#religious metaphors

[sociallyrepressed]

Oscar feels the irrational need to lock Lando in a gilded cage and let the sole key hang threaded around his neck. He wants to break him, rearrange his cells in a way that leaves an Oscar-shaped molding. He wants to consume Lando until they are one and the same down to their very essence. He knows Lando wants the same with the way he reaches for Oscar, offering himself mind and body. The way he’s laid bare underneath Oscar; he’s long since been boneless, breathy whines and the shifting of hips the only signs of consciousness.

Oscar can’t be bothered to pull away and study his face, not when he’s desperately taking everything he’s given. Vampires are selfish, needy, greedy creatures, and who is Oscar to deny that part of himself. Not when it can be gratified so sweetly by such an enthusiastic participant. Lando’s veins sing beneath his skin. His blood is warm and thick and steady from where it seeps out the pinpricks just above the hollow of his throat. There’re dark smudges all across his neck, a mix of smeared blood and teasing bruises.

Oscar feels insane. He needs to ruin Lando; to peel back his skin and shred his muscles and pick apart his ribs until he can hold his beating heart in the palm of his hands.

Long ago, when he experienced life with his own hot blood and warm skin, his pastor stood before the church and said: “will you have the faith in Our Lord to be able to stand on the mountain’s peak before the storming clouds with their angry winds and say calm. Will you be able to stand at the cliff’s edge before the raging sea with her mighty strength and say be still? Do you have the faith to stand before an oasis in the desert and deny it because the Lord has forbidden temptation?” Oscar used to think he could, but now he thinks of Lando. Thinks how Lando stood before him and demanded to have Oscar as Oscar is. He thinks of Adam and Eve unable to deny the temptations of a forbidden fruit. If man cannot endure temptation whilst in a utopia, how could Oscar have ever stood a chance at denying himself Lando.

A trembling hand grasps the back of his neck, scruffing him as his sire had back when he couldn’t control his urges. Unlike his sire, Lando pulls him ever closer, as if he could seep through their skin contact and be joined as one. Oscar’s mouthing lazily at his neck, popping blood vessels and pulling another purple bruise to the top of his skin. They’re connected at every point. Oscar can feel Lando’s heartbeat pulsing, reverberating in his own empty chest cavity. It’s not enough to tamp down his desire of mutual destruction, but it does soothe the jagged ache. He’ll take Lando however he can.

[zinnie-zoloft]

I went to catholic school which means I uncontrollably obsess over religious imagery and metaphors

Like… CatNap worshipping the Prototype, the player being called Angel, DogDay hanging in a crucifixion pose, Ludwig playing god and attempting to create a sanctuary while finding the secret to eternal life

Is this anything?

[faramirsonofgondor]

“Eve, mother to all, daughter of none”

“When Eve awoke in a pool of blood she thought she was dying, that God was punishing her for all the ways she was different from Adam, she had no one to explain it to her, no one to wipe her tears and hold her hands and tell her she had become a woman, because she was the first, and she knew then that Adam was God’s favorite.”

[secretly-a-catamount]

Anakin Skywalker was Jesus

Darth Vader was the devil

[starfox313]

Involuntary Penance

Purity is a man-made concept

But was I ever chaste at all?

Was I born a forgotten angel

Before I had the chance to fall?

Was the sin forced upon me

Enough to leave me cursed?

Did it damn me straight to hell 

Or leave me destined for so much worse?

Is there holy water strong enough

To cleanse me of his touch? 

Or will I stumble through my life

With the memory as a crutch?

With my youthful soul stained,

Did I ever stand a chance? 

Or am I trapped inside limbo

In this venomous hallowed trance? 

If I visit every confessional

Release all the demons left inside

Will I finally be at peace?

Will he finally be exorcised?

[fantastictrashpolice]

Nobody:

Absolutely nobody:

Me in the tags of cute Transformers art:

[wonderland173]

truly one of the weirdest things about me is that i love christanity. like me and all my ancestors since the start of hinduism, have been hindu. but the inherent horror of the religion fascinates me so much. what do you mean jesus was brought on this earth only for the purpose of being killed? what do you mean that he didn’t want to be killed? what do you mary’s womb was also a grave? what do you mean????

[stonecoldhedwig]

5 Things You'll Find In My Writing

@freedombooksflowers thank you for the tag! 🥰

Religious metaphors, and especially Eucharist imagery. The body and the blood, the adoration, confession and absolution; prodigal sons and forgiveness; the mundanities of life and death as ritual, and the murmured I love yous as liturgy

The resounding goodness of James Potter

The sea in one form or another, metaphorical or actual

A fascination with place - buildings having a personality of their own, and the setting as a vital character; golden Oxford colleges, crumbling Cotswold piles, and rickety Edwardian terraces, art galleries and dusty, tomb-like safe houses

Stuffed chickens: in every fic where Peverell Hall (my HC for James' childhood home) features, there you will also find a taxidermied chicken.

Tagging @nymphadoratonqs @siriusly-sapphic @jennandblitz @brokentoasterrr @magic-girl-in-a-muggle-world @siriuslychessi @chierafied

[circusbythesea]

“For life isn't stained of righteousness pain The seed and the hail All impossible flights, for an interesting light Don't be distracted, don't be distracted” - Impossible Soul by Sufjan Stevens 🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️

[sofullofloveicould]

march writing challenge 2023 - day 20

a song that makes you believe in love

Even if I had to leave Heaven, I would still fly down to you. Teeth bared, arms open. 

You are wretched.

A goddess in red, shattered between my teeth like hard candy. I would look in the mirror, and see the proof of our sin, let it water the gardens of Eden. 

I could work your screams like magic, weave them in a tapestry to keep me warm under the stars. I would sleep on the steps to your palace, and wait for my time. There are rings on your fingers, the kind that work around my neck in sleep. 

I will slip into you like a blanket, your taste and feel, and it will feel like coming home. I will run from God for it, I will leave my wings for you. 

Darling, you’re the devil I know and the angel I love, you’re the love held just behind my heart. I do not need to be loved by you, merely being close is enough. I am filled to the point of bursting with your lonesome. 

I have come to be lonesome with you, by day or by night, in a million stolen moments. I would run with you, away from salvation and into your open arms, holding my innocence by the neck. We could choke her out together, and drink her screams like the blood of God. 

We would pretend it was more than wine in a chalice, and I could drink it from you instead and have it be real. 

I cannot bear to be apart from you, and we will nurse every second from the Mother, and we would die together and live together until the air goes cold. I am the serpent in the apple tree, and we could tear into the sweet flesh, we could taste a forbidden taste, and we could run together, out past the wood and the world, and that fatal picnic could be out last. 

A poisoned apple is still a sweet one until the last bite, and you may find it rotted from the core. But it is love, true as the sea, whole as a life with you in it. 

Our hands fit together like they were meant to, and our bodies fit in that secret way bodies do, like a sock to a babe’s foot. 

We are tragic, a winter storm through the desert, we are a twin pair of birds, a flock of our own, twin bullets arcing through an acid night. 

But it cannot be anything but precious, not with your lips so sweet my teeth must be rotting, falling out, and I know you would still love the gummy mess of me, so rich and fattened on your love. 

When I have turned my back on sainthood, run from nirvana to the pounding of drums, there will be a spot for me, warmed by your breath, nestled in the corner of your heart. 

It is a fleshy, predictable, human thing, and it beats to the same rhythm as mine, one that aches and weeps and begs. 

We both know it, and when we fall, we could be as tired as the wind of blowing, but we would find each other again, and again, until the leaves under our feet rot to nothing, and the nightime bleeds into our veins. 

Sacrificial lambs to the slaughter, the sky to earth, me to you, we are drawn by an invisible hand, pulled by the same string we will tie ourselves up with, and we will die still together.  If there is a sword to which you wish to fall, find me first. You will know where to search for me, I will be where barley sours to beer, where the gardens of Eden hide, for a world without you is not one at all. 

[apollodreams]

Something quasi religious about the shit I take the morning after drinking too much. It's both a punishment and a cleansing

[cainvstheworld]

Oil by Cain Birch

[tojisun]

simon’s so good at overstimulating, i think.

he would keep you on the bed, stuffed full and fucked stupid. he would keep you there until your throat is hoarse, and your knees are bruised, and your hole aches, and your insides feel like they’ve been turned into mush, and your back is screaming in protest because he’s had you in multiple positions now.

he becomes nonverbal when he gets like this; quiet grunts passing through his pressed lips when he fucks in deeply, rutting his cock in and grinding so insistently, it’s like you can feel him in the back of your throat — pressing and pressing and pressing. it’s almost terrifying when simon holds you like this.

he can go for hours — he will go for hours — and you feel your body crave the insanity of it. you feel yourself succumb to the overwhelming pleasure he douses you with. a baptism, of some sorts. born-again. you know you can never go back to how it was before.

his name loses meaning as you keep screaming it, and only through your delirium do you feel simon finally cum in you. he does not shoot it in your slack jaw or over your stomach, nor does he smear against your tits like he’s done in the previous rounds, but he pumps it deep in you, almost always like he’s making it take.

the aftercare is gentle and long and quiet, and it starts with a kiss on your palms.

[calicoquitter]

i believe my savior means to kill me now!

i believe my savior means to kill me

why do I not see the harm?

skip a day, invitation I extend

so i'll let you take your grip upon my veins

transmute to a blued writhing turmoil

let my heart become your drum

irregularity will be thematic, make me your hymnal

let this head become your altar

now clumps of brain matter, but i will smelt gold for you

every optimism on the pyre

remaining pessimism, my last supper

for I believe my savior means to kill me now!

[heritageposts]

translated:

and again, this is from the minster of communications

[cuntmand]

armand on his ao3 account: greetings, everyone! i deeply apologize so much time has elapsed since my last update. due to unforeseen circumstances, i was forced to reveal my true identity to my former flame whose memory i erased 5 decades ago and who is currently interviewing my husband of 77 years. since then, we have been caught in a most exciting game of emotional manipulation, but i managed to find some time to write another chapter. i hope you enjoy it, and please, do not shy away from leaving your commentary. yours truly, the vampire armand 🧛