#john my man pride's a sin

[frogchiro]

h...

hairy captain McTavish is something I didn't know I needed so bad

I'm doing anything for him. committing every sin in the book for him l

wagging my tail, bringing him my leash, putting my face right in his hair chest RAHHHH

Captain MacTavish who is just so...masculine, so brutish and rough all over, doesn't take shit from anyone and isn't afraid to manhandle someone if they get too cocky with him because there is one thing you need to know about John-he loves obedience.

He's a rough man but he's also prideful, he's proud of what he managed to build in his military career, that he's a captain but he's also incredibly proud of his physique and isn't afraid to show off a bit, especially in front of the sweet Hackergirl when there are other males around :(

Loves loves loves to walk around shirtless, his well-build torso on show and heavy muscles moving underneath his tanned skin as he stretches and flexes his biceps, his hairy chest and tummy on show as he walks around and checks how the recruits are doing their training. John's rough voice would echo around as he growls at the incompetent soldiers running around like chickens without heads, they just seem so distracted by something and when the large male swivels his head around to look for that fucking distraction, he sees you-the pretty 141 girl, their resident hacker who drives everyone insane with those nice tits, sunny smile and those nice, shapely and full hips John wants to yank back onto his cock :((

Imagine him strutting over to you, still shirtless and boisterous making sure to flex his strong muscles as he talks to you and asks what a pretty young lady like you is doing here, all the while smirking like a wolf because he sees how flustered and shy you got </3

[mykneeshurt]

Pride

Thank you to @ave661 for the eye candy

Price x AFAB!reader

Warnings - 18+, minors DNI, daddy kink, praise kink, semi-public sex, p in v, oral f receiving, oral m receiving, unprotected sex

Reader is early 30s Price is 38 … though in my mind he’s 100% 45 lmao man radiates dilf energy

This isn’t proof read … I love chaos

It’s started as a joke, a tongue in cheek joke aimed towards you Captain over some celebratory drinks in the local pub. It had been a hard mission, alcohol was a must after what you’d been through as a team. It was the middle of December, fairy lights hung above the bar as a roaring fire lit up the snug corner of the pub.

Drinks were flowing, the atmosphere was cosy and conversation was easy. You were sat in the middle of your Captain and your Lieutenant. Their wide bodies crowded you in the booth as you relaxed into the warmth of their firm muscles. As you were drinking Gaz came running up to the table ‘right, I’m off.’ He had a smirk on his face as he downed the last of his pint, noticing a woman stood by the door you threw him a wink ‘she’s very pretty Gaz. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.’

Soon after Johnny slipped away, telling you he was meeting up with an old friend. Even your stoic Lieutenant had been making eyes at a lucky woman at the bar. Turning to your Captain, your head swimming in alcohol you pouted at him. ‘What’s the matter cap? Worried you’re a bit too old for these spring chickens in here?’ You smiled as you said it, rubbing your tongue over your teeth.

‘Careful love’ he growled, just low enough so only you could hear, ‘could teach you a thing or two yanno.’ You scoffed rolling your eyes, you dropped your eyes to his lips as you bit yours softly. ‘An old man like you? What would you know about pleasing a woman?’

And that’s exactly how you ended up in the back of his car, laid out, bottom half bare as he ran his tongue up and down your cunt. You gripped the leather seats as his tongue swirled around your clit, adding just the right amount of pressure to sent jolts of electricity through your body.

Your sweet moans filled the car as Price inhaled them like the very oxygen he needed to survive. Arching your hips into him you craved more. He was holding back. ‘John … please’ you begged as you gripped his arm. ‘What’s the matter? Old man too much for you?’ He questioned, his deep blue eyes fixated on your glowing body. ‘Feels so good John, don’t stop.’

With your permission he grazed your slit with his thick fingers, gathering your arousal. The sound was sinful. You bit your lip as he gently pushed into you, stretching your hole as you gasped for breath. You couldn’t see it, but he had one hell of a smug grin over his face. If it was one thing the Captain took pride in? It was how he could fuck.

He picked up his pace as he slowly added a second finger, stretching you further. He watched as his fingers moved in and out of your glistening hole, conducting a chorus of gasps and moans from your lips. He kept thrusting his fingers, watching your body writhe from pleasure. Your chest heaving and panting, your eyes screwed shut as you clenched your thighs around him.

‘Pretty little thing ain’t you?’ He cooed, before adding his thumb to your swollen bundle of nerves. A sharp gasp left your lips at the sudden intrusion. ‘Shit, oh my god’ you whimpered, burying your face into the leather seat. He leant over you, still keeping his punishing pace, lips hovering just above yours. ‘Not god love, just John.’

Feeling you begin to clench around his fingers he replaced his thumb with his mouth. Nipping, sucking and licking your clit, pushing you further and further to the brink of your orgasm. A string of incoherent words emerged from your throat as you threw your head back. ‘That’s it, give it to me love’ he whispered against your cunt, his beard tickling your sensitive skin.

Pushing your fingers through his hair you gripped it, pulling his face further into your aching pussy. He smiled against your folds savouring your arousal on his tongue. Your orgasm rushed over you in a tidal wave of unbridled pleasure. Completely blinded by your orgasm you hadn’t realised what you’d moaned.

Opening your eyes you saw Price staring down at you, a devilish glint in his eye. ‘Daddy huh?’ Oh god no. You didn’t realise you’d said it. He nuzzled into your neck nipping it softly between his teeth ‘mmm let daddy show you how well he can fuck eh?’ It was a growl, a low rumble from the depths of his chest.

He pulled you up onto his lap as he kissed you, his arms wrapped around you as he cupped your head into his. The kiss was messy and desperate, tongues fighting for control amongst the mass of teeth and lips. Rolling your hips into him you felt his hard cock against your core. ‘Fuck me John, now’ you demanded. Never being one to say no he quickly pulled out his cock and lined himself up.

You sank down onto his cock, both gasping as he filled your hole. He gripped your hips and began guiding you, rolling you back and forth as you covered his cock with your arousal. ‘Keep goin love, just like that … pussys so good’ he praised. He licked his lips as you began bouncing, wrapping your arms around his neck you nipped his bottom lip.

The windows were steamed up, the car filled with the sound of skin on skin, your pussy being filled and fucked. But the good Captain wanted more, wanted to show you how good he really was. In a swift motion he placed you face down on the back seat, instinctively you arched your hips up to meet him. He slipped back into your cunt, both of you gasping once more.

You pushed back into him as he began to thrust, gripping both your hips he slammed into you. A truly punishing pace, his cock felt so good as it ground against your core. He let out deep satisfied moans as he fucked you from behind. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, feeling completely cock drunk. ‘Oh fuck daddy!’ You wailed as you scrambled to grip onto the leather seat, his pace was unrelenting. ‘That’s right’ he growled, ‘let daddy take this of this pussy.’

Spanking your ass he watched as the muscle juggled with each thrust. His eyes glued to the shape of your body beneath him, he snaked his hand into your hair. Pulling you backward causing your to arch your back further, your tits bounced each time he slammed into your pussy. ‘Oh fuck, right there, right there daddy’ you spat through gritted teeth.

‘Good girl, takin’ this cock so well.’ The praise drove you wild, it was like nothing you’d ever experienced before. Your skin felt like it was on fire, he rubbed your back, each fibre of your being lit up as he caressed you. ‘More daddy please, please please please’ you muttered, it was almost like a mantra. He spanked you again ‘little whore cock drunk already? Daddy’s doin a good job huh?’ He groaned under his breath.

You felt yourself tighten against his cock, ‘fuck fuck fuck, gonna cum’ you said, your voice strained from pure pleasure and desire. He dropped his hand from your waist to your clit, toying with it between his fingers. Daring you to come on his cock, pushing you further and further. He couldn’t not make you come again, his pride wouldn’t let him. He needed to hear your pretty little moans again, feel your cunt constrict around his cock.

Your jaw went slack, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you pushed your forehead into the seat beneath you. No sound came from your mouth as your orgasm ripped through you. John wasn’t too far behind, he pulled out and flipped you over, shoving his cock down your throat. You gagged around him as he came down your throat. Looking up at him through hooded lids, tears stung the corners of your eyes as you swallowed.

Whispered grunts and whimpers fell from his lips as his cock pulsated in your mouth. Your sweet saliva coating the entire length of his sensitive shaft. He offered you a warm smile as he pulled out, tracing your jaw with his thumb. ‘Now. What do you say to daddy?’

With a content sigh you licked your lips as you grazed his muscular thigh with your nails. ‘Mmm thank you.’

————

Taglist - @luminousbeings-crudematter @griffmors

I low key hate this lmfao daddy kink makes me shudder but it fit - thank you to @johnnytavish who suggested the daddy kink lmao

[ashyyslashy]

faustian bargain - marquis vincent de gramont x f! reader (john wick: chapter 4)

synopsis: To clear your debts to The High Table, you agree to a proposal by the Marquis to live with him as his partner.

warnings: language, sexual content (p in v sex, choking), semi-toxic relationship dynamics

word count: 2.8k

a/n: the john wick lore makes my head spin!

You stared into the weathered face of the man on the portrait before you, tucked away in a private corner of the Marquis' expansive gallery. The wrinkles and creases bore the weight of years of suffering, the lines of his face hard set in permanent anguish. You often imagined them as a collection of sins etched onto his aged features. Sometimes, you found yourself likening the image to a Picture of Dorian Gray. You would wonder whether the Marquis' misdeeds had marred this painting instead of his own self, leaving his striking handsomeness intact, and he’d hidden it from view.

The portrait reminded you it was too late to regret the changes that had taken place; only to find a way to cope with them. You had become used to seeking refuge in your thoughts amidst the entrapment of your existence. You would conjure whatever you liked to make this engorged mansion seem less stifling.

You had made an off-hand comment to the Marquis once, that you felt like a cat in a cage without enough room to stretch its legs.

He had chuckled, with his own catlike eyes boring into yours. "Mon amour, you are only bound by your own pride and reluctance. Laissez-vous être libre."

In seeking freedom from The Table, you traded one form of enslavement for another. For some unknown reason, the Marquis had taken an interest in you upon your first meeting. So he offered you a choice: join the fruitless battle to kill John Wick or stay with him in his home until it was all over, in some sort of twisted romantic scenario. Whether he was driven by boredom, liquor, or pure schadenfreude, you were unsure. Regardless of his motivations, you knew there was really only one correct answer if you wanted to live.

"I'll live with you," you'd told him. "But what is it you really want from me? No bullshit."

"The companionship of a beautiful woman, is all. Is that truly so wrong?"

His full lips formed into a roguish smirk.

You should have known there'd be a catch. You didn't simply live in his mansion - you were confined to it. Even with supervision, you weren't allowed to leave the property. As a result, you desired his presence in order to fill your solitude, developing a sudden and unexpected connection to the man. It was shocking how quickly your resolve to spite him faded. He became your lifeline, your connection to the outside world. And despite your best judgement, the more time he spent away, the more you yearned for him.

You hated his brand of intoxicating hedonism, the luxury items and expensive food he lavished upon you to win your favor. But you wore the designer dresses he laid out on your bed and drank the aged wine that was served at dinner.

You felt like you were betraying what you stood for through your infatuation with him. You resented yourself for growing so dependent upon him. Every touch you shared, every pent-up moment of sexuality - and there were few and far between - sent a flood of guilt rushing throughout your body. You'd wanted to escape The Table, but had only gotten yourself in deeper by fraternizing with the enemy.

The worst part of all was that he assumed a total indifference towards you. He would only provide you with the occasional caress or kiss on the cheek and any coy allusion he made to romance or sex in conversation was carefully veiled. He was forcing you to make the first move, and you wished so strongly that you could shatter his confidence by refusing to make it.

But at the same time, your resolve was wavering - every part of you was consumed by a flaming desire for him, steadfast in its absolute power.

You knew you had to do something to extinguish it.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The clatter of silverware resounded throughout the dining room, forks scraping against fine china.

You'd been fixated on him all night. Your eyes were glued to the veins flexing in his hands as he grasped his utensils, the curve of his lips when he brought a forkful of food to his waiting mouth, the tensing of his sharp jawline as he chewed.

Every time he met your gaze, your nerves stood on end. The meal seemed to drag on, and no matter how much you ate, nothing could fill the gaping pit of anxiety in your stomach. It was just the two of you tonight, and the air felt charged with electricity.

"C'est fini," the Marquis commanded suddenly, pushing his chair back. It dragged across the polished floor with a squeal.

As you always did, you stacked the plates and carried them into the kitchen, starting to wash them until the staff refused to let you help any further. You wished they would allow you to do more- you hated not feeling of use, and you disliked others waiting upon you. Your sense of independence was unshakeable, even here.

When you left the kitchen, the Marquis had gone, likely retired to his chamber. You were counting on that. You hurriedly crossed the house, taking deep breaths for what you were preparing to do.

Standing in front of his door, you raised your right knuckle and rapped upon the wood. You heard shuffling within.

"Who is it?" he called.

"It's me," you replied sheepishly.

"D'accord. Come in."

You slowly pushed open the door and stepped into his room. His bare back was facing you, muscles rippling as he leaned over to unbutton his pants.

Your cheeks grew hot. "Um- you know, you could have told me to wait and gotten dressed first."

He turned around, stepping out of his pants and laying them next to his discarded shirt on the bed.

"I was not aware you were such a prude."

You scoffed and mumbled something under your voice about "public decency", trying to hide the anxiousness creeping into your tone. He strolled past you with an air of nonchalance, naked save for his boxers.

"So are you going to tell me why you're here?" he continued after several moments, folding his clothes with all the ease of someone who's never had to do their own laundry. He slipped a silk robe over his body before pivoting towards you, his eyes boring into yours.

You let out a breath of air. "Um... I need to ask. What's going on here? With us?"

He cocked an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. What is it you want from this?"

He shook his head. "Déjà vu. You have already asked me this. My answer has not changed."

"Sure. My company, huh?" You replied in an insinuating tone.

"If you are implying that I expect you to do sexual favors for me, do not worry. I would have asked by now."

"What a gentleman."

"Mmm. When I say company, I mean company, chérie."

"Alright. Well..." you stepped towards him, shaking off any lingering feelings of hesitance. "I think you're a coward."

He moved closer, a dark look crossing his face. "Oh, do you?"

"Yeah. You know, I hear a lot around here. And I see how you pull the strings to ensure that everyone but you faces John Wick."

His jaw hardened. "It would be wise not to involve yourself in things that do not concern you."

"See, but you being a coward does concern me. I mean, it must be why you're just biding time until I make a move on you. Since you won't be the one to do it."

You were playing with fire, taunting him like this. You'd know him long enough to become immune to his attempts at intimidation, however.

He treaded backwards, barking out a laugh. It was strange to see him lose his perfectly-maintained composure even for a brief moment.

"You think you know everything, non?"

"I know more than you think," you countered. "You didn't deny it, after all."

"So this was the purpose of the visit? You have come to lecture me for not being man enough?"

"No. I came to ask you to be honest."

"I am not an honest man, chérie. You should know that. So what is it you want me to say?"

You were aware you were about to give away the upper hand, but fuck it.

"It'd like to know if you really do want me."

He shook his head, lips pursed together in amusement. "And did you not just boldly declare that I do?” 

"Stop toying with me."

He let out a sigh of exasperation. "I cannot understand why you ask me this. If I did not want you, why would you be here? I have given you space, and you interpret this as a sign of cowardice. I did not think boldly pursuing you would go over well. My mistake."

"That's not what I'm saying," you retorted, an indignant cry escaping your lips. "I'm alone in this house most of the time, and when you are here, you treat me as if I'm invisible. I feel like the fucking toy that the spoiled brat refuses to play with."

"You believe this is how I see you?"

"Yes, I believe it," you spat.

He laughed again, the sound not as sharp as before, humorless.

"How wrong you are."

"Then tell me your side of the story.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed, his hands resting on either side of him.

"I decided I would not send you to the front lines of this war with John Wick. I am confident I will win, bien sûr, but not without casualties. I did not want you to be one."

"Why?"

"J'sais pas. A feeling I had that I cannot explain. I just knew I wanted to give you a way out. I..." he trailed off. "I did not do it to taunt you, as you think. And I am not indifferent towards you. I thought that much was obvious."

"How wrong you are," you imitated.

"You are one to talk, chérie. You walk around as if you hate me and everything I stand for."

"I wish I did,” you replied ruefully.

His expression was unreadable. You approached him, standing over his form on the bed. Tentatively, you reached out to untie his robe, your movements slow in the case that he'd want you to stop. He stared up at you with unblinking eyes as you slid the folds of his robe to the side, revealing his bare chest. He shrugged the rest of the garment off, allowing it to fall to the floor. You slowly ran your hand across his abs down to his happy trail. 

"Do you like what you see?" he murmured, his eyes searching you for validation that you were surprised a man of his status would be asking for.

"I saw it before when you were walking around half-naked, but yes, I do."

Ignoring your sarcastic comment, as he tended to do, he gestured towards your own clothing. "Take it off."

You were too caught up in the headiness of the moment to protest that he'd phrased it as a demand. You pulled your nightgown over your head, and it joined the clothing pile on the floor.

Gazing at you intently, he placed his hands firmly on your waist and pulled you towards him. He took one of your breasts in his mouth and then the other in turn, swirling his tongue around your nipples. You dug your hands into his brunette locks as he peppered your chest with love bites, exercising his newfound lack of restraint. 

It was hypnotizing to see his guard go down, a hungry, animalistic fervor overtaking him. He was feverish with his movements as he pulled you to straddle him, his hard cock pressing against you. You tugged down his boxers and let the member spring free, admiring it for a moment before moving your hand in front of you to pump it up and down. You adopted a slow pace to offset his sudden frenzy, determined to leave him wanting more.

He slid backwards across the bed and you followed, your hands still working around his cock. He laid his head down on the pillow, looking at you lazily with hooded eyes.

"This must be how all of your fucks go, huh? You just lay down while the other person gets you off?" you teased while suspecting there was some truth to the notion.

"I'm simply fulfilling the role you've already carved out for me, non?" he retorted, reaching out his hand to smooth your hair back.

You spit on your hand and lubed up his cock, feeling the intensity of his gaze burning your face. You pressed down on his shoulders for support as you lifted yourself up into a crouching position, lining him up with your entrance. 

He sat up slightly, helping guide you onto his cock with eagerness. He sloppily buried himself inside you, and you began to create friction, bouncing up and down with your legs wrapped around him and your nails digging into his shoulders. 

You relished in the effect that your ministrations had upon him. He was a silent lover beside the occasional soft breath or inhale, but his pleasure revealed itself through his body language; his mouth gaped slightly open, eyebrows furrowed, head arched back. You couldn’t help but admire him.

The two of you moved in harmony, soaking in your collective loss of inhibitions as your pace grew faster. You’d caught yourself imagining this a few times late at night, cursing yourself as your hand crawled down to the hem of your nightgown. 

It felt so much fucking better when it was real. 

You scratched deep marks in his skin as ecstasy washed over you, climbing closer to your high, your walls clenching against his cock. Suddenly he was trying to move you off him, and the spell was broken as you looked down at him in confusion.

"Lay down on your stomach," he instructed, and again you bent to his will.

You felt his arm snake around you from behind, his hand clamping down around your neck. You went lightheaded from the sudden loss of oxygen, and a moan escaped your mouth as you felt him enter you again.

"Is this man enough for you, chérie?" he whispered, his breath hot against your ear as he rammed into you from behind.

He was pounding you mercilessly, and you knew that to tell him to stop was to reveal further weakness. You moved to brace yourself against the bed frame, but his hands were on your arms, pinning you down so you were entirely at his mercy.

"Tell me I'm a fucking coward now," he challenged.

"You're - not - a - coward," you managed to choke out, his thrusts continuing to increase in intensity, the sound of skin slapping against skin reverberating throughout the room.

He hummed his approval, before taking ahold of you and flipping you onto your back. His left hand moved to play with your clit as the other returned to your throat. Your back arched in anticipation, your body tingling from the combination of his cock thrusting into you and the movement of his fingers.

"I'm gonna cum," you cried out.

"Ouais, cum for me."

Your body trembled under the weight of your orgasm. As soon as you'd collapsed back down, he quickly pulled out of you, letting out a guttural groan as he shot his load over your tits and upper stomach.

He reached his index finger into the mess, drawing a heart in the sticky liquid and completing with an arrow through the center. The juvenile gesture caught you entirely off-guard until you looked up to see the amused, self-satisfied expression on his face. 

He pressed his finger against your lips, gently nudging for you to open it. You took his finger into your mouth, sucking it clean.

The Marquis laid down beside you, his eyes roving over your body. You surveyed his in return, unused to seeing the skin that he always had hidden under layers of a suit. You half-expected him to tell you to get out, maybe even toss you a twenty-dollar bill, but he said: "Do you want to sleep here tonight?"

It took you a moment to process the question. "Uh- yeah, I guess I will."

"Très bon. I will get you a cloth to clean up.”

He rolled off the bed. As you listened to him rifle through the cabinets, you were hit with the realization that you'd crossed a line you couldn't come back from. You'd fallen into his trap and given yourself over to him, just as he'd always suspected you would. 

He returned to your side, handing you a plush washcloth. You wiped off the evidence of your clandestine encounter, but as he turned off the lights and pulled you under the covers with him, you knew it stained you somewhere deeper. 

When you closed your eyes, all you could see was the haunting portrait. And all that lingered on your mind was a deal with the devil. The Table still had its claws in you.

[middlingmay]

Rebel!John x Pastor's son!Gale AU

“D’you think you’re a sinning man, John?”

That was the thing Gale Cleven was best at: taking any assumptions you had or expectations you made about him, tossing them in the dirt between your legs where you lay sprawled, and grinding them down into dust under his boot while you watched.

Metaphorically speaking. But it was a metaphor John had been thinking about a lot lately.

They sat parked up in his car, a town over from Daddy Cleven’s parish. John wasn’t sure what tale Gale had spun when he escaped the old man’s clutches. But he was sure that he didn’t care.

What he did care about, very much, was the way Gale looked in the fading light. Golden hair, golden skin - even the blue of his eyes absorbed the gold of the sun as it started to make its way to bed.

His shirt buttons still stood to attention, done right up to the top and his shirt was starched so it dug a little into his throat. Evidently he’d not had a chance to change into the soft cotton collars and cardigans he preferred when he didn’t have to be at attention for the Pastor.

But in a rare display of abandon, Gale had rolled up his cuffs and stretched out his arms as he lounged in the front seat of John’s beloved car, top down. One arm dangled over the end of the door, the other stretched over the back of the seat. John had never fully appreciated that particular design feature of his Buick Super Convertible Coupe; that the two front seats ran end to end, so it was a little like sitting on a couch. Not until the first time it allowed him to press his legs against the local pastor’s son in the name of ‘getting comfortable’.

The deep red leather was soft and supple and today Gale had felt some kind of way that had him knocking his knee against John’s and draping his arm across the divide so his fingertips nearly, nearly, tickled the very edges of John’s arms - right at the top, where it met the short cuff of his t-shirt.

His mom hated this shirt - said it showed more of him than was Godly. When he paired it like he did today, with tight blue denim jeans which hugged his strong waist and showed just how thick his thighs were, she tutted and swatted his behind with whatever she was holding before she ushered him outta her door until he “learned some damn sense! What kinda girl you gonna bring home to me looking like that?”

And the longer John spent with Gale, the clearer the answer was to him. Not a damn one.

Gale was staring at him and John realised he hadn’t answered the question. He’d just been staring at Gale like some love-sick dame.

John grinned, the one that revealed his teeth as it spread, and let him bite on his lip a little on the way.

Gale’s eyes flicked to it like they always did.

“Isn’t that a given?”

But Gale was good at recovering from John’s teasing, and levelled him with his own look, head cocked, like John was a child who was being deliberately obtuse.

“Is it?” he asked. “Because depsite your reputation around town, I ain’t seen you do anything immoral.”

Immoral. John latched onto the word like it was prey; a perfect opportunity to get Gale a little worked up.

“Well which are you asking? Immoral, or sinful?”

Gale’s brown furrowed, and he looked at John all suspicious like. “I don’t follow.”

John turned his body towards Gale, his own arm coming up to the back of the seat, draping over Gale’s who didn’t budget an inch.

“They’re not the same, Buck,” he said, using the nickname Gale pretended to hate.

There. He saw it. The intrigue; the temptation to bite the bait.

“Okay. How are they different?”

Hook, line, and sinker.

“Tell me what your seven sins are.”

Gale snorted. “You’re a Catholic, John. You know what they are.”

John didn’t laugh. “Say them.”

Noting the tone - the order - Gale sat up a little straighter. His arms dragged along the line of John’s as he did so. John felt it like static electricity.

“Pride.”

John nodded. “I got plenty of that. I’m proud of my car,” he gestured with his hand.

“You worked hard on it—”

“I’m proud of my looks. I like keeping my curls longer because I know what it looks like when someone wants to pull on ‘em. I like my legs,” he stretched them out a bit further and Gale’s first blush of the evening made its appearance. “They make me feel strong. And that makes me feel good. All those folks lookin’ at what I got.”

Gale was silent.

“What’s next?”

“Greed and gluttony.”

“Hm,” John made it a satisfied and contented sound. “Well, I’m not greedy for money, you know that. And if It was success and fame I was after, I’d have trotted to New York after my dad.”

Gale’s eyes softened at that, well aware of John’s tendency to self-sacrifice for the comfort of his mother and his sisters - something no one else knew apart from John’s best friend, Curt.

John was pleased to see it, that false sense of security, before he made his move. “At first, I told myself that everytime I saw you would be the last. I’d leave the pretty pastor’s son be, stop teasin’ and tormentin’ him and let him find some friends more like him.”

Blush number two.

“But each time we spoke, every time I got you to laugh, every time you caught me lookin’ - it just made me greedier, Gale. Just got me hungry.”

A soft breathe rushed from Gale’s lungs. His fists clenched where they rested. Perfect control.

“Sloth.”

John laughed, bright and happy. “The day you let me, I’ll spend the whole morning after showing you sloth, just you wait.”

Gale covered his mouth with the hand that had been resting on the door and snickered. John loved that he could make this boy, normally so solemn and serious with the weight of his father dragging him down, laugh so easily now. Gale shoved John back and inch and John let him, smiling like a fool.

“Alright, envy,” Gale said, finally getting into the game.

“Your buttons.”

Gale spluttered. “My what?”

John nodded at his buttoned up collar. “Your buttons. Your shirt.”

“You can’t be serious? You’re jealous of cloth?”

“Ah, ah,” John corrected him gleefully. “I’m envious.”

Gale rolled his eyes but John leaned over under the pretense of studying the button at the base of Gale’s throat, and the younger boy stilled like a deer. From here John could draw in the scent of him: soap something sweet, like chocolate.

A breath away from the lip of Gale’s shirt collar, John murmured,” They get to kiss ya in ways you ain’t let me, yet.”

Gale whipped his head round and John had to rear back lest he get smacked in the head, but he didn’t go far. He saw Gale walk that edge; the one between excitement and fear, both centred on what he really wanted.

The other thing John liked about Gale, was that he had a complete and utter inability to back down. In the fractional space between them now, Gale let the arm resting along the back of the seat drop in a ghost of an embrace as it curled around John where he sat. The other he slowly but deliberately brought to rest of John’s denim-clad knee, high though, and gripped like if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to control where it went.

“Lust?” Gale whispered against his face.

And it would have been easy, so easy for John to finally bridge that distance and claim a kiss. But just like all the other times, he couldn’t help but think it had to be perfect, not easy.

Instead, he tipped forward just enough to brush his nose against Gale’s; for their eyelashes to flutter against each other, and for their stubble to catch in a delicious scrape and burn as they breathed in each other’s air.

“You have no idea,” John’s voice rumbled in the coming dusk, “the fire I got inside me for you, Gale Cleven.”

Gale’s breathe was shaky and laboured and tumbled out of him in a stutter. And then, “Don’t I?”

John dropped his head to the curve of Gale’s neck with a thud and a pained groan, and Gale chuckled, deep and syrupy now that John wasn’t stealing his breath.

But never let it be said that John Egan did not give as good as he got.

“I am a sinful man, Gale,” he spoke, just below Gale’s ear. “I don’t look at you with piety or good, clean Christian love for mankind. If you judge me based on the Good Book, you make me wanna be a very bad man.”

Gale’s hand spasmed on his leg as John felt the weight of the other man’s head rest on the back of his, just for a second.

Then John asked, “But does that make me immoral? Does that make me evil?”

Gale pulled back and looked at John with horror. He could see the refusal in Gale’s eyes that the younger man wanted to speak into the air. Of course John wasn’t evil. How could he be?

Gently, John cupped Gale’s chin between a finger and a thumb. “Does my - do my feelings for you mean I gotta burn?”

Gale closed his eyes but not before John caught the flash of hurt. Gale tilted his head down so his mouth laid in the curve of John’s palm, and in that sacred hollow he said, “I won’t let you burn, Johnny. Least not alone.”

There. As close to an admission as Gale got that John wasn’t going crazy and he wasn’t in this alone. That Gale saw John the way John saw him, and he wasn’t getting himself off every night to a damned fantasy.

With more effort than he thought he had in him, John pulled back to the driver’s seat and shook it out: all the tension, his desire, his temptation. He shook his head, rolled his shoulders, smacked his hands on the steering wheel, and when he turned to Gale he looked near pristine, but for the raw, bare look in his eyes.

“I gotta get you home,” and John said it like a vow.

A few streets away from the Pastor’s house - because even Gale didn’t make John stupid enough to tempt fate like that and Gale wouldn’t let him even if he did - Gale paused before getting out the car.

“What about wrath?”

John, who hated dropping Gale off but always appreciated the momentary but completely unobstructed view of his ass as he left the car, took a second to catch up. “Huh?”

“Wrath. You never said how you were a wrathful man. You left it out.”

And John thought back to the busted lip that started this whole thing. To subsequent red cheeks and black eyes and that one time he walked into the garage to Curt pointing viciously at the back room and finding Gale curled up on the ratty couch there under his jacket, soaked to the bone and nose red, sleeping.

He couldn’t touch Gale, now. Not around so many houses full of curtain twitchers, night time or not. But he could hold his gaze, which so many people found hard to do with the pastor’s son, and he could promise:

“I will never hurt you, Gale.”

And if he expected some heartfelt look or words at the declaration, he would have been mightily disappointed. Gale looked affronted, like John had just treated him like he was stupid.

“I know that, idjit.”

John spluttered.

“But your boys say you’re awful good a fightin’”

When he was a little younger and a lot stupider, John used to fight for the hell of it; to feel something in the wake of his father walking out his life. But now he only fought for a good reason. And Gale and his boys were very good reasons.

“I look after mine, Gale.”

And Gale bit his lip at the meaning left unsaid and wished John a goodnight, before he exited the car and walked off into the night.

John watched Gale until he turned the corner, like he always did, before he collapsed against the back of the seat and rubbed his face hard with his hands.

Gale Cleven. John was fairly sure he was going to hell for that man.

[derseprinceoftbd]

This is a rant I've been meaning to get off my chest for a while, but the conception on Tumblr, AO3, and sometimes here, that Jake is capable of "teasing" Dirk, and all that implies, irks me deeply.

Let me be clear: Jake English is not self-aware. He, in Canon, never does anything resembling self-awareness, maturity, emotional boldness, or anything else that requires a spinal column. This includes apologizing to anyone, talking about his problems in a way that doesn't end up being selfish, teasing someone, particularly Dirk, or transitioning. (I maintain this especially; he does not have the boldness, maturity, self-awareness, or nerve to have transitioned his gender presentation pre-Act-6.)

He has an *understanding* of pranks, if we allow Paradox Space as evidence, but that's it. He makes *Tavros* look like a fully-roleplayed-into-Class-shift Lord.

You know what the popular Fandom perception of Jake, as a member of a DirkJake relationship, lines up with? *John*, before his main writing trait became a deep, all-consuming depression and repression thing.

Like, John’s original Act 5 and earlier characterization before his underreaction to his dad's death and the spiral that sent him down towards his current "transition would not save her" characterization is what people use for Jake (charming, funny, actually seems to have his shit together enough to maybe be transmasc (man, remember *transmasc John*?), and, most importantly, seemingly capable of dealing with the levels of vaguely sociopathic bullshit that an even-close-to-accurate Dirk would throw at him), but DirkJohn/JohnDirk is less popular, to the point of not having a consensus order, simply because Jake and Dirk are *coded* as liking each other.

I think a lot of people miss that DirkJake is fundamentally the Equius of relationships; Hussie isn't one of those writers that feels pride in finding pathos in the ridiculous, but spiteful glee and humor. He genuinely does not care if he accidentally touches people's hearts in a way that doesn't involve Dave, or *maybe* Vriska. The fact is, DirkJake is a joke relationship, which is spelled out very clearly in their conversation.

You know, their conversation. The one they have together. The time we see someone who is actual Dirk Strider, not Hal pretending, not Aranea co-opting a memory, not a Brain Ghost, talking to Jake. That time.

Yeah, that doesn't exist. DirkJohn has as much conversational basis as DirkJake.

Edit:

LESS! GAME OVER! "I FAILED"! LESS!!!

DirkJake is a joke, a long, subtle one being made on everyone who saw Dirk's affections and immediately wanted him to get together with his disabled(?) ongoing harassment victim. Hussie was having a lot of fun making it seem like Jake found it important in the Masterpiece, I'll tell you that much.

@thelifetimechannel/@geejaysmith/@clonerightsagenda did magnificently wringing blood from this stone, I really do mean that, their Alphas are genuinely written better than Canon for 3/4, but that's all it ever was; every DirkJake writer is the YouTube comments under [this video](https://youtu.be/B7bpv5xyrOY?si=wYTCFDHM5ZzOY8fp) saying Equius could ever have been more than what he was.

TL:DR

1, Jake is pathetic, and we should remember this.

2, Hussie is a jackass who hates us one and all for the sin of caring and everything he has done with this franchise since maybe EOY2 has had an ulterior motive, and we should remember this.

3, Most people who write longfics set in SBURBless AUs, whether normalcy or fantasy, and want to ship Dirk and Jake should really be shipping Dirk with John, since now that history of Dirk-Jake interactions that justifies the ship in-Universe is gone at the Author's leasure, John would have the dynamic they want, and they talk *exactly as much*.

4, If you want to trans Jake, [there's a sensible way to do that](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8619856), but there's no in-character way to make him transmasc.

5, Read DDOTA, I beseecheth of you. Like yeah the Striders are emotional to a kinda weird degree but apart from that they really got everyone down right.

[oh-saints]

ruben dias and daughter of pep guardiola.

man.. when i got this request, all i keep thinking about is some forbidden, enemy-to-lovers trope so here it is! i hope you like it!

enemy

you and rúben dias can never be in the same room and it's the main reason why your father's head balding. so what changes?

rúben dias x guardiola!reader

word count: 4.2k

tw: 18+ for graphic sexual contents included inside (aka a sprinkle of smut); drinking, swearing, unprotected sex (and some angry/hate sex)

note: i was writing something along the line of enemy-to-lovers but got stuck midway until this request came in from @kkilp so here we are. my first smut? dang that feels weird saying it was also inspired mildly by anthony and kate of bridgerton (TV series; s2, 2021) but as usual, i happen to write at dawn so ofc this is not proof-read and feedbacks are always welcome! (now lemme go back to repent my sin and go back writing the charles leclerc story i've got...)

“another flower from your daughter, isn’t it?”

rúben could hear one of the coaching staffs commented pep as the spaniard walked in with a huge bouquet of varied flowers on his arms, almost blinding the old man’s sight for direction. pep only laughed to answer his staff’s clarificatory question because it had indeed become a habit for that particular daughter of his to send a humongous array of flowers to her father whenever he and his team won something.

last night happened to be the time when the team had won another EPL title. thus, the biggest arrangement being sent to her father’s office. it was funny for some as she always matches the size to the prestigious level of a trophy.

but of course the entire building loves her. she’d sent each and everyone in this building a bouquet, directly to their houses, albeit in smaller size than the ones delivered for her father. but still, complete with the words hard work always pays off. congratulations, champions! typed perfectly in the middle of the card.

being a florist, she’d also send a basket to anyone who was celebrating with carnations, anyone who was newly having kids with hydrangeas, anyone who was injured with sunflowers.

but him.

he’d like to think himself as someone not petty so no—it wasn’t because he didn’t get a bouquet for himself. he could buy himself one so big the smell would’ve made him throw up for days if a mere basket of flowers was his problem. he just didn’t understand why people couldn’t see how she acted beyond the artificial care and love she’d faked behind those flowers.

rúben was probably the only one who couldn’t relate towards all of the love directed towards her. he could only hope the people would soon belief what he’d gone through, as everybody thought he was crazy for saying she was cold, aloof and rather unfriendly as of late.

as of late being the key word here because god damnit, they used to be so… close? well, he thought they were close but it seemed that for her, they were amicable at best. because one day, she just started to shut him off and she wasn’t shy to show him that. and only to him, no one else. no one of close friends would—and could—do that overnight.

it was similar to those mean girls kind of story plot where you know she’d give you scrutiny so directly but so indirectly in the eyes of everyone else. except that the ending was no where near, unfortunately, for she was now sporting off the cold shoulder to him throughout the whole EPL celebratory party.

rúben was inclined to believe she intended to rile him up even, as she danced the night away with those crazy drunkards he called his teammates. jack, kyle, john amongst the name. he prides himself in moderate amount every time he drinks and he intends to keep it while he’s still an active athlete, but fucking hell did he want to drink till his head bang in the same rhythm as the bass pounding the dance floor.

he just wanted to barge in the midst of the group and had fun with her, just like they used to back when he was still in his freshman year on the etihad side. if she didn’t like it, then good. it gave him the chance for confrontation of whatever it is she was doing.

fuck it, he’d said to himself as he got up from his seat, tired of being the sober friend to a bunch of kids. might as well have my fair share of fun, even if it didn’t involve getting her into the picture.

but in all honesty, she’d seen this move of his. this was what solidified her justification of staying away from him. the moment he was bored out of his mind, that was when he started preying for another long-legged bimbo to bring home.

she could only pray for the woman’s well-being afterwards because she’d learned it the hard way.

for her, rúben was siren personified. he’d talk his way to your pants, feeding you to his soul until you’re left dry. thank god he didn’t make it way past the whole sexual thing—she’d kept him at bay for so long that he’d got bored and the moment she was about to give in was the moment she found out about him moving on.

that night, when she dropped by his house for an impromptu netflix and chill session, when she was ready to accept whatever his advances that night. only for his leading lady to greet her by the door, wearing only lingerie and his shirt unbuttoned.

despite them going apart now, it never soothed her heartbreak.

but she had to see him all the time, thanks to her father’s job. that fact upset her beyond belief that she couldn’t seem to escape him. especially when everyone talks highly of him, when everyone loves him.

there were so many times she wanted to spill out the hot tea but she resisted because it wouldn’t do any good—for her, for him, for her father, for anyone. people would take her as a bitter bitch that didn’t get the dick, she’d held higher regards for herself than to stoop so low.

“let him go and have fun with me.”

the club’s lightning was too dark for her to make out who the hell that was, whispering behind her like he had the world in his palm. obnoxious dick, she’d muttered to herself.

“what did you just say?”

“go away.”

men, couldn’t take a no for his answer as he grabbed her wrist rather harsh, trying to exert some power over her. “no, you didn’t—"

“she said go away, mate,” weird how she knew it was rúben standing behind her before she could see him. “which part of that sentence did you not understand? should i cut off your hands instead?”

the stranger tried to hard not to be intimidated by rúben’s stare but his grip on her hands said the otherwise. “you wouldn’t.”

“would you like to try?”

if she wasn’t just assaulted by the man, she would’ve taken a pity because rúben seething anger and deep distaste like you’re a disgusting human being that doesn’t deserve to live wasn’t something she’d like to experience herself.

“are you okay?”

she didn’t realise she was watching the man scurried off as if he’d caught on fire when rúben went ahead and touched her herself. she’d froze at her place, not knowing where to stand because his hand was placed exactly where the unwanted touch happened—partly she got reminded of what had just happened to her, partly she’d gladly take rúben’s touch over anyone else she didn’t know of.

“hey, you’re okay?”

she couldn’t comprehend what was happening and it felt suffocating to be the centre of everyone’s attention, so she dashed for the restroom for a bit of space.

“talk to me,” she could hear rúben’s voice from the other side of the door, solid 10 minutes after she entered the loo. he’d understood, she whispered to herself as if it was a wonder rúben was smarter than he let on. “please say you’re okay.”

as if she didn’t know the rúben that deserted her for another woman.

god, she hated him for doing this to her. “go away, rúben!”

“like hell i will,” he spat ferociously behind the doors that it startled her. but the soft voice that followed after was more shocking it ran shivers down her back. “i need to know you’re okay.”

the caring thought that laced his words didn’t escape her because she knew, no matter of an asshole rúben was, rúben was always genuine with his words. it was his past actions and the difference between actions and words that scarred her for life—well, at least up until now.

but it was enough for her to choose to shut up instead of acting based on her turmoil of emotions. she’d silently tidy up, fixing her hair and lipstick, while watching the women coming out of the loos one by one till it was only her left. in hope he’d left if she stayed inside for far too long for his liking, then she could sneak out of this place from the backdoor.

all plans were shattered, though, when the door slammed wide open and revealed rúben bulldozing his way inside like a monster truck exhibition. the veins on his arms and neck was bulging angrily, as angry as his face.

“what the fu—”

“i said i need to know you’re okay,” after he spit the words as if that should be obvious to her, he then proceeded to lock the door behind him. “didn’t you hear?”

cowards, afraid anyone walk on you in a woman’s bathroom? “i did, but it doesn’t mean i have to answer you.”

“puta madre,” if she didn’t hold on to the painful memory he’d learned spanish from the ex-girlfriend she met one night too long ago, she’d go meek and weak at his impeccable multilingual tongue. “you’re so frustrating! why is it so hard for you to tell me so?”

“why do want to know?”

“because some asshole just groped you in the ass!” one of his hands shot towards her direction, gesturing from her head to toe in frustration. of her not seeing his point. “surely you’re not okay. no one is after such terrible event.”

“there, you said it youself. i’m not okay,” she rolled her eyes at his reply, hands folding in front of her chest. “why do you care, anyway?”

he shot him a look that was scaring her, and not of the violence he was capable of doing. “do i have to have a reason to care about you?”

“go back in there, rúben,” she tried to stand her ground, faking a rather tired expression when, in fact, she was masking her fear as he dared himself to step closer to her direction. “your drunk friends need your care more than i do.”

his eyes remained intense, burning her down as if she was merely a clothing to burn, as he stepped in front of her. his strong aura forced her to look up at him, and she tried to put some defiance into it in order to show she was in control. or trying to.

“but i don’t care about them,” he lowered his voice as he didn’t see the need to speak louder when his opponent was right under his nose. he knew he’d got her when she shifted her stance from the right leg to her left one. “i care about you.”

the statement obviously caught her off guard, as outmost surprised laced the pair of eyes that—luckily—resembled her mother more. rúben took the chance to close down the gap between their lips, as fast as lightning before she changed her mind, goading her to open up.

as soon as he heard her groaning in surrender, the inside of him ignited in delight. rúben pushed more than what she thought she could give, for he knew she could give more than she thought. his effort drove her to the edge of the sink behind her and she grunted at the crash against the porcelain, but bloody hell the sound effected rúben so much he felt blood rushing south and adrenaline took over his brain.

he’d lifted her up and placed her on the sink in a pace so swift she’d only managed to blink once. he’d slid his hands down her calf, up north towards the rim of her sundress, and she gasped at his ardent touch. felt so hot against the air conditioner of a room so big but only filled with the two of them.

rúben took the liberty to explore her mouth the moment the passage was opened. despite having his eyes closed, he savoured each and every stroke he made for the mental map of hers and he savoured the feeling of her hands sliding everywhere her hands could reach in desperation to hold on for herself while her body unconsciously gave away her control the moment rúben touched the edges of her panties.

she’d arched her back so flexibly rúben had to pull back a bit and admired the crescent shape she was bending herself to be. but not even the moon could compare with the beauty puny in his hands, with pink mauve lipstick smeared lightly and dishevelled hair against the mirror.

“god, you’re beautiful,” and it was all it took for her to sit up and grab his shirt to forcefully meet her lips halfway.

and for rúben, nothing was sexier than when a woman tried to put up a fight against him, even after well-knowing he’d win anyway. so he’d let her think she won, nuzzling his nose downwards, smelling her perfume, her body odour and her desperation all in one. he’d left kisses on his way down, the same moment his hands peeled down the flimsy strap of her sundress, and he swore he’d never touch finer things than the shape of her.

he’d palmed every surface his hands could reach, and took every choked breaths she emitted from his touch. but when he touched the centre of her underwear and felt the drip she was heavily producing, he’d become a goner. he couldn’t take it anymore.

without detaching his lips from her healthy skin, he pulled back an inch to give himself space to undo his pants. when she realised this, she’d drop her hands from his hair and shoulder to help him stash away the jeans. they laughed at this somehow, before they turned muted when rúben dias junior was out of the cage, standing tall and unwavering like him.

the anticipation killed him because jesus christ, with the desire running down her face, he wouldn’t be able to do much anymore. so he kissed her before she could have any second thoughts while his hands aligned himself to her. the first skin-to-skin contact left them breathless, in every literal sense of the word, and rúben could see what she was feeling before she could say anything. the way she closed her eyes in ecstasy as he slipped himself inside of her couldn’t lie.

“oh shit,” he’d read normally women was the only who went all goo at a drop to a man’s voice, but this time rúben could piss himself hearing her doing it. “that feels so good.”

eyes closed, slow pants coming out of that gaping mouth and fucking hell she looks amazingly sexy. and she feels like how she looked like, good god. rúben couldn’t stop his hands from grabbing the sides of her face, some hairs scrunched in them, accidentally closing some parts of her mouth but it didn’t stop her from letting out hot, broken breaths when rúben started moving out of her.

“fuck, you’re so tight, baby,” the portugese giant nipped the bottom lips that looked so juicy from all the kisses exchanged between them, from him. “all for me, huh?”

“yes, you—oh!” she yelped like a siren when rúben slammed himself back to her. “do it right, rúben. do me right.”

rúben didn’t need further command to that, for sure.

she moaned so disgustingly dirty as he guided his cock back and forth, inside and out the now-slick fold, to the brink of heaven on earth. every time he pulled out, she’d moan in pleading, desperate to have all of him inside of her that anyone hearing her whimper would definitely take a pity on her.

“fuck! right there!” she screamed in pleasure as she held rúben’s wrist that was holding her in the face and she wasn’t lying about it. with the way she was rocking his girth and the pressure she’d put on her grip, she was close to the edge. “right there, right there!”

“come on, baby. let go for me.”

fuuuuuuck! ugh, fuck, fuck!

“oh yes, that’s right, baby,” he was now panting so hard the mirror above her was now covered in mist, but how could he stop himself when he looked down and there was the most amazing sight he’d set his eyes on. he ended where she began and she ended where he began. “that’s my girl.”

something inside of her clicked like the electric circuit and all the sudden it was black. but not a frightening blackout, more like black with stars on the back of her head. “fuck, rúben—”

rúben?

rúben dias?

the moment her brain registered the voice indeed belong to rúben dias, she went completely still that rúben had to break her moment. “hey, what’s wrong?”

she badly wished the earth could swallow her right now. the girth still inside of her be damned.

she pressed the crescent eyelids he’d come to love, for they looked as pretty as the moon outside, in a manner rúben didn’t want to know why. because it looked like she didn’t want to open her eyes to meet his. because it looked like regret.

“baby—”

“don’t, rúben.”

she cut him off with the sharpest blade available under her arsenal, her intonation, and at that moment it felt like those film moments when he froze after she stabbed her, digesting the pain and the shock that blanketed the moment.

“what did i do wrong?”

“this, rúben,” and she clenched her jaw, as if it pained her. as if it didn’t pain him to look at the expression she was sporting on her face now—here comes the old, cold you, rúben regretfully noted. “this is what’s wrong. what are you thinking?”

and there was the pair of eyes he loved, for they always speak the truth words lie about. but this time, rúben wished she didn’t open them, for they always speak the truth words lie about, and this time eyes and mouth were seething with anger.

“am i just another rebound for you?”

now that was a serious accusation. “where the hell does that come from?”

“you don’t like me, rúben,” if she wasn’t spitting stupid thoughts, rúben would certainly take the pleasure to fawn over her fiery stance right now. nothing pleased him more than putting people down to follow the order, and she certainly exuded rebellion from her eyes alone. “you never do.”

his large hand jumped to pull her face upwards to face him, rather powerfully to show who’s the boss and she just crossed the line. the movement caused his dick to slide back deeper into her, unexpectedly that she had to hold herself from moaning at the feeling—this feeling as a whole, more likely—but the distance he eliminated between them allowed him to inhale her suppressed whimper.

peering down to her in an arrogance manner she wanted to wipe from the faces of the earth, rúben raised his left eyebrow, challenging her back. “if i don’t like you, why did i just fuck your brains out?”

“as i said—”

“rebounds, you say?” and he didn’t intend to let her speak, as he instead pulled her closer to him by the waist. the sensation he could pull out of her mouth was the only thing he allowed between them, broken gasps and all. “if you know me as well as you think you are, then tell me,”

her chest was burning at the sensation he was whispering so close to her, inhaling what she exhaled, inhaling what he exhaled. on fire at the sensation of him pulling out slowly from her at the same time the hand on her waist travelled inside, towards the aching clit deprived of the friction from his groin.

“tell me, baby,” god, rúben wanted to close off the gaping mouth, as shut as the fluttering eyelids. “have you ever heard of me doing that? have you ever seen me, with your own eyes, doing that?”

“rúben—”

his hand was so close yet so far, caressing the insides of her thighs, and she hated the fact she needed him to touch her. now, or else she’d combust. “answer me.”

“no—”

“there you go,” and there was the satisfaction he’d recognised from the arch of her back and neck, as he hurled himself back to her soft spot, allowing him to pepper kisses along the underside of her chin, down along her throat, nailing her in her place further. “god, if only you knew…”

only when rúben pulled away from the space in the middle of her decolletages did she open her eyes once more, and she was rendered rather speechless at how rúben was looking at her. she was almost scared to ask but knew she needed the answer. “knew what?”

“it’s maddening,” the hand in her face moved to a different angle, now his forefinger was tracing the edges of her lips. the very one he destroyed with the harsh, heated kisses they exchanged. his artwork. “how much you consume my very being.”

before her heart could leap out of its place, rúben kissed her lips once more with so much fervour and everything else remained in his body. different to their earlier kisses full of lust, this one was lingering but unspeakable feeling and passion and lust and love.

love?

whatever they were feeling certainly wasn’t love, was it? they hate each other, for fuck’s sake.

“eyes on me, querida,” rúben’s voice snapped her thoughts away and she obeyed him, forgetting how easy it was to spare this particular man the hatred. before she saw that ex-girlfriend of his on the doorsteps, before she resorted to her self-defence mechanism.

“hello, there,” and he felt her melting away, as he recognised the whimpers she let out this time while he was rocking their boat in rhythm back and forth was nothing sort of what she gave 15 minutes ago. “there’s the eyes i love the most.”

love?

but before her mind could drift somewhere else, rúben finished off what he started. he drove her to the end fast and without mercy this time, leaving him helpless under his control of pace. his hand was no longer feathering the skin, they’d made themselves useful by dipping into the blossoming bud between rúben and her. the crude touch against her soft, plump crown was the striking contrast she needed to release herself for the second time, all frustration and thoughts were now focused on the finishing line. so focused that she didn’t feel herself shaking, trembling as rúben assaulted all of her senses—his kiss, his touch, his smell, his drive.

rúben sensed her going weaker from his all-out attack, not wanting to hold back himself either, not when he finally had her within his whim. he took her hands to curl them behind his neck and pulled up her knees so he could lift her up before turning their position around. he was now sitting on the lid of the toilet nearby while she sunk down on him and good fucking lord did she wrap him, all of his 9-inches, so tightly and so deeply like she was made for him.

and she felt it, too, for she sling her arms on his shoulder, hanging for her dear life. rúben couldn’t help but pull her in his grasp, closer than before—no air, no space between them—and the feeling of conjoining with her altogether almost undid him before her he had to stop himself from moving. rúben rested his head on her chest, wanting to calm himself down first as he placed open-mouthed kisses and nips on the outline of her nipples, but the action seemed to turn her on as he felt her clenching around him.

“fuck, don’t stop,” he involuntarily said, and she took it as an invitation to take the wheel from him and ride them out. “fuck, baby. fuck yes, i’m coming.”

“oh, yes, yes, yes!” she’d screamed as rúben manoeuvred her hips back and forth. combined that with the sinful components of his mouth against her breast, licking and sucking the sensitive bud like there was no tomorrow, it didn’t take long for her to reach her, by far, most satisfying high. “oh joder, rúben!”

she’d relish the feeling of soaring high in the sky all over again as she came down to earth. rúben was already holding her by the waist and a small part of her back so she didn’t crumble down trembling messily, small kisses were already scattered all over the hollow part on her shoulder blades, like he didn’t care if she just pulled out his hair so hard she was now afraid he’d catch up to her father’s balding.

“i love you,” but this time she didn’t go all ice on him. “i’m sorry i made you think the otherwise.”

and rúben, being the perfect gentleman, proved how sorry he was by sending her a bouquet of flower the next day. her, a florist, a bunch of imported fresh white tulips before she could wake up and go to the flower market early in the morning. how he did that when it wasn’t tulip season, she didn’t know, and the effort didn’t pass as overlooked by her eyes.

yes, the effort of scouting the rare tulips, but most of all the effort he’d go just to saywhat the flowers implied; i’m sorry. just like his words.

of course he was forgiven.

[callofdudes]

So... I did a think completely unrelated with @itsscromp that mentioned the supernatural and this was born. Keep in mind this is religious heavy, it's only a little drabble. Something that sparked a little scene along these lines in my head.

Johnny had been raised Catholic. A lot of Scotland is. It was no surprise when he was sent to a Catholic school although still fighting relentlessly to join the army like his cousin. While his parents thought John was the right amount headstrong to bring light to a dim world, some thought different.

His mother's friend, a priest, often spoke over how John's path between serious and gentle religion might be his undoing.

John finally joined the army, kissing his mother and sisters goodbye, hugging his father and leaving. He wore his cross necklace around his neck as he did so.

John had never forced any of his religious opinions on people. He kept the cross in his pocket to be with him through hard times. It was gifted by his father and it meant so much more than the religious value.

However... The more in tune with the supernatural you become, the more you are likely to attract it. The more they come after you. Sexual deviance, defiance and temptation soaking through the skin like rain in a cold alley.

Pouring in through the wounds that shed blood from his body. John believed in the supernatural, and didn't take it lightly, but had never seen anything.

Not until joining 141.

Something was off about lieutenant Riley. Whatever it was, may it be that Ghost didn't like him, but Ghost didn't like going near him.

His body almost bristled, his gaze sharpening and a look of disgust crossing his face.

Ghost was a man with a dark aura. A cloud of booming thunder and zipping lightning above his head. A gentle glow at the corners of his pupils illuminating in a way that almost felt inhuman.

John knew demons were not beautiful, they were disgusting, gangly creatures. But something about Ghost wasn't right.

The way the large man would try to touch him, and then refrain from it, growling a little and telling him to get moving.

John continued on his path, he kept his necklace in his vest breast pocket everywhere he went. He wore it round his neck on days off.

Ghost knew it was there. Whenever John was around with it on all Ghost looked at was the cross.

John had asked, and Simon simply replied, "Not a religious man, Johnny. If God wanted to spare my soul he'd have done it a long time ago."

John knew he shouldn't press it. He would let Ghost come to him in time. When he was ready.

When they grew closer strange things started to happen. That little voice tbah Johnny often heard in his head when he was a reckless child came back.

Telling him to sin. Telling him that he wasn't perfect so why try? Give in. Give in to everything you've been told is wrong.

Ghost was the embodiment of pride, from what Ghost let John see, but John had never put himself first.

"You ready Soap??" Gaz entered Johnny's room, seeing him slipping on his sweater. "I'm coming Gaz, just gotta find where I put it..."

"Put what, mate??"

"My necklace."

Gaz hummed. "I'm sure you'll be alright for one night. Come on, we're waiting."

Johnny nodded. Gaz was right, a night wouldn't be a life line. So he left, neck bare of his usual protection. When he got in the car, Ghost's eyes raked over Johns neck, seeing the lack of it.

"Where'd your jewelry go, sergeant?"

"Ah, a night without will be fine."

Ghost looked at him with a different gaze. Something else hidden behind the heat inside him. Ghost's large frame towering over John.

They reached the bar and the alcohol was as smooth as Johns tongue. He found himself loosening up, talking to a few girls, making the most of it.

Until that little voice in his head popped up. That little voice telling him just to grab the girl. She was into it, one night in a dark room never to be seen again couldn't hurt...

Ghost was behind him as Johnny heard the voice. Whispering to him like a thousand ants crawling inside his brain.

A hand landed on his shoulder, making him jump and look back. "Goodness Lt, gonna scare it outta me aren't ya?"

Ghost hummed. "What are you thinking about Johnny?"

"Nothing Lt." Johnny pushed away the thoughts in his mind, looking back down at his drink. "I should probably give it a rest before I black out."

Ghost's grip grew tighter. "Go on Johnny... It won't kill ya." His voice got quieter. Johnny tried to look back at him but Ghost's other hand held his jaw.

"No, I think I'm ok Ghost, thank you." Johnny tried to move, catching a glimpse in the mirror along the back of the bar.

His own body, stood next to a tall being. Disfigured limbs, wisping black tendrils flowing out from its grotesque sides.

Simon's figure morphing into the mirror, knowing he was watching. The pitch black hooded figure revealed two glowing pupils.

Hues different in color, burned red at the corners in the little light Johnny could see. His body filled with fear, his hand moving to clutch his necklace, instead grasping his shirt collar.

The demons tongue snaked out, licking Johnny's jaw. "Johnny MacTavish... A scared little boy running from his sin~ what a puny, pathetic little thing. God doesn't want you." Ghost chuckled deeply, his twisted, reverberating voice painful in his eardrums.

He tried to push away, Ghost grabbing him back, cold hand grasping his throat. "little John MacTavish... Running for salvation, running for help." Ghosts eyes burned down into Johnny's, making his baby blues water and tear up.

"Get off of me demon!"

"I don't take orders from you, now that you have that stupid thing off of you!" Ghost's figure grew in size, clawing Johnny back against him. His figure morphed like it was trying to swallow Johnny in.

He couldn't breathe, he couldn't squirm. All he could do was claws, claw and dig. Choking for air, looking up as the horns on Ghost's head grew, long and large, dragging down to the floor, scraping the tiles.

His mind and body filled with fear.

"You are nothing without your religion, it's fucking pathetic." Ghost snapped, snarling down at him like he was a piece of meat.

Johnny squeezed his eyes shut, trying desperately for a breath of air. "Go... Go and don't come back..."

Ghost snarled loudly, claw grazing Johns stomach, pulling him back further into the deep abyss where the voices screamed at him. Putting him to shame and rage and ugliness.

Johnny blocked it out, shaking lightly until he felt a hand on his shoulder. His eyes snapped open, looking over at Gaz. "You ok mate, you've been standing in the corner for quite a while."

Johnny looked around, looking for Ghost, seeing him sitting at the bar.

"I... Y-yes." *He reached up to grasp his cross, finding it absent from his neck. "Yeah, probably just the alcohol getting to me."

Gaz nodded, bringing him back to his seat. The bartender smiled softly. "Anything else I can get you sir??"

"Ah, no thank you, I think I've had enough." Johnny chuckles softly.

Ghost looked over, hunched over his drink, his eyes glowing dangerously. His insides hungered with rage and violence.

Seeing Johnny's abandoned neck, wanting to bruise it, slit it, and throw it at the feet of his family. See what they think of him then...

[momentsbeforemass]

Malice

(my annual PSA for people who are “winning” the debate, and losing their souls)

“Every man on earth is sick with the fever of sin, with the blindness of sin and is overcome with its fury. As sins consist mostly of malice and pride, it is necessary to treat everyone who suffers from the malady of sin with kindness and love.

This is an important truth, which we often forget. Very often we act in the opposite manner: we add malice to malice by our anger, we oppose pride with pride.

Thus, evil grows within us and does not decrease; it is not cured – rather it spreads.”

St. John of Kronstadt could well have written that today.

It’s easy to forget that the people we are reacting to, shouting down, lashing out at are, well, people.

Someone says something we disagree with. So we react and unload on them. With something demeaning, something degrading, something dehumanizing.

Without really thinking about it, “we add malice to malice.”

Or we rationalize that with the bile we’re copying and pasting, we’re just getting the truth out. Or just telling it like it is. Or just standing up for our rights.

In truth, we’re just fooling ourselves, while “we add malice to malice.”

The thing is, when we add malice to malice, it’s not a precision strike. We do just as much damage to ourselves as anyone else.

When we add malice to malice, “evil grows within us and does not decrease; it is not cured – rather it spreads.”

But what about all the wrong stuff that people say online? How do you ignore that? How can you not respond?

I checked with the bishop. He promised me that he did not commission you as the official responder to every wrong thing on the Internet.

But what if you just have to respond?

In today’s Gospel, Jesus is clear. If we are His, then we are to be in the love of God, as God’s love is in us.

Which means what? That if we’re Christians in more than name, then we follow St. John’s advice. We “treat everyone who suffers from the malady of sin with kindness and love.”

Today’s Readings

[hopethroughscriptureministries]

Embracing the Fruit of the Spirit:

Cultivating Christlike Character

Introduction: Embark on a transformative journey through the fruit of the Spirit as we explore the qualities that reflect the character of Christ. Join us on this enriching exploration of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control, and discover how they can shape our lives and relationships.

Scripture Passage: Galatians 5:22-23 (NIV) Cross References: John 15:1-17, Colossians 3:12-17, 2 Peter 1:5-8

Commentary: In Galatians 5, Paul lists the fruit of the Spirit as evidence of a life surrendered to Christ. These qualities—love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control—flow from a heart transformed by the Holy Spirit and reflect the character of Christ Himself.

In John 15, Jesus uses the analogy of the vine and branches to illustrate the importance of abiding in Him to bear fruit. He emphasizes the intimate connection between abiding in His love and producing fruit that glorifies the Father.

Colossians 3 calls believers to clothe themselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience, bearing with one another and forgiving as the Lord has forgiven us. These virtues are essential for maintaining unity in the body of Christ.

In 2 Peter 1, believers are encouraged to make every effort to add to their faith goodness, knowledge, self-control, perseverance, godliness, mutual affection, and love. These qualities ensure that we will be effective and productive in our knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ.

Broader Context:

Love:

1 Corinthians 13:4-7 - The characteristics of love as described by Paul.

John 13:34-35 - Jesus commands his disciples to love one another as He has loved them.

1 John 4:7-12 - Believers are called to love one another because love comes from God.

Joy:

Psalm 16:11 - In God's presence is fullness of joy.

Nehemiah 8:10 - The joy of the Lord is our strength.

John 15:11 - Jesus desires His joy to be in us, and for our joy to be complete.

Peace:

Isaiah 26:3 - God promises perfect peace to those whose minds are steadfast.

Romans 5:1 - Through faith in Jesus, we have peace with God.

Philippians 4:6-7 - God's peace guards our hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.

Patience:

Ecclesiastes 7:8 - Patience is better than pride.

Romans 12:12 - Believers are called to be patient in affliction.

James 5:7-8 - Be patient and stand firm, for the Lord's coming is near.

Kindness:

Ephesians 4:32 - Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other.

Proverbs 19:22 - What is desired in a man is kindness.

Colossians 3:12 - As God's chosen people, clothe yourselves with kindness.

Goodness:

Psalm 23:6 - Surely goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life.

Romans 12:21 - Overcome evil with good.

Titus 2:14 - Christ gave himself for us to redeem us and purify for himself a people that are his very own, eager to do what is good.

Faithfulness:

1 Corinthians 4:2 - Faithfulness is required of stewards.

2 Timothy 2:13 - God remains faithful even when we are faithless.

Revelation 2:10 - Be faithful, even to the point of death, and I will give you life as your victor's crown.

Gentleness:

Proverbs 15:1 - A gentle answer turns away wrath.

Galatians 6:1 - Restore others gently when they are caught in sin.

1 Peter 3:15 - In your hearts honor Christ the Lord as holy, always being prepared to make a defense to anyone who asks you for a reason for the hope that is in you; yet do it with gentleness and respect.

Self-Control:

Proverbs 25:28 - A man without self-control is like a city broken into and left without walls.

1 Corinthians 9:25 - Everyone who competes in the games goes into strict training. They do it to get a crown that will not last, but we do it to get a crown that will last forever.

Titus 2:11-12 - For the grace of God has appeared, bringing salvation for all people, training us to renounce ungodliness and worldly passions, and to live self-controlled, upright, and godly lives in the present age.

Questions:

Which fruit of the Spirit do you find most challenging to cultivate in your life, and why?

In what ways can you abide more deeply in Christ to bear fruit that reflects His character?

How do the fruit of the Spirit impact your relationships with God and others?

What practical steps can you take to nurture the fruit of the Spirit in your daily life?

Prayer:

Heavenly Father, we thank you for the gift of the Holy Spirit who produces fruit in our lives that reflects the character of Christ. Help us to cultivate these virtues daily, empowering us to love as you love, to bring joy wherever we go, and to walk in peace amidst life's storms. May our lives bear witness to your transformative power and bring glory to your name. Amen.

[forthegothicheroine]

One of my favorite negative reviews

I can’t find a full text of it online, so I’m going to copy out some big chunks of Stephen Hunter’s retrospective on Gone with the Wind, which apparently resulted in lots of angry letters to the editor.

Long, stupid, ugly and, alas, back for the sixth time (in theaters, innumerable television showings have preceded this rerelease), it is probably the most beloved bad movie of all time, as its adjusted box office gross of $5 billion makes clear. If you love it, that is fine; but don’t confuse its gooeyness, its spiritual ugliness, its solemn self-importance, with either art or craft, for it boasts none of the former and only a bit of the latter. It is one of the least remarkable films of that most remarkable of American movie years, 1939. In fact, far from being one of the greatest American films ever made, I make it merely the twenty-eighth best film of 1939! It may not even have been the best movie that opened on December 15, 1939! It is overrated, overlong, and overdue for oblivion.

Of the various characters and actors:

It’s profoundly misogynistic...the secret pleasure of the film is watching Scarlett O’Hara being punished for the sin of selfhood. The movie delights in her crucifixion, even to the point of conjuring the death of a child as apt punishment for her ambitions. Her sin, really, is the male sin: the pride which goeth before the fall...

Leslie Howard was a great actor and a brave man, who raced home to join his unit when World War II broke out, thereby missing the famous December Atlanta premiere. He was killed in 1943 when the Nazis shot down a plane he was in. Let us lament him as we lament all the men who gave their lives to stop that evil. That said, the truth remains that on screen, he was a feathery creature, best cast as the foil to Bogart’s brutish Duke Mantee in The Petrified Forest, where his cathedral-abutment cheekbones gave him the look of an alabaster saint in the wall of an Italian church. But he was about as believable as a sexual object as he would have been as Duke Mantee...

The wondrous Olivia de Havilland was an actress of spunk and pizazz, and she gave as good as she got, even across from such hammy scene stealers as her longtime costar Flynn. But she, too, is trashed by Gone with the Wind as sugary Melanie Wilkes, a character of such selfless sweetness she could give Santa Claus a toothache.

Of the film as art:

Too much spectacle, not enough action. David O. Selznick, who produced the film and rode it to immortality, didn’t understand the difference between the two. Thus the film has a fabulous but inert look to it; the story is rarely expressed in action but only in diorama-like scenes. It is curiously flat and unexciting. Even the burning of Atlanta lacks dynamism and danger; it’s just a dapple of flickering orange filling the screen without the power and hunger of a real fire. And the movie’s most famous shot- the camera pulling back to reveal Scarlett in a rail yard of thousands of bleeding, tattered Confederate soldiers- makes exactly the wrong point. It seems to be suggesting that Scarlett has begun to understand that the war is much bigger than she is. And yet she never changes. The shot means nothing in terms of character; it’s an editorial aside that really misleads us.

Of the film’s message:

From its opening credits, which characterize the South as a lost land of lords and ladies, to its final images of Tara nestling among the Georgia dogwood, the movie buys into a myth that completely robs the region of its truth. Love it or hate it, it’s a land (as Faulkner knew) in which the nobility of its heroism lived side by side with the ugliness of its Original Sin: slavery. I’m not attacking the South here, just Margaret Michell and Selznick’s version of it. Other movies or 1939 were beginning to find the courage to express some subtle ideas. One of them was John Ford’s Young Mr. Lincoln.

Of its comparison to other 1939 movies:

I found 797 titles from the year 1939, had seen fewer than a tenth of them, and even on that small list there were 27 that struck me as fundamentally better than Gone with the Wind, movies that I would watch again with utter delight. They are: Allegheny Uprising, Another Thin Man, Babes in Arms, Beau Geste, Confessions of a Nazi Spy, Dark Victory, Dodge City, Drums Along the Mohawk, Golden Boy, Gunga Din, Juarez, The Light that Failed, Made for Each Other, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, Ninotchka, Of Mice and Men, The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex, The Real Glory, The Roaring Twenties, Stagecoach, The Story of Alexander Graham Bell, The Three Musketeers, Union Pacific, The Wizard of Oz, The Women, Wuthering Heights, and Young Mr. Lincoln.

Dammit, my dear, I’m just being frank.

[officialyourdailyinspiration]

A song of David for the day of remembrance.

1 Lord, don’t criticize me when you are angry. Don’t discipline me in anger. 2 You have hurt me. You punished me and hurt me deeply. 3 You punished me severely, so my whole body is sore. I sinned, and now all my bones hurt. 4 My guilt is like a heavy burden. I am sinking beneath its weight. 5 I did a foolish thing, and now I have infected sores that stink. 6 I am bent and bowed down. I am depressed all day long. 7 I am burning with fever, and my whole body hurts. 8 I hurt so much I cannot feel anything. My pounding heart makes me scream! 9 My Lord, you heard my groaning. You can hear my sighs. 10 My heart is pounding. My strength is gone, and I am going blind. 11 Because of my sickness, my friends and neighbors will not visit me; my family will not come near me. 12 My enemies say bad things about me. They are spreading lies and rumors. They talk about me all the time. 13 But I am like a deaf man and cannot hear. I am like someone who cannot speak. 14 I am like those who cannot hear what people are saying about them. I cannot answer to prove my enemies wrong. 15 Lord, you must defend me. Lord my God, you must speak for me. 16 That’s why I prayed, “Don’t let my enemies smile at my pain. Full of pride, they will laugh if I stumble and fall.” 17 I know I am guilty of doing wrong. I cannot forget my pain. 18 Lord, I told you about the evil I have done. I am sorry for my sin. 19 But my enemies are alive and healthy, and they have told many lies. 20 I did nothing but good, and they paid me back with evil. I try to do what is right, but that only makes them turn against me. 21 Lord, don’t leave me. My God, stay close to me. 22 Come quickly and help me. My Lord, you are the one who saves me. — Psalm 38 | Easy-to-Read Version (ERV) The Holy Bible, Easy-to-Read Version Copyright © 2006 by Bible League International. Cross References: Ezra 9:6; Job 6:4; Job 19:5; Job 30:28; Job 33:19; Psalm 6:1; Psalm 6:7; Psalm 13:2; Psalm 27:1; Psalm 31:11; Psalm 32:5; Psalm 35:4; Psalm 39:2; Psalm 39:7; Psalm 69:4-5; Psalm 102:3; Psalm 102:5; Psalm 119:8; Lamentations 1:13; 1 John 3:12

[courage-doodles-blog]

If my CTCD OCs have headcanon voices(or what would they sound like)

Olive - Mammon (Helluva Boss) [VA - Michael Cusack]

Felix - Lisa Loud (Loud House) [VA - Lara Jill Miller]

Justin - Mater (Cars) [VA - Larry the Cable Guy]

Clive - Joe Swanson (Family Guy) [VA - Patrick Warburton]

Nathan - Moxxie (Helluva Boss) [VA - Richard Horvitz]

Teresa - Pearl (Steven Universe) [VA - Deedee Magno]

Barry - Edd/Double D (Ed, Edd n Eddy) [VA - Samuel Khouth] or Lani-Loli (Crash Bandicoot) [VA - Richard Horvitz]

Grinz - Toko Fukawa/Genocide Jack (Danganronpa games) [VA - Amanda Celine Miller]

Frownz - Byakuya Togami (Danganronpa games) [VA - Jason Wishnov]

Sirius - Dr Facilier (Princess and The Frog) [VA - Keith David]

Petal - Onion Cookie (CRK) [VA - LilyPichu]

Alan - Warp Darkmatter (Buzz Lightyear Of Star Command) [VA - Diedrich Brader]

Jacob - NOS-4-A2 (Buzz Lightyear Of Star Command) [VA - Craig Ferguson]

Lauren - Eda Clawthorne (Owl House) [VA - Wendie Malick]

Oliver - Andrealphus (Helluva Boss) [VA - Jason LeShea]

Matt - Jafar (Aladdin) [VA - Jonathan Freeman]

Lucifer/Puppeteer of Terrors - Joker (DC) [VA - Mark Hamill]

Fear King - Zestial (Hazbin Hotel) [VA - James Monroe Iglehart] or Asmodeus (Helluva Boss) [VA - James Monroe Iglehart]

Sin Clowns(Pride and Lust) - Blitzø (Helluva Boss) [VA - Brandon Rogers]

Sin Clown(Wrath) - Captain Gantu (Lilo and Stitch) [VA - Kevin Michael Richardson] or Shan Yu (Mulan) [VA - Miguel Ferrer]

Sin Clown(Greed) - Coachman (Pinocchio(1940s) [VA - Charles Judel]

Sin Clown(Envy) - Chris McLean (Total Drama) [VA - Christian Potenza]

Sin Clown(Glutton) - Verosika Mayday (Helluva Boss) [VA - Cristina Vee]

Sin Clown(Sloth) - Glitz and Glam (Helluva Boss) [VAs - Faye Mata]

Wendell - Lil Lightning (101 Dalmatians: Patch's London Adventure) [VA - Jason Alexander]

Toxin - Scarface (BTAS) [VA - George Costanza] or Crimson (Helluva Boss) [VA - Richard Horvitz]

Bon - Rosie (Hazbin Hotel) [VA - Leslie Kritzer]

Damien - Grigori Olyat (Henry Stickmin) [VA - PuffballsUnited]

Smiler - Harley Quinn (DC) [VA - Arleen Sorkin]

Snowflake - Adorabat (Mao Mao: HOPH) [VA - Lika Leong]

Malcolm - Demoman (TF2) [VA - Gary Schwartz] or Groundskeeper Willie (Simpsons) [VA - Dan Castellaneta]

Damon - Vulture (Spectacular Spider Man) [VA - Robert Englund]

Chief Azrael - King Andrias (Amphibia) [VA - Keith David]

Geo - Collin (Helluva Boss) [VA - Jayden Libran]

Alicia - Harley Quinn (DC) [VA - Hynden Walch]

Bunitty - Nifty (Hazbin Hotel) [VA - Kimiko Glenn]

Claude - Honest John (Pinocchio(2022) [VA - Keegan Michael Key]

Krimson - Emperor Belos (Owl House) [VA - Matthew Rhys]

Radley - Morty (Rick and Morty) [VA - Justin Rolland/Harry Balden]

[saras-devotionals]

Quiet Time 3/21

What am I feeling today?

I’m feeling pretty great! I have Easter break at the moment and have over a week off of school which is much needed! This time for real I want to get all my work done and just finish my semester strong because I have about a month left. Anyways, just excited (but a little anxious) with everything coming up☺️

Bible Plan: Spiritual Wilderness

Sometimes we just don’t feel the Holy Spirit leading us to seek the Lord’s face. The devil may be filling our head with lies that God doesn’t care about us anymore. Sometimes we hit a dry season during which we feel absolutely no desire to pray, fast, or read the Bible. Often, that lonely season involves spiritual warfare. Whenever you don’t feel like going to King Jesus is when you need to go to Him the most, in spite of your feelings. When you lose your hunger for God, you must force-feed yourself with His Word, even if you don’t feel like doing it. A spiritual appetite grows by eating. A spiritual hunger follows spiritual feeding. Push yourself to eat whenever you want to have a greater hunger for God. Physical hunger comes by not eating, but spiritual hunger follows after eating. The more you enjoy fellowship with God, the more you crave Him.

If you are losing your hunger for God, force-feed yourself until hunger kicks in. When you don’t feel the Holy Spirit moving in your life, feed yourself on the Scriptures until you do. That’s Him talking to you. Don’t submit to your feelings when you’re in the spiritual wilderness or under spiritual attack. Feelings can’t be trusted, especially when you are facing challenges. Feelings must not dictate your behavior.

I know it’s easier to write about this than it is to live it. Doing what is right, even when we are not feeling close to God, develops spiritual maturity. Our faith flourishes when feelings fail. Don’t attach your faith to feelings; connect your faith to Jesus. He never fails! Go to your King when you feel unmotivated, discouraged, sad and defeated. Just take the initiative to linger with Him and enjoy His friendship. His presence is your solution!

I can feel this way sometimes. There are some mornings I wake up and I just don’t feel the desire to spend any time with Him. It weighs on me sometimes. I can be weak and let my feelings and emotions take over and guide my day. It’s hard to deny them and that’s something well known and acknowledged. For example, I have a diagnosis of depression and can go through episodes of difficult mental health. Some days I really want to give into it, just allow it to overcome me because I don’t have the strength to deal with it. But that’s precisely why we need God and to spend time with Him. He’s the source of our strength. He’s the one that will support us throughout the day. When we ignore Him and listen to our feelings instead, we’re just making it so much worse. So even when I’m having a hard time and feel like I need to force myself, I’ll do it anyways, because I know afterwards I will feel better knowing I spent time with Him.

Psalm 119:11 NIV

“I have hidden your word in my heart that I might not sin against you.”

Whenever I reread this, I’m reminded that I need to spend more time memorizing scripture. There’s some that I do keep on my heart because I know I need them, but I should aspire to know more. To be at a point where any situation pops up and I know what scripture to go to.

Matthew 4:4 NIV

“Jesus answered, “It is written: ‘Man shall not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God.’””

Whats the point of going throughout the rest of our day if we’re not acknowledging God. He can strike us down right where we stand, how prideful can we be that we think we can just do our day on our own without spending time with Him and His word. That’s what will sustain us!

John 1:1-5 NIV

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”

Okay so we know that here the Word is in reference to Jesus. And we can see that he was there in the beginning, he was God and was with Him too. We also see that he is the light that will not be overcome by the darkness. I feel there’s a lot to get out of this chapter of John (and really the whole gospel). I’ll just leave it simply that without him, we can’t do anything (or at least anything worthwhile in the eyes of God) and we should work daily on pursuing Him because that’s the way to (eternal) life.

[prettyboykatsuki]

RAHHGHGHGH . so glad i can finally be fucking insane in the membrane abt dutch without spoilering . i know hes not ur guy from this one but hes such a fucking beast to me i need to put him in the salad spinner and watch him go .

his like subtle manipulation of everyone , particularly arthur, john and molly. oh my god i could talk for england abt molly oshea. dutch's romantic relationships are like a microcosm of how his manipulation and favour with arthur / john plays out over the course of the game . he was originally with susan grimshaw ( rip to the goat ) , then it's heavily implied he did her extremely dirty and ditched her for molly, a aristrocratic but crucially younger and less experienced woman who better embodied his big , grand ideas ( oh motif of dutch surrounding himself by rich lovely things. like his clothes . ostensibly pretty extravagant for an outlaw but when you get closer you see how ripped and frayed they are , representing him clinging onto a lost way of life ). THEN at several points in the game if you explore camp , you can see dutch flirting with karen multiple times !!! karen who is like NINETEEN i think ??

hes such a fucking scumbag . he does not get attached to people in the normal way . he views them as extensions of his pretentious beliefs . he preys on young, vulnerable people with nothing to lose, offering them a home , a family , only to use it against them when they start waking up to the reality. and it hurts so much watching arthur come to this realisation because he loves dutch so goddamn much , he sticks around for wayyyy longer than he should've because he's loyal down to his fucking core .

sidenote sorry for being insane . dutch has my fav speech in the whole game which is his one to milton ... 'ain't no such thing as civilised. it's man so in love with greed, he has forgotten himself and found only appetites ' ohhh dutch ur so silly dont u want to introspect a little . arent u tired of projecting . dont u just wnana go apeshit.

i know a lot about dutchs story through osmosis from beloved lamb and you are SO right that his relationships with women (particular his trading in of women for younger models whenever he so feels like it) is a microcosm of how he manipulates people in the game !!! it always baffles me when i remember that dutch was with grimshaw once upon a time and it feels . so apt to think that it would later be grimshaw to kill her, especially in the midst of the crisis of the gang falling apart.

i LOVEEE the motif of dutchs obsession with luxury - unaffordable luxury. its such a great way to subtly represent his greed that will eventually kill him. not only is it present in his appearance, but its really the most impactful when held up with how hosea dresses himself. hosea is such an important anchor to the gang, and an important part of leveling dutch overall. i really like that element and that hosea dresses primarily in blue while dutch does in red... i love the way the honor system uses color because once you see it you cannot Unsee it and it makes me insane

and i think that obsession with the finer things and also his consistent preying on the young and vulnerable and how he groomed arthur and john into violece is once again.... sooo representative of the fact that dutchs main sin is a deep pride and a sense of arrogance. he DOES believe that all people in the gang are some extension of his bullshit philosphy and he views his love (which i do believe he views as genuine love) as holy and righteous...dutch believes himself to know best. better than anyone, for everything. whether that be in clothes or how to live and act. his prestige is so ... fake... he is SO fake. he has constructed an entire life upon a falsity and false understanding and he's sold it time and time again to recruit members. and he does it so well that it drives the gang to obsess over loyalty and dutchs word as law.

the only thing that was tempering that for so long was hosea. hosea was the voice of reason. hosea was the counter. and when hosea inevitably dies - dutch completely slips and sinks further and further into his unethical tirade. but dutch still has some humanity in him, and everything snaps back to reality when arthur dies in front of him and it is all dutch's fault in some capacity. its the one time in the game where dutch is forced to reflect inward, because he did love arthur. he did. i know he did. and that is precisely why he leaves arthur there alone - because he is then forced to face every single reality all at once when arthur dies like that. and it is so .so .

[crymeariveronceagain]

Sophie Foster Villain Arc Aesthetic because nothing she does is ever good and nothing she does is ever good enough

Can't you guys see we're being played? This is how they Hold us down while the throne gets colder Hold us down while we slowly age Hold us down while the boy gets bolder Where the hell is our pride and our rage?

Here and now, there's a chance for action Here and now, we can take control Here and now, burn it down to ashes Channel the fire inside your soul!

The world is a dangerous place to live, not because of the people who are evil, but because of the people who don't do anything about it.

Everyone concealed that little hell in himself, while publicly pretending it did not exist--- and when he was caught up by it he was completely helpless.

When I was a man I thought it ended When I knew love's perfect ache But my peace has always depended On all the ashes in my wake

Let it all burn down around us Let the cruel consume the just Let the sin we swim in drown us Let the world shatter Into dust Nothing else matters Only us

When it comes, the Landscape listens – Shadows – hold their breath – When it goes, 'tis like the Distance On the look of Death –

Here and now, there's a chance for action Here and now, we can take control

Here and now, burn it down to ashes Channel the fire inside your soul and Hold 'em down, hold 'em down

Hold Them Down, by Jorge Rivera-Herrans // Attributed to Albert Einstein // East of Eden, by John Steinbeck // Arsonist's Lullaby, by Hozier // Only Us, by Miracle of Sound // There's a certain Slant of light, by Emily Dickinson //

[godlovesyousoiloveyou]

Hello! im the anon that wanted to ask about orthodoxy. i know this will likely be very difficult to answer, but are you able to tell me a bit about how saints play a role? if not, perhaps you could speak on your personal relationships with/thoughts on the saints? and please dont apologize, your offer of information was more than kind and im very grateful!

St. Nikolai Velimirovich said, "If a person wants to get an idea about the pyramids of Egypt, he must either trust those who have been in immediate proximity to the pyramids, or he must get next to them himself. There is no third option. In the same way a person can get an impression of God: he must either trust those who have stood and stand in immediate proximity to God, or he must take pains to come into such proximity himself."

I am a prodigal, an unworthy sinner, an ungrateful and wicked servant. I deserve not to look upon the face of God being such a terrible person that I am. If I dared to come near Him at the wedding feast, my clothing will accuse me for it is not a wedding garment. The saints are important because they are people who now stand beside the throne of God and they intercede for us.

1 Kingdoms 13:28 "Far be it from me to sin against the Lord in ceasing to pray for you; but I will serve the Lord and show you the good and right way."

Genesis 20:3-7 God tells Abimelech to ask Abraham to pray for him, otherwise he is a dead man for taking Sarah from him)

Exodus 8:4-6, 8:24-25, 9:28-29, 10:16-18, 32:31-32, Pharaoh asking Moses to pray for him and Moses praying for Pharaoh

Numbers 12:10-13, 14:11-19 Aaron begging Moses to pray for Miriam to be healed of her leprosy and Moses interceding for the Israelites before God

Deuteronomy 9:20, 9:25-26 Moses praying for Aaron and the Israelites

1 Kingdoms 7:8, 13:19 Samuel interceding for the Israelite to be victorious over the Philistines, Israelites asking Samuel to pray for them so the Lord is not angry that they asked a king for themselves

3 Kingdoms 13:6 King Jeroboam asks the man of God to pray for him to God to restore his hand that withered away and he prays and it's restored immediately

3 Kingdoms 17:20-23 Elijah prays over the widow's dead son's body and he is brought back to life

God is not the God of the dead but of the living, Christ said in the book of Matthew. The saints are not dead, they stand before the throne of God interceding for us.

Throughout the history of the church, there have been so many saints who lived venerable lives, sacrificing their lives in the name of Christ as brave martyrs (like St. Eleftherios who is celebrated today), saints who helped so many people in their afflictions (St. John the Merciful who gave away all he had to the poor), saints who performed many miracles (some recent ones are St. Nektarios who healed the sick, St. Porphyrios who was blind but prophesied so many things about the future, St. Paisios the Athonite, St. Joseph the Hesychast, etc.).

Here, in our current life, in this present day and hour, we in the Church who strive to love God are, in Orthodox theology, considered the Church Militant. We who love God are all soldiers of Christ and being alive on this earth and striving to do God's will, we are always battling against the forces of the enemy, the evil one. The saints who have struggled to love Christ and won the struggle, living until the end of their earthly lives as faithful Christians, they are considered to be the Church Triumphant. We are striving to be triumphant like them, triumphant against the passions, temptations, and addictions; against pride, selfishness, gluttony, immorality, and all sins.

One particular saint who has helped me a lot is St. Xenia of St. Petersburg. She was homeless, she was considered a fool-for-Christ. She sought not earthly glory and she hid her virtues so well. She was so poor, not because she did not have money, but because whatever money she had, she gave to others. She sacrificed her comforts so that God would comfort her. St. Paisios the Athonite said, "When we cease seeking consolation from man, then we will receive consolation from God." Such people who have achieved it are people like St. Xenia.

I had been struggling with finding a job for years and praying to have a home to call my own. I am not an educated person, I did not even graduate high school. I did not even have a house to go, I feared I would be homeless. St. Xenia helped me get a house. I prayed a few akathists to her and in the same month, I received a house as an unexpected gift from my in-laws. I have received a lot of help from other saints as well, St. Xenia is just one of the recent ones.

Anyway, this was a really long answer, hopefully it's not too boring and if it is, I'm sorry. lol.