I Want Him So Bad

Regulus being a bitch and Rosekiller being Rosekiller

THIS IS SOOO CRAYZ GUYS THIS IS SO CRAZY

the last days of judas iscariot — luke castellan + reader : betrayal hurts the saints the most. 

tags : mdni, dark!luke, angry kissing, religious imagery & symbolism, body worship, angst and smut, love confessions, p in v sex, corruption kinks, implied blood kink, hints of cannibalism

there was something off about luke castellan. 

he used to be caring, sweet and selfless— he did everything for the people around them, offered them smiles even if it was difficult on his lips, did anything to ease their pain, built himself up into a saint. but eventually, saints will fall, whether it be their own doing, or a martyrdom. 

this was no martyrdom, he was not crucified, strung up on an olive tree, nor stoned. 

this was a conscious decision that nobody else, besides his own self, would understand. it was so, so unlike him, luke was never one to betray the people around him, well, at least he didn’t portray himself that way. if you really knew luke, you’d know how much he hated the gods, he felt as though he was a despicable creation of theirs, and he’ll return the same despising looks. 

but the story starts days before that, luke was as he always was. he offered you a smile from across the training field, and you returned it full - heartedly, waving at him. he moves to approach you, ignoring his sparring partner, “hey, do you need a partner?” 

you glance around for a second, “don’t you already have one?” 

his lips curve to a smirk, “i’d rather be with you.” 

luke castellan had a thing for flirting with you, even if he was just being a tease, and didn’t entirely mean what he said— sometimes you thought he didn’t, or he never did, but in all honesty, he meant everything. 

he admired you beyond proper comprehension, and you did the same with him. having been friends for years, it was no shock when your gazes would linger on each other for longer than they should, when he would do anything to make you smile even if it costs him his reputation. 

on the first day, luke was as he always was, confident, grinning and sweet. 

then the second day came, and luke’s smiles began to fade faster, he looked more tired, there was a certain mournful air that clung to his skin and radiated off of him. you picked up on it immediately, frowning at him and pulling him off to the side even when he was busy, “are you okay?” 

“what?” his saliva feels thick in his mouth, like globs of nectar that feel poisonous underneath their sweet skin. 

“i said— luke, what’s going on?“ you can’t deny how he seems to be out of order on everything, he was even fighting angrier, too, with a revengeful glint in his eye. 

“i really, really don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“yes, you do.” 

and it only got weirder from there, on the third day, he looked straight up exhausted, like he hadn’t slept the past two nights, and now he was being told to take a break from sword fighting because of how rough he was being. smiles were common from him now but cut off quick, and laughs became rare. he wasn’t trying to make anyone else around him smile or laugh, and he always just looked angry, guilty angry. 

when you waved at him, he didn’t wave back, nor approach you. 

he didn’t want to speak to anyone, so he just didn’t talk. 

he’s suffering from something, you just don’t know what, and whenever you asked him, he shrugged it off with, “i’m just tired.” 

“i know, you look really tired, luke, do you need melatonin?” 

his teeth grit together, and the taste of nectar in his mouth had disappeared, now it was all just bitter poison, “i need to be left alone.” 

“luke—“ 

“please leave me be.” 

if anyone were to ask you now, they’d know you regret leaving that night, not forcing him to speak about it with you. the next night, another camper told you about what luke had done, and you hate the way you don’t feel entirely shocked, not even a little bit, not even at all. 

luke castellan had a fig tree branching out in front of him, so many possibilities, so many stories to be told, and yet his fingers wrapped around the only rotten fruit on the whole ripe tree. two thousand years ago, there was a man exactly like luke, one who went by the name judas, and in luke’s complete distaste of the bible and anything to do with it— he found himself undeniably following the same path of the man who betrayed jesus. 

“ i desire the things

that will destroy me

in the end ”

  — sylvia plath. 

it was a bad idea to seek out luke that night, you knew it well, and luke knew it too when he frowned at you almost immediately after seeing you. he was still in the woods, only alone now, closer to the shore, closer to the riper fig that called his name— the one labeled captain. 

“why are you here?“ his tone is sharper, harsher, but you don’t shy away. 

“why’d you do it?” you watch him visibly swallow at the question, as if he doesn’t want to answer it, even when it’s on the tip of his tongue, but for some reason it would hurt to say out loud. 

he bites the bullet, “you know— the gods, they’re awful, don’t you think they deserve this?“ 

“is that where your heart lies?” the question seems to scorch his skin more than the last, because it’s just a continuous waking to what he’s truly done, how the prophecy haunts him even in his desperate attempts to evade it. 

“i’ve suffered enough, because of them, because of him— so yes, that is where it lies.” 

“you think your suffering is just a one way street?” you pester, anger bubbling in your veins— this was selfish, entirely selfish, he was never the selfless man you once knew, this wasn’t the luke you knew, “it’s not, it wasn’t— you had the chance, luke, to deprive yourself from it.” 

“are you just here to lecture me?” luke’s jaw locks. 

“why are you being like this?” 

luke’s eyebrow twitches, as if he’s mentally debating saying it out loud, but albeit all odds, his lips part, “why don’t you ask that guy you’ve been hanging out with?” 

“what?” it’s hard to realize certain things when you’ve been so focused on one person, you were so caught up on your fears for luke you didn’t even realize that the whole time you were thinking of him, you were blatantly speaking with another man in front of his eyes. 

to the trained eye, they’d know you never had any real feelings for the man you spoke with, but luke was too blinded by his own guilt and resentment that he didn’t realize it himself. it was a wild string of miscommunications formed into a single spider’s web, exactly like judas’ betrayal of jesus. 

INTERLUDE : JUDAS ISCARIOT ( A STUDY ) 

judas iscariot is often portrayed as the traitor in the story, fueled by greed and his resentment that jesus has something he never will. in the original story, judas is put in the narrative as satan’s pawn, judas’ fate is already written down, and he has no way of pushing it back. satan selects him from a group as he is weak, easily moved, and satan had possessed him body and soul and lived out his personal purpose through the vessel. 

the son of perdition : the one doomed to destruction. 

god personally protected all of his other saints from satan, so why not judas? why was judas never enough? was he never righteous enough to be saved? jesus loved him, jesus held his face in his holy hands, and yet he never shielded him. 

judas is a pawn, a thief, a coward, and a denier of the lord. 

judas, in all fairness, is the spitting image of luke castellan. 

“is it ever anybody else, luke?” 

as if arrow met skin, luke’s brows furrow together like you’ve hit him. 

there’s a pause, a deafening silence. 

“i miss you,” you speak again. 

luke’s nose crinkles, “uh-huh.” 

“i miss you, luke.” 

luke castellan is going to hell tonight, he’s going to be scorched in the underworld, so he bites his tongue and he moves in. the kiss is angry, teeth clashing, tongues twisting, lips bruising, but luke wouldn’t want it any other way. he wonders that if, in this kiss, do you forgive him? having been someone praised by the gods, the favored one, did you forgive the one who seemingly betrayed them to most? 

the kiss says how could you? and i’m sorry at the exact same time. 

his hands are quick to grip on your skin like you were his lifeline, tugging you in closer, and smiling against your lips when you melt into his touch so easily. you knew how cruel of a man he was, all the things he did wrong, all the people he had hurt— and yet you’re easing against him like he’s a saint. 

his teeth show his hunger well, nipping at your lip until you hiss and pull away with blood bubbling from a fresh wound. at first, he wants to smile, but he finds some mercy, moving his hand to hold your chin, thumb smudging the blood, “‘m sorry, didn’t mean to, swear.” 

you knew he was lying, you knew he wanted to see you bleed, he liked the way your skin trembled under his touch, the way that even when shock dilates your pupils— you don’t want to pull away from him. in fact, something about it is oddly attractive to you, how sick is that. 

his other hand grips your waist, fingers curling cruelly, “could i..” 

undress you? touch you? luke isn’t sure of the proper words, they sit on the tip of his tongue, but something has him too afraid to say it so bluntly. that’s ironic, considering he didn’t hesitate to steal and lie. luke was still the loser he’s always been, deep down, he’s never known how to actually speak to women. 

you knew this well, it was something you always made fun of him for, but now you only smile sweetly at him. “of course, luke.” 

luke’s hands are desperate when they move to take off your clothes, quick and ruthless, but still so caring at the same time. it was confusing with luke, everything he did had two different sides that would merge together in an unlikely unison. harsh and gentle, bitter and sweet, mean and kind. 

his brows furrow when he dips in, pressing his lips to the skin of your neck, pushing you back into the scratching bark of the tree behind you. adam and eve, right after the bites of the apple offered to them. luke wants to sink his teeth into you, to bite until he draws blood, to devour you whole and call you his. 

that’s… normal, right? 

he doesn’t care, he’s only focused on the shallow breaths that pass by your lips with every scrape of his teeth on the skin being pulled between his lips. his fingers lead themselves further, dipping below the waistband of your underwear and further until you’re gasping and gripping at his wrist. 

“luke.. luke,” you plead, whimpering out for his fingers to have some mercy on your clit— luke ignores you, focused on the pleasure that’s coursing underneath your skin. he memorizes the thump of your pulse against his lips on your neck, the way it speeds up when his fingers dare to graze your entrance. you want it so bad, and it’s taking everything in luke to not be a cocky asshole about it. 

he eventually pulls away from your neck to admire his work, “have you always wanted me to touch you like this?” 

there’s something so poetic about someone who has betrayed the gods you love the most, ruining you. you truly could be awarded for how much you worshiped them, so unlike to everyone around you. they thought their parents were like anybody else, albeit just a little cooler, but you— you felt like a prophet. 

maybe you were, maybe luke was. 

maybe when the oracle whispered the prophecy she mentioned the fall of a saint, and the way he tugged another down with him. 

you look at him fondly, lips parted and puffy from biting, “always.. please.” 

please ; a simple plea, but it makes luke grin like a devil. his eyes follow your hands when you move to undo his belt, tugging at his jeans as if his fingers aren’t making your knees buckle. luke licks his lips, and finally allows you some mercy when his fingers leave your underwear, although you frown from the loss of friction. “i’ll make it up to you, yeah?” 

luke’s boxers and jeans are falling to the floor in seconds, he stifles a chuckle at your shocked expression to his size, only growing cockier and cockier with each second of this ordeal. it reaches it’s peak when he’s pushing into you, hand on your thigh holding up your leg with ease. 

his nose brushes against your cheek, whispering sweet nothings in between faint grunts with each thrust. you’re so pretty, always dreamed of this, better pray the gods aren’t watching. the last comment should piss you off, but it doesn’t, not at all— in fact, it only makes you wetter, the idea that the people you have given everything for are watching you being fucked by someone who despises them. 

his free hand moves up to your neck, wrapping around the bruised skin there, and gripping it enough to barely constrict your air flow. 

due to the choking, and the force of his thrusts, along with all his taunting words, it doesn’t take long for you to cum on his dick— and he doesn’t last long either. 

he finds himself panting against you, slowly pushing out. 

“you really should pray for forgiveness.” 

i wanna draw a female marauders comic bud i have no ideas. my life is hell 😁

to the british gay werewolf wizard who saved my life and resonated with me like no other by making me feel understood without even being real, happy birthday. remus lupin

A moment of inspiration struck me

this one’s doin numbers

bbc ghosts and empathy

at its core, bbc ghosts is a show about empathy! these days, a lot of shows are black and white when it comes to characterisation- always having them lean towards good and evil. but this is boring as fuck!

bcc ghosts does the exact opposite by having characters such as julian, who by all means, was a terrible person. he was a tory with no respect for his wife or his daughter. by all means, we as the audience, should HATE him. but we don’t! infant, we love him. he’s funny and witty and comedic.

even before he grew to regret his past actions, we still loved him as a character because of how hilarious and authentic he is. after the christmas episode where he was looking after a baby, the audience was able to fall in love with julian all over again and for a different reason! even when we were shown explicitly the terrible traits julian exhibited while alive, we felt empathy for his situation. we do deeply felt his regrets.

most of the time, tories and bad fathers are the villains. and for the most part, it’s true. this doesn’t stunt their growth as people. we always forget that people we don’t agree with are people; capable of growth and fear and guilt.

in real life, this conversation is a lot different. realistically, someone like julian being in power is probably not a good idea. he was like besties with margaret thatcher.

either way, bbc ghosts has taught me a lot about recognising my biased behaviour towards people i would usually condemn. i find it so crazy that this show was able to make me empathise with such a person- but i’m very grateful for it. live laugh julian

i think im getting better at drawring them ao3 & marauders art

NEED MORE ASAP

NOTED | LUKE CASTELLAN

— THE LOVE LETTER !

aﾉn — first actual letter finally is here !! smth ive realized abt smaus is that it's a little difficult telling a storyline on twt, so how wld u guys feel abt some chapters mixed in ??

— series masterlist || reqs for this universe r open btw <3

taglist — @lostinhisworld @frogtowne @daughterofthemoons-stuff @uniquely-her @th0tblckgrl @jules-darling @theadventuresofanartist @mxqdii @pleasingregulus

Supe Supermodel, Sam Riordan.