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stanfanfiction · 8 months

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Taste of You - Ken x fem!reader - PART 4.5 (BONUS)

So I had initially planned to have a double dom!/sub! Chapter where Ken and the reader switched roles halfway through, but I decided I wanted them separate despite them happening back to back. SOO if you haven’t read the first part you can find it in my Masterlist, otherwise have fun and I hope you enjoy <3

Warnings: 18+ ONLY / smuttyyy smut / fingering / dom! Ken / desperate Ken / praise k!nk / / smut / reader might be slowly losing her mind but she’s fine with it / kinda some non-con but reader is into it / spanking / edging / overstimming / this one goes harder than any of the chapters before so, if that might be intimidating or possibly triggering for you, tread softly. Always take care of yourself first <3

Alrighty. Have fun, besties. 🖤🖤

“Hey.”

Ken's voice broke through your sleep, and you blinked your eyes open. The room was bright with the day's sunlight, and you had a moment of struggle to come to, you had been so deeply asleep.

The moment your eyes adjusted, you looked up and saw Ken beside you, kneeling, his cock looking painfully hard and a smirk on his face. You attempted to move but realized your wrists were bound above your head tightly, and you saw Ken's fist clenched around a leather belt in his right hand. You sucked in air sharply, already overwhelmed when you hadn't even been fully awake a whole minute ago.

Ken leaned over you now, your mind racing as he stared down at you, kissing you lovingly before nipping at your lower lip and running the belt gently up your thigh.

"Now," his words made you already want to tremble, "it's my turn."

You tried to sit up but he had definitely made sure your restraints wouldn’t budge, and your mind raced on how to get out of this, not being ready for anything this quick after waking up.

Ken *was* ready though, and he ran the belt from up your thigh to your stomach, and you squirmed.

“What word do I need to listen for to stop?” He said, voice husky, his face inches from yours as he leaned on his arm next to you.

“Ken -“

“Not that one, I won’t allow it. I *want* to hear you say that.”

“No, no, Ken, I need you to let me out for a little while.”

He watched you and you pleaded with your eyes. “Please? Just let me wake up a moment, get some water?”

He ponded for a second but then agreed, untying your wrists and you sighed when you had your hands back to yourself. “Thank you.”

Ken helped you off the bed and trailed behind as you went to the kitchen for a drink. You were having a bit of a deer-in-the-headlights moment, kind of self conscious and not quite sure how to react to Ken right now, who, despite always having a bit of a rough side to him during sex lately, seemed like he was going to go way harder than before. Which you liked but you *were* actually anxious at not knowing what all he had in mind, and the fact that he might have developed a playful vendetta after last night.

You jumped a little after filling your cup with water, turning around to see him standing so close to you, you weren’t sure how you didn’t brush against him when you turned. He wore his black denim pants - the ones you had told him you thought made his ass look the best - and was shirtless, like usual.

He nodded towards your glass impatient. “Drink.”

“I’m working on it.”

“Mmmm, okay, well work faster,” he reached for you and tickled your waist a little while smiling, which made you laugh and jump and you spilled the water on both of you, but mostly on Ken.

He smiled and let out a small chuckle, then wrapped his fingers in your hair and brought your face forward to his now wet chest. “Drink.”

You looked up at him through your lashes, feeling playful. “And what if I refuse?”

He cocked his head. “I don’t remember giving you the option of ‘No.’” He pulled your face to his skin and you licked up one of his pecs where the water was still dripping off. Ken inhaled sharply, eyes closing for a moment as he let himself experience your mouth on his body. You kept your eyes on his face as you slowly worked your way down his abs, kissing and licking any trickles of water left, and Ken moaned quietly, keeping his hand in your hair.

You reached for his cock but the moment your hand touched it, he grabbed your wrist, eyes open and looking down at you now.

“I didn’t say you could do that.”

Well THIS was definitely new, but you decided to have fun with it. You smirked as you leaned forward to to take him in your mouth but instead Ken tugged on your hair, encouraging you to stand up. You looked at him and pretended to pout. You saw him soften a bit, especially his eyes, and he had the look he always got before he would tenderly pleasure you for what seemed like hours until you would drift off together. You reached for his cock again, though, and that seemed to snap him out of it, like he remembered what it was he had planned to do.

“I said, I didn’t give you permission to do that,” he said in your ear as he folded both of your arms behind your back, elbows bent, both of your arms being held together by his large hand. He began marching you back to the bedroom briskly, forcing you chest-first onto the bed, bent over with your feet still on the floor.

“Ken,” you giggled. “What are you planning to -“ you were cut off with a sharp pain on your ass, Ken having smacked you unexpectedly with the belt. You screamed when he did it again before you could take a breath, Ken holding you down onto the bed, his grip around your arms bruising.

“You gonna be a good girl for me?” He purred, and the sound of him repeating his praises back to you made you knees buckle.

You shook just a little from the sudden assault, shocked at how much you actually were enjoying it. You wondered if you should play along or tease him, and the latter got the better of you. You turned your head as best as you could in your current position, your eyes twinkling as they met his.

“What if I don’t want to?”

You saw a hint of amusement in Ken’s eye before he brought the belt down on you again, and you jumped, back arching from the mixture of pleasure and pain.

Ken leaned over you now, his partial body weight pushing you further into the bed. “That’s alright. I’ll just have to make you.”

You moaned loudly at his words and Ken stood again, continuing his lashing from before. You were trembling a little when he hit the fourth lash, and your knees buckled by the sixth, the sensation so much sharper and intense than it was when he’d use his hand.

“Ken, please -“ you choked out as the belt came down again, and he paused, hearing the way your voice cracked a little.

He leaned down over you again, hand still holding your arms hostage. “So you gonna be good for me, y/n?”

You nodded, unhappy with how quickly you had relented, but also desperately needing some time to recover.

“Mmmm,” Ken hummed, smiling, and gently placing a kiss on your ear. “I love you so much, y/n.”

You breathed as a warmth filled your chest as he stood up, then landed two more harsh lashes on your ass. You screamed, and he released your arms finally, you grasping the covers to hold onto something but also to deal with the pain.

Ken took both of you ass cheeks in his hands and massaged them gently, admiring his work, watching your body tremble and hearing the little whimpers coming out of your mouth.

He gave you a moment to recover, your head spinning, as he forced open your legs with his own, standing between them. He held your hips while he kissed softly down your back, enjoying the little shivers that happened because of his touch, and once you had calmed down a little, he stood up again.

You felt the belt run alongside your vulva and you clenched. “Oh, shit, Ken, no, please not -“

“Shhhh, shhhh,” he soothed. “Not this time. Just wanted to see your reaction.”

You felt one of his fingers enter you then, his other hand holding down your lower back.

“No moving,” he said, and you bit into the sheets beneath you to maintain some form of mental control as he immediately found your special spot and began rubbing his finger in circles on it. He added in another after a moment, and you left out a soft moan but remained as motionless as you could.

“You’re actually way better at this than I was,” he mused. “I actually prefer you moving all you like.” He leaned over your again, kissing the side of your neck. “I just wanted to see how well you could obey.”

“I’ll get you back,” you exhaled shakily as Ken’s fingers sped up, pressing into your spot *just* right.

Ken smiled against your hair and kissed the side of your head. “I’ll look forward to that,” he said, continuing finger fucking you until he knew you were close.

You expected him to edge you on like you had to him, but right when you were about to climax he added in a third finger and fucked in and out of you *so* perfectly that you cried into the covers as you came, Ken humming and complimenting you the whole time.

“You’re so good to me. You stretch around my fingers so perfectly, y/n. Always cumming to make me happy. Always letting me do whatever I want with you.”

Your exhaled loudly as you were coming down, still mildly dizzy from so much sensation so quickly, but before you could ground yourself fully, Ken kneeled between your legs and held you open for him, firmly licking a stripe from your clit up to your opening.

You gasped, feeling incredibly sensitive and you struggled against his hold.

“Need a moment,” you begged, trying to pull yourself away, but Ken didn’t let up, talking to you in between sucking and licking and little nips.

“I don’t remember you letting up when you were trying to exhaust me,” he said cheekily, and if you’d had the energy you’d have kicked him away.

“My sweet y/n can take whatever I give her, right?”

“Shut up,” you groaned, slowly losing the ability to control your body.

“You’re so wet for me.” He put three fingers back in you for emphasis, and you cried out, bucking into them unintentionally thus causing them to penetrate you deeper.

“I can’t…I can’t, please, ah…” Your voice was losing its usual volume and quivered on the last moan.

“I think you can.” Ken sucked hard on your clit again, and you sobbed, begging him to give you a break until your legs gave out and Ken caught you effortlessly, all fight left in you gone.

“How does it feel to be exhausted by your lover?” He purred into your ear, your naked body limp in his arms as he sat you onto his lap on the bed. “How does it feel to be completely under my control?”

Your head lolled back onto his shoulder, and you moaned an answer incoherently. Ken turned your chin gently to him and kissed you deeply.

You felt yourself being picked up bridal-style and placed down onto the bed, your head resting on the pillows, your body relaxing into the mattress. You opened your eyes as Ken lowered himself on top of you, propping up on his forearms, and running his fingers along your face, kissing you tenderly.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mumbled into your mouth. “So perfect. You always let me get lost in you. I love it so much.”

Your brain and body started feeling connected again after awhile, Ken loving on you gently the entire time, making sure you felt surrounded by him.

You sighed in relief when you felt fully back to reality, despite some sleepiness settling in. You laced your hands behind his neck, and returned the soft smile that he gave you.

“Hi.”

He kissed your forehead. “Hi. How are you feeling?”

“Tired.”

“But good?”

You giggled. “Yes, good.”

He smiled bigger. “Good.” He took your hands in his. “I”m going to need these.”

“Ohhhh god, oh, god, uh, Ken, Ken wait, can we talk about -“

Ken had already tightly imprisoned your hands in the pantyhose rope you had made the night before, and was fastening them to the headboard before you had a chance to physically react.

You tugged at the restraints, and Ken looked down upon you lying there, helpless and flushed beneath him. His pupils were blown and your stomach flipped - oh, fuck, he was *SO* turned on right now.

“Ken, take it easy on me?” You squeaked as he grabbed your hips roughly. He kneeled in front of you and lifted your hips up so your knees hung over his shoulders, your vulva directly in front of his face. He was so tall that you were partially lying upside down, your bound hands making it impossible for you to push or balance yourself on anything.

He winked at you - motherfucker WINKED - and then his mouth was on you, your hip bones held tightly, and you shuddered intensely as he began devouring you roughly.

Ken watched you, trying to ignore how much his cock was hurting right now from straining against its skin, your entire being fully under his power. Your eyes were shut and the noises you were making were spectacular, and he loved how stretched out you were between the restraints and his grip. The only control you really had over yourself right now was what you could say because your body was already so tired that you couldn’t even try to get your legs off of his shoulder.

“So fucking sweet,” he said, pulling his mouth back just long enough for you to get in a deep breath, and then he was consuming you again, tongue gliding and poking and tickling every inch of you he could find. You yelped when you felt his lips suck harshly on your inner thigh, knowing he had marked you, and then shook when he repeated it on the other leg before dipping his tongue back into you.

“Ken,” you started begging again. “Please.” Your voice was becoming a little hoarse, you had lost all track of time and had no clue how long this had been going on.

“Yes, y/n?” He breathed dreamily, like he was in heaven, going back to lazily circling your clit with his tongue.

“I can’t-“

“Yes, you can, and you will. You still owe me one more after this one.”

Your eyes shot open. “One..one more?”

His eyes shone, his mouth still on you, and he winked again.

Something about all of that - the sudden knowing that he wasn’t going to stop until you’d climaxed three times?!, the look of pure adoration on his face being buried in you, and how hot this entire scenario actually was despite how dizzy and exhausted you were - hit at once and you came hard. You hadn’t expected it and you cried out loudly while Ken continued pleasuring you until you began to come down again, heaving loudly, tiny sobs escaping your lips as your eyes leaked.

Ken lowered your hips back to the bed and kissed you deeply, your juices mixing with his saliva, and his tongue ran against yours and your lower lip. He moaned into you loudly, cradling the back of your head with his hand until your breathing calmed and he stopped kissing long enough to look down at you.

“You’re doing so good.”

Tears definitely began coming now. “Please, Ken, I can’t do anymore right now.”

His face showed that he knew you weren’t playing, and that he cared deeply. “I won’t hurt you.”

You nodded, sniffling a little. “I know, I’m just….I wasn’t expecting this much.”

He kissed you deeply again, just one time, and smiled down at you. “I won’t do anymore until you’re ready.”

To your surprise, he reached up and untied your hands, kissing each one as he let them free, then kissing around your wrists where the minor imprints from the hose had rubbed in a little too tightly.

“Ken,” you breathed, “can we like, do the last one later?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “I said I won’t do anymore until you’re ready.”

“What if I’m not ready until like, later tonight?”

He smirked. “I don’t think that’ll be the case.”

“Ken.” You squirmed underneath him, and unfortunately your hips moved into his *just right,* because his eyes closed and he groaned from the back of his throat.

“You’re making it really hard to let you recover,” he almost huffed, his eyes dark, and the way he was looking down at you gave you the most intense, weirdly submissive desire you had ever felt. His broad shoulders attached to his slightly strained neck, his chiseled arms and pecs and abs around you, on top of you, those blue eyes dangerously dark, his hair looking that perfect just-woke-up messy.

You whimpered at the sight and the feeling of him, just…everywhere around you, and he sucked in a sharp breath hearing you. You knew all hope was lost then.

“Ken,” you whispered, your hand cradling his face the way he loved, and he leaned into it and hummed the same way he always did. “Just…please be gentle.”

“I’ve got you.” Ken pulled you a little father down the bed, just below where your head touched the pillows, and unzipped his jeans, ridding himself of them quickly. You weren’t sure if you had ever seen his member looking that strained before, and you shuddered, trying to prepare yourself. He towered over you as he pulled both of your legs up and apart, resting your ankles by his face so as he bent over you, your legs were being pushed back to leave you completely open for him.

You had the slightest moment of panic, from where you weren’t sure, other than you had never been this overwhelmed from sex before.

“Please don’t hurt me.” The words escaped your mouth before you knew it, and a tear streamed down your cheek.

Ken looked at you, forcing his face to calm down so you saw him as he always wanted you to see him, as someone who loved you. He kissed right above one of your ankles. “I would never hurt you.”

He wanted to take you then, bury his cock into you roughly and you would scream his name is ecstacy and you would cum trembling and falling apart completely and you would adore how he could make you feel this way, but he paused, realizing you needed a little more care before he could continue.

Hooking your knees over his shoulders again, he lowered himself over you, and you gripped the sheets, waiting for him to penetrate you. Instead, he took one of your nipples into his mouth softly, moaning as his lips just barely sucked on it, his tongue tracing circles around it that made you shiver, but he watched you as the tiniest of smiles ghosted across your face, your eyes closed, and he knew he was on the right track.

Your moans sounded so soft and sweet as he did this to your other nipple, your body relaxing and after a bit your hands running through his hair, which *he* loved.

Your breathing returned to normal, he touched his forehead to yours. You opened your eyes and immediately became lost in his.

“Hi.”

You giggled a little. “Hi.”

He watched you closely as he lowered his hips into yours, his cock rubbing alongside your vulva, and you jerked the tiniest bit from the sensation.

“How is that?” He asked, doing it again, a little harder.

He was going to wait for your reply but wanted to test something. “Think you can take it for me, like a good girl?”

He was enthralled when your mouth dropped open a little, your sex-dazed face looking so ready to be fucked, and he contemplated fucking into your mouth for a moment before forcing his mind back into focus.

“Can you handle just a little more?” He pressed his tip into your opening, and you automatically clenched tightly, causing a deep rumble in his chest.

His eyes met yours, dangerous, almost past the point of no return. “You ready to prove who you fucking belong to?”

Your eyes went wide as he bottomed out in with a single thrust and you both moaned in unison, your nails digging into his arms, your head back.

Ken leaned down to suck on your throat right before his second thrust, as swift and harsh as the first, and he swore if he didn’t want to make certain you came again that he would lose it within a matter of seconds. You pulsed around him, so warm and tight, and he growled as he began to fuck into you, making every thrust count, as you cried out every time he bottomed out into you, leveraging your legs so you were unable to do anything other than lay there and try to breathe.

“Ken,” your mangled cry caught his attention but he didn’t stop his movements.

“Need more, y/n? Need some more, like my good girl?”

He leveraged himself above you so instead of your hips meeting horizontally, he pushed your legs back so your hips were slightly off the bed and you were held open for him to sink into almost vertically.

He sunk directly into you, your legs straight and resting on his shoulders, his hands on either side of you holding himself up, and you screamed and fisted the sheets over your head.

Your body began to tremble now, and you had no control over it as the pain of being penetrated so deeply got mixed with how fucking *GOOD* it felt too, and watching Ken being the one to do this to you whenever you felt you could keep your eyes open for a moment made it all the better.

You *did* feel really overwhelmed, though. The dizziness from before had returned and was slowly threatening to take over completely.

You must have shown signs of distress because you heard Ken speaking over you, although not letting up on his thrusts. “Hey,” he soothed, “are you okay?”

“I’m…overstimulated..” you choked.

“Mmmmm…” Ken ponders this, leaning down so his hips were literally touching your own. “Do you need me to stop?”

You shook your head quicker than you had expected to, and if you had been looking you would have seen Ken smile. You felt his hot breath caress your ear before biting your lobe.

“You can take it for me, though, can’t you?”

If you had been asked to describe the next few minutes you were never would have been able to, as your senses became thrown into what you could only describe as chaos. Ken fucked you, held you, sucked on you until you were shaking uncontrollably, your voice hoarse. You swore you heard him speaking but couldn’t make out any of the worlds, your head swam so dizzingly with trying to comprehend the overstimulation.

Tears fell down your face when your orgasm hit, and you screamed to be able to get through it. You might have made it up but later on you thought you remembered hearing Ken whispering, “I love you, fuck, I love you so much, y/n. Fall apart for me,” as your body was racked with pleasure so intense it touched on being painful.

Ken immediately came after, his final few thrusts destroying you as he finally lowered your legs back onto the bed. He kept his cock buried inside of you as he lowered himself back over you, forearms on either side of your head again, and kissed you and praised you endlessly as he surrounded your trembling body.

“I’ll get you back, you fucker.” Your words were hoarse and breathy.

Ken laughed at your threat, and you managed a small smile despite your exhaustion. “I know you will,” he said, nuzzling his nose into yours.

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so-very-small · 8 months

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(tw for violence/death in this post; it’s about horror movies but g/t)

im in my Horror Movie era and like. i keep thinking how terrifying would a g/t horror movie be. a tiny protagonist in an oversized world could be so so scary. bugs, animals, unaware humans, even things just like struggling to get consistent meals or finding somewhere genuinely safe enough to rest. you could go psychological thriller about a recently shrunk person struggling to cope. you could have a slasher flick where the slasher is just an unaware giant.

i want Midsommar but it’s a borrower joining a fairy cult. i want Saw where it’s a borrower making traps for humans because they just hate giants. i want Hereditary with the added struggle of a mixed size family dynamic. i want whatever batshit original concepts A24 could do with a g/t dynamic

anyways i think there’s a huge potential for size horror and man. a movie like that would terrify me

#g/t #violence tw #ig? i am being so careful rn i know this a lot of ppls cup of tea #also discresion advised for these following tags #but like. have yall seen Nope. do u know THAT scene from Nope #i dont want to spoil anything but. the vore scene #i was so fucking viscerally uncomfortable when i saw that and i love it #like i love vore! but jesus fucking christ. holy shit. that scene made me realize how scary a gt size story could be #im watching a lot of horror lately and none of them r like. rlly scaring me #idk why i like to be scared so much. catharsis ig. i wanna be terrified

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ewwww-what · 2 months

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“Do maids dream?” FABIAN SEACASTER EHAY IS YOUR FUCKING ISSUE.

#I actually have a lot to say about this line in particular but I don’t fully have the time right now #please be normal Jesus Christ #I know we all already know he has the rich kid disconnect but that line will always completely baffle me #cathilda ceíli you deserve so much better #I know Fabian gets better I know he does #but like holy shit dude #fantasy high #d20 #d20 fantasy high #fabian fantasy high #dimension 20 #fabian seacaster #cathilda ceili #cathilda the black #txt post

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ah-bright-wings · 1 month

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Sound - A Triduum Story

Malchus can feel the heavy gazes of the others. He ignores them. His own eyes are pinned to the door they guard, listening to the drip of water condensing and dropping onto the floor. There is no rain, but the air is damp, as if the heavens are drawing out the wet stores of the earth in preparation for a storm.

Customarily, the chill would make him wish for his bed. He’d grumble with his fellows about the weather, about the work, peppering complaints with a few stout curses. But there is no discussion tonight. Malchus sits hunched forward, forearms braced on his thighs, and he waits.

What are they waiting for?

Cold fingers touch the lobe of his left ear. He turns to see Jesse, who’d touched him, withdrawing, fingers curling into his palm. The apology is gruff. “Just wanted to see.”

That’s a lie, thinks Malchus, turning back to the door. They’ve already seen tonight. What’s left is to believe.

Malchus doesn’t ask permission before he rises, taking the flask which hangs on a wall hook, and the keys there beside it. The eyes of the others follow. He unlocks the door and slips in, shutting it behind, and then pauses, palm flat on the wood. He takes a breath.

Drip.

The Nazarene’s hands are chained so that he must stand. His head bows, forehead resting against the bruised back of his right hand. He lifts himself when Malchus enters. His lips, which had been moving silently, still.

Malchus holds out the flask. Then, as an embarrassing afterthought—the man is in chains—he uncorks it.

“It’s just water,” he assures when the man doesn’t move to drink. He tips the flask close enough to meet the cracked lips. The Nazarene swallows twice and then pulls back, chains jingling. His face is wet. Tears, Malchus thinks, until he hears the drip of water dropping onto the man’s head. It slides down his temple and dirty cheek, carving a clean track through the crust. Malchus re-corks the flask.

It’s not quite fear that he feels. He had felt fear on his knees in Gethsemane, blood down his neck and a howl on his tongue. The world was silent, then, and shrieking, dizzy with pain and the terror of new loss. When strong hands cupped his face, he clung to them. He grabbed hold of words he could not hear but lips he could see moving, breath he could feel on his face, brown eyes he could see.

And then, he could hear.

It was as if he’d never before heard sound, not true sound, but only echos, half-formed, half-heard, until that very moment when he heard truly. Each noise was crisp and new. Around him were the night birds stirring in the trees, the puffed breath of the disciples, the crackle of licking flame, the creak of leather belts. He heard them all, and he hasn’t stopped hearing since. Creation is vibrating, uncountable voices overlapping in the same tremulous song. Even the breeze seems to have a voice, and the water running on stone. Even his own heartbeat. They cry out when the rest of the world is silent.

“What did you do to me?” Malchus asks, voice barely above a whisper, for everything is new and he cannot make sense of it.

The Nazarene’s smile isn’t mocking. It’s as quiet as his voice, and it crinkles the corner of his good eye. “I know how long you’ve waited to hear.”

They’ve never met, of course. Of course not. This man doesn’t know him. How could he? Malchus has taken great pains to hide his gradual loss of sound. Each year, the muffle covers his ears a little more, stealing his senses, deadening the world to him. If he misses a call, he plays it off. If he cannot hear his wife calling, he feigns captivation by his task. He does it well, he thinks, well enough. Perhaps his wife suspects. But only he knows, only he and his God. And this backwater Nazarene with an accent pulled from Galilee’s fishing waters—because Malchus can hear the accent now—cannot know Malchus. How could he? No, he does not.

But he knows.

Malchus is sure, standing before this man who made him more than whole, that he is known. Known, and known truly. And here stands Malchus, his jailer. His enemy.

“How could you know?” he asks, eyes searching the Nazarene’s. The water drips, drips. A rat scritches at a bit of stone. “I can’t do anything for your case. They’re bringing you to Pilate.” His grip tightens on the flask—his only offering—and the stale water it holds. The words pour out of him. “I’m a guard. They told us to go, so we went. I had no stake in it, see? See, we were told to go. I was told to go. I never intended—”

“Malchus,” the man says softly, almost fondly, as if he is interrupting a brother and not one walking him to his death. “Will you pray with me?”

The request startles Malchus out of his own thoughts. He pauses, wary of some trick. Without meaning to, his hand rises to touch the warm outer shell of his ear, tracing the connecting point between the cartilage and his skull. There’s not even a seam to show where it had been severed.

Mouth dry, Malchus finally nods, and the Nazarene closes his good eye. The water slides again down his temples. His words fill the damp space, and Malchus recognizes them at once, joining the recitation:

“Naked I came from my mother’s womb,

and naked shall I return.

The Lord gave—”

The man breathes in, and Malchus breathes with him.

“—and the Lord has taken away;”

Their breath stirs the stale air of the room. All has finally gone quiet. The Nazarene opens his eye and tips his head to look up, past the stone roof, past the courtyard and the trembling earth, to the heavens, spread out over them like a tent. The water no longer falls. The rat is silent.

“Blessed be the name of the Lord,” he says.

#not art #triduum #writing #holy week reflection #I think a lot about Jesus in the cell on Holy Thursday night #He had been abandoned and beaten and betrayed #so every year on Holy Thursday I imagine sitting with him in that cell and praying with him #But last year I was in a rough place and felt trapped in my own failings and habitual sin #and as I was sitting in the pew and feeling so pathetic and weak and like I had let Jesus down #I heard him tell me “Tonight I'll come sit in your own cell with you.”#so if any of you are feeling trapped this year or like you've failed at your faith #Just know that Jesus will come sit in your cell with you no matter what it is #He'll just sit with you and quietly love you #also I feel like Jesus was thinking of all people suffering from insomnia when he was in that cell. they must have been on his heart

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thekidsarentalright · 8 months

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“from now on we are enemies” / pavlove

#do u see it do u get it……………. esp the first two jesus christ #anytime i realize a lyric parallel like this i feel so crazy but esp w These two songs like #seeing the themes and ideas pete was very clearly thinking abt around this time coming out in Two songs that are kinda both their #holy grail very precious special songs is like. it’s a lot!!!!!!#txt #lyrics.txt #fob

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whollyjoly · 12 days

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for some reason i can't explain i know saint peter won't call my name

nothing that lives, lives forever - an immortal soldier!alton more au

(1.1k of snippets from my old guard(ish) au where alton more is old, too old, and has been living and fighting far longer than anyone should. full description/other thoughts at the bottom. tw: blood, violence, mentions of death)

Alton clicked the lighter closed, running a thumb over the silver case. The night was warm, sticky in a way that he never could get used to. He sucked in a breath from the cheap cigarette, letting his head fall back against the rough side of the barracks.

It was quiet. Typically, there would be no end to the commotion coming from the small building, one of many that littered Camp Toccoa. The wall of sound was ever-present, no matter if it was shouting or laughing or snoring. But whatever the cause, there was always noise.

No matter if it was a blanket of noise he knew well, unchanging except for the language and the scenery. Soldiers are soldiers, and some things are a constant. It could almost be comforting, if it didn’t also mean that the need for soldiers was a constant as well.

However, tonight was a Saturday, and it was one of the few weekends that Sobel had allowed Easy the use of their weekend passes. Almost every man in the company had jumped at the chance to get off base, to travel home if they could and spend time with loved ones. The ones with farther-flung hometowns had spirited off to Atlanta, happy to spend their time drinking and dancing and fucking instead of slogging through another run, three miles up, three miles down.

Normally, Alton would have joined them in their carousing - it was easier to pass the time with the effortless camaraderie built during a training camp than bored and alone.

But today had been a bad day. The sound of swords and the shift of sand beneath his feet followed him out of his nightmares, the humid summer of Georgia morphing itself into the baking, dry heat of the desert.

His shouts must have been real, because when a hand came to shake him out of his dream, the first face he saw was not that of a grouchy NCO, but of a blood-caked Saracen, eyes alight with righteous fury.

Alton didn’t think. He had grabbed the knife from under his pillow, an old thing that had been sharpened more times than he could begin to count, and was on the man in less than a breath, pressing the blade into the side of his neck. The familiar thrum of blood beat against his fingertips, the grit of sand scratched his gums. He knew what he had to do, had done it a thousand times, a thousand thousand times, what was a little more bloodshed spilled across his feet-

Alton had blinked, and came to himself in a rush.

Instead of an unnamed Saracen, the ashen face of Johnny Martin stared up at him, eyes wide behind the knife.

Alton drew back his hand, retreating almost as quick as he had lunged earlier. He mumbled a quick curse and apology as he stepped out of arm’s reach from the man. It wasn’t until Martin’s eyes widened even farther that Alton realized his tongue was slipping out Arabic of all things.

Usually, Alton was better about remembering himself, who he was almost as important as where he was. But for whatever reason, his demons had decided to catch up with him that night.

After a quick smile and some quip about the Krauts in his dreams, he managed to wave an only-slightly-mollified Martin off. The shorter man apparently hadn’t forgotten it though, if his watchful eyes during chow that morning were anything to go by.

Alton was just glad that no one else was awake to see it, at least. That was the last thing he needed.

And so, instead of joining in on a weekend of broads and booze, Alton found himself waving away the invitation by an eager Smokey and bemused Alley. When the horde made their way out of the barracks, fantasizing in bawdy terms about their planned misadventures, he felt like he could breathe easy.

Fucking finally.

Alton took another drag from the cigarette. He watched the smoke curl, up and up until it faded into nothing amongst the darkening sky.

The lighter was a welcome weight in his hand, grounding him to this time, this life.

The design was worn by now, details barely visible after a half century of worrying. It still managed to amaze him, sometimes, what people could do with the smallest of canvases. Alton didn’t feel the same wonder however, wasn’t as mesmerized by the beauty man could create as he once was.

But in the quiet moments, he could still appreciate the time some French craftsman took to transform a hunk of metal into a small token carried around by a dead man.

Luz had spied the lighter one weekend, and laughed at him for using something so old-fashioned. Alton just shrugged, not caring to admit that he was still getting used to having a light at his fingertips. It wasn’t all that long ago when he was still lighting a pipe with a flintlock pistol, and not so long before that when he would carry around a flint and steel.

Time was passing all the more quickly these days, technologies changing and advancing, and everyone was obsessed with needing things to be quicker, cheaper, simpler. Alton scoffed. He could hardly find it in him to care.

He glanced down at the lighter in his hand, shifting it back and forth in a practiced motion and watched as the light skittered across the sides.

It had shown flowers, once. A veritable garden of carnations, daffodils, and lilies of the valley, with leaves spilling across the front panel onto the back. They represent good fortune, he was told. Good fortune, luck, and hope.

When the merchant described it to him, eyes ablaze with a passion known only to those with wares to sell, Alton didn’t try to hide the snort that escaped his throat.

Fortune and Luck had abandoned him long ago, and hadn’t returned since waking up in a battlefield abandoned by all but the dead, sword in his chest and blood in his mouth.

And what the fuck was Alton supposed to do with hope?

It was the quote on the back that had caught his eye, all those years ago in a street market in Reims. The beveled edges had faded with time, the familiar letters Alton traced were more memory by now than any physical mark. Une vie honorable est une vie éternelle.

An honorable life is an eternal life.

Alton couldn’t help but stare at the message, both then and now. He hated that goddamn word. Immortal. Unending. Eternal.

They were such flowery words, used by people who craved what they couldn’t have, what they shouldn’t. The romanticized idea of the everlasting, the fountain of youth, the gift of life! Alton was sick of it.

This wasn’t life. He was a fucking dead man walking. And he sure as hell didn’t do anything honorable to deserve it.

months ago, while thinking about the absolute insanity of the almost...cavalier? attitude we see alton more have over the course of the series, an idea hit my brain: what if there was a reason nothing seemed to phase him - not panzers, not being a breath away from a car wreck, not bastogne, not speirs? what if this wasn't his first war? that thought spiraled me into a minor insanity that is this: my immortal soldier!alton more au, loosely inspired by the movie the old guard (2020). the idea is that, once upon a time, there was a soldier in a land many centuries ago. one day, he died in battle. and then, he woke up. and then he died. and then he woke up. over, and over. drawn to countless battles, conflicts, and wars, each one etching itself into the core of his soul. a never-ending cycle...until one sweltering summer, where he found himself at a training camp at the foot of a mountain. anyways. at some point, i plan on writing this as a full story, but that is admittedly a long ways away. however, in celebration of alton more's birthday today, i wanted to post my favorite scene that i've written for this au! it's set sometime at the beginning of the story, in the early days of camp toccoa. mostly, it's just a character study of this version of alton more. hope you enjoyed! and of course - happy birthday alton more!

(song insp.)

taglist: @sweetxvanixlla @coco-bean-1218 @bucky32557038ww2 @georgieluz @samwinchesterslostshoe @xxluckystrike @next-autopsy @ronald-speirs @land-sh @ronsparky @panzershrike-pretz @theredrenard @kyellin

#happy alton more day!#holy shit im actually posting this...i've been sitting on it for MONTHS #but YEAH its just...the gothic romanticism about the physical embodiment of war and soldiers and the concept of death you know??#what it means to feel and to live and to connect to those around you when it all feels so fleeting #fleeting not just due to the nature of war but also the nature of immortality #or something #...look i have a lot of thoughts about this story okay #it kills me #its also known in my brain as the “how immortal soldier!alton more made friends” story #because literally thats it thats the plot #OH WAIT did i forget to mention that speirs is also an immortal soldier in this story??#oh yeah thats the best fucking bit - they met like centuries and centuries ago on the wrong ends of one of the various punic wars #(where speirs was known back then as...wait for it...TERTIUS)#its good goddamn shit okay #also explains why alton is so fucking unflinching towards speirs at any given point and why they were so petty about the photo albums #ANYWAYS if anyone wants to hear more about this!! come stop on by!!!#also yes the title is a reference to the old guard #as is the reference to the siege of jerusalem which is where joe and nicky met #immortal soldier!alton more #alton more #easy company #band of brothers fic #mine #band of brothers #bofb #hbowar #em's moodboards #em writes #jesus christ i guess that's a tag now #alright here we go out into the void

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essektheylyss · 1 year

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One of my favorite hobbies is opening the Genius annotations of lyrics I'm checking purely to roast the absolutely ATROCIOUS "analysis" some people throw up with full confidence on that site, oh my god.

#this was about 'the garden' by the crane wives today but I do this with some regularity lmfao #somebody literally went 'the line about hammers and nails is clearly a reference to the crucifixion of jesus'#WHEN THE ENTIRE SONG IS ABOUT BEING BURIED IN THE GROUND. IT IS A REFERENCE TO COFFINS BABE.#you canNOT just jump from eden to the fucking crucifixion oh my god. I cannot deal #what are you a protestant youth pastor??? NO #what kind of bullshit conjecture #YOUR ANALYSIS IS BAD AND YOU SHOULD FEEL BAD!!!#god something else just came out and I was looking at lyrics like 'holy hell they really just let you say anything here.'#like I do think genius is great for finding references to things the artist actually said about what they were writing about #but if you're gonna do specific textual analysis you NEED to actually write out the argument #a lot of it is flat out wrong but some of it is like 'maybe you're right but this is so disconnected that you NEED to make the connection'

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evelynclawthornes-ghost · 6 months

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Thinking about the trio of The Wittebane Brothers and Evelyn paralleling the Holy Trinity …

#I think who exactly represents who is ambiguous #The obvious arrangement is Caleb as the father Philip as the son and Evelyn as the Holy Ghost #but Caleb obviously has a lot of parallels to Jesus-#being a carpenter and everything #so it shifts around who exactly is who #but the point of it is that they’re all essentially the same and can’t exist without each other #they’re all interconnected and everything #and obviously the wittebane storyline has a ton of religious meaning and symbolism infused in it overall #toh #caleb wittebane #evelyn clawthorne #philip wittebane #toh analysis #txt

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ccasey0 · 27 days

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OKAY. I did it. @thr-333 i finally did it. i made your lil guy. AND i gave him lore.

but before i show you i want you to see the mass amounts of concept sketches i came up with cuz i couldnt figure this guy out for the life of me.

haha this went in so many different directions. i wanted him to look young, but any time i drew him like that he looked weird. so i tried a teenager. that just looked terrible. eventually i got it right tho :)

oke, lore time! i gave this boi trauma so brace yourselves! also, imma try to make it mostly as a fic cuz i wanna see if i can actually write like that. oh, btw for context go here :)

The altar was beautiful. A tiny hut with no front wall. a large cork board on the back wall with pretty charms hanging from it. and a solid stone table in the center with lavender growing around the edges and corners. it would have been a wonderful sight.....if it wasn't Tommy's final resting place. two large men in black robes and masks covering their faces ushered Tommy forward. His hands were bound, and he was too weak to get away. the men shoved him to his knees, their hands gripping his shoulders hard and mercilessly. the priest stood behind him, speaking out to the crowd. nobody seemed to care that Tommy was just a child who didn't want to be here. he knew he would die one day. but he expected it to be from starvation or some sort of sickness from living on the streets. not like this. not as a sacrifice for some stupid Moon God. The priest finished his speech. shit. Tommy struggled against the ropes. please. i don't want to die. let me go. i know i wasn't good. just please don't kill me. i wont do anything bad again. i promise. please. don't kill me. i don't want to die. tears ran down his face, as he tried to plead with the people all staring at him. words failed him. he couldn't speak. suddenly his whole body went numb with shock as the priest poured a bowl of freezing cold water over his head. the man chanted some words in a strange language as Tommy coughed and tried to reorient himself. he opened his eyes and looked up, trying to see the priests face and plead with him. all he saw was the dagger coming down on his head. the world went silent. time seemed to slow down as the blade reached the space between Tommy's wide, teared up eyes. blood splattered onto the stone floor below them. people cheered, all chanting the same words the priest had spoken. Tommy fell limp. he was dead. his body slumped and flopped onto the ground. the priest picked him up, raising his dead body up for everyone to see. he then laid him down on the altar. saying a prayer and then turning back to the people to preach to them again.

the two stars frantically tried to tell their story to Casey. two farmer stars. Casey had no idea what either of them were trying to say, as they were both talking over each other. He raised up his hands, gesturing for the two to stop and back up. "okay, okay, slow down. uh, you." he pointed to the one on the right. "what happened?" the star began to recite what she had seen. a boy. dead on an altar built by an obsessive cult village. the small star finished her story and casey folded his arms. "well shit. both of you stay here. tell the others what happened and have Ally and May meet me at the Tree Shrine." There were a few stars that Casey knew the names of. but that's only because they usually followed him around everywhere they could. Casey then looked up at the small owl sitting on his head. he sighed, already dreading the convrsation he and his sister were going to have in the future. "go tell Dellta." the small owl, Abby, nodded slightly and flew away. Casey then held his hand out over the blackness under his feet. he was standing on the barrier between the Night and the Mortal World. a hole formed below him and he fell through, the other side leading to the woods surrounding the Cult Village. he looked around. it was dark out. Casey's time. the Nighttime. perfect. he walked through the forest, moss and mushrooms growing everywhere he stepped. it was cloudy tonight. the moon wasn't out. Casey moved quickly, just a blur through the trees to anyone who might see him. finally, he reached the altar. it was built up on a short cliff, and casey was at the bottom behind it. he jumped up to it, the wind blowing carrying him upward so he could land on top of the structure. he then hopped down to the stone floor below, drifting slowly until his feet reached the cold surface. he turned to see the boy. there he was, laying dead on the glossy stone table. a small incense fire had been lit on his chest and had already begun to burn him. Casey immediately brushed it off of the child, putting out the fire and dusting away the ashes. he stare down and the boy, whose face still had blood stains running down from between his eyes and splatters all over his skin. Casey brushed the hair away from his forehead. he then wiped off some of the blood with his thumb and pressed it to his forehead, painting the mark of the Night. Casey whispered the same words Celestial had spoken when they made Casey and Dellta spirits. the mark glowed and turned from blood to a permanent tattoo on the child. Casey then carefully lifted the boy up in his arms, holding him gently and making his way back to the spirit tree.

The boy opened his eyes slightly. everything was blurry and way too bright, and he had a horrible ache in his head. his gaze drifted upward as he tried to figure out who was holding him. his vision was still too poor to see them clearly. whoever it was, they seemed gentle. and their hands were very cold. their figure was dark, although their eyes seemed to be glowing yellow. the child tried to speak, but he couldn't even open his mouth. all that came out was a muffled "mmmm....mfff..." The figure slowed down for a second, looking down at him. "ah. you're awake. don't worry, Konton. you're safe now." their voice was tired and draggy, yet somehow warm in a strange way. wait...Konton? is that....my name? Konton. I like it. Chaos in japanese. wait, how do i know that? i don't speak japanese? what is going on?? The boy- Konton squinted his eyes to look at the person holding him. fur, ears, four eyes. what the fuck?? his vision was ever so slowly coming back to him....and his memory. he hadn't even thought of trying to remember what happened until now. it came in flashes. the men. the altar. the water. the knife. He didn't even realize he was crying until the person stopped next to a tree and set him down. the knelt down, reaching forward and brushing a tear off Konton's cheek. "hey. you're okay. no one will hurt you now. but i need you to listen to me for a bit, can you do that?" Konton nodded, bracing himself for whatever this strange person had to say. judging by their face, it was going to be long story.

To be continued..

Holy shit that took forever. Fics are very time consuming. hope you guys liked it tho! please tell me if ya'll want more of this! i know i should work some more on posting HBT, but the Spirit Au is just so much fun! this kid was originally just a lil guy i made for @thr-333, but i liked him enough to make him canon, just like the stars! also, @allyheart707 @kitmay05 and @icequeenabby have all been included in this as their stars! sorry to the other stars, i just felt like these guys would fit best for the roles i had for them.

also! i was doobling the other day and made this :D

onii mask cuz why not? it's not a canon mask, i was just messing around :) that side profile looks like shit lol. but if you look closely you can see the scar from the incense fire on his chest. Konton doesnt remember the fire since it happened while he was dead. although he remembers everything else about his life except for names. even his. he can remember faces, but no names whatsoever. not even pets.

there is a lot more story to this and i might even continue it if y'all are interested. i also have a funky lil comic cooking in the background that i definitely haven't been procrastinating all weekend haha why would you ever think that :D

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