Chapter Text
I wonder if Lucifer were to manifest himself, would he look anything like John Lennon? No, not the stereotypical sort of Red-Skinned Monster with a pitchfork, horns and a tail. I’m talking about the materialization of all things tempting: a compilation of all of the deadliest things that make me, good god, the things that make me want to sin. The utmost exhibition of everything meant to be alluring, to draw in a victim so swiftly that before even realizing, they’re trapped. The sickening beauty, so charming that even God Herself might find temptation in the grace that surrounds Him. In the sort of sins that call themselves Deadly, the boy from this Wealthy House of Lennon had a stranglehold on all of them.
Pride had nothing on the ego of John Lennon. Cloaked in Blasphemy, dripping in tendrils of Ego, tied up with Fear, and armored in Pleasure: he finds a way to turn every head, no matter the occasion. The things that he seemed to lack, were always made up for by the glint of his white smile, his amber eyes, or his arrogant scoff. No sir, Pride had nothing on John Lennon.
Envy manifests in John’s possessive nature, the airtight grip his hand has around the neck of the things he claims. Every student at St. Edward’s College knew better than to mess with the things that John holds as his own. Even looking at something or someone in the wrong way, I’d be running for the hills.
Because what comes next is Wrath. This kind of anger is something that little experience, but we all know that it’s there. It comes in the angry stamping out of a Woodbine cigarette, revving of the engine of his 1990 Jaguar XJS, or the sound of his rich laugh before he sicks his cronies on you. Pride bolstered coolness drapes a blanket over the reality that is the Bad Temper that John tends to hide. But a dam made of Ego can only hold back a reservoir of enmity for so long, and once that dam breaks. There’s a reason so many fear the highly-respected eldest boy of the Lennon household.
And while sloth may not envelope this Member of the Lennon Family like the rest of the grave offenses, time stands still around him. He infiltrates your most private thoughts, planting the seeds of himself throughout every waking thought that enters and exits the minds of those around him: reducing them to something of a parasite, sucking from the Lifeblood that is provide for them. John’s lack of empathy and overall lack of trust files him under a special kind of Sloth that bleeds right into his affinity for all things expensive.
It was no secret that the Lennons were floundering in the sort of wealth that most people would only dream. John especially, was shrouded in a sort of hazy cloud of Greed and Gluttony. Nothing was ever enough for the boy, all of his clothes, objects, hobbies, friends, etc., all of them completely and utterly extravagant. Nothing about John could be bought, not his affection, not his love, and definitely not his mercy. The idea of John putting anything out for anyone was a sort of joke. You didn’t just get to be a part of John’s life, he chose you. And no matter what you were told, nothing you could do or say would ever be enough. Whether it be the cloaks covering his stunning frame, or the amount of sexual partners he was known for, the price point on the backs of these items meant nothing to John. He was never satisfied.
Something about the unquenchable sexual appetite of the boy pushed Lust towards the top of all of the claims to fame that John Lennon’s name carried. Something about the hungry stares, greedy touches, and demanding language had every person in his line of sight bowing to kiss the ground he walked on. But it wasn’t just the nature by which John captured his victims, it was the absolutely beguiling energy that captured every person underneath the boy’s thumb. Erogenous energy rolled off his broad shoulders, it radiated from his heavy footfalls, beckoned you closer with the temptation of a pair of icy gray eyes. His handsome features, miraculous considering the amount of unfortunate happenings within his family, were so enticing. Like the looking down from the top of a very high place and seeing the entirety of the ground splayed below you, that kind of dangerous but absolutely delicious temptation.
Would I say that I was completely gone for the boy? Debatable. Have I found myself drowning in the affection and adoration of John Lennon? Definitely. And, if John Lennon was really Lucifer incarnate? Then I had, without a doubt, sold my soul to an extremely handsome entity dressed in a leather jacket.