#that thing is a blasphemy

[possession1981-moving]

THE FIRST OMEN dir. Arkasha Stevenson, 2024

[vaguely-concerned]

something so sweet and hilarious about the fact that varric apparently wrote to every single person he liked and trusted that 'hey I found this strange little raccoon creature who pisses everyone off in a dumpster out here and I really like their vibe I think we might save this world yet👍'

[ruporas]

on the run!! (ID in alt)

[fellomen]

I liked the memory fragment we see after defeating Miquella and Radahn but it makes me yearn for something similar after ALL the demigod fights now lol. If not after the fight itself, then maybe after you unlocked the power of their Great Rune at the Divine Towers. We could see key points of their lives like when they received their Great Runes - or even adding to the moments that are portrayed in the game's intro

Godrick being hounded from Leyndell or lamenting at Godfrey's portrait in Stormveil about his lack of power, culminating in his first grafting session

Malenia pledging herself to Miquella as his blade, the twins parting ways before the Battle of Aeonia, or their final conversation before he leaves for the Land of Shadow (which would hint at the dlc if you fight her first)

I'd pay to see memories of Morgott leaving the sewers and seeing the Erdtree in its full splendor for the first time, and Mohg's initial communion with the Formless Mother.

Rykard offering himself to the serpent or his discussion with Ranni when she gifts him the blasphemous claw. MAYBE A MEMORY WHERE RADAHN ACTUALLY SPEAKS 😩

[colt-in-deans-pants]

Jensen Ackles as Dean Winchester

⛤Supernatural (2005-2020), 1x12 'Faith'

[halfbaked00q]

Im soooo weak to when Bond is like casually being used or exploited at his expense for some ostensible Greater Good except the situation doesn't HAVE to come to that, not really, and he's so inured and even numb to it that he barely pays it any mind; meanwhile, Q absolutely minds and is very indignant on his behalf and works overtime to like either try to avert or forestall the situation before it gets to the point where Bond has to dig his own claws into more of his soft underbelly to offer up on the sacrificial alter of politics of all tawdry things, or to manufacture a way in which he does the needless "needful" so as to spare Bond at least one unnecessary additional wound upon his psyche.

bonus if Bond finds out and maybe after being angry or indignant about it - I don't need you to do my job for me, Q, this is what I'm here to do - and either Q tells him/lets slip or he deduces that like, this isn't Q thinking he can't get the job done, this is Q finding him precious and worthy of protecting, and like. he's just very in awe of that and does in fact feel very safe and cherished within the cradle of his Quartermaster's regard

[trappedinafantasy37]

POV: You took over the world. Your evil murder kitten has never loved you more.

[silly-lil-scribbles]

guyyssss i got indoctrinated into illitrick,,, girl help theyve taken over my brain

@mikeyswayy haha get tagged loser (ur the first person that comes to mind when i think abt illi sorry<3)

[picklesinabottle]

to be clear. bobby's mom is bad cause she's a con artist fraud televangelist and mean to her son, not cause she left her abusive husband and tried to take both her kids with her. you guys know that, right?

[lasagna-with-teeth]

Thinking about choking him with his rosary while making him pray and repent for being a needy little whore. <3

[howdoyousleep3]

Looking back and reflecting through prayer and journaling, Steve realizes it was his fault. 

The long looks that could have easily been interpreted as yearning, the unsuitable timing of said looks, the tone in his voice when he knew for a fact it was Bucky on the other side of the confessional and he did nothing to shift said tone of his voice to a more appropriate one.

It’s his fault and he’s admitted it. He’s spent his evenings praying—begging— for forgiveness, spent his nights on his knees until they’ve been left bruised, ruined the pages of his Bible from the tears he’s wept over it. 

None of it has come close to quelling the consuming feelings he has for Bucky Barnes. 

Bucky Barnes has ruined his goddamn life. He’s made Steve question his purpose, his past, his life, his future. 

Everything. He’s ruined it all. 

But Christ, Steve can’t stay away. 

The feeling he receives from being the reason such a beautiful being cries from pleasure or otherwise make him feel like—

Like God. 

Like God.  

Steve was horrified when Bucky dropped to his knees in front of him in his office that fateful evening, couldn’t believe his eyes when Bucky began to weep and grab at the obvious bulge at his crotch and fist at his hair. 

“I don’t know what to do, Father. It hurts. It has to be a punishment for the things I can’t stop thinking about. Please, help me. Please…” 

Steve may have been possessed. 

When he reached for Bucky, out of his own mind and unable to grasp reality or his purpose, he knew the moment his fingertips came in contact with the moist skin of Bucky’s cheek he was about to enter into a world of inevitable and eternal damnation. 

“Tell me where it hurts, son. Tell me what you think about.”

An entire life dedicated to God couldn’t stop his own traitorous cock growing so full, so painfully fast that he nearly doubled over when Bucky uttered the words— 

“I can’t stop thinking about y-you, Father.”

And then Bucky had shuffled forward on his knees, letting out a pitiful noise with each jerky movement, and pressed the bulge of his crotch against Steve’s shin, through his robe.

Lucifer was described as beautiful, the seal of perfection. He was an angel before he was cast out. 

Bucky is Steve’s personal Lucifer. 

“I want to know everything you think about. You kneel here and tell me. I will help you, my son.” 

Steve had never heard such filth, such utterly disgusting filth:

“I can’t look at you without getting hard. I look at you and I want to let you inside of my body, want to put you in my mouth. I come to service and look at you and listen to you and get so hard I have to go to the bathroom to…to touch myself. I’ve never done anything, nothing– I swear I’m a good boy. But I look at you and I want to be so so bad, Father. What am I supposed to do? How do I…do I stop feeling this way?” 

It was seeing the young man’s tears that made Steve feel the most arousal, he realized. Not that Bucky was sobbing as he spoke and practically humping Steve’s leg; it was the tears. How beautiful he was when he wept before Steve, on his knees.

Steve reached for his rosary the moment he came back to his body enough to realize he too was hard. 

“You must repent, Bucky,” he heard himself say, tone hushed and reverent. “You must ask for forgiveness.” 

And God damn him, God damn him, he closed his eyes as he laid his hand in Bucky’s hair, softer than silk, and whispered, “You must give into temptation to be forgiven in full…” 

Steve never stood a chance against being faced with his own temptation.

Neither did Bucky, it seemed.

Weeping while he rubbed his erection against Steve’s leg was nothing compared to weeping with his mouth stretched lewdly around Steve’s cock.

Steve had not once felt pleasure like this in his life, had never come close to experiencing something of such bliss. Feeling the inside of Bucky’s mouth, his tongue, was otherworldly.

His pleasure growing tenfold hearing and watching Bucky struggle to take him, to suck on him, made him question whether or not he was made for a secular life instead.

Steve prayed for their two souls anyway. 

“God the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his Son…” 

Bucky sobbed and sputtered, gagged and sucked, whimpered and sniffled.

“...has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins…”

When Bucky’s hands came up to grasp Steve’s hips, when he leaned forward to shove Steve further into his mouth as if he were starving and desperate, Steve fisted the hand that held onto the rosary into his hair, holding Bucky in place as his hips took on a mind of their own.

“...through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace…” 

Bucky’s sobs blended with moans as Steve fucked his mouth, noise so sweet Steve closed his eyes once more to memorize the noise of it.

“...and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit…” 

Steve’s last bit of self-control was used to not let out a ferocious groan as he came down Bucky’s throat, teeth gritted as he forced Bucky’s mouth further down on his cock, until he felt Bucky’s tongue on his balls. 

“Amen…” 

It pulled Steve back to reality, that amen. He shoved at Bucky’s shoulder, pushed him back and away from his still-twitching cock, from his trembling body. 

The sight of a dizzy and hungry Bucky, mouth slick with cum and lips and cheeks cherry red, rubbing pathetically at his crotch from the outside of his pants while crying out, “Amen! Amen!” as he obviously came in his pants on the floor of Steve’s office is an image that will be branded in Steve’s brain until the day he sees the pearly gates. 

That’s if this doesn’t send him to Hell instead.

Bucky leaned down then, pants wet and still sniffling, and pressed his lips against Steve’s shoes. His feet. 

“Thank you, Father. Thank you…” 

Steve was indeed going to hell. 

[feroshgirlsims]

Subplot 6.4 - Everybody Lies

PREV | NEXT

(Part 5 of 6)

TRANSCRIPT

Location: Orchid’s Place

[Orchid and the A Go-Go’s performing “Hound Dog” by Big Mama Thornton)

Ethren: Well, well, speak of the devil and he shall appear. I thought you were done with Willow Creek.

Jacques: I’m just stretching my wings.

Ethren: The band is good. I remember when Orchid was just a kid, offering to write songs for 50 cents. Now kids come to her trying to get noticed.

Jacques: Careful, you’ll date yourself. 

Ethren: What’s there to be careful about? I’m old.

Jacques: I’m older. And I didn’t come for the jazz. I came because you need to go home.

Ethren: Please. My Sage days are long behind me. 150 years and I’m only just now starting to decompress. 

Jacques: Well, stop decompressing. A real danger is coming. 

Ethren: Good. Morgyn and Faba love that shit.

Jacques: Realm-ending. 

Ethren: The last time a realm ended, an ancient vampire named Edward Ruthven gathered an army and launched an operation meant to wipe spellcasters from the earth.

Jacques: And he’ll do it again. Edward Ruthven will rise before the Wild Moon, take his revenge, and raise a new army. He will wield the powers of death, become king, and until the Wild Moon turns red, he will be unstoppable.

Ethren: That’s very specific. Too specific. How can you know that? How can you…you motherfucker, you made a deal!

Jacques: It’s what I do.

Ethren: Let’s talk about that, shall we? What you do is make wild declarations. 

Jacques: In the old days they called it prophecy. 

Ethren: Weave magic with words like the Fae.

Jacques: I was before the Fae.

Ethren: You were before a lot of things. 

Ethren: Mortals called you the devil because they were afraid. Supernaturals called you that because you had no other name. But there is no such place as hell. And the only thing before supernaturals and sims were the gods. 

Ethren: So, old friend, which one are you? 

Jacques: Was. I was a god.

Ethren: (snorts) And then what? You died?

Jacques: Gods can’t die. They become lesser things or forgotten things, but they cannot cease to exist. You’re stalling.

Ethren: No, I’m having a drink with a lesser god who brings me problems, apparently. You made this happen. Unmake it.

Jacques: Go help your siblings. Go be Sage of Practical Magic.

Ethren: There’s already a Sage of Practical Magic.

Jacques: Not for long.

Ethren: Not here.

Jacques: Fine.

[faux-big-bro]

Big brother's big hand gripping the back of your neck to drag you into my lips, shotgunning the smoke into your lungs, overwhelming you, occupying every bit of your senses, from my hand to to taste of my tongue to sound of my voice singing along to the song in your ears, as you hump your soaked panties against my thigh while the rain falls against the roof of my truck as we're parked in the back lot of that shitty church mom and dad always dragged us to before they stopped pretending to care, as your hips grind into my lap with the beat of the song, singing

Oh, lord, tell us so, we belong way down below, Way down below, way down below, way down below...

[ilovemesomevincentprice]

Vincent Price as Verden Fell - Tomb of Ligeia (1964) dir. Roger Corman

[anonymousyellowlizard]

unposted gold in my drafts:

^ me when DnP say extremely unhinged stuff they wouldn't be caught dead saying a few years ago

[chewyhanniebug]

knew that skirt looked familiar