comes from, maybe some part deep in his instincts, beyond his control. Despite his baptism, perhaps it is the original sin still coursing through his veins. Or, maybe he is weak, crumbling to the hands of desire, entangled in the lust, suffocating in the warm aura of your body. Part of him feels guilty, ashamed of the shivers that ravage down his spine at your soft moans. It is impossibly hot in this room (when did it get so hot), and his head is thumping, the blood rushing out of his brain and straight down to his cock. 

That I have gravely sinned. 

Your eyes are watery, lips blooming open, breathing heavy and ragged. You mess with the buttons of his shirt, the soft white fabric feeling like heaven under your fingers. He lets you fumble with them, popping each off with a satisfying sound, exposing his tanned skin to your hungry eyes. “Lix,” you whine, voice soft and achy. “Please, please touch me.” He observes your form beneath him, top completely exposed, leaving just your small skirt and panties on. He reaches a hand into your hair, feeling it beneath his fingers. He gives a light tug and feels his breath tighten at the moan you let out. “You’re so sensitive,” he whispers, mostly to himself. He gulps as his hand falls lower, brushing across your face, feeling your skin burning up under his fingertips. 

In my thoughts and in my words…

He squeezes your face softly, testing the waters. When he pinches it hard, you gasp. Something deluded inside of him is satiated at your groans of pain, filling him with a sadistic pleasure that makes him shake. He lets his thumb caress your lips softly before plunging behind them to your eagerly waiting mouth. Your tongue swirls around him, looking at him with exaltation, making him an idol in your little paradise. He removes his thumb, letting your slobber dribble out of your mouth and onto your jaw. You look so stainless, even as your innocence is slipping away from beneath you. His hands trace down, brushing from your jaw to your neck, before wrapping his fingers around your pretty little throat. He can feel your pulse pounding against his hand, a mixture of fear and excitement painted in your pupils. “P-please,” you choke out, drooling like a stupid little puppy at the lack of oxygen flowing to your brain. 

In what I have done, and what I have failed to do…

His culpability weighs on him heavily. He can’t help but think to the Savior’s command, “but whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in Me to stumble, it would be better for him to have a heavy millstone hung around his neck, and to be drowned in the depth of the sea.” He seals his fate as he removes his hand from your neck, bringing his mouth down to it. He lets his tongue lick and suck your soft flesh, gnashing his teeth into your collarbones as he works his way down. Each tender mewl pulls from your mouth with ease, a choir of heavenly sighs filling the confines of your bedroom. He reaches your breast, glancing through his messy hair to look at your expression.

Through my fault, through my fault…

He brings his mouth to your roused nipple, spurred on by each gentle sob at the flick of his tongue. Your hands tangle in his hair, yanking at the locks with reckless ardor. There are plenty of words to describe the way you feel beneath him, but he can only think of heaven. He always had a mind bound for the Kingdom, but somehow he feels the flame licking his heels. He moves to the give the other breast the same treatment, sucking up each whiney pant leaving your lips. Your thighs rub together in expectation, your essence drenching through the silky fabric. The feeling of his mouth against your chest is almost so pleasurable that it pains you, the transgressions of your pleasure almost forgotten with the flick of his tongue. He lets his mouth free with a satisfying pop, smiling up at you through his dark lashes. 

Through my most grievous fault.

“Should I stop?” He whispers, voice filled with trepidation. As much as his guilt rocks through his body, Felix knows he could never stop now. The Garden of Eden must pale in comparison to the landscapes of your body, the Forbidden Fruit a mere rotten apple to the one lamenting out his name. The words leave your lips before you can think them, “Never stop.” Just as Jesus listens to the ordination of a Virgin, Felix complies with your words. He continues to kiss down your body, reaching the waistband of your skirt. Each time his lips touch your skin, you shiver the feeling, every nerve in your body alive and well. 

Therefore I ask the Blessed Mary Ever-Virgin…

You had heard about the Kingdom of Heaven on Earth, that the body of believers was the closest you would ever get. Maybe you hadn’t known that in full until his hands are pulling down your skirt, exposing your soaked panties into full view before him. How amazing must it feel to be reunited with your Creator if his tongue gliding along the fabric feels like ecstasy? Is this what paradise feels like? You want to contemplate more on the mystery of faith, but you are distracted by the feeling of Felix’s tongue working through your panties. You grip the sheets, letting a ramble of his name fall off your tongue like a prayer.

All the Angels and Saints….

He reaches down, hooking his fingers through the fabric and pulling down with an agonizing pace. Each touch against your skin dithers your composure more, pulling you further and further into a delirium of pleasure. When he finally spreads your legs apart, you wait for the years of humiliation and shame to overflow your senses. The Catholic guilt burned into your very being should be all you can think about, but your body is overtaken by the feeling of his tongue diving between your folds. Your body is so uncorrupted, all the new sensations making you twinge in sensitivity. His tongue explores your stainless cunt, claiming the flesh all for his own. 

And you, my brothers and sisters….

The feeling of Felix’s tongue ravaging your cunt is enough to push you close to the edge, dancing on the edge of pure bliss. He swirls his tongue around your little clit, making you jerk against his face. He works between your legs as if he is oppressively thirsty, desperate for the living water. As the coil building up in your core threatens to snap, you reach a wanton hand out, desperately to feel something to hold you to gravity. His hand finds yours, locking fingers in an iron grip before your orgasm finally crashed over you. The pleasure radiating over every inch of your body travels in waves, brain melting into a beatitude that leaves you numb. He stops when you begin to jerk away from his touch, agonizingly sensitive in his hands.

To pray for me, to the Lord our God.

As you lay next to him, melted in a puddle of bliss, Felix’s eyes drift to the Crucifix hanging on the wall above your bed. The initial feelings of apprehension are returning, suffocating him with guilt of his actions. The weight of your corruption finds itself comfortably on his shoulders, settling into his bones and moving into his consciousness. He stares up at the ceiling, crucified with shame and guilt. 

I confess to Almighty God...

Thank you so much for checking out my post :’) I am so excited to be writing again and I really loved this piece. feedback is always appreciated!

[honeysidesarchived]

WHERE THERE IS NO TEMPTATION, THERE IS NO GLORY.

⊱ a santino d'antonio / oc short-fic

interlude i ( read on ao3 ) ( masterlist )

words: 3k

warnings: clown to clown communication! dassit.

rating: m/t

notes: little flashback/interlude chapter where we can all pretend we don't know the inevitable doom that euphie and santino are hurtling towards at breakneck speed ♡ thank you everyone for your love and support on this fic!!!

and thank you to my beta @starcrier who has been reading this content and proofing it not for the first time, but now for the SECOND time, after beginning this fixation for me from the start. you are an angel and ily! ♡♡

Two Years Earlier

It’s the second time that Euphemia meets Santino that she realizes some things in her life have been decided for her, by Fate, and against her will.

Down the road, it will be come a hallmark of their love. Santino will say it against her mouth, her jaw, her neck; il destino, he’ll murmur, you are my destiny. But Euphie will have felt it, that inevitable pull of him, long before he says it.

It’s a black tie even at his museum. She’s been here once before, for a different event he’s thrown, with a different man as a date. That one had been Italian; this one, tonight, is Russian. She would try to remember their names if they mattered, but they don’t.

Admittedly, it’s not quite a date for her, but it is for the Russian. He’s been courting her well and good for the last week, has taken to calling her my girl, is unaware that just two weeks ago she had let another man call her that (or if he knows, he refuses to acknowledge it). She won’t think about it very much; if there’s a little bit of her that hates it, she is reminded that almost all of the money goes home, and that’s what matters.

So, yes—the evening she meets Santino for what is, technically, the second time, she’s on the arm of another man, and Santino walks by with what she’s sure is every intention of ignoring her date for the evening. Her partner says his name, bright and friendly, and the Golden Boy stops and turns with a smile planted on his face that only thinly veils his annoyance at being detained.

“Buonasera,” Santi greets, hands tucked into the pocket of his slacks as he drags his gaze once over her date and then turns his eyes to her. The linger, longer than Euphie might like—men, she thinks, nothing they do doesn’t feel intrusive—and then turn back to her paramour for the evening. “Thank you for coming. Are you two enjoying the evening?”

“Yes, thank you,” the Russian says, and then with a pleased little smile, he plunges on to introduce her. “This is my Euphemia.”

The words leave a sour taste in her mouth. My Euphemia, this fucking gangster says, like he hasn’t paid for her attendance in expensive gifts that she promptly turns around for profit, like she won’t slide his credit card out of his wallet when he isn’t looking. She knows what he expects out of the evening—but he won’t get it. It wouldn’t be a party if he didn’t end up sorely disappointed and thoroughly vexed.

“Euphemia,” Santino repeats, looking more than pleased to savor her name. “That’s Greek, isn’t it? And your last name is...”

“Volpe,” she supplies, despite the warning bells going off in her head. She immediately regrets it. Idiot, she thinks to herself viciously, monsters love to know your name.

Santino’s expression warms. “Italian, then.”

“Yes,” Euphie replies, even though it’s not a question. She’s unaccustomed to being the center of attention at these things. “My parents have a taste for elaborate, long-winded names that people are prone to stumbling over and mispronouncing.”

A smile—one that does not look strained in the least—drags the corners of his mouth upward. He says, “It suits you,” his eyes flickering over her admiringly before he looks back to her date, feigning a grin at a joke that he makes.

They begin discussing niceties that Euphemia doesn’t care about; business, that which goes on under the Table, and yes, Euphemia is there too, but not really. She belongs to no organization, no man. She doesn’t contract work, necessarily—she gets picked up by mafiosos and gangsters that want a pretty slice of arm candy, finds ways to bleed them out just enough that they consider her an inconvenience and not a threat, and gets on with it. She’s selected by word of mouth alone, which means she has spent more time with the regulars of the underworld more than she would like.

As the old adage went, if it’s not broke...

And because she does not care about what they’re discussing—this and that, him or her, the gossip and annoyances of life under the Table—and desperately wants to get out of this dragging social obligation, Euphemia exhales a little sigh and sets her empty champagne flute on a passing tray and says, “Excuse me, I’m going to go freshen up.”

Santino’s gaze lands on her, heavy. There is something sly in his voice when he says, “Let me show you where to go, bella. It’s easy to get lost if you’ve never been here before.”

She knows where the restrooms are, because she has been here before; Santino must know this, she thinks, must be aware that this is not the same man she was with the last time they met in passing (although last time, her date had hardly deigned to introduce her, instead bustling right on to the business portion of it).

Her date is look at her expectantly, displeased that Santino has taken an interest in her but insistent that she not embarrass him by refusing a polite offer. She cannot afford to say, it’s fine, I know where to go, because men don’t like to acknowledge that Their Girl might have also been courted to attend an event with another man, once. The Russian will be in a bad mood all evening if she says that. Unfortunately for her, her particular brand of clientele are especially tedious when they’re in bad moods.

Euphemia stifles a sigh. “That’s very nice, thank you,” she murmurs, wishing desperately that she could just leave. It’s almost not worth it anymore to keep going. It would be a net loss; maybe she would be better off just eating crow and taking it.

Santino plants a hand on the small of her back and guides her out of the conversation, through the crowd of people and toward the back of the room. The low, scooping back of her dress allows him purchase to the skin there, and he takes a lot of care in guiding her—one hand on her back, the other occasionally taking her hand to wind her through the crowd, almost in a sort of waltz. Any excuse to be close to her, he takes, and even if he stops to talk to someone, his hand stays on her. A permanent fixture.

A marking of territory.

It’s always a pissing contest, with men.

She knows that the restrooms are, in fact, not this way, and for a second, she thinks about saying so—but what would be the point? To kick up a fuss now would be almost worse than breaking the magical illusion that she is there for her companion and not for his money.

“You can imagine my surprise to find you here again,” Santino says when the sounds of the party are drowned out by a closed door behind them. The quiet stillness of the hall seems to enshroud them, almost womblike; dulling out the roar of incessant chatter and elbow-rubbing and peacocking.

She keeps walking down the hall despite knowing that it’s not the direction of the restroom. A part of her hopes that if she continues to play dumb, Santino will tire of her more quickly.

And then he prompts, from behind her, “It is again, isn’t it? I could have sworn I saw you here just a few weeks ago, but you were here with...Abarca, wasn’t it?”

“Is there a point to the little thesis you’re writing out loud?” Euphemia asks coolly, not bothering to hide her irritation. She stops walking and turns to face the man, who seems quite pleased with himself; it’s his turn to move, an attempt at closing the gap between them, and each step he takes forward is a step that Euphemia inches backwards until her back hits the wall.

“My point is, Euphemia Volpe,” he rumbles, “that you might be breaking my poor friend’s heart. Can’t I be concerned about that?”

Her eyes narrow. “Your dear friend? Do you know his name?”

“Do you?” Santino replies evenly. He props a hand up on the wall beside her head, blocking her in—but while Euphie’s knee-jerk reaction is to throw up a red flag and bolt, there is something lovely about the gesture, as though he’s made their conversation that much more intimate by one single movement.

It’s dark in the hallway, dimly effused in an amber glow from lowered lights. They cast eerie, handsome shadows across Santino D’Antonio’s face. Absently, Euphie wishes she was more drunk, but she’d been taking the evening slow in preparation of disappearing from her Russian benefactor.

And no. She doesn't remember his name.

Santino seems to take her silence as affirmation, and he grins.

“Don’t worry, I won’t spill your secret,” he purrs. “If you do something for me.”

Euphemia’s mind races. She jumps to the worst case scenario immediately; but she can’t afford to think like that, can’t afford to sweat in front of the man who leans into her with all of the deadliness of a jungle cat. He’ll eat her up if she does, gnash his teeth and sink his claws in and grind her up between his molars. She’s sure of it.

Her predatory conversation partner arches a dark brow at her. He is handsome, Euphie thinks—pretty, the way an oil slick is, dark and iridescent.

“Do you agree?” he prompts. She stifles a grimace.

“Tell me what the favor is first.”

This drags a laugh out of him. “Sei una piccola volpe, aren’t you? Let loose in a hen house of idiot men.” He sounds particularly delighted by this revelation, like maybe he was worried she wouldn’t live up to his expectations. “The favor is just your favor.” He pauses and tilts his head, gauging her. “Go to dinner with me.”

It feels like a trick. It probably is a trick. She’s thinking of all the way that she can turn him down, squirm her way out of this trap that Santino—because she’s not stupid; she knows who and what he is—has laid out for her.

She’s trying to, anyway, but then Santino’s hand comes up to cradle her jaw, fingers slotting through the hair at the base of her skull, and he brushes their noses together.

“Gorgeous little fox,” Santino murmurs, his voice a pleasant rumble, crushed velvet and the sticky, dark-wet of blood. The air bubbles with a strange, hypnotic emotion, lulling her. “I think that I just have to have you. Say that you’ll come to dinner with me.”

The words send her heart fluttering. This is not the first time that a man has said such a thing to her, but it is the first time a man has said it to her this way—as though he is swallowed by his want of her.

Euphemia impulsively says, “Yes,” before she can turn the acquiescence over in her head forty times and smooth the edges down. The second the word comes out of her mouth, Santino is kissing her—electric, demanding, impatient. She’s been kissed by men many times before, and none of them like this; starved for her. She has never known she wanted someone to be driven insatiable by her presence until Santino D’Antonio is kissing her like a man incensed in a dark hallway.

I am always hungry for someone else, she has thought time and time before. I want someone to be hungry for me.

Satino bunches a fistful of velvet in his hand, gathering the fabric between his fingers at her hip and sighing, almost ruefully, like he wants to do more but he won't.

“I should take you from the idiot right now,” he says against her mouth, and he sounds almost breathless. “But I imagine you’re not through with him yet.”

It’s funny to hear him say it like that. When people look at Euphie on the arm of a Russian gangster, they think, he’s not done yet with that poor girl, but unsurprisingly, Santino sees right through it. He pulls back and gives her a half-cocked grin that’s only a little wicked.

Oh, she thinks, feeling a little more than desperate for another kiss, this was a mistake. But though a mistake he may be, Santino D’Antonio is adept at dressing himself up as a delicious one.

“No,” Euphemia replies. Her chest tightens when the warmth of his body leaves hers, pulling back, hand letting loose the fabric. “I don’t suppose that I am.”

“Then I’ll pick you up tomorrow,” Santi replies, that grin on his face not once faltering. He seems very assured that he’s going to sweep her off her feet. Absently, he reaches up and presses the pad of his thumb against her lower lip, dragging it across the skin still tender from the bruising of his kiss. “And what will you say, Euphemia Volpe, when you go back to your Russian friend and he asks you what you think of Santino D’Antonio?”

What could she say? That she wishes that he would kiss her again, the way that he just had, with longing?

“That I don’t,” Euphemia replies, her voice coming out of her silky. The words darken Santino’s gaze; he looks amused and ruffled, all at the same time. “Think of you at all.”

“Oh, that won’t do.” Santino is leaning in close again, the smell of his cologne washing over her, their lips so close they might as well be kissing. “How can I endear myself to you, belladonna?”

Euphemia knows who he is; she knows exactly the kind of man he plays at, at least in public. Even still, she wants to say something reckless, like, you could kiss me again; but she knows better than that, for now. It’s always ‘for now’, with fools.

“Don’t take me out to dinner,” she says after a heartbeat. “Cook it for me.”

Santino pauses and leans back, like maybe he was thinking she would have just asked him for another kiss, and then he laughs.

“Of course, how could I be such a fool?” He grins at her, wide and pearly-white. “Then I will pick you up tomorrow, and cook you dinner.” He starts walking down the hall, and Euphemia can’t help the disappointment that blooms warm and red in her chest, the petals unfurling and reaching each edge of her rib cage.

“You don’t have my address,” she calls after him, still leaned against the wall. Santino turns. His smile has not dimmed in the least.

“I don’t need it,” he replies back casually. “I can find you just fine.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━

Santino is a fine cook. By most standards, he is probably even an excellent cook, but he is a fine cook to a woman who has grown up with traditional Italian recipes that she has made most every day since she was trusted in front of the stove.

Euphie tries not to micromanage as he cooks, but it’s difficult. The man is wearing an apron over his five thousand dollar suit—probably more; she’s shooting low when she estimates that—and he lets the sauce that’s meant to simmer start boiling before he turns the heat down, and he doesn’t season his water with anything when he starts heating it up for the pasta, and Euphie just can’t stand it.

“Santino, have you ever made dinner for your family in your entire life?” she demands, nudging him out of the way and empty out half of the semi-hot water to replace it with chicken stock, setting the burner up again.

“No, darling,” he replies amusedly, watching her fuss over the sauce. “Just you.”

She stops. It shouldn’t be sweet—it is Santino, after all—but it is. He does a very good job of being the unassuming viper in this situation, she thinks. So she continues what she’s doing, keeping her hands and her eyes and mouth busy because if she doesn’t, they’ll find ways to busy themselves.

“This was supposed to be you making me dinner,” she chides, “not me teaching you how to cook. I think that it will take a lot of making up for me to—”

Santino’s hand tilts her face to him, and he leans down and kisses her. It’s softer than how he’d kissed her in the hallway, but it doesn’t lack the urgency. He still feels hungry.

She’s dreadfully caught up in it, letting him come back a second and then a third time, letting the flicker of his tongue against her lips part them obediently, letting the gentle reprimand of his teeth in her lower lip inspire a little noise out of her. It’s somehow too long and not enough, and when Euphemia drops the spoon on the counter to grip the front of Santino’s shirt (apron), his hands go to her hips.

“Sit down,” he orders playfully against her mouth, “and let me cook for you. And then we will see who will be doing the making-up, won’t we?”

Euphemia has half a mind to tell him to forget dinner—turn the burners off, she wants to say, and kiss me like that again, but more, and everywhere, and and and—but the competitor in her won’t let go. She exhales a short, impatient breath and says, “Fine, but you are on thin ice, amico.”

He laughs and shuffles her away from the stove to a stool at the kitchen island. In what can only be an effort to properly shmooze her, he follows it up with a glass of wine presented neatly in front of her, glittering-ruby, before returning to his half-done dinner on the stove.

“Amico, huh?” The dark-honey blonde glances over his shoulder at her. “Do you kiss all of your friends like that, Euphemia Volpe?”

The words send a pleased little flurry through her chest. As she watches him over her glass of wine, she replies, “Only the very handsome ones.”

When the food is served up, they don't bother going to the dining table. In Santino's loft, it appears that the dining table likely goes without much use, despite it being seated for a full party of people; instead, they stay at the kitchen island, and Santino deposits the apron on the counter before he leans against the edge of the island.

“You are a hard woman to track down, Euphemia,” Santino says, reaching over and scooping and olive off of her plate for himself. She makes an affronted noise.

“I thought you would have no trouble finding me?”

“I did not anticipate you were so efficient at covering your tracks.” He smiles, watching her across the countertop. “No family in New York. No employment history. Rent paid in cash. Most frequently spotted at the Continental, too, but otherwise your recreational hours are spent entertaining influential figureheads. If I did not know any better, I would think you were preparing to disappear.”

Euphemia shrugs. It would be unsettling, that he went digging on her, but she supposes that's life under the Table. It's not as though she anticipated he wouldn't, anyway.

“You are obsessed with me, Santi, it's alright, you can say,” she demurs. It's easier than saying I never want to have to try very hard to disappear.

He grins at her. “Maybe I am just offended that you never offered me your services.” And then, as though to be a good sport: “Because I am obsessed with you, Euphemia Volpe.”

She takes a sip of her wine, sets the glass down on the countertop, and plants her chin in her hand to regard him. His gaze is playful; he looks almost earnest about his words, even though she'd said them in jest. At any rate, it's a relief to have navigated the prying, for the moment.

Euphemia says, “How were you able to focus on cooking when you have me here, then?”

There is a crooked little smile on his face at her words, a smile that she can only see for half of a moment before he says, “Don’t you know the saying?” He leans in and tilts her chin up with his fingers, his gaze sweeping her, as though to admire the most opulent work of art.

“Senza tentazioni, senza onore.”

[septic-skele]

UT - Easy As

Summary: Sans and Blue have traded babybones brothers for a day. Surely it's nothing they can't handle.

A/N: Pretend I set up a context where Papyrus and Stretch have been de-aged somehow through a scientific or magical oops. I just wanted to write a scene as a companion piece to this art.

_______________________________

“Yes! Yes, of course, we had such a fantastic playtime today! Your brother’s boundless energy came as a—a delightful surprise! Mwheheh, I won’t forget it anytime soon!”

Judging by the manic edge to Blue’s cheer, the ragged tears in his neckerchief and the colorful splotches of…something staining his shirt, Sans could judge that the last sentence rang most true. At the eager, unwavering shrieks for attention from the backroom, he struggled to stifle a laugh.

At long last, he wasn’t the only one to understand the trials of keeping up with his baby bones. In hindsight, if this was how Blue fared after a single day, maybe Sans’ muddled process of raising Papyrus the first time hadn’t fallen too short.

“And who is that you’ve got? Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you, brother!” Blue exclaimed as he moved in to scoop little Stretch out of Sans’ arms. Stretch wasted no time clambering for a handhold and shoving his face into Blue’s shoulder, earning a tut of endearment. “Aw, there we are…Did he behave for you, Comic?”

Oh. Well. Um. With a trusty smile pasted to his face, Sans ran a hand over his skull to wipe away the warning sweat.

“Yep! Yepper, he sure did. You know him. You left while he was napping and from there he was an angel, really.”

Truly Stretch made for a perfect angel of death. The end of his little world came with expert weeping and gnashing of teeth when he awoke to discover that Blue was nowhere in sight.

“Pulled out some of the toys…” None of which made a difference.

“Enjoyed a little peace and quiet…” After he cried himself back to sleep.

“Just let him do as babies do. Living the life.” Wake up. Cry. Sleep. Repeat.

“Honestly it felt like no time at all.” Like a dozen resets back to back. Funny how time kinda gives up its meaning after a while. “But I know he missed you.”

“And I missed you, starshine,” Blue crooned, nuzzling the crown of his brother’s skull before shooting a hopeful grin at his counterpart. “I’m glad to hear you were so good with him. In fact, if it isn’t any trouble, maybe you could watch him again tomorrow! After all of the exhilarating shenanigans Papyrus and I got up to today, I’ve come to notice that the backrooms are in need of major refurbishment! Immediately!”

[wretchedbitch]

For no one’s amusement but my own, I reread POTO and jotted down my thoughts. And, per no one’s request, here they are. 

the hot TL;DR take is that maybe most some of the changes made for the ALW adaptation are good actually??? (contrary to some loyal Leroux bitterness I see out there but I digress). Also, this book remains one of THE weirdest things I have ever read, ever. It’s like the “so bad it’s good” movie of books. 

Anyway 

PROLOGUE:

“The events do not date more than thirty years back; and it would not be difficult to find at the present day, in the foyer of the ballet, old men of the highest respectability, men upon whose word one could absolutely rely, who would remember as though they happened yesterday the mysterious and dramatic conditions that attended the kidnapping of Christine Daae, the disappearance of the Vicomte de Chagny and the death of his elder brother, Count Philippe, whose body was found on the bank of the lake that exists in the lower cellars of the Opera on the Rue-Scribe side. But none of those witnesses had until that day thought that there was any reason for connecting the more or less legendary figure of the Opera ghost with that terrible story.” 

This. is one sentence. Gaston Leroux says comma splice rights 

I feel seen

“the very moment when he became the first victim of the curious financial operation that went on inside the "magic envelope.” 

enter: the first mention of 20k francs/mo 

it’s page 10

“I was at first inclined to be suspicious; but when the Persian had told me, with child-like candor, all that he knew about the ghost and had handed me the proofs of the ghost's existence—”

Erik/The Daroga shippers are so valid

Like The Daroga is me talking about poto

“This chief scene-shifter was a serious, sober, steady man, very slow at imagining things. ”

This description of Bouquet tho …

CHAPTER 2

“he did not even think of stealing a ribbon that would have given him the perfume of the woman he loved.”

Listen…book Raoul is a SIMP…..no further comment

CHAPTER 3

“The ballet-girls are right," he said. "The death of that poor Buquet is perhaps not so natural as people think.”

Bruh shows up at a dinner party just to spook everyone and fear monger using his own rumor fuel I’m 

“5. Or if the manager, in any month, delay for more than a fortnight the payment of the allowance which he shall make to the Opera ghost, an allowance of twenty thousand francs a month, say two hundred and forty thousand francs a year.”

Second mention of 20k francs/mo

CHAPTER 4

“I did not protest, first, because I dislike scandal, and, second, because I thought that your predecessors, MM. Debienne and Poligny, who were always charming to me, had neglected, before leaving, to mention my little fads to you.”

Erik: I dislike scandal also Erik: 

“IF YOU WISH TO LIVE IN PEACE, YOU MUST NOT BEGIN BY TAKING AWAY MY PRIVATE BOX.”

“At the end of the performance, he always gives me two francs, sometimes five, sometimes even ten, when he has been many days without coming. Only, since people have begun to annoy him again, he gives me nothing at all.”

The patronage 

CHAPTER 16

“The reader must know that the ghost had calmly been paid his first twenty thousand francs. Oh, there had been wailing and gnashing of teeth, indeed! And yet the thing had happened as simply as could be.”

Good to know Erik is still making his extortion money 

“At first sight, Richard and Moncharmin thought that the notes were still there; but soon they perceived that they were not the same. The twenty real notes were gone and had been replaced by twenty notes, of the "Bank of St. Farce"![1]”

Erik’s sense of humor remains 👌🏼

CHAPTER 18 

“Yes, she was carried off in the Prison Act, at the moment when she was invoking the aid of the angels; but I doubt if she was carried off by an angel.”

Erik: perfectly plans to abduct Christine during a performance, just as she’s singing about angels for the melodrama of it all

“Unfortunately for their hopes of learning some detail that could put them on the track of their hoaxer, they were soon compelled to accept the fact that M. Raoul de Chagny had completely lost his head.”

Really works out in Erik’s favor that his behaviors are just so batshit that they can’t possibly be accomplished by a fathomable, mortal man so even when Raoul spills all this shit, no one believes him lmao

“What is certain is that, though your carriage and Sorelli's and Carlotta's are still there, by the Rotunda pavement, M. le Comte de Chagny's carriage is gone."

"This has nothing to say to ..."

"I beg your pardon. Was not M. le Comte opposed to your marriage with Mlle. Daae?"

"That is a matter that only concerns the family.”

Unless something comes up later, I really doubt Erik could have accounted for Raoul being accused of abduction/murder but I bet he thought that shit was lit 

[edit: this is not the turn those details took but man am I bummed to find out Phillipe was just being a really good older brother only to die for it : )] 

“This, gentlemen, is the art of the police, which is believed to be so complicated and which, nevertheless appears so simple as soon its you see that it consists in getting your work done by people who have nothing to do with the police.”

Leroux says fuck blue lives; they’re useless and make heartbroken viscounts do their work for them 

“You know who I am! ... I am the Persian!"

Best character alert 

CHAPTER 19

“No, sir," said the Persian sadly, "I do not hate him. If I hated him, he would long ago have ceased doing harm.”

Pharoga shippers; valid: the sequel 

CHAPTERS 20-EPILOGUE (the end of the book just happened really quick, so here are some general thoughts) 

Phantom feels big brain OG (no pun intended) for the whole “Christine! Just take advantage of the monster’s affections for you and act SUPER in love with him so you can gain the upper hand and help us” thing. Though…also high key glad that vibe has been dropped over the years

Erik really trapped Raoul and The Daroga in the Rainforest Cafe, huh 

I’d have to insert like an entire chapter to reference this but damn Raoul really just gives up on life right away once Erik turns the hot box on and whines while The Daroga does all the heavy lifting to try and save their lives it’s kind of hilarious in the worst way but also same, Raoul 

REALLY bummed about Phillipe actually : ( 

Erik remained a melodramatic bitch until he took his very last dying breath and I RESPECT him for that 

Like, he died as he lived: extra

The end of the book always hits me in the weirdest way because it’s somehow TOO climactic but also not climactic enough??? But I gotta hand it to Leroux for fabricating this nasty little monster man of a “theater kid” who spun a 180 thanks to true love’s first kiss.