#friar malthus

[malthus-furacao]

Men be like, “I’m fighting demons.” And the demons are being attracted to a hot woman

[supermodernizar]

Saint Malthus | Our Lady of Sorrows

Hilda Furacão (1998)

[traumatizedpomelo]

so i've been getting really into hilda furacao. i fw religious torment and catholic guilt

kind of had fun, definitely did a lot more detail/color work than usual. this stupid piece took me 5 hours. did not do any homework for school tomorrow, so i'm kind of fucked. it's fine. malthus supremacy

[cryrubxz]

Beneath the moon.

Fanfic type: Soft One Shot

Word count: 5,5k+

Pairing: Friar Malthus (Saint) x afab!reader

Summary: After a quiet night at the church, the friar, Malthus, follows you into the forest, unable to resist the pull he feels toward you. Your encounter by a moonlit lake forces him to confront his growing feelings and the vows he’s sworn to uphold.

The candlelight flickered softly against the stone walls of the church, shadows dancing as you sat in the quiet pews, somehow meditative. The friar —“Saint,” they called him— lingered near the altar, pretending to busy himself with extinguishing the candles, but his eyes kept drifting back to you, though it wasn't the first time.

≪She’s leaving late again.≫

He had noticed that you have this kind of routine where you'd just leave the church late at night and, right after you'd go out for a walk on a nearby forest.

When you finally decided to leave and slipped out through the creaking church doors, something in his chest tightened. For a moment, he stood frozen—then he grabbed his cloak. ≪It’s just to make sure she’s safe≫, he thought to himself, in a sort of exculpatory manner, but the flutter in his chest told a different story.

You were walking in an easy pace, enjoying every step on your way to ≪God knows where≫, while behind you was him, following the footprints of your steps at a prudent distance. They take him to the edge of the church's grounds, where the snow-covered forest begins. He hesitates for a moment, knowing he shouldn't go further, but watching you get away he just let his impulse win and went behind you.

He tries to hide behind the trees as he walks, not wanting you to spot him yet. He watches you walk, admiring how serene and beautiful you look.

As you keep walking, you suddenly get the chills, and can't figure out quite yet if it's because you're cold or because you're feeling someone looking at you, but you quicken the pace... just in case.

His heart is pounding hard, his hands shaking a little. He's nervous and scared, but he knows he has to go on. He silently prays that he won't get caught as he continues trailing you, keeping enough distance to not be seen. He can't help but wonder where you're going and why you're out here in the cold, isolated forest.

After a few more minutes walking, you arrive at a place with no trees at all, a part of the forest that actually has a lake in it and just a few trees around... you try to be as quiet as possible, just to be able to listen if there's anyone's footsteps behind you.

He can see you becoming more alert. His heart is racing, the tension in the air palpable. He takes a slow, deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. He knows he's at a crossroads - he can either make himself known now or slip away back into the forest. But the pull you have on him is too strong. He steps into the clearing, his footsteps now audible in the quiet. His heart is beating so fast he can feel it in his ears. He looks at you, standing by the edge of the lake, the moonlight illuminating your figure.

He can see in your stance that you're tense and alert, clearly aware of him being there, and still not turning back to see who is it.

"Why are you following me?..."

He seems taken aback by your question. He wasn't expecting you to guess that he was following you. He takes a few tentative steps closer, his heart thudding in his chest.

"I... I'm sorry," he says quietly, his voice betraying his nervousness, "I wasn't trying to hide. I just... I just couldn't stay away."

Recognizing the voice, you immediately turn back, facing him. "Saint? Why are you..."

He stands there in the clearing, the moonlight illuminating his face, his hands clenched into fists at his sides

"I... I don't know," he admits, his voice barely more than a whisper, "I couldn't stop myself. I wanted to... check if you were okay..."

All you can do is smile at how obvious he's being. You turn around once more, facing the lake again and after a few minutes he can hear your voice again. "You see... this is my favorite place, I come here after praying or confessing something... it's like my own made ritual."

He takes a few more steps towards you, closing the distance a bit more, looking at your back as you face the lake.

"It's beautiful here," he says softly, his voice tinged with awe, "I can understand why you'd come here. It feels... peaceful."

Silence. A comfortable silence. The cold air and the moonlight reflect in the water.

"May I know your name, Saint?"

He hesitates for a moment, his mind racing. He knows he should keep his distance, keep himself apart from you. But his heart is overruling his judgment.

"Malthus," he says quietly, his voice catching slightly, "My name is Malthus."

You smile still admiring the lake "I like it."

Malthus feels a small thrill at your response, a flutter in his heart. It's such a simple comment, but somehow it means a lot to him. He steps closer still, emboldened by your reaction, his eyes never leaving your silhouette.

"Can I ask you something, please?" he asks quietly, his voice slightly hoarse. You nod, silently.

Malthus takes a deep breath, bracing himself. He knows he's walking on thin ice, but he needs to know.

"Why didn't you tell me to leave?" he asks softly, "You knew I was following you... Why didn't you send me away?"

"You're a friar, my saint, I would never tell a friar to leave me alone."

He feels a mix of relief and disbelief, that you would respect his calling so much that you wouldn't reject him outright. He looks at you, the shadows cast by the trees and the light of the moon creating strange patterns on the ground.

"You… you didn't think it was strange?" he asks, his voice betraying the turmoil inside him.

"Yes, it is strange, but I guess you have your reasons, right? You're God's voice after all."

Malthus nods slightly, his throat feeling tight.

"I... I have my reasons," he admits quietly, not knowing how much more he should reveal.

You sit in the thin layer of snow, still contemplating the cold water of the lake.

After a moment, Malthus gingerly lowers himself next to you, careful not to intrude too close, but close enough that he can almost feel the heat from your body. You both sit in silence for a few moments, the quietude of the forest only heightened by his proximity to you.

He can't help but steal a glance at you out of the corner of his eye, taking in your profile, the sharp angle of your jawline, the curve of your lips...

Malthus feels a strong need to speak, to break the silence between you, but he's paralyzed by the intensity of his feelings. His heart beats so hard it's almost painful, his breathing shallow and ragged. The word that finally comes out of his mouth is barely a whisper.

"Why?"

You quickly turned your gaze toward him. "What do you mean, why?".

Malthus feels his breath hitch in his throat as you look at him. The soft light from the moon bathes your face in a silvery glow, making you look almost ethereal. He hesitates for a moment, gathering his thoughts, the question burning in his mind.

"Why... why don't you mind... me being here with you...?" he asks, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart.

"I'm mostly alone, I don't mind some company" You turn your gaze back to the lake again.

Malthus feels a strange mixture of relief and disbelief at your answer. He's still unsure why you're not rejecting him, why you're accepting his presence, but he's too drawn to you to question it to much.

"You... you don't think it's... inappropriate...?" he asks hesitantly, "A friar... alone with a woman... in such a secluded place..."

"Do you?" you ask back.

Malthus bites his lower lip, his mind racing. Of course he knows it's inappropriate. But the pull he feels towards you overrides any sense of caution or danger.

"... no," he admits quietly, his voice almost a whisper, "I don't. I don't think it's inappropriate"

"Then is not" you smile as you notice a swan sleeping in the calm water of the lake.

Malthus nods quietly, feeling a strange sense of contentment at your casual acceptance. He keeps looking at you for a few moments more, the moonlight illuminating the soft contour of your face and he can only feel a strange mixture of guilt and bliss.

He turns his gaze back to the lake, letting the peacefulness of the lake and the quiet of the night settle over him. But his thoughts keep returning to you, to how close you are, to the smell of your hair and the memory of your smile.

He glances at you from the corner of his eye, feeling as if he's on the edge of a precipice.

The different situations you two were in were so contrasting. On one hand, you were calm and relaxed, enjoying the cold of the place, the view of the lake illuminated by the full moon's light, and the company of the friar by your side. On the other hand, he was fighting an internal war between his feelings and the guilt he felt because of them. He wanted to be close to you—oh, fuck, he did. He even wanted to feel you, even if just in a hug, but he knew that a saint shouldn’t feel that. He felt so guilty for thinking that…

Malthus was struggling internally, the turmoil of his emotions boiling just under the surface. His breathing was ragged, his hands clenching and unclenching unconsciously, his heart thudding so loudly he was sure you must be able to hear it. You notice his palpable nervousness.

"Are you okay, saint?"

His heart skips a beat as he realizes that you've noticed his unease, and he quickly tries to compose himself

"I... I'm fine," he manages to say shakily, his voice betraying his inner turmoil, "I'm... just... a little cold, that's all..."

You tried to reach out for his forehead, but leaving your hand a few inches apart of it "Oh... I forgot you're I friar I'm not supposed to... touch you but... are you feeling sick or something?"

"No... no, I'm not sick," he stammers, the words coming out like a plea, "I... I'm just..." he trails off, his voice catching in his throat.

He wants to lean into your touch, to feel your skin on his, to know what it's like to be closer to you. But he knows he can't, that it would be a violation of his vows, a sin against God and against yourself

"I... I'm just... cold," he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes fixed on the slender fingers that are almost but not quite touching him.

"Oh, well then..." you pull your hand apart and turn back your head to the beautiful lake.

He had been so close, so close to feeling your touch, to quenching the burning hunger that was consuming him.

"Please..." he blurts out before he can stop himself, his voice filled with desperation, "Please, don't... don't pull away..."

You look at him, surprise reflecting in your eyes. "Excuse me?.. Have I heard.. well?"

He closes his eyes and takes a deep, shuddering breath, the words spilling out like a dam has burst

"Don't... don't pull away," he repeats, his voice ragged, "Please..."

"But I'm not supposed to-"

Malthus almost laughs at the irony of it all. Here he is, a man of God, begging to be touched, to be allowed to break his vows. But he can't help it, the need to be closer to you is overriding everything else. He opens his eyes and looks at you, his gaze pleading.

"I know... I know that but... but please... it's killing me..."

You look at him with empathy as you tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. Your hand lingers for a moment, gently running through his hair, a quiet gesture of comfort and understanding.

Malthus feels your fingers brush against his hair, the simple gesture sending a jolt through his body. It's the first time you've touched him, the first time he's felt your skin against his in what feels like an eternity.

"I... I..." he tries to speak, but the words get stuck in his throat.

You smile, opening your arms in invitation for a hug. "Come here" your voice as soft as it can be, almost sounds like the new favorite melody to his ears.

He wants to accept your embrace, he wants to bury himself in your warmth, in the safety of your arms, but he hesitates, his mind still caught in a battle between desire and duty

"I... I shouldn't..." he protests, his voice quivering, "I can't... I can't… I'm a friar…"

But even as the words leave his mouth he can feel his resolve weakening. The need to be close to you, to feel your body against his, is becoming too strong to resist any longer. He takes a deep breath, his whole body trembling, and slowly, almost hesitantly, leans into your arms as you immediately start caressing his hair.

He's lost in a storm of emotion, relief and bittersweet pleasure warring inside him, the feeling of your body against his is so much more than he ever thought he'd have. After a few moments he speaks, his voice soft and quiet.

"Why are you... being so kind to me...?"

"Why not?"

"I... I'm a friar," he says again, almost as if he needs to hear himself say it to remind himself of his duties and obligations, "I'm not... supposed to…" he trails off, not knowing how to continue.

He was supposed to remain aloof, above worldly desires and attachments. He was supposed to be an example, not a man plagued by forbidden feelings... but being in your arms right now, feeling your body against his, all those rules and expectations seem so distant, so unimportant. He buries his face deeper into your shoulder, breathing in the scent of your skin, letting the simple pleasure of your touch wash over him.

You don't give him an answer, instead you just keep holding and caressing him. You both stay minutes like that, just enjoying the calm silence of all this situation.

"You're a nice person.. I've seen you at church, looking at me..." you say breaking the silence.

Malthus feels both guilty and caught out as you mention how you've seen him looking at you. He hadn't thought it was that obvious, hadn't realized you'd noticed his silent glances and stolen glances. He hesitates for a moment, then reluctantly nods

"I... I've been watching you," he confesses, his voice a whisper, "I can't... I can't help it. I..."

"Shush, no need to confess anything, I'm not recriminating you" you reassure.

"I know... I know you're not," he murmurs, "But it still... it still feels like I'm doing something wrong. Like I'm violating the vows I've made, the trust the community has in me…”

"No one will know about this though" you say, trying to comfort him.

Malthus feels a pang of guilt mixed with relief at your words. He knows what you're saying is technically true. No one would know about this, about their quiet embrace in the night, about the way he was clinging to you like a lifeline. But even so, the idea of keeping this secret, of deceiving the people who trusted him, of going behind their backs…

"It... it feels wrong," he murmurs, his voice thick with internal conflict, "It feels like a betrayal..."

You sigh at his words, knowing how guilty he might feel.

He hears your soft sigh and feels a fresh wave of guilt, thinking that you might've deceived or something. He glances up at you, his eyes full of regret, his heart torn between his feelings for you and his duty. He pulls back slightly, his hands still resting lightly on your waist, but creating a slight distance between you.

"I... I'm sorry," he says, his voice barely above a whisper, "I'm sorry I'm being so weak. I'm... supposed to be a friar, a holy man. I'm not… I'm not supposed to feel like this...."

You cradle his face in both your hands, making him close his eyes at the feel, and plant a quick, tender little peck kiss on his lips. "Calm down..." you say right after with soothe voice.

Malthus is stunned into silence for a moment as you brush your lips against his, his breath catching in his throat. It's the first time he's ever kissed anyone, the first time he's ever felt the sweet, gentle pressure of a kiss. His heart is racing, his mind reeling, and all he can think is that he wants, for the first time in his life, to go against his vows, to ignore his duties, to do something solely for his own pleasure.

He looks at you, his eyes wide and his face completely red. He's silent, as if he's afraid that if he speaks he'll say something he'll regret. With embarrassment in his gaze he buries into your embrace again, as if hiding. You chuckle softly at his action, your hands automatically holding and caressing him, just like before.

"You should have followed me earlier."

[aibazuos]

I’ve began watching Hilda Furacão (Hilda Hurricane) a Brazilian miniseries about a prostitute (Hilda) and a saint (Malthus) falling in love amidst political turmoil in Brazil.

There’s a lot of themes of corruption.

More especially of Malthus being corrupted by Hilda and the guilt he feels over it while his mother and religious leader do their best to prevent his corruption from happening.

It’s really good, I can’t recommend it enough.

But I’ve also been re watching Supernatural.

And would you look at that. There’s also two main characters where a sinner corrupts a saint. Where a man corrupts an angel. And then the other angels try to stop THE angel from being corrupted and to stop him from the seeing the man. Maybe even make him hate the man.

That’s is to say that, maybe the saints/angels have been corrupted, but I’ve been blessed, blessed with visions of Dean Winchester as Hilda and Castiel as Malthus.

(I couldn’t capture Misha Collins likeness no matter how much time I spent on the sketch, this is the best I could do. I’ll do my best to learn how to draw his face)

I unfortunately don’t have the time to do anything more with this idea than a few sketches (i have so many things to do from college omg i just want to be free again). HOWEVER, if you do/see anything with this idea, or has a done/seen anything like that please please please send it to me. I NEED IT. Like, it’s unhealthy how much I need more of things like this.

I don’t need credits, I don’t care, just make sure that it reaches my hand so I can see it. So I can consume it.

That’s it, thank you for you attention

(Also, thanks everyone for liking/reblogging/commenting in my last post. That fanart took me a lot of work and I’m very happy that people like it)

[happythymes]

Cloth Corruptor: part 1

Pairing: Malthus X Reader(fem)

Word count: 1.5k+

Summary: Roberto knows his cousin and best friend well. He had hoped one day that all his meddling would work. It's too bad that they both happen to be some of the most dense people he knows.

A.N: This will be a little mini series with maybe three or so parts. I have three lined out right now but may need to break it up further. I did change the beginning up a bit from the sneak peak. I hope you guys enjoy! Please be a bit gentle as I really haven't bothered to write in about 10+ years :)

Part: 1(here), 2, 3

“What if you just told this guy how you felt? He could feel the same.” Roberto pondered out loud as he took a drag from his cigarette.

You let out a dramatic sigh and rolled your eyes at your cousin's questioning. “I’ve told you it wouldn’t matter. Maybe I was meant to just bake goods and that’s it.”

“You keep rolling your eyes that hard and they’ll get stuck.”

“Are you here as family or a reporter?” You sneered at him.

The apron you were taking off is quickly flung into his face. “I have to get the order of jam for the torticas de guayaba from Mrs. Nenem.” You set a new cup of black coffee and a few fresh sequilhos in front of him. “Can you watch the shop for a little bit?”

You start to gather the requested items for your trade with the jam maker. Out of all the things you could whip up in a kitchen, jams were simply not one of them.

“Bribing me are we?”

“Absolutely.”

He takes a bite of one of the cookies and lets out a pleased hum. “I think you could ask me to murder someone if the compensation was your baked goods.”

Chuckling you give him a quick peck on the cheek before heading out the door with your bags.

“Just think about what I said!” Roberto calls out hurriedly before you can leave.

With a final wave of your hand you set out for Mrs. Nenem’s house. For a brief moment you feel guilty as you are thinking of your mutual friend. If he knew who he was always campaigning for you to confess to… you think even as an atheist he'd pray for you.

“Mrs. Nenem? It’s me, I’m so sorry I’m a few minutes late. Roberto is going to be back for a little bit!” You walked into the quaint little house calling out for the older woman. Waiting for a brief minute you are a bit puzzled by the silence as you move to the kitchen. You wonder if maybe she was running late on other orders and was outside working. You decide to set the bags of baked goods down on her counter before looking outside. Maybe you would be able to see her out the window? 

Your heart skips a beat and a warmth settles into your cheeks as you see who is sitting by the fire instead. “Saint?” Feet automatically carry you to the backyard once you realize he is here.

The Saint doesn’t seem to hear you at first, he's in such deep thought that the world around him no longer exists. You study him for a moment since the chance doesn’t present itself often nowadays. When you two were younger you’d catch yourself staring at Malthus every moment it was possible. He seems so much more filled out than the last time he was home. That was almost a year ago so you know a lot can change in that span of time, though you suspect all of the jabuticaba jam is probably playing a part. Maybe it was the habit as well? His hair was also still the same as always. You honestly don’t remember a time that his hair wasn’t styled in his infamous bowl cut. The thought causes you to let out a small giggle. He jumps a bit as he hears the sound coming from where you are in the doorway, you feel a bit guilty for startling him so much. Those deep brown eyes cut across the courtyard with a look that you can’t quite pinpoint. 

Neither of you say anything for a few moments as you walk towards him, once you are close enough Malthus stands up slowly. Standing next to him reminds you just how much taller he was than you. 

The moment is broken by a stray cinder landing on your cheek, the sharp pain causes a shocked yelp to leave you.

Malthus's hands instantly come to hold your face. “Are you ok?” 

“I was just surprised.” You say as you begin to back away from him.

One hand quickly comes to pull you in by your waist as the other turns your face to the side. He moves from holding your chin to cradling your non injured check. Just when you thought the moment could not feel more intimate, he leans closer to inspect your cheek better. 

“I'm okay.” You softly say to him. With little options your hands come to rest against his chest. His habit is soft under your palms. 

You watch him as he continues to look over the spot it landed on. The closeness was causing your face to warm unbearably. The heat from his body being so close, the soft feeling and warmness from his hand cradling your face so gently, warmth from his hands on your hip, the care in his eyes. It all felt like too much and not enough at the same time. You were so close that you could see the flecks of honey in his eyes. You'd never been near enough before to notice it. Plenty of times you imagined scenarios similar to this, you tried not to though. What you told Roberto was the truth. There could only be your imagination and nothing more. 

“I promise I'm alright, Saint.” In hopes to convey more reassurance, you move a hand to hold the one on your face. 

His breath hitches for a brief moment as your eyes meet again. The air between the two of you feels as though it is becoming thicker. You worry for a moment that the simple touch will end the moment. The Saint was never one for physical touch. His mouth opens but the words fail to come out.

“Malthus, are you well?” His eyes flicker to your lips as the question falls out. The brunette's face scrunches and he tries to find his voice. The Saint comes to rest his forehead against your own, you close your eyes and try to think about what is happening.

In the distance you recognize the sound of the front door opening. You clear your throat and slowly untangle yourself from him. So many questions are swirling around in your brain. 

The distance grows between you two in many ways rapidly. Shame sets into your bones as the Saint turns his back to you. That indulgence was disgusting and you knew it. You turn on your heels and begin to head into the kitchen. 

“Oh thank goodness you're still here! I'm so sorry it took me so long to get back. I got stopped by your Aunt Ciana on the way back from church and lost track of time. Did you get a chance to catch up with my little Saint?”

“It’s okay, I was a bit late myself. Roberto actually came back with him.”

At the mention of her son you couldn't help but look out the window. It makes your heart lurch painfully when you find him already staring in at you. What a treacherous organ.

A gasp has you pulling your focus back to the jam maker. Panic seizes you for a brief moment. Could she have known what happened outside between you two?

Her hand rests gently on your cheek just as his had earlier. “What happened to you?”

“It was just the fire playing a trick. All is well.” 

She looks over you for a second before she is satisfied. “Do you still have time for tea today?” 

You shake your head. “I hate to run but I won't be able to stay today. I have to get back to the shop; I had Roberto waiting for me.”

“Of course!” She squeezes your shoulders lightly before gathering the variety of jams you asked for. You take that time to unload the bags you brought with you so that they can be used for the jams. “Here we are dear. Are you sure you didn’t want any other ones? You're always so kind as to include extra things for me.”

You hesitate before lowering your voice. “If you think Saint won’t notice, could I get a small jar of jabuticaba? I’d like to make some desserts for him before he goes back to Belo Horizonte.”

Mrs. Nenem flashes a grateful smile before giving you a hug. “I’m so lucky to know my little Saint has such a caring friend like you.” You swallow the guilt down as you return the show of affection. You watch as she pours some from quite a large jar into one of the small ones she has.

“Are you sure nothing for yourself?”

 You nod your head once. “Yes. I’ll take my leave now, I have a few more things to finish before café da tarde rolls around.”

The two of you bid farewell for the time being so you could make it back to your shop. You swore you could feel the heat of the Saint’s stare but refused to look back again.

[whimsialt]

i may be a tiny bit obsessed with this show

[charleskinbotekin]