#and you get to see how my brain works with weird analogies

[wildemaven]

first anniversary | dieter x poppy

A Sweet Creature

Ava Greene sits down with actor and friend, Dieter Bravo. Hollywood’s new leading man gets candid about life in front of and behind the camera. He talks about his latest movie, his commitment to his sobriety and his newest role— husband?!

Ava Greene: You're approaching three years sober now, how are you feeling?

Dieter Bravo: Probably the best I’ve felt in a long time. Sobriety is a day to day progression that I take very seriously, and I try to not lose sight of that even when I’m having bad days. Though, I’m grateful bad days have been few and far between at this point in my sobriety. I can attribute that to the support system I have built for myself through friends, family, my sponsor that I still work with and most importantly my wife who keeps me grounded daily. They all continue to keep me in check and remind me how awesome my life is, especially right now. Staying clean is a full time commitment, and it’s really a beautiful thing.

AG: You followed in your famous parents footsteps by going into acting and your career and struggles with sobriety have been well documented but your parents have rarely commented publicly, are they supportive of your work and your journey?

DB: For me, I don’t need them to make a show of it by commenting or sharing their thoughts publicly to know they support me. There was a point in time where they did all they could do for me, but ultimately it had to be my choice to make the decision to get clean. Thankfully, we’ve been rebuilding our relationship over the last few years. And being in the public eye for most of our lives, the last thing we want is for outsiders thinking they have a say in our lives. In short, yes I have very supportive parents in all aspects of my life and I’m so happy for that.

AG: This is your second project since rehab, are you viewing this as a comeback or a fresh start?

DB: Comeback? I didn’t know I left… Kidding! Sure, some might say it’s a comeback. A fresh start. Whatever analogy best fits the narrative is fine by me— and I don’t mean that negatively in any sense. I mean, you’ve known me long enough to know I just try not to focus on any of that stuff, messes with my fucking brain waves. I just see it as me doing what I love with a new perspective and a different approach to choosing what projects I’m going to give my time to than I have in the past.

AG: What can you tell us about this project and the character you're playing?

DB: I had the best f*ckin’ time while shooting this film— sorry, but the emphasis was needed. I was really drawn to the vibrancy that this script evoked, even with the serious nature of the storyline and characters. I couldn’t stop thinking or talking about for weeks afterwards. I’d sit with my wife at breakfast and we’d discuss the script and my character for what felt like hours. I knew after I heard her feedback that I needed to be apart of this film— she might have said I’d be stupid to say no to it, in her own loving way.

The film is really about the process of rediscovering yourself. Navigating the challenges that come along with being at your lowest point and leaning on the ones who have been there for you. It’s about finding love in its purest form when you never thought you were deserving of it.

I found bits of myself in this character as we were filming, it was very much a cathartic experience for me. I guess you could say it was art imitating life in a weird way.

AG: There's already been some buzz about this year's award season, do you think this is finally your year?

DB: Ooooh! Is it too presumptuous for me to say yes?! I’ve started dusting the spot where I plan for it to go. I sound like some sort of pompous idiot! Now no one is going to go see it!*

I take it back!

In all seriousness, ‘cause I’m sure Poppy and my agent will be rolling their eyes when they read this. If all I get is a couple nominations, that alone feels like winning. A shiny statue would be nice though— just saying.

AG: You've talked often about your love of art and you recently purchased a gallery. Are you planning to publicly pursue other creative endeavors?

DB: I won’t be joining American Idol anytime soon if that’s what you’re asking. Oh, you weren’t referring to my ability to hold a note during our many karaoke nights— noted!

How did you put it? Other creative endeavors? I’ve got a few art pieces in the works right now that I’m itching to dive back into when I get home. I’ve got a major gallery in LA lined up later in the year for an artist spotlight exhibit, they’ll be housing some of my work through the next year. Shoutout to my wife for getting that all lined up while I was away shooting this film.

AG: What's next for Dieter Bravo? Any other projects lined up you can tell us about?

DB: I’m looking forward to some downtime I have coming up. Poppy has the summer off, so we’ll get to finally live that newlywed life. Settle into the role of doting husband while she does her thing at the gallery.

AG: Off the record, if you got married and didn't tell anyone I will kick yours and Poppy’s ass!

DB: We’re celebrating our one year this month actually. We eloped quietly last year right after we got engaged— wanted to keep it to ourselves for a little while. Which reminds me, you and Bryony should hop on a call with Poppy after this. Seeing as I let the cat out of the bag and this is our announcement— surprise!

Huge shoutout out to @gnpwdrnwhiskey for allowing me to borrow her Ava from Conversations with a Movie Star for this. Ava was so gracious and even wrote the questions herself. I’m so grateful for Lellen and all her support and advice she had given me throughout the writing process of Sweet Creature!

Sweet Creature Celebration

[the-hydroxian-artblog]

I like that your art looks like a reheated pizza that was put in the microwave for too long so its all bubbly and melty and such

The analogy makes sense and that's an observation I can really appreciate. As a pizza fanatic however please use a toaster oven if you have one. I only reheat my pizza in a toaster oven, using specific settings that ensure bread is made crispy and the cheese melts again, but without much bubbling or the bread charring (There are settings on mine that switch between "Warm" to "Bake" to "Toast" to "Broil", etc, and what I do is set it to Warm, then the temperature knob to 400+, and then the timer to 8 minutes for one slice, 10 for two, and 11 at most three. Depending on your tastes, the type and quality of the pizza's dough you're working with, along with the type of toaster you yourself use of course, you're likely going to have to experiment to achieve optimal results.). But seriously like I need you to understand you're speaking to someone with "eccentric Jojo side-character" levels of specificity when it comes to reheating pizza and I needed to physically withhold myself from responding with "IN THE MICROWAVE?? FOR TOO LONG?? WHO" which is somewhat hypocritical since I also used to use the microwave before I figured out toaster ovens, and reheating food with the microwave can be very difficult to get right, if possible at all. And it's also presumptuous of me to even assume your own practices since you're just giving an example, and not stating specifically how you individually reheat pizza. A weaker Hydro would take this as an insult but I want to stress that I do know what you mean. I know i also sound insane but there's so much context behind my response and I feel a compulsion to write out this response to its fullest for you to understand the weird places and leaps in logic my brain just went through My brushes definitely have a blobby look to them, especially when viewed close up, so I totally see what you mean. I also think people should reheat food however way they want and there's definitely no wrong way to do it

[flowercrownmickey]

every reference and easter egg in how to disappear (or at least all the ones i can remember)

how many did you catch? Massive SPOILERS under the cut!!

baba yaga (Barbara Yaga, her ownership of the house ian rents is one of the few things carried over from the original wilde life au concept that i was going for in the first chapter)

i wanted to name the town in Oklahoma something weird and a little creepy but not use a real place. the thing is Oklahoma already pretty much has towns named with every weird creepy combo of words possible (seriously, go skim a map sometime, you will see some wild stuff). In the end i decided on Owl Creek because it's a real name but it's actually not one place, but the name of multiple waterways all across the state. 👍

the rainbow fuck you socks are real socks (i used a photo of them as the cover for the how to disappear playlist) that @michellemisfit sent to me as a gift, i couldnt resist using them in the story.

Glenchad's technique for haunting/traumatizing Ian is inspired by the x-files episode How the Ghosts Stole Christmas

Glen himself is based on and named after Glen McReynolds from one of my favorite movies: Everybody Wants Some!! (the little inside joke i have with myself is that Glenchad hates Ian because Glen in the movie hates pitchers, and in one of my favorite fics, Love is a Ballfield, Ian is a pitcher.) (yeah it gets pretty convoluted inside my brain lol)

the infomercial ian watches on one of the local tv stations is a real product that i found by googling for the weirdest products sold through infomercials

the channel LOCAL 58 is of course an easter egg for the analog horror series by Kris Straub (of whom im a big fan)

the title of the fic itself is also a reference to another work by Kris Straub, a book of short psychological horror stories called Ichor Falls: A Visitor's Guide

mickeyism nickname "livestrong" is of course a reference to famous cyclist Lance Armstrong

Norma's is named for Norma Jennings, a character from Twin Peaks who owns and operates the Double R Diner, a major location used in the TV series.

I was a huge Newsies fan and had a crush on half the cast of the movie as a tween. Christian Bale wasn't my personal favorite but I figured he'd be the most recognizable reference for the general audience!

mickeyism nickname "Cowboy" was the newsie-name that Christian Bale's character went by in Newsies.

Ian and his Taco Bell drop off: I searched food delivery reddits for common horror stories from delivery drivers and turns out the prank of telling a driver there is a cash tip tucked somewhere on the front porch and then watching/filming (and possibly even posting to the internet) the person searching fruitlessly for the tip is disgustingly not uncommon.

the "old-as-fuck British sitcom set in a department store" is Are Your Being Served? - a show i simply remember being on all the time on the local PBS stations back when we still had TV and would just have to watch whatever was on!

Mickey refers to Oklahoma City as "The City" which is the way many locals refer to it.

I had to include Ian getting an order for Subway as a little homage to one of my absolute favorite fics of all time: Intro to Quantum Dating by @spoonfulstar

Ian is flying down the road on his bicycle bearing a single meatlover's footlong. - this is a joke about Ian's giant penis. But he is also actually delivering a meatlover's footlong.

"John D" - is short for John Doe because of course they wouldnt register for the grubhub app with a real name.

the werewolf pack was a little bit inspired by the Hale family from Teen Wolf, the werewolves from grizzly hills in world of warcraft, and the aesthetic of the broke-ass snobby british aristocrats from The Gentlemen TV series.

"Mother Selene" referenced by the pack leader just before the werewolves transform, refers to Selene the Greek goddess of the moon. There's heaps of history from all over europe on the origins of the werewolf myth. for my werewolves i chose to go with the ancient Greeks since "lycanthropy" is a greek word and i had decided that in this universe, the greek gods were fey. Selene was a powerful fey who created lycanthropy and tied the malady to the moon, she made herself the center of a cult of worship and used her werewolves as a vicious personal army to torment and control the humans who lived in what she considered to be her domain. When Ian reaches the center of the hedge maze, the statue he climbs is a statue of Selene (ian mistakes her crescent moon crown she is usually depicted with for horns).

ian in his mind refers to the werewolves as lunatics, just a little tease as the etymology of the word is a madness caused by the moon.

i decided vampires are one of the few things in this universe that dont exist, Mickey references the myth as originating from Bram Stoker's Dracula (though he doesnt specify this), a book that one could argue is about real estate. which is both a joke but also please read this incredible post by @gardenerian because its also...not not not a joke.

as a huge fan of Two of Your Earth Minutes by @the-rat-wins, i absolutely HAD to work in a joke in which mickey calls Ian an alien

in chapter 4 the vibe i wanted to capture for Norma's was that of Merlotte's Bar and Grill from True Blood, and many of the characters are based off of or named after True Blood characters.

Eric is named after Eric Northman

Dawn and Tara and Jessica are all characters who at some point were waitresses at Merlotte's. (Though later I realized Dawn and Tara are also iconic Buffy characters, which I happily retcon as being an extra reference)

Glen being a fan of China Beach is a reference to Jenny Nicholson's incredible feature length video essay about the vampire diaries tv series

the fey named paula is named after canon ian and mickey's PO from season 10

the fey named cooper is named after agent dale cooper from twin peaks

aunt barb trades her chickens for an RV - a convoluted reference to the myth of baba yaga having a hut that can move around on giant chicken legs.

ADDING ONE THING: in chapter one Mickey implies Ian is a delinquent and in chapter four Ian calls Mickey a miscreant. this was important to me for some reason but i dont know if its a thing anyone noticed 🥲😆

okay....i think that's it?? for now anyway~ xoxo

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Just One More

I love your SaSi fics! Might I request some touch-starved analogical? No pressure tho! *disappears in a poof of smoke, leaving a plate of cookies for you* – amateurmasksmith

hello! i'd hate to be a bother but i love your writing so much and would love to see some more logan hurt/comfort? Any type works but there isn't enough highschool au!Logan overworking himself and the others not noticing until he's completely burnt out and realising that Logan is a lot more damaged than they thought in my opinion <3- anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: overworking, burn out

Pairings: analogical

Word Count: 2377

Just one more. Just one more. Just one more.

It's been just one more for the past hour and a half, but that's beside the point. If he thinks about how much he still has to do, he'll get so overwhelmed he can't do anything but stare at the mountains of work piling up in front of him. But if he thinks about it as just one more, then he can do just one more. And he'll do it over and over and over again until there aren't any one mores to be just.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. He's getting lyrical again. Anytime he starts to wax poetic he knows Roman's overworking tendencies are rubbing off on him again.

Now, that's not to say that Roman always overworks, it's just that out of their friend group, one of them has this habit of pulling all-nighters and downing coffee as though it could replace the blood in his veins if he tried hard enough, and one of them has a color coded schedule that marks out just how much he can get away with before he has to take a break to drink water, eat food, or recover some semblance of sanity before he loses it to equations and spreadsheets beyond number. Said schedule might have been, ahem, put off for a little bit too long in order to allow for such repeated actions as just one more, but that's beside the point. Beside several points, actually, and he'd rather not think about it right now when he should be focusing on the just one mores.

His pen scribbles down the answer and without blinking, he picks up the page and flips it over so he can start working on the next problem. He's already broken down the respective equations by the time his brain catches up to the fact that this is not, in fact, just one more.

Just one more.

What time is it? He doesn't know. He doesn't particularly care. He has work to do, that's far more important. Besides, it's not as though he'll suffer egregiously if he works a little later than he's supposed to. He's the one who allocates his time, if he has an issue with how he's spending it, he'll take it up with himself later. After this one. After this next one. Just one more.

He blinks. Oh, his eyes were closed. That's annoying. How is he supposed to work with his eyes closed? His gives his head a good shake and promptly cries out from the pain. That's bizarre, when did his headache get so bad? He's supposed to drink water every fifteen minutes to keep his fluid intake constant, and that helps keep the headaches at bay. He reaches out blindly for the water bottle and gropes thin air. That's weird. His water bottle should be right there. He turns his head to look—

He cries out in pain again. That's not right. Why is his neck so sore? He's supposed to take breaks to look around to make sure his muscles don't get too stiff from staring at the same place all day. Come to think of it, he's also supposed to be doing his eye relaxation too to make sure he doesn't focus in too hard and risk losing his peripheral vision. Granted, that is more common in fields where attention to fine detail is much more common, but it can't hurt to be cautious. In this case, it's hurting him not to be cautious. Perhaps he's focused in too deep…missed the forest for the trees…and now it's hard to see…isn't it a challenge to be free?

Now he's rhyming.

What time is it?

His hand flops uselessly down to the side. It's burning. Is it burning? No, pins and needles, that's the term. That's the term for when his circulation isn't making it all the way to the end of his fingers, why is that? How can that be? It hasn't been that long, has it? He has work to do, he can't have been so careless with his time that he's forgotten he has work to do? No, he'll rally himself to do just one more.

Just one more.

His hand clatters uselessly against the desk.

Just one more.

His notebook slides off into his lap and splays out on the floor like a corpse.

Just one more.

His eyes slide shut.

Just one more.

He falls forward.

Just one more.

He hits the desk and something is—is—

Just one more.

***

Alright, Virgil's getting nervous.

Not that it's a wild thing for Virgil to get nervous, but it is wild that it's Logan that's making him nervous. Logan's like the beacon of work-life balance, which is why it's fucking weird that Logan of all people isn't here, at breakfast, like they planned last week and confirmed literally every day up until yesterday. Yeah. That's weird. Logan's not here and he's almost a full hour late and Virgil is getting pretty fucking nervous about it.

The clock keeps ticking. And ticking. And ticking.

When it ticks over to yep, Logan's officially a full hour late, Virgil muffles a curse and gets up, stuffing his hands in his pockets. The wind billows around his hood as he hurries across the street, ducking cars and avoiding other people walking around as the sun gets higher and higher and higher. Logan's street isn't far from here, just a few blocks over. His fingers itch at the sound of many passing conversations but he squeezes his hands shut.

No time for music, not right now. Not when he's on a mission.

Logan should've texted if he was running late. Logan always texts when he's running late. And the fact that he hasn't texted saying he's running late means that something is wrong with Logan or something's wrong with Virgil's phone. And given that their group chat has been blowing up all morning as Roman and Janus argue about some video game franchise and who's hotter and who's overrated means that Virgil's phone is working just fine.

So something's wrong with Logan. Which is making Virgil really fucking nervous.

He doesn't even realize his feet have carried him all the way up the stairs to Logan's house until his hand is raised to knock on the door. He does, shuffling a few paces back and waiting until the footsteps on the other side get closer.

"Oh, Virgil," Logan's mom says as she opens the door, "it's good to see you, honey. Are you and Logan still going out for breakfast?"

"Yes, uh, yes, ma'am. I think so, at least."

"You don't need to call me ma'am, honey, you can come in." She waves him inside, smiling kindly when he mumbles something along the lines of I want to 'cause you're always so nice to me, and turns up the stairs. "Logan! Logan, sweetheart, Virgil's here!"

No response. Yep, getting real nervous.

"Do you want to go up, honey? He'll react better if it's you getting him than me."

"Is—is everything okay?"

She looks at him for a moment, her mouth twisting from side to side, before she sighs. "Honestly, I think you've got a better chance of dragging him out of there than I do. He's very reasonable, isn't he? Always coming up with the perfect explanation for what he's doing."

"Uh huh."

"Which is why I think you've got a better chance of just dragging him out to go to breakfast, hm?" She winks as Virgil splutters slightly. "I'm only teasing you, honey. But on a serious note: please, if you can get him out of the house just for a little, I think some fresh air would do him good."

"I'll do my best, ma'am."

"That's a good boy. Go on, now."

Virgil quickly makes his way up the stairs, down the hall, right to Logan's door. Remus made them all signs for their rooms that indicate whether or not they're cool with having people come knock on their doors and for the most part, everyone's parents and siblings have respected them. Logan's has four different markers: Out, In – Disturbable, In – Not Disturbable, and Asleep. The pin is still listed next to Out.

Yep. Yep, yep, yep. All signs lead to being real nervous.

He knocks on the door. "Logan? Hey, L, it's, uh, it's Virgil."

Nothing.

"You, um, you didn't text saying you were late or anything, so I, uh, I got worried."

Still nothing.

"Logan? Logan, I need some sort of sign of life, buddy, or else I'm gonna come in."

When there's yet another round of nothing, he grits his teeth and carefully opens the door, preparing to meet an angry Logan who was just about to text you, Virgil, there wasn't any need for this, or a sleepy Logan who accidentally overslept—it happens, it might have only happened, like, once, but it is possible—or even a Logan who's just about to put his coat on and rush out, but…

But not the Logan who's passed out on his desk, his glasses still on his face and his notebook on the floor.

"Holy shit," Virgil mumbles, rushing over, "Logan? Logan, are you okay?"

He carefully lifts up Logan's arm to get his glasses off his face, wincing at the puddle of drool. The movement makes this high-pitched noise happen and he only belatedly realizes that's Logan making that noise—Logan's still asleep, somehow, but he's—oh, god, Logan's in pain.

"Hey, L," he calls quietly, giving Logan's shoulder a gentle shake, "hey, you gotta wake up, buddy, it's just me, okay? C'mon…"

"V-Virgil?"

"Hey, yeah, you got it, it's me—" he crouches down so Logan can see him— "hey, there he is."

Logan blinks. He's all bleary-eyed and sleep-mussed, his hair sticking up in the wrong places and a crease from where he'd been leaning against his shirt. He blinks a few more times, wincing at the sunlight slanting in through the window, before he cringes and brings a hand to his neck.

"Whoa, hey, what's going on?"

"Hurts."

"What hurts, bud?"

"My head," he whimpers, fuck, okay, Logan's really not okay, "my head hurts."

"Okay. I'm gonna go get you some water, okay? Can I go and do that?"

"Don't leave—wait, please—" a hand grabs his arm as he goes to pull away and Logan lets out another frightened noise— "it's so cold. You're so warm."

"I'm—I'm the warm one? Whoa, hey, hey, hey, I didn't mean it like that," he says, softening his tone when Logan shrinks back, "I just meant that—you know, I run cold as hell and you're…"

He trails off when he sees the tears bubbling at the corners of Logan's eyes. He comes back immediately, going to wrap his arms around Logan's shaking shoulders, muffling a curse when Logan just starts crying harder.

"Hey, hey, buddy, hey, it's okay. I'm right here, I'm not gonna go anywhere, I'm right here. I've got you, you're okay. You're all good, buddy, you hear me? Everything's gonna be okay, you're gonna get all of this out for me, I'm gonna go get you some water and painkillers for your headache, and then we're gonna go get breakfast and have a good day, yeah?"

"I'm sorry—I'm so sorry—"

"Hey, don't worry about it. You know how many times I've been late or missed something? I don't care about that, L, I care about you being okay." He runs his fingers through Logan's hair and Logan shudders. "You…you seem really sensitive right now, bud, have you…have you been dodging Patton's hugs again?"

Logan's silence is telling. Virgil sighs, his breath warming the top of his head, before he pulls away just enough to hook his arms around Logan's waist.

"C'mon," he grunts, lifting Logan up—yes, he is still strong enough to do that, thank you very much, Princey—and carrying him over to the bed, "you need a good cuddle before we go anywhere."

"So much—I had so much work to do, I hadda—I had to finish it, I'm sorry," Logan babbles into Virgil's shoulder as he situates them on the bed, "I didn't—didn't wanna be late, didn't mean to fall asleep, I—"

"Shh, shh, hey, calm down, it's okay. I'm not mad. You're okay, bud, I'm not gonna do anything." He coaxes Logan's head to the crook of his beck. "You're just gonna get some of this out for me, okay? I've got you, you're okay."

"But I gotta do my work!"

"You gotta not let yourself be a wreck first," Virgil points out, not unkindly, "you're stressing yourself out too much and it's gonna be okay, but you gotta—sheesh, Logan, just lemme cuddle you."

"…okay."

It doesn't matter that they end up going to brunch instead of breakfast, not when Logan's finally smiling again. A little sniffly, maybe, but he's at least smiling and his mom ruffles their hair and tells them to order whatever they want—she'll pay them back. No, it's much better because Logan isn't stressing too much about work but instead he's happy and letting Virgil take them on a long walk around the park until they can meet up with the rest of them and Patton can give him a big hug because letting yourself get touch-starved just so you can do your work isn't healthy, Logan. And then of course everyone else wants to hug Logan because Logan's just so huggable.

"Aw, just one more," Remus pouts when Logan says they're all hugging him too much, "just one more?"

Logan looks at Remus, looks at the rest of them, and rolls his eyes fondly as he holds out his arms.

"Just one more."

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[blackwoolncrown]

Wizened, Watching Enshittification

Everything is burning but I want to focus on the internet, because for the past week here on tumblr, every single time I go to reblog a post, I get an error, and have to try again.

And again.

And again.

So far the tally is up to 5 times. Clicking 'Post Now' between the red error messages that don't go away fast enough. Try again.

Gen Z questioning the truth of it is almost a meme by now, but yes, there was a time where the internet worked. Perfectly. It was amazing and swiftly terrible, though the full scope of that terror wouldn't be apparent until some decade later once the ugly blister of a generation raised without supervision on an adolescent hyper-accessible mass information system came to a head.

I was there on 4chan. Left bc of the toxicity amidst my own brain maturing. Watched in horror as the manchildren it raised went on to conduct digital raids on women's lives, drive people to suicide, and then became boots-on-the-ground fascists.

Everyone has their own brand of comforting weirdness, horror and terror. For me it was surrealism that became a fascination with analog horror and dementia. The concept of watching the once familiar become grotesque, dangerous, terrifying.

Boomer parents becoming violent, deranged alcoholics.

Silicon Valley, once a thinktank of visionaries, becoming the hotbed of soulless, cancerous capitalistic ventures that enslave us more every day.

Its child, The Internet, becoming ever more unnavigable.

Has anyone noticed how inconsistent website function is these days, on a systems level? That's not right. Services you're forced to rely on become unreliable, outright broken. Your attempts to manage this are hampered because your only help is an unintelligent chatbot. There's no phone number. If there is, there are only underresourced, underpaid, uncaring agents offering canned responses.

There's no humanity to appeal to. Everything feels like talking to a rock. Only that rock has the ability to ruin your day, or your package delivery, or your insurance application.

Being on the internet-- in the world in general-- feels like walking around a metastasized mall-turned-factory that is showing clear signs of structural decay and imminent collapse. Cracks split, rubble falls, but still the building expands itself with hauntingly derivative recursive replications of itself. It's on Hubi. Check it out on Beedo. Subcsribe to Dodu today.

You've been here long enough to remember when it worked, briefly, but also know enough to understand that when it worked, that was just a byproduct. The whole thing was erecting itself; in its youth it was too young for you to see its many greedy arms.

This is what it was meant to be. It's just jarring that there are a lot of people who never saw anything different. They think this is normal.

This is not normal this is not normal this is not normal this is war.

It was always war. War on us. War on life. War on the past. War on itself, and us caught in the middle.

[astercontrol]

I was thinking some more about that one reblog where I tried to analyze the concepts of "objective quality" and "personal enjoyment" in the context of the different Tron movies.

And my brain kept getting stuck on my claim, near the end, that some things seemed "forced" to me in Legacy, but nothing seemed "forced" to me in the original movie.

Which I realize may be a hard feeling to explain.

Because the things that feel "forced" to me in Legacy are such little tiny inconsequential things (mainly little details that are put in there just to call back to earlier parts, like Quorra saying that she's "a rescue" in reference to Sam saying that earlier about Marvin). They're things that throw me just slightly out of the story, because I have trouble parsing them as things the characters would actually do or say, rather than parsing them as things that I can see the scriptwriters sticking in there to fill a particular narrative purpose.

But they aren't big, structural problems. If you changed them or took them out, you'd still have a story of pretty much the same shape.

Whereas in the original '82 movie, there are what seem like HUGE gaps. Things that… may not be exactly plotholes, but they demand explanation that isn't explicitly there, and they require imagination from the viewer.

Like why does Dillinger have such a laughably stupid password, and IS that why Flynn broke in so easily? And why does the MCP hide the incriminating evidence instead of destroying it? (Was it only to save it for the blackmailing-Dillinger purpose that he mentioned later? And if so, what did he tell Dillinger the reason was, prior to that?) How does poor nervous Crom start acting so confident by the time he's pitted against Flynn? Why does sweet gentle Ram seem so gleeful about killing his Lightcycle opponent? Did Flynn actually even play any important role in their escape, since Tron was the one who made the hole in the wall? …And so on.

And I'm not saying there aren't things like that in Legacy, too! But to me they somehow feel more smoothed-over, like they don't stick out as noticeably.

Maybe it's my own bias. Or maybe it's just how aesthetically polished Legacy feels to me.

Anyway, I think the best way I can think to express it is just to go back to my "car vs painting" analogy…

So, in that post, I argued that I don't see any actual difference between saying "I enjoyed it" and saying "I think its quality was objectively good." …Even though I know there are things that people sometimes describe as "objectively good quality" in a work of art, even if they didn't personally enjoy it.

And I know that some of the "polished" feel of Legacy-- the smoothness of the special effects and cinematography, the neatness and symmetry of the plot-- would fall into that category of things.

And when I was trying to explain why I don't use the term "objective quality" for this kind of polish… I said that to me it feels like "comparing the aesthetics of a Ferrari to the aesthetics of a Dali painting," and that I like paintings better than cars, and I like how a painting can be chaotic, but a car has every part forced into serving a specific purpose in its structure.

And I think that's probably what I meant by parts of Legacy feeling "forced" in a way that doesn't appeal to me.

The way I imagine it is, suppose you're building a car. And some of the materials you've chosen aren't actually that well suited to fitting into the car you're trying to build. But you bend them a little, turn them around into weird positions, squeeze them in and make them fit.

And at the end you've still got a car, and it's pretty much the same shape you planned for it to be. And it's still clear to everyone that your intent was to build a car, and to build it in a pretty normal car shape. And you've succeeded at that... well enough that the position of the few weirdly-placed parts is a small nitpick that most people wouldn't care about.

But suppose you take all the same materials, and instead of trying to build a car, you build a big chaotic weird sculpture out of them.

Maybe you've planned out some aesthetic themes, arranging the parts in patterns of your own design-- maybe some of those patterns are even set up to call to mind the idea of a car, or something of a car's aesthetics. There's a design in what you've built-- it's just not quite as specifically clear WHAT the intent behind it is.

And if some of the materials you chose don't end up fitting your original plan, you have more leeway here. You can even set them up in a weird, jarring way that sticks out from the rest of your pattern-- and the beauty of it is, your audience is not immediately gonna say "You did that wrong."

They're going to try to interpret it. They're going to try and come up with an understanding of why you chose to make it look that way. Because it's not a car, and it doesn't HAVE to have a certain shape, and as an artist you get the benefit of the doubt that however you made it look is probably how you wanted to make it look, and you did it for a reason.

Hell-- even if you WERE building a car, and you decided to make some parts stick out in an obviously weird, jarring way-- even then, if it was an obvious enough choice, viewers might still begin by trying to think of possible reasons why you chose to do it like that, instead of just yelling at you that it doesn't fit.

But if you squeezed the not-fitting parts in as inconspicuously as you could, and tried to hide how they don't fit-- Well, then maybe most people won't notice it, and maybe most people will think your design is objectively better than others.

But those who do notice will probably interpret it as a covered-up mistake, not an artistic choice. (And honestly? the same goes for painting and sculpture, a lot of the time.)

And my point is not that one movie's better than the other. It's that neither one is, because "objectively better" isn't a thing.

Every design has people who like it, people for whom it brought joy into the world. And all the technical analysis of what makes something good or bad-- well, it might help explain the number of people who like or dislike a thing, but it won't do much to change how those people feel.

[turbo-virgins]

Okay I know we give BioWare crap for handling their fantasy Catholicism faction with kid gloves compared to other in-game religions, but I do have to say the whole “crisis of faith” Harding has during one of the regret discussions really frustrated me because it’s just so… shallow and hand waved away with a few lines of dialogue?

Putting the rest below a readmore because this rant got kind of long oops

To recount the scene:

Harding (with Neve’s input) points out Solas imprisoned the Evanuris in the building and makes the connection with the Golden City/Black City visible from everywhere in the Fade.

She then quotes the Chant of Light (a record of Andraste’s visions from the Maker) and goes “oh well if the Golden City was actually an Elven thing then… :(“

To which Lucanis jumps in and says “yeah it sounds like we just disproved the entire Andrastian faith.”

Harding goes “did we???” And then there’s a moment for Rook to respond with several options (I still believe, this doesn’t matter, I’m sorry this hurts, don’t let it shake you, etc.)

I’ve seen criticisms of Rook’s responses all being positive to varying degrees and I think that criticism is valid. I was also frustrated by these options because, as someone who was raised religious and later deconstructed, a crisis of faith is like… a big deal? I’m talking like ‘standing at the precipice of an unending abyss’ levels of existential dread. And I think what I found difficult to swallow with Harding’s reaction was her complete lack of attempting any apologetics or platitudes that would have been taught to her by the Chantry or people who shared her faith.

Like, this can’t have been the first historical or logical inconsistency that Andrastians have encountered and tried to smooth over somehow. We see it happen multiple times in Inquisition. Characters like Leliana and Cassandra question themselves, their faith, and the Maker, and they always have a way to smooth it over with reasoning ingrained into them by the church. For example when it’s discovered it wasn’t Andraste that saved the Inquisitor from the Fade- that it was a pure coincidence the Inquisitor happened upon Corypheus’s ritual- I believe it’s Cassandra who says something along the lines of “well I still believe the Maker’s hand is in this even if it doesn’t appear as directly involved as we first thought” which seems to be a Thedas equivalent to “god works in mysterious ways.”

So as soon as Lucanis and Harding insinuated the Golden City not being hand crafted by the Maker = the whole Andrastian faith getting tossed out the window, alarm bells started going off in the religion-wired parts of my brain. Because no, it can’t be that simple can it? Or rather, why would Harding let it be that simple?

Granted there’s no real world equivalent to a giant city floating in a magical realm we can look to as evidence of the Bible, so the closest analogy I can come up with is the book of Revelation which, similar to the Chant of Light, is an account of visions sent from god. Some believers see it as a literal guide for signs and advice on how to survive an impending apocalypse and do incredible amounts of mental gymnastics to ignore any historical evidence to the contrary. That’s a more extreme example, but I would argue that most religious folks are primed to do some form of mental gymnastics at all times (no disrespect to religions btw, I also maintain my faith in some capacity even after deconstructing). Even Christians who don’t believe in a literal interpretation of Revelation still have their faith in it as part of the word of god.

Idk I just found it really weird that in that moment Harding would look to Rook (who is possibly a non-believer which makes it feel even more weird) for help with regaining and/or realigning her religious convictions. It feels like something a child or a teenager would do, not a grown woman immersed in a religion since she was a child. I didn’t have an issue with Rook’s response of “well, the chant of light could have been altered for political reasons or the original text was modified over time” - it just felt weird to me that Rook had to be the source of that perspective. And regardless of what you tell her, the topic of her crisis of faith never even comes up again as far as I’m aware. When, you know, during an actual impending apocalypse it feels like being able to lean on something like faith would be really important for maintaining your sanity. But who knows, maybe that’s what the little camping retreat into blighted Ferelden was for.

[ohii-san]

UNKNOWN HOLY NIGHT AND NIGHTHEAD - BLACK CAROL 1

Tomoya: (The cuff of my shirt's been grabbed… I’m frozen in place!)

Rinne: Oi oi. I don’t care how bad you don’t wanna see me, don’t just run away the second you see my face!

Tomoya: (Why why why why!? This is definitely wrong. No matter how I think about it, I’m the only one out of place.)

(Anzu-san, maybe this time was also a mistake? I mean, that’s it, right? Please say it was~?!)

Yuzuru: That’s right– Mashiro-sama. Setting aside the others, didn’t we have a bento showdown together?[1]

Ibara: Ah-ha-ha. You could sense the shitty malevolence hidden behind Yuzuru’s smiley mask, couldn’t you?[2]

Yuzuru: Rather, it’s likely because Ibara’s words are hypocritical and hide malice. No matter how hard he tries to blend in with society, it's impossible for him to hide his shady nature.

Yes, that’s it, Mashiro-sama must be scared because of the way Ibara is picking fights with me all the time.

Rinne: Really though, isn’t both you bastards’ fault? If I was stuck with seniors like that I’d be scared as well, you get what I’m saying?

Tomoya: Eek?!

Rinne: What’s the issue. I didn’t do anything!?

Yuzuru: You didn’t “not do anything”, you grabbed him by the shirt and intimidated him. I don’t think it’s strange to be scared.

Subaru: Excuse me~☆ Yahoo, yahoo. Let’s work together today~

—Nn? What's everyone doing?

Tomoya: Ah– Akehoshi-senpaiii! Thank Goddd!

Subaru: Eh, what? What’s wrong? You’re hiding behind me…

Subaru: Ah~. So everyone was bullying Tomoya-kun, is that riiight~? Don’t bully your cute junior, okaaay~?

Rinne: I didn’t do that. Rather, why’re you so scared even though I didn’t do anything?

Tomoya: Ah, s-sorry. The pressure was just so great, it was just a conditioned reflex…

That is... I came in here thinking this would be kinda like a petting zoo, with cute animals. But actually, it’s more like a cage full of wild beasts?

Ibara: What’s with that weird analogy…

Tomoya: Ehehe. It kinda just exceeded my brain’s capacity– It’s okay now. I’m starting to understand the situation.

Ehhh. Everyone here is a member of the same “Shuffle Unit”, right? At least, that seems to be the case.

Yuzuru: Well, I can understand Mashiro-sama’s confusion. Indeed, I have doubts as to why these members are here… and whether we'll be able to achieve synergy with one another.

Subaru: Eh, really? But on the other hand, wouldn’t it be more interesting if we didn’t know what chemical reactions would happen?

Rinne: An overreaction could lead to a big explosion though, right?

Subaru: If that’s the case then I’d like it to be a big, beautiful explosion like a firework~☆

Rinne: Just what kinda big-shot are you trying to be. Well, it’s not like I hate that sorta thing, though…

Ibara: Hm? Let’s allow Anzu-san to explain the rest. iIt seems like she’s just arrived. 

Subaru: Ah, Anzu! Yahoo, yahoo ☆ Nah, all’s good. We were all just talking.

Ibara: Now, could you please give us an overview, Producer-dono?

Tomoya: …?

Rinne: The hell’s this…?

Tomoya: ? Excuse me. No matter how you look at it, all that’s written in the board is “we’ll do something amazing”.

Is it a trick or something I can’t see through? Like a code or something…

Rinne: Don’t worry. That’s what I’m seeing too.

Yuzuru: Is this… supposed to reassure us, perhaps? I feel like this is going to be a big problem…

Ibara: … I have a headache. Anyway, Anzu-san. Could you give us some details?

Yuzuru: Let me think… In other words, you mean that one of the producers of the “P Association” disappeared, and they were the one in charge of the “Shuffle Unit” project?

Rinne: And then? There’s nobody left to take over because there’s not enough staff to go around, huh. Anzu-chan came here to explain, but she doesn’t have the time to be able to take care of us either.

Subaru: Hmm. That’s why Anzu wants this “Shuffle Project” to be led by us idols.

Tomoya: Idol initiative… But isn’t this project a big one? Even though we have ES to back us up, is this really something we can do alone?

Ah. That’s right! Saegusa-senpai also works as a producer for CosPro, right? If that’s the case we could ask for Saegusa-senpai…

Ibara: If I could do it myself, I would… But this is headed by the “P Association”, so that happening would be impossible.

Tomoya: Eh? Why?

Ibara: This project is a cross-office project, so in order to keep it fair, producers who belong to other agencies cannot be involved.

Well. If they were to turn a blind eye to my presence, it would be possible to carry out production operations in secret!

Yuzuru: Ibara. You’re causing trouble for Anzu-san.

Ibara: Right, yes. In other words, this time it is necessary that I devote myself to being an idol.

Subaru: Mhm! Besides, it would help Anzu as well! She’s been apologizing for a while– it’s not like it’s even your fault, though, Anzu!

We will all work together and do our best, so rest easy! ♪

Yuzuru: I agree. If this is considered work, then I’ll do my best too.

Rinne: Yeah, that’s right. Problems like this are inevitable in this industry.

Tomoya: (Eehh!? Wait a minute…! Why is everyone so positive!? It’s impossible for us to do the project alone!)

> [1] referring to science

> [2] tomoya's sprite has been visibly terrified, that's what's being referred to here

[tinylongwing]

idk if the ask meme goes here or on the sideblog but !

🦉💪💻 if you don't mind!

Haha it's going here since I figured I'd mostly be talking about my art like I said, which is mostly what people want to see here anyway! Since you didn't specify here I'll do my best to answer for art and writing though.

🦉Is there another author that helped inspire you to write?

(or in this case, another artist that inspired my work?)

God, for both I don't actually even know how to answer. I've taken inspiration from so many authors and RPers and fic writers and artists over the years that it's really really hard to name a single source of inspiration. That sucks and feels like a cop-out answer but the truth is I've been making creative works since I was super young, right, and now I'm almost 40 and have accumulated just way too many bits and pieces from media over the years.

I think in general for most of my LH writing and art I definitely pull from surrealism, analog horror and cosmic horror sources though and it would be easier to put together a short reclist than to say that these things are for sure what inspired me. But Jeff VanderMeer (writing), Stephen Graham Jones (writing), Trevor Henderson (art), Jenna Barton (art), and then like, more specifically I guess Ariel Vida's visuals and color palette are a few things I could name here.

💪What motivates you to write? (or draw?)

The answer here is the same for both actually, which is cool, in terms of my fandom creations anyway - most of my LH fic and art has centered around Johnnie specifically, or the rest of the World Enders more broadly, because I find him as a character absolutely hilarious fun but also the gang as really amazing social commentary and also... Idealism? An anticapitalist power fantasy that empowers people who have had their power systematically removed in this country? And so you have all that, which is amazing as a basis for fiction, but we have like 5% of the actual story and so many many gaps. And I love filling those gaps, picturing these people in their lives and in all their joyous chaos and mutual trauma and counterculture, in this particular setting.

And the SETTING. My goodness. I mean that's my other favorite thing in general about Lord Huron, right, it's this deeply weird supernatural horror alternate universe that feels like it's just right next door. It's similar enough that real-world research can easily be taken and applied directly to the setting (there's so many interesting things going on in Los Angeles history!) and then you can tweak it a little more and add ghosts and eldritch horrors and the unexplained and surreal right there inside it. I dunno. Really a fun world with a fun set of characters to populate it, but that's my particular motivation I guess, those crazy crazy gangsters making trouble and taking back control over a city that is both theirs and that wants to swallow them whole. LAPD got nothin' on Cobb Avery though.

💻What do you write your stories on? Laptop, phone, paper, etc

I mostly write in wordpad because I'm a freak. I hate writing in google docs, it's too clunky, and notepad is too basic. Wordpad, then edit with html for AO3.

And so yeah obviously I am not writing on paper or a phone. Holy shit do people write fics on a phone? How the fuck, I can barely write two sentences on my phone before I get pissed off at autocorrect.

As for art, I do the bulk of it in photoshop with my wacom tablet. Sometimes I feel compelled to sketch on paper and occasionally I also will paint with acrylics or draw with an ink brush. It's good for the brain to not do one thing all the time.

[mephinomaly]

[TL] PYSCHOBREAK/Chapter 6

[ This post uses Ois~su ♪ ]

Time: That day at night

Location: In a training room in ES

Rei: Wanko~♪ Do you want the ball~?

Go fetch~ ☆

Koga 2: Ruff ruuuffffff ☆

Adonis 2: …(Fidgeting around like he wants to play too.)

Rei: Kukuku. He looks human but in reality he’s a newborn baby, such an adorable thing ♪

Kaoru: You get on surprisingly well with the fakes which is pretty good.

—But is that really a good thing, Rei-kun?

Rei: Okay, it’s Adonis-kun's turn now ♪ Why don’t you try to catch this piece of string? You can build up physical strength whilst having fun, isn’t that the best?

Adonis 2: ...♪

Kaoru: I’m happy you’re getting on but hey, are you listening? Can you not ignore me please?

Rei: Of course of course. I will never again allow my gaze to be ripped away from my beloved children who adore me.

Kaoru: Who adores who, did you say?

Rei: —I’ve been thinking.

Kaoru: Hm?

Rei: No matter how much I desire it, I can never be an omnipotent, benevolent god. I suppose that’s clear as I could not predict this situation unfolding.

However, I am slightly older than you all, and it is not as if I spent all my time overseas playing around.

I’m just a tiny bit more experienced onii-chan than you all.

Kaoru: What are you trying to say? You just want to brag about being older? Or do you hate being seen as an old hag?[1] Is this a type of power harassment?

Rei: Kukuku. It’s weird for me not to, Kaoru-kun. Well, there’s nothing I can do in this situation.

We must keep our minds as tranquil as a mountain peak. If our juniors see us seniors fumble, it will create anxiety for them.

Kaoru: Uhuh. Being a senpai is hard work.

So? What are you thinking about?

Rei: Umu. I have no evidence regarding this, all I can do is make guesses on the sequence of events that brought us into this and why it even began to start with.

I have an overall understanding of this situation.

In other words, we now know the truth behind this mysterious set of circumstances.

Kaoru: Wa～, well done! You’re an amazing detective ♪

Rei: Kaoru-kun could have guessed it as well. You are the son of a wise scholar after all.

However, you are a pragmatic child. This case is a bit of an anomaly, and contains unrealistic aspects.

Kaoru: Unrealistic, hm… Ah, I guess that describes it well.

Rei: Umu. Now the question is; how do we escape this situation?

You will understand this analogy, but we are in a locked room. There is only one exit and entrance, and a specific key is required to open them.

However, the key is hidden amongst an endless amount of objects scattered around said room.

Kaoru: It’s like a super difficult ‘escape the room’ game.

Rei: There aren’t any hints though. Unfortunately, there is not enough time to carefully examine each and every item in the room in order to find the key.

We must somehow escape, before the reality we live in warps and breaks down.

Kaoru: Since it’s you, I’m sure you’ve come up with a way to get us out of here. I say that half jokingly ♪

Rei: Umu. I must respond if someone asks something of me, as superstar Rei Sakuma-senpai.

—There is one thing I want to do.

However, it is a dangerous gamble. I am concerned that there may be burdens on the mind and body, primarily on the brain.

Kaoru: Don’t you dare say something all stand-offish like “so that's why I’ll handle it by myself.” If UNDEAD has a problem, then it’s all of our problem. We should share that burden together.

Rei: Kukuku. That’s something old Kaoru-kun would never have said. Now we have been reminded of our past selves, those words deeply move me.

Kaoru: Don’t make fun of me. So, what’s this thing you want to do?

What should we do to get out of this weird situation?

Rei: We need to dream.

When I investigated the AIIE experiment facilities the other day, I happened upon the machines we were connected to, the manuals on how to operate them, and the drugs we were prescribed.

As one could expect, the manuals contained a lot of technical lingo, but with help from a family member who is good at those sorts of things, I was able to come to grips with how it works.

Therefore, if we desire so, we can dream of those days once again.

Visit the memories of when Deadmanz disappeared, and us, UNDEAD, arose.

I suspect our answers will be there.

Kaoru: It’s embarrassing to see me back then being so uptight, but if there’s nothing else we can do, I suppose I can comply.

Rei: Kaoru-kun is still an inexperienced cute boy, hm? I am but a lump of shame.

You may be ashamed of your past self now, but in ten years you may feel the same about your current self.

Let’s do everything in our power now so we do not regret anything in the future.

Will you help me, Kaoru-kun?

Kaoru: Of course I will. I’ve said this a lot already, but this is all of our problem.

Rei: Wonderful… This is also just a guess, but I believe I am the cause behind everything.

Seeds from the past left unwatered grow out of spite. I must reap what I sow, before they can grow anymore.

So this doesn’t happen again. So that I don’t lose anyone again.

[ ☆ ]

Kaoru says 年齢マウント. Not sure if we have a word like that in english but it’s when the eldest of a group of girls (whether idols or just friendship groups) is seen as an old woman despite only being slightly older than the others

Chapter 5

Chapter 7

[sanvirtheobserver]

SMG4 Fanon: FOOD WARS, The Second Course

I officially bring to you my first fan-written episode, as well as the prologue of my new fanfic Taking Flight.

Hope you enjoy!

____________________________________________

We begin in the gaming room, where we see Tari on the couch playing Lies Of P, Luigi playing some pong by himself for some reason (and somehow still losing), Bob and Boopkins playing that weird ass version of Monopoly they like, and Mario on the computer ordering some Pizza.

Pizza Chef: What kind of toppings would you like?

Mario contemplates the meaning of the question for a moment, wandering deep within the wrinkles of his brain in search of an answer. But that didn't work so he just resorted to smashing the keyboard and bury the digital chef in toppings until we are left with an abomination of an order that will be ready shortly.

Mario: PIZZAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

And he's off to go get the goods, zipping by Meggy who has entered the room with her own box of goods in hand. Surprisingly enough, we also see Whimpu and Belle tagging along.

Belle: Whats got him all worked up?

Meggy: Eh, you know how Red is around food.

Boopkins: Oh! Ko'nichiwa Whimpu-sama, it's been a while.

Whimpu: It is good to see you too, my Furui Yūjin.

Belle: Oi rags, I got the vials. Bushmaster's blend.

Bob: Oh hell yeah! I'll get the vase!

Belle: Aces.

As Bob go gets the "vase" and the weebs start catching up, We see that Tari has just beaten the Puppet King. She collapses into her seat in releif as Clench starts cheering. And it only took them 35 tries.

Clench: THATS WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT! THAT'S WHY YOU'RE THE MVP! THAT'S WHY YOU'RE THE GOAT! THE GOAT!

Tari: *heh* Oh, hey Meggy.

Meggy: Hey Tari! Guess what I goooooooot.

She then noticed the box Meggy's hands, which was more than enough to get her on her feet.

Tari: *gasp* Is that.........?

Yep, within the box was none other than Gnomeson's gourmet candies. We look to the window seeing Gnomeson himself.

Gnomeson: TASTE THE RAINBOW MOTHER******!

Tari: Oh my gosh, you actually found him!?

Meggy: Yeah, we met up at the gym and he hooked me up.

Tari: Then what are we waiting for?

Meggy takes a seat and they both......um.....I'm struggling to find a cigarette analogy to describe this. Anyway, they both take a lollipop.

We then shift perspectives to SMG3 and SMG4 as they begin to head out.

SMG4: Oh C'mon, Three. This'll be fun! ...........Y'know, as long as you behave yourself.

SMG3: I will, I will! Geez, you're the closest thing to a mother I've ever had.

Just then, Mario triumphantly returns with his bounty of 10 whateverthef*** specials. Nice and piping hot.

Mario: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA- Hm? Oh, hi SMG4! Hey, where are you going?

SMG4: We're heading over to Bloopersville to meet up with FM and X. Apparently they got new looks sometime after the whole Lawyer Kong thing.

SMG3: Yeah, I can't wait to see how dumb they look now. Just wait until they get a look of me.

SMG4: Yeeeaaaah. Anyways, we're gonna be gone for a bit. Don't you have TOO much fun, now! Heh heh..........also at least TRY not to set anything on fire, okay?

Mario: Pingas.

SMG4: Close enough. Let's go.

Now they're off on their ~~honeymoon~~ trip, leaving Mario with an...........idea.

That's right, IT'S HOUSE PARTY TIME!!!!

The main hall is a buzz with games and laughter. We see Bob and Rob cheering on Kaizo as he bobs for corn, Chris and Swag playing Pin The Tail On The Teletubby with Luigi, Boopkins teaching Jub Jub how to play Bakugan, Shroomy doing some target practice, and Whimpu showing off his cool rock collection to impress the ladies. Well, more like lady since Melony is the only one who's actually paying attention to the shiny things.

Whimpu: And this is Neodymium glass. It can actually change colors depending on the lighting of the surrounding environment.

Melony: Wooooow! That's so cool. What does that one do?

Whimpu: Oh, this is just Mahogany Obsidian.

Saiko: It's a wonder how she's still awake.

Belle: Honestly, I can't blame her. It's like a Spanish soap opera. You don't know what the hell they're saying, but then you start to piece together what's happening then your hooked.

Saiko: You really have gotten a lot softer, haven't ya.

Belle: Oi, Pot. You got something to say to the Kettle?

Saiko: *chuckles* Alright, alright. Forget I said anything.

We see Tari and Meggy headed to the party table with their Gnomish Candies..........where Meggy noticed Mario with his Pizzas coming over as well. Mario then takes notice of the girls and their Candy. It was when their gazes met that thing's started to get quiet. Everybody took notice of the two staring each other down at the party table.

Meggy: Hey there, Red. What ya got there?

Mario: Pizza. How about you?

Meggy: Oh, just some candy.

Mario: I see.

The energy has changed. Meggy turned her gaze to her fellow Sweet Tooths, and Mario turned his gaze to his fellow Greasy Bois. The line has been drawn. The board is set. All the pieces are taking their places. Their gazes meat once again. A fiery determination glowed within both.

Mario: So................what happens now?

A rhetorical question. You know what happens now. Brace yourselves people, for you are about to witness a...........

Mario & Meggy: FOOOOOOOOD FIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT!!!!

And here we go! The main hall is a Frenzy as sweets, spice, and everything completely unhealthy roars through the air. Kaizo and Bob clash blades, their movements as swift as lightning as sugar and grease flake off like sparks with each strike. Whimpu lays down suppressing fire with a fan of Pretzels as Belle showers the room with a hail of Doritos. Shroomy is blasting condiments in all directions, Saiko's KFC hammer shakes the earth with every impact. Chris and Swag take artillery positions, raining down rock candy artillery as Melony retaliates against Luigi's Unicorn Lollipop Lance with her Pizza Sword, all while Boopkins, Jub Jub, and Tari act as field medics for the Sweet Tooths. We then pan over to Mario using his Pizza Shield to deflect the projectiles of Meggy's M&M16.

Meggy: It's no use, Mario! I have the high ground! Surrender now and we can end this quickly!

Mario: You wish it would be that easy.

Mario throws his hat, but Meggy dodges into the air. She aims down sights towards Mario. All she needs is one clean shot and-

BAM!!!! A surprise sideswipe sends her skidding. Luckily, Tari was able to catch her. Both were shocked to see none other than Pepperman! Mario catches his hat and plops it on with a smirk.

Mario: Thank's for the save, Peppino.

We pan over to see Peppino Spaghetti and his whole crew tipping the balance of the battle. It looks like Mario called in backup this time around, leaving the Sweet Tooths outnumbered by the Greasy Bois.

Meggy: Dammit.........FALL BACK TO THE CAFE!

And so, the Greasy Bois are victorious as the Sweet Tooths are pushed back to SMG3's Café. A Pizza Tower is placed on top of the Castle as proof of their dominion. An impressive win, but this was just the first battle in a war that has just begun.

Behind the Cafe's doors, the Sweet Tooths have regrouped and are now planning their counter attack. Boopkins and Jub Jub are preparing what appear to be makeshift candy explosives. Once the prep work is done, they gather around Meggy as Tari lays out a map of the Greasy Bois' Pizza Tower.

Meggy: We're never gonna end this war if we can't retake the Snack Table, and we can't take back the Snack Table without getting through that Tower.

She points to four different areas of the map.

Meggy: Mario and the Greasy Bois have the Table stashed at the top of the Tower. They may outnumber us, but we'll have a better chance if we can deal with each floor without alerting the floor above. Once we've reached the top and all the ICDs are placed, we deliver our last payload to the Table and bring the whole thing crashing down.

Tari: We lost our last battle because we couldn't take them all at once, so this time we'll need to take them on one floor at a time. It is crucial that we stay together in order to have the numbers advantage against each single floor, so no slacking behind and no rushing in alone.

Luigi: The ICDs are ready for transport Ma'am.

Meggy: Excellent. Any word from our scouts?

Chris: Front door is a no-go. Too heavily guarded. Swag had to stay behind to cover our escape. God be with him.

Bob: Our best chance is to enter through the window of SMG4's room. That will give us the clearest path up stairs.

Meggy: Alright then. Remember to stick together and stick to the shadows. Do not engage unless I give the order. You need to take someone out? Do it quietly. Everybody ready?

The whole team nods in agreement. Meggy turns to Tari, who gives a confident smile.

Tari: We can do this.

Meggy: Then what are we waiting for? Let's give em a good ol' fashioned Sweet Tooth Surprise!

And so the Sweet Tooths are off, preparing to make their move under the cover of night. Kaizo notices them mobilizing as he scouts from the roof of the Castle.

At the peak of the Tower, we see Saiko and Belle dragging Swag to the foot of Mario's Pizza Throne. By his side is Peppino, watching down upon the interloper with a judgemental gaze.

Saiko: Kaizo saw this one skulking around the Main Lobby.

Peppino: I see. What exactly were you doing here, hm?

Swag: Oh, nothing. I was just waiting on a date.

Peppino: Is that so. And who exactly is this date of yours?

Swag: Your mom LOLOLOLOLOLOL.

And just close that, he was sent to THE PIT! Which in reality was just a kiddypool full of Extra Hot Marinara Sauce that REALLY stings when you get it in your eyes. It was then that Kaizo had arrived to deliver the news.

Kaizo: The Sweet Tooths are making their move. It looks like they plan on taking the fight to us. We should act now.

Belle: HA! I say let the Gutbags try.

Whimpu: But if they get here, they could take our table and all will be lost!

Peppino: Indeed. Without the table, our Golden Crispy Kingdom will be lost forever! We must mobilize and-

Mario: No.

All eyes turn to Mario as he walks to the edge and turns his gaze to the Showgrounds below.

Mario: Let them come. Let them see our glory and try to stop us. These Grounds are just the beginning. We shall soon spread across the Mushroom Kingdom. Then the country. Then the world. All shall know the glory of the Greasy Bois! AAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Well that escalated quickly. Though, I've seen worse paths to world domination than a house party turned civil war.

Anywho, the Sweet Tooths enter through SMG4's Room Window, with Meggy and Bob quickly dispatching some Pig Cops.

Bob: I love myself some fresh ham. So good you could ea-

Meggy: Bob I swear to Greg I will actually murder you.

Once the room is secured, the rest enter and Tari is the first to enter the main hall, her Candycane Crossbow at the ready. Luigi and Boopkins are right behind her as they make their way up the staircase. At the door, Luigi uses his Astral projection to peer into the floor above. Apart from a few Cheeseslimes, the coast seems to be clear for the most part. He returns to his body after locating the entrance to the tower.

Luigi: Alright. We should be clear to proceed.

Clench: I don't like this. It sounds like we're walking into a-

?????: Going somewhere?

The trio quickly turns to see Saiko, Kaizo, and Melony on the edge of the balcony. Boopkins quickly aims his Dessert Eagle as Luigi readies his Unicorn Lollipop Lance, but Tari is frozen in fear with her back to the door desperately trying to get it open.

Saiko: Well well well..........

Saiko makes her way towards Tari as Kaizo and Melony face off against Boopkins and Luigi. Tari raises her crossbow as Saiko approaches.

Tari: Stay back! I'm warning you!

She fires a Candycane, but Saiko catches it with ease and crushes it in her hand. She then rips the Crossbow from Tari's hands and pins her against the door by the shoulder.

Clench: Hey, watch it! It takes hours to get a jacket looking this good.

Tari: I.......I'll never surrender to you!

Saiko: Come on, Tari. You can be so much more than this. Just come with us, and we can have a little talk.

Their talk is interrupted by a boot to Saiko's face, courtesy of Meggy. Saiko tries to retaliate with a swing of her hammer, but is intercepted by Bob and sent flying off the balcony with a well timed parry. Chris arrives, pulls Tari aside, and blows the doors wide open with his FR-GL.

Chris: Come on you apes! Do you wanna live forever!?

Bob: Keep going, guys! We'll hold them off!

Tari snaps out of her shock and makes her way through the door alongside Meggy, and Chris. They all make their way to the entrance of the Pizza Tower, where they encounter Shroomy with his dual condiment cannons.

Shroomy: Stop right there! No sugary treats are allowed beyond this point.

Chris: Don't worry. I got this.

Tari looks over to Chris preparing something. He swiftly slides a can of sugar frosted sardines right at Shroomy's feet.

Chris: Wait for it.

Shroomy: I will now require your immediate and unconditional surren-

Suddenly, a bear rips it's way through the woodworks, scooping up the sardines and thrashes Shroomy around before dragging him screaming below the floorboards. Looking back on it, I realize having so much unguarded food in a location surrounded by woodlands that are full of wild animals *probably* wasn't the best idea.

But enough semantics. It's time for our PIZZA TOWER ANY PERCENT SPEEDRUN. Our trio blitzes through each floor with breakneck pace Meggy's aim is swift and true. Chris' explosive ordinance blankets the battlefield, and Tari.......well, she's too busy trying to keep up while also setting up each ICD within the tower. Their progress is interrupted with the arrival of Peppino along with Pepperman, Vigilante, and The Noise. The battle is intense, as each side throws everything they have at one another.

Vigilante: Ya got moxie, kid. But ya'll need more than that.

Meggy simply smirks as she notices Pepperman coming in hot from behind trying to get in another sideswipe. But as Vigilante unloads a hail of bullets, Meggy expertly dodges and Pepperman ends up passing right below her. He gets riddled with bullets as he crashes into Vigilante, taking them both out.

Meggy: That enough *Moxie* for ya?

Pepperman/Vigilante: My scrotums.

We then cut to Chris facing off against the Noise, who isn't really fighting him so much as trying to bore him to death with an "intimidating" speech.

Noise: I'll have you know I graduated top of my class in the Navy Seals, and I've been involved in numerous secret raids on Al-Quaeda, and I have over 300 confirmed kills. I am trained in gorilla warfare and I'm the top sniper in the entire PT armed forces. You are nothing to me but just another target. I will wipe you out with precision the likes of which has never been seen before on this Earth, mark my-

Chris just pulls out an RPG and blows his ass to high heaven. That just leaves us with Tari setting up another ICD before being confronted by Peppino, who uses his signature beyblade attack. Tari panicks as she frantically tries to avoid getting ripped up, but is driven into a corner.

Peppino: Give up, blue girl. Your gaming skills are no match for the Spaghetti Family Swag.

It is then that Tari notices a crate next to her labeled "Materiali Pericolosi". Seeing no other option, she quickly rummages through the crate as Peppino goes in for another attack. But right in the nick of time, Tari manages to force feed him a freshly baked pizza. With Pineapple. The crime against Italy is too much for Peppino to handle as he collapses onto the ground screaming and defeated. Tari very awkwardly steps around the suffering Italian man and regroups with the others as the trio makes their way to the final battle. They make their way to Mario's Throne Room, where Bell is ready with her Takigun and Whimpu is using Rob as a Spear as they guard the Snack Table.

Belle: C'mon ya Muckers! Ya feeling lucky?!

Whimpu: Surrender now if you value your lives.

Rob: Please put me down I am very tired.

Meggy: Let us handle the goons. You just focus on delivering that payload.

Tari nervously clutches the last ICD as Meggy and Chris lock and load.

Chris: This is for Swag, you Greasy Bitches!

Chris kicks off the fight with a barrage from his FRGL, while Belle and Meggy exchange hails of gunfire. Tari makes a break straight for the Snack Table. Whimpu is in hot pursuit, rearing Rob for a surprise attack but is then intercepted by Chris's boot.

Chris: Keep going! I'll cover you!

Whimpu proceeds to swing Rob around like a hammer at Chris, much to Rob's motion sick dismay. Belle is still preoccupied with Meggy as Tari see the table. But right as she is about to set the device...........

Mario: Hey stinky!

Tari looks up and is shocked to see Mario standing on top of the massive floating Pizza with a sinister face.

Mario: Your pathetic resistance ends now, Sweet Tooths! Me and Pizzaface here are gonna show you what's for! With our combined pow-

But just then, Pizzaface flips around and flings Mario straight into the floor.

Mario: HEY, WHAT THE F***! We're supposed to be working together!

Pizzaface: YOU THINK I FORGOT OUR LAST MEETING, MARIO? THE ONE WHERE YOU ATE ME?

Mario: Oh.............I sense I've made a mistake of some kind.

Pizzaface then goes on a rampage, crashing into everything in sight. Belle is unfortunately caught in one of Pizzaface's attacks, knocking her unconscious. Whimpu drops rob and heroically catches her in his arms before running away to safety. Chris and Meggy open fire on him, but are then sent flying with a whip from his green pepper mustache. Meggy is flung towards the balcony, hanging from the edge, whereas Chris is flung into the PIT where Swag is.......chilling, for some reason.

Chris: OH GOD MY EYES AAAAAAAAHH!!!!

Swag: Oh hey Chris. I just made some Bloody Maries.

Tari is petrified in fear as Pizzaface stares her down with a sadistic grin. She crumples to the ground, clutching her head as she braces for the end. But just as all seems lost........

Clench: Hey, Tari........

Tari turns her attention to her robot arm.

Clench: We have a mission to complete. Remember?

Tari: I......I don't know what to do. Everyone's down and everything is falling apart. Clench.........

Tears begin to well up in her eyes.

Clench: Listen to me. I know you're scared, but that hasn't stopped you before, has it? Remember that time Waluigi turned everyone into zombies and tried to take over the world, and you saved everybody by beating him at a fighting game?Remember when Meggy was abducted by that lizard weeb guy, and you joined the assault on Anime Island to save her? Remember when that Zero guy tried to recycle the universe and you joined the fight to beat him? And surely you remember the time you were stuck in some kind of bootleg Westworld and created your own pocket dimension to save everybody? Those were all scary too, weren't they?

Tari contemplates Clench's words. Those moments WERE scary.......yet that didn't stop her from helping her friends when it mattered the most.

Clench: You don't need to be fearless to be brave, Tari. You just gotta do what needs doing.

It was in that moment Tari felt something. She got back up to her feet and gazed defiantly straight into Pizzaface's Pepperonis. Her fear didn't disappear......it just didn't matter anymore. Clench was right. You don't have to be fearless to be brave.

Just then, Tari's eyes lit up with a vivid azure hue as a surge of energy coarsed threw her. Meggy managed to pull herself up just in time to see Tari levitating in the air. From her back emerged a pair of translucent blue wings crackling with energy. Tari then flew into the sky, breaching the clouds as the first sight of dawn broke. She then rocketed back down at Mach speed, her robotic arm crackling with power as it made contact with Pizzaface's cheese. The two crashed through the tower's floors, before breaking through the Castle's roof. Both Greasy Bois and Sweet Tooths present ceased their fighting as a massive crash shook the foundations of the Main Hall. When the dust had settled, they saw a crater in the main hall riddled in Pizzaface's mechanical remains. At the center of the crater was severely mangled Pizzahead and an unconscious Tari.

We then cut to later in the morning. SMG3 and SMG4 return to see the Castle abuzz with activity. The war was over, the Pizza Tower was destroyed, The Sweet Tooths and Greasy Bois have reached a truce, and the festivities had resumed. We see Kaizo bobbing for corn as Bob, Rob, and the Noise cheer him on. We see Boopkins, Jub Jub, and Melony sitting down as the Vigilante tells them the story of how the military once bombed his buddy Keith. Whimpu is once again showing off his rock collection to Belle, who seems to be actually paying attention this time. Chris and Swag are laying back and enjoying some Bloody Maries as Shroomy arm wrestles Pepperman. At the foyer we see Peppino and Mario spinning pizzas and playing tunes on the turntables. The SMGs make their way to the Gaming Room where they see Saiko and Meggy watching over Tari as she lays down on the couch.

SMG4: Looks like we missed quite the party, huh?

SMG3: I'll say, judging by the hole in the ceiling. And the Crater in the main hall. And the ambulance outside. And the tower pieces every- WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?

Meggy: It's a long story. How you holding up, soldier?

Tari: Just fine, captain. A little dizzy, though.

Saiko: I have to admit. You did quite a number on poor Pizzahead. I didn't think you had it in you to even fight someone, let alone.........THAT.

Tari looks down at her robot arm.

Tari: Yeah. Neither did I.

SMG4: Well, the Castle is still in one piece for the most part, so I guess it's fine. It's definitely gonna delay the second floor, though.

Saiko: Hey, how was your trip to Bloopersville?

SMG3: ABSOLUTELY EMBARRASSING! I CAN'T BELIEVE THAT FM GOT ABS AND I DIDN'T! CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT!?

SMG3 continues to be a deva as the camera zooms out from the Castle and into the woodlands, where we see.......something........moving in the trees as the screen fades to black and the credits role.

[shmothman]

ooh x for the nsfw alphabet? I know you have a whole post about it but I really love your ideas and I wanna hear you talk about it more!!!!!

SFW/NSFW Alphabet Prompts

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

nsfw below the cut, in case you couldn’t guess 🤣

As you can tell by my fics, I’m fond of swapping out his genitals (as millionsvash said, “like legos”) based on little more than “what I feel like writing that day.” This post goes into my main “flowery” version: external petals, internal structures that resemble a cock and cunt, which takes inspiration from different flowers—and also slugs, because gastropod sex gets pretty wild and love darts are a thing that exist, for real, in the world. (As always, I lament the fact that I’m a much better writer than I am artist—but I tried my best.) Some additional details to this that I didn’t touch on much in that post include: because these structures are internal most of the time, they’re self-lubricating—and well lubricated at that. He’s very wet and drippy when he’s turned on, and his slick is similar in viscosity to like… aloe. (No, I didn’t buy aloe drinks at the store to see if the texture was what I expected, and then find out that the drinks are basically just sugar water with chunks of aloe in them. And no I haven’t been buying aloe everything as my own personal inside joke. [lying.]) Plus, he’s sweet! Because it’s my fictional boyfriend and I can say his cum tastes good. And I haven’t touched on this at all, but I picture that his slick is… kind of difficult to wash off. It dries very sticky and hydrophobic. You’re gonna be sticky and slick for the rest of forever, good luck!

As you can also probably tell by my fics, I am a fan of tentacles too—so in a case where I’m still giving him something analogous to a cock, but I don’t feel like writing the detail required to describe All Of That, I picture him with something long and tapered, that unsheathes itself from a slit between his legs—not really connected to either the stampede flower imagery or the 98/max wing imagery, but hey. I’m just having fun with my alien boyfriend’s junk here. I like a man whose genitals I can write as writhing, whether that means fleshy petals and tendrils or drippy everting tentacles.

Other times, though, I want to write him as more specifically trans—more of a classic plantussy vibe. Because alien pussies are just as fun as alien dicks and deserve just as much love. How I’ve written that so far is still in the context of petals—basically like my flowery design, just minus the internal petals that twist together to form the cock, and with the addition of a wiggly clit, more like the stamen of a flower (…mixed with a tentacle. Again). No matter what I’m giving him, though, I tend to picture him as externally closer to looking like he has a cunt. (Hello, I’m trans, it’s what I do.) Also, now that I’m reading max, I want to try writing a more feather-inspired design: I’ve seen a lot of really wonderful art that’s all been mixed together in my brain, and I’m picturing something more pussy-adjacent, surrounded by a sort of downy fluff, with a—again I’ll use the word writhing—clit that sort of… swells a bit.

Really, the important thing for me is to do something fun with it. I’m always looking for novel ways of expressing the idea of pleasure, and I have fun coming up with structures that could experience pleasure in strange ways—like the petals of his cock being able to open up and reveal even more sensitive areas, or the tendrils and their hormone secretions. The nice thing is that there’s no shortage of inspiration to be found in my line of work; invertebrates have some absolutely wild reproductive structures (or structures that have no reproductive function that I can look at and say “yeah, I can make a weird dick out of that”). I have a lot more ideas on how I can Make Him Weirder, from shit like “literal sex pollen” to a bit of a knotting fic that I’m working on currently. I’m just going where the vibes take me!

As for what’s going on beneath the rest of his clothes, I’m always using 98/max Vash’s body/scars as my reference! (And I only give him one nipple lol)

(Vash’s canon grey sweatpants my fucking beloved.)

[palash-12-22-blogs]

Cinephiles and Movies

Cinephiles have been around for decades. When cinema first started, cinephiles came along with them. It’s like when you buy one pack of chips, and get a soda for free (I know, a very weird analogy, but my brain isn’t the best of places while I am writing this bit for my article.). movies have been around for a very long time. We love them, we see glimpses of our daily lives in them. We relish them with all our being. They are a form of escape from our very real realities. What can be better than that? To be in another world… a very different, much better world than the one each one of us currently inhabits. A world where everything works out your way… a world where you are the main character, and the very fact is accepted by all who inhabit this imagined world of yours.

Truth is, this compares to not even a fraction of the real pleasure it gives us watching movies. And watching them in theatres is the best. After all, theatres have been created for that very purpose: a day off from our daily hectic lives, just to enjoy the life of a character in a form of media which is on average 90-130 minutes long, play out in front of our very eyes. Quite the dreamy life, isn’t it? The ones those characters live… their own world, where they are the stars, nobody else there to steal the limelight… and even if there is some competition, the entire situation is set up to favour the side which we all want to see winning in the end. After all, that’s how it has always worked out, right?

Well…. Not… really.

In recent times, movies have started to shift focus from depicting an absolutely optimistic picture of their reality to a more realistic-yet-positive picture of the world they have created. There isn’t the usual trope of overly positive characters, nor every situation being light. Instead, we get to witness dark and brooding moments too, moments when the main character is kicked even when he is down. Movies of today have started to make character development kind of a big deal. How is the character going to evolve in the face of the most horrible of adversities? What will be the change that we see? Is this change something which correlates to the world we see around us? That’s what makes the movie worth watching... according to me.

There are some movies where the protagonist, or sometimes the deuteragonist, undergoes his/her “villain arc”. It basically means the goody hero now wants to forsake all his principles that kept him in line, and become a man driven by desire and emotions. There are also horror films, where the main actors in question are subjected to an environment where they are constantly terrified and a dark entity/force follows them and torments them. At least that’s the general trope. There are psychological thrillers as well, which explore the similar theme of horror, but of the psychological type. The horror is present, but there is no physical manifestation of it as such; it’s all in the mind of the person experiencing it, and of course, the viewers; a.k.a us, see all this unfold, along with the physical manifestation of the psychic creature that is tormenting our protagonist. Its kind of fun, in a sense, seeing the thrill… and it’s also terrifying… the very concept of something which we can’t see and yet it torments us is a chilling one, no doubt. That’s what makes these kinds of movies great to watch; they employ the crux of their story in a beautiful way, giving justice to the film/show which has been made.

There are superhero films as well… I like them more than other genres… I mean… they are supes, who doesn’t like a human with enhanced physiology and a badass repertoire of powers? You have to be living under a rock to not like these kinds of movies. I mean… they are just pure awesome! There is a main character, the “good” one (the definition of good for a hero has changed over the year. Now it’s the man who does may/may not do good but always has good intentions behind his actions. There are other things as well, but I am no expert here. Not my department.) and there is a villain; the hero foils the villain’s plans and does traditional hero stuff. That’s all there has been to it… but there are movies based solely on the hero’s perspective too; his origin story; how he came to be the way he is, what did he face to develop this kind of personality and sense of altruism in him. Some heroes don’t have this sense of altruism… there is an ulterior motive behind their actions too, albeit not a very self-centred one. Every movie has its own perks, and something to tell. Some movies… hate to admit it, but they are a waste of time. If you keep on repeating the same tropes over and over again, people lose interest, and if you oversaturate a concept, it’s all the worse.

Its getting tougher to make good movies now-a-days. People don’t get ideas easily, and there is hellish competition in terms of ingenuity and good ideas. If somebody strikes upon an idea, either a movie has already been made on it, or it’s already being made, or it can also be that another group of people are making a similar movie based on the same idea you struck upon. It’s like a battlefield out there. You have to do something big to make an impact, or you are buried six feet under the piling competition. It’s harder to make original good movies due to a lot of them being similar in idea, so many focus on making their movies better than the ones they are getting the idea from. It has worked till now; take the latest film twisters for example. The sequel to the 1995 box office hit Twister, the movie initially got a lot of earnings, riding on the brand fame, but the movie itself is a nice one; all the elements of a disaster film are there; there is plenty of thrill and excitement watching the chasers as work, and the impact of tornadoes on peoples’ lives has been shown in a nice manner. There are other such examples as well; I won’t mention them in order to keep my blog short and within acceptable limits.

I have always been fascinated with movies; they show something which everybody wants in their lives. The fascination soon turns to an obsession; we want to be those characters in our own lives. I have thought that this is maybe due to the very good acting on behalf of the actor who plays the role. They do an awesome job at it. Personally, I like actors who can pull off the most hard of roles, like there is William Dafoe from the Raimi Spider-Man trilogy, RDJ from the Iron-man trilogy and the Avengers series of films, Cillian Murphy from Peaky Blinders, Oppenheimer, 28 days later, and many other names which deserve to be mentioned, but I don’t have the mental memory to remember all those at this moment (I know. The human brain sucks.)

I would like to end on the positive note that movies are a great pastime for true cinema lovers, and the best way to watch movies is by going to a cinema hall. Trust me, nothing beats watching a movie in a cinema hall, not even watching them from the comforts of your home. I will take a cinema hall over OTT anytime and anywhere. Movies are meant to be watched in theatres, the place where there is the most immersion, and a place where movies are truly able to shine.

[rin-and-jade]

hii !!! I'm the temp caretaker of our system (unsure of role yet) and we're having some difficulties trying to manage things because host has still not fully accepted that we're a system and stuff. so he often fronts, and when we see him tired, we offer to front in his place. he either declines and sacrifices his rest or leaves in a very short period of time and comes back. he says he doesn't trust us or what we could do while he's away because he's paranoid our cover would be blown. how can we convince him? we have school coming up and we need to get our inner bearings together before we go there. thank you in advance! ^_^

tkdr;; host doesn't trust us to front and takes the most time in front, resulting him to be tired. how to convince him to take a break and let *us* front?

Alright, as a part who also struggles with paranoia and have been actively fighting to strive some progress,, i can define it in one analogy to better understand the situation, and i'll add some extra things to say after it:

A person is tasked to do a trust fall with someone, that person is you (host). You're looking 180 degrees away, and then something had struck your mind that goes, "I think this guy will let me fall over on the floor on purpose if i don't keep an eye on it" so you halted the task and tried looking face to face. Thought it could make you feel better, and as it was about to be performed,, another one came "No wait even if im looking at the dude, it can just not catch me, or trick me into doing the trust fall and quickly retract the arms-- bro wants to make me fall and get hurt" and it'll literally just be never-ending.. wether you got assured, or not assured, and the weird thing is that you are in a room with an observer and the said person who is tasked to catch you so why are you worked up about it...? I'll explain why

I'm not here to explain how paranoia manifests as or comes from because its not 'bout the topic, so,, fast forward to how it's damaging and creating an endless loop that can be broken by ONE move. One move thats right,, it is true that people have a healthy amount of skepticism to keep them safe but when we're talking about paranoia.. it means endless doubts and suspicions. When we talk about too much of the good stuffs it literally translates to bad,, this is something we all should know before taking a step.

It doesn't matter how you get an answer to relieve the doubt, its like a kid that kept asking why after why in every answer and you just had to break out of it right?? You can, by rationalizing the situation. Because i can say, paranoia (atleast for me) is the one being irrational-- it detects green flags as red flags, it also misses a lot of details and creates false alarms that is then flagged as threat. Paranoia can be stopped (or atleast slowed down) by rationalizing the situation,, back to the trust fall example, "this person won't dare to hurt me because someone is keeping an eye on us" or putting yourself in their shoes, "I have no reasons to hurt the person who will do the trust fall, so i wouldn't even plan such thing at the first place and do what's right". Thats how.

I'm also adding that by shooing the kid (paranoia) once will not instantly fix it, this kid will come back anytime something catches it's eye (things that has the chance to let doubt in) and you have to actively tackle with it on a daily basis like me. Surely, the brain will un-learn that and adapt from "everyone out here will ruin my life" to "i guess no one even has time to ruin my life when they're busy with their own" (or in this case, systems are correlated with cooperation, it is very unlikely to betray, or do something bad, as the whole body is shared, more like prefer to grow together and bond)

It's best to take it easy (building trust and addressing the fear) as well as proving that you (caregiver and others) is responsible enough to be left at front because concrete proof beats paranoia better than other things, imo.

So i hope this is enough, i went overboard on accident (word-count wise) and this might help the situation,, goodluck guys.

- j

[felt-tipped-penn]

07.11.2025

I still haven't been able to figure out how to sleep. In my mind, there's only one thing missing--my safety, my heart, in a person. I don't want to rely on sleep aids that mess with my dreams and prevent me from hitting REM. I want to be transported to our memories and live in them until I wake. I realized something today.... REALLY realized. I've never really been in love before you. Sure, I said it before, but I never truly understood what it was to love. It doesn't mean much now, I get that. But it at least explains why this has been so difficult to come to term Everys with. Why everything and everyone dulls in comparison. Why even though I try to open myself up, my heart just isn't in that place yet. I get the no-contact thing now -- the only way forward is forgetting I exist--forgetting you exist. It feels like it's gonna take forever....walking a road towards a destination I never wanted to be on. I'm trying to see this as a quest, like my life is an adventure and your mission--a side mission--has been completed. It's weird to phrase it like that, the love of my life as a side mission. But its the only analogy that works. You're not supposed to get caught up in a side mission. You can't let it derail the overarching purpose of the campaign, right dungeon master? This hurts. My heart hurts. My head hurts trying to rationalize everything. Every time I'm starting to make progress, my mouth does this thing where it blurts out " I miss him". Not a though behind the eyes, just blurts it out. And I tell myself, how can I? I didn't even form this thought! But it's like when you first fall in love and you're trying your best not to spill the beans and tell them how you feel before you're ready. I'm literally just blurting it out. My brain may try to forget, but my body won't let me. You've altered me completely.

Won't you find your way back?

[fangel]

OH MY GOSHHH ♡-໒₍: o̴̶̷᷄ ̫ o̴̶̷᷅ก̀₎১՞ i can’t believe i was able to give you some inspiration that’s so crazy to me and im soooo happy you were able to overcome the fear of writing unholy nasty content because ya know what, hell yeah !! embrace the weird freak nasty pervert sht. i love you ㅠㅠ thank god you took this fic out of the drafts !!! my rambles i made while reading are below.. ♡

first part in and i was already HOOKED. i’m (very obviously) a sucker for religious fics so of course i was foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog when i saw this notif. but it’s the way you write their devotion so beautifully detailed that i was like ‘oh yeah, im in for a ride.’

AND mc so quick to be like …maybe thinking of sin isn’t so bad just from seeing jake WHILE PRAYING IN CHURCH FOR HIMMM 😭😭 #real adore her already

something about jake is so perfect for religious au’s and idk how to describe it but YOU get it. i know you do.. i love u for that hehe

I LIVE AND LOVE for mc trying to find understanding of her feelings :( poor baby trying to navigate human emotions while being swallowed by quilt. the other girls talking about jake with “a quiet admiration, soft and innocent” — meanwhile mc’s is as you described “heavier” SET HER FREE !!!!! — “why did yours feel like something that sat in your chest, something that pressed against your ribs with every prayer, something that burned.”

⤷ YOURE COOKING, and it’s still only the beginning askdlakzpa

(insert every quote of dialogue from the scene where the nun lectures purity, masturbation, and sexual nature because every single line was hard as fuck oh my god) ((..kiss me pls i beg of you i love your brain…))

the apple…. the snake…… the garden of eden reference….. the first sin…. !!!! I WILL SUCCUMB EVERY TIME !!!!

who tf got my girl karina expelled 😒 a girl can’t have hobbies and be hot ? she can’t get some ?? fuck it i would’ve joined them

“eve took the apple. she chose knowledge, chose to know desire, hunger, craving. and for that she was cast out. but maybe that was never a punishment. maybe it was freedom.” SPEAK YOUR (THE) TRUTH KARINA 🔥🔥🔥 okay but seriously love this sequence of mc finding someone who indulges on what she wants to, and being told that it’s not something to regret. mc needed that — so much of religious lessons / morals (my brain isn’t working to find the right words) are based on fear !!! rights and wrongs, the consequences of going against god’s word or values, etc. putting fear into people to live a certain way. i love how you touched on that

her touching herself THERE, IN THE PLACE OF WORSHIP… ?! okay me too #twin #realfreaksonly

THE FUCKING TENSION BETWEEN MC AND JAKE DURING THE CONFESSION SCENE WHATTHEHELLL AHHHHHHHHHHHH i would’ve bent over that pew so fast 😭

the scene of jake begging mc to show him how she touched herself….. and then she just gets down to it and whips his dick out anzjakzak “i’m going to pray for forgiveness” LMAO I LOVE U LIL PERV CHURCH GIRL - the entire thing was so hot.. i am the real pervert 😞

once they started they didn’t stop LMFAO already diving into talking about kinks too !!! this is what i’m here for !!!!! i just know his nose would drive me insane too.. mc is just getting more and more real

why do i feel guilt ?!? “because we’ve been taught to fear Him more than we’ve been taught to trust His love.” OHMYGUCKING GOD JUST SHOOT ME — continues to spew more beautiful dialogue (ू˃̣̣̣̣̣̣︿˂̣̣̣̣̣̣ ू) while just lovin and touchin on each other oh wow where is my completely devote partner to worship and love me regardless of what anything else says

THEY ARE IN LOVVVEREEE 🤍🤍🤍🤍 all is right in the world

okay but honestly, this was such an amazing read (and my first jake fic i’ve read, so this is extra special to me hehe) the way you captured the characters emotions was so well done. i love all the religious references as a former catholic girl myself so of course i ate this up. all the analogies and metaphors were so perfect. you also write dialogue really well. there were so many more quotes i could’ve included because so much of it stood out to me ㅠㅠ truly phenomenal !! your characters felt real and it was so easy to connect with them too. from the imagery and details to the overall themes of guilt and shame are just so good, so yummy. really enjoyed jake’s pov too omg ily so bad also the smut was hot asf !!! TRUST, i will be reading more of your works bc that freaky nasty poly jayke fic has been calling my name for weeks now

i haven’t read a fic in over a month maybe longer but this tag really brought me right out of my reading slump. i will tackle your other works tomorrow ♥️ thank you so much for writing this, you’re so talented and amazing and beautiful and lovely i adore you

the fall of a man — sjy

SYNOPSIS: You were taught that virtue was a woman’s greatest strength, that temptation was a test of will, that desire was the serpent’s whisper leading you astray. But when temptation comes in the form of Sim Jaeyun—holy, untouchable, the very image of devotion—your faith begins to waver.

content tags: slow burn, plot with little bit of porn, mutual pining, both of them are religious and virgins, set in catholic university that is lead by nuns, they don't have sex ed!! adam and eve references, religious guilt, reader crushing and thirsting over jake in religious way that's been written for almost 5k words, some of the scenes are heavily inspired by 'guilty as sin' by ts.

warning: heavy sacrilegious content, karina kind of represent the serpent in reader's pov, blasphemy, explicit content (smut): reader masturbate in the chapel, virgins trying to fuck, virginity loss (obv), blowjob, fingering, unprotected sex (condom don't exist), jake call out god's name a lot of times. wc: 16.7k

note: my darling, @fangel really inspired me and make me overcome my fear in writing the most unholiest thing in the world, i'm inlove with you, bae and you really changed my world with your fics <3 i wrote this fic for armin arlert way back 2023 but never had the guts to publish it, but hey u give me a reason to continue this fic. and to my readers out there, i hope you enjoy reading this fic, i love writing jake's pov here :)

Ever since you were a child, you followed everything your parents told you. Raised in a devoutly religious household, your days revolved around faith—joining church activities, attending every Sunday mass without fail, even flying to Puerto Rico with your family to take part in Misa de Aguinaldo.

Religion wasn't just a part of your life; it was your life.

You loved God. You loved listening to preachers, absorbing their words like scripture carved into your soul. You loved spreading the message of Jesus Christ, the warmth of faith filling you every time you shared His name.

You prayed constantly—palms pressed together, head bowed, whispering words of gratitude for every blessing, of repentance for every misstep. You prayed for strength, for purity, for the will to resist temptation.

And yet—temptation had a name.

And his name is Sim Jaeyun.

You remember the first time you saw him walking through the gates of the Catholic university you both attended.

Jake Sim was the very embodiment of devotion, of unwavering faith. He carried himself with an air of holiness, always with a rosary wrapped around his fingers or a Bible tucked beneath his arm. He spoke with conviction, every word laced with the kind of certainty only true believers possessed. And yet, to you, he was something else entirely.

The way he moved, the way his voice echoed through the chapel—it was hypnotic. Your prayers would falter on your tongue whenever he stood at the altar, leading hymns with a voice so steady, so sure.

You had watched him, your eyes tracing the curve of his lips as he spoke, the way his lashes fluttered when he blinked. You had memorized the way candlelight danced across his skin, the way the veins in his hands shifted when he clasped them in prayer.

The boy who knelt before the cross with his eyes closed in deep, persistent faithfulness.

The boy who touched the rosary beads with such reverence, his fingers gliding over each one as if they held the weight of his salvation.

But all you could think about was how those same fingers would feel tracing the lines of your body, how they would press into your skin—not in prayer, but in something far more sinful.

How his lips would taste if they weren't murmuring scripture, if instead, they whispered your name in the dark.

How his faith would crumble if he ever looked at you the way you wanted him to.

And as you sat in the pews, hands clasped, head bowed, you prayed—not for strength, not for purity, but for him.

You shouldn't think about him that way. You shouldn't let your mind wander, not here, not in the house of God.

You knew the weight of sin, the warnings etched into you since childhood. Your family had made it clear—masturbation, desire, sex before marriage—each was a path to damnation. To act on them was to betray God.

Do not lay a hand on any boy. Do not think of flesh, of pleasure, of sin. Do not touch your body with thoughts of another.

But if you had never touched him, never let your hands stray to your own skin —if all you had were thoughts, then how could you already feel guilty as sin?

The golden light of the late afternoon filtered through the stained-glass windows of the university chapel, casting soft hues of red, blue, and gold onto the polished wooden pews. The air was still, filled only with the faint scent of old parchment and melting candle wax.

You sat near the front, fingers absentmindedly tracing the spine of your prayer book. The chapel was mostly empty, save for a few students lingering in quiet reflection. And him.

Sim Jaeyun stood near the altar, carefully arranging hymnals. Even in the simplicity of his tasks, there was a quiet devotion to him—an unshaken faith that made it impossible to look away.

You tried to focus on the words of the scripture open in front of you, but your thoughts were restless. It wasn't the first time you had stayed after midday prayers, and it wasn't the first time you had found yourself stealing glances at him.

A quiet sound of footsteps against the marble floor.

"You're here again."

You glanced up to find Jake standing at the edge. You nodded, offering a small smile. "I like the chapel in the afternoon. It's peaceful."

Jake hummed in agreement, sliding into the pew beside you, though he kept a respectful distance. "It's my favorite time, too," he admitted, clasping his hands together. "When the day is slowing down, but the world isn't quite asleep yet."

You studied him for a moment, watching as the sunlight touched his face, illuminating the softness in his features. "What do you pray for?" you asked.

Jake exhaled, his gaze fixed ahead. "For strength," he said. "To always follow the right path."

You nodded slowly, looking down at your hands.

"And you?" he asked.

You hesitated. You knew what you should say. Strength. Wisdom. Purity.

But instead, you murmured, "For understanding."

Jake turned to you, brow slightly furrowed. "Understanding?"

You swallowed. "There are... thoughts I don't always understand." You hesitated, fingers tightening around the pages of your prayer book. "And I ask for guidance. To know what is right."

For a moment, Jake was silent, then he offered a small, knowing smile. "God sees our hearts even when we struggle to see them ourselves." His voice was gentle and reassuring. "Sometimes, we don't need to have all the answers. We just need to trust Him to show us the way."

His words should have comforted you. But as you looked at him—at the boy who made your heart race in ways you couldn't explain—you weren't sure if the path you longed for was the one God had intended for you.

Sim Jaeyun barely even knew you. The two of you only shared a religion class, occasionally finding yourselves in the same prayer group. Your interactions were brief—just passing glances, a quiet exchange of smiles. Sometimes, after kneeling in prayer, he would hand you a sandwich and a bottle of water and you always accepted with a small nod of thanks, though the warmth in your chest lingered long after.

During every community outreach, you would catch glimpses of him—kneeling to pet stray dogs and cats, laughter spilling from his lips as children clung to his arms, their tiny hands gripping at his sleeves. He spoke to the elderly with a patience and gentleness that felt almost sacred, offering up his seat without hesitation, carrying their bags.

He was the kind of person people gravitated toward, the kind of person who made faith feel tangible—something living and breathing, rather than just words in a book.

You wondered if someone like him, someone pure as gold, ever sinned.

Sim Jaeyun was a name whispered often in the girls' residence hall. Every night, as curfew neared, you would hear them murmuring from their bunks.

"He'd make such a good husband." "Imagine him as a father—he'd be perfect." "Any girl would be lucky to have him."

A quiet admiration, soft and innocent. So why was yours so much heavier? So much more?

Why did yours feel like something that sat in your chest, something that pressed against your ribs with every prayer, something that burned?

"Your body is sacred."

The nun's voice rang through the classroom. She moved slowly between the rows of desks, the wooden stick in her hand tapping lightly against her palm with every step.

It was an all-girls class since she was teaching anatomy. But this wasn't just about the body. It was about purity.

She stopped near the front of the room, turning to face the class. Her gaze swept over each of you, as if she could see straight into your thoughts. "God has given you this body," she continued. "A temple. A gift. A vessel meant for holiness, not for sin."

You swallowed, shifting slightly in your seat.

"Temptation is everywhere," she said. "It creeps into your thoughts, into your hands, into the desires you do not speak of. But hear me, girls—"God is watching.""

The stick tapped against her palm again.

"Masturbation," she said, the word itself feeling heavy as it filled the silence, "is a sin against your own flesh. To lay a hand upon yourself in lust is to defile what was meant to be pure."

A hush settled over the room. Some girls looked down at their desks, others sat rigid, eyes wide, hands folded neatly in their laps as if to prove they had never done such a thing—never even thought about it.

You felt a heat crawl up the back of your neck.

"When you indulge in these acts," she continued, voice sharp with a warning, "your body burns—not with passion, not with pleasure, but with sin. A fire that does not cleanse, but corrupts."

She paused, her gaze sweeping the room again,

"And when you engage in sex outside of marriage, when you surrender yourself to the desires of the flesh, that fire does not leave you. It stays. It marks you. And on the day of judgment, when you stand before God, He will see it. He will know."

A shudder ran through you. You clenched your hands together, nails pressing into your palms.

Then, the nun's eyes landed on you.

"You understand, don't you?" she asked, though it wasn't really a question.

Your lips parted slightly, but no words came.

And just for a moment, you thought of him.

Sim Jaeyun.

Of the way his fingers brushed over rosary beads in prayer. Of the way his voice sounded when he spoke of faith, of devotion. Of how those hands, that voice, could ruin you.

And as the nun continued, warning of damnation, of the watchful eyes of God, you couldn't help but wonder.

If God was watching, did He already know what was in your heart? And worse—had He already condemned you for it?

"Yes, I understand," you said, though the words felt heavy on your tongue.

Guilt settled deep in your chest. Your palms were damp, fingers twitching slightly as you clasped them together.

You needed to repent.

You needed to pray until the thoughts left you, until the weight of sin lifted from your heart. Until the fire the nun spoke of no longer burned beneath your skin.

"Here, an apple for you."

A small hand reached toward yours, fingers curled around a tiny, imperfect apple. The child's eyes were bright with innocence, his smile wide as he offered it to you.

It was community outreach day in the mountains, where children ran barefoot over the uneven ground, laughter ringing through the crisp afternoon air. The scent of earth and firewood lingered, mingling with the distant voices of volunteers.

You knelt slightly, accepting the apple with a gentle smile. "Thank you," you said, your voice soft.

The boy beamed, pleased by your gratitude before running off to join the others.

You were about to take a bite of the apple when a sudden tap on your shoulder made you pause. Turning, you found your classmate standing behind you, her expression impatient.

"I need you to find Karina," she said, arms crossed. "She's missing again. And we need to leave by three."

You sighed, tucking the apple into your pocket. "Alright, I'll look for her."

With that, you made your way up the stone steps leading further into the hills, where the trees grew denser and the voices of the other volunteers faded into the rustling of leaves. The fresh mountain air brushed against your skin, carrying the scent of damp earth and woodsmoke.

As you climbed higher, a small tug on your sleeve made you stop.

"Lady, where are you going?"

You looked down to see a little girl standing beside you, her dark eyes round with curiosity. She was sucking her thumb, her tiny fingers clutching the fabric of your shirt.

Crouching down to her level, you offered a reassuring smile. "I need to find my friend."

The girl tilted her head, studying you with the kind of seriousness only children could manage. Then, after a moment, she leaned in slightly and whispered, "Be careful out there."

You raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

She pulled her thumb from her mouth and grinned, baring her tiny teeth. "There's a snake," she hissed, making a slithering motion with her hands. "They bite!"

You laughed, shaking your head. "I'll be careful."

With a gentle pat on the girl's head, you urged her to go play with the others before continuing your search.

"Karina!" you called, your voice echoing through the trees. The afternoon air was with the scent of damp earth and pine, the only sounds around you the rustling of leaves and the distant chatter of children below.

After what felt like ages of wandering, you sighed, pulling the apple from your pocket. Your thumb brushed against its smooth surface as you took slow steps forward, letting yourself take a small break.

Then, just as you were about to take a bite, something caught your eye.

It was small cabin, worn by time, tucked between the trees. You hadn't noticed it before, hadn't even realized anyone lived this far up the mountain.

Lifting your head, you parted your lips to call for Karina again but you heard a low, quiet, barely audible voice over the wind.

Your breath hitched slightly, and instinctively, you stayed silent.

Tilting your head, you slowly took a bite of the apple, the crunch loud in the stillness. Step by step, you moved around the cabin, careful not to make a sound.

You crept closer, your breath shallow, your fingers curled tightly around the apple. The rough wooden cabin stood against the trees, its single window slightly ajar. Through the gap, the muffled voices inside grew clearer—soft murmurs, hushed laughter.

A breathless moan.

Your body tensed, You hesitated for only a moment before tilting your head, peering through the dust-coated glass.

And that's when you saw the most sinful acts you've ever witness.

Karina was sprawled against the wooden table, her back arching beneath the weight of the farmer pressing into her. Her dress was bunched up around her waist, her bare thighs caging his hips. His hands gripped her skin, fingers digging into the softness of her legs, his mouth trailing down the curve of her neck.

Your stomach twisted, but you couldn't look away.

Karina wasn't resisting. She wasn't recoiling in shame or horror. There was no fear in her expression, no sign of guilt or repentance.

She was pulling him closer.

Her fingers wove into his hair, tugging slightly as her head fell back, exposing more of her throat to his lips. Her chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, her mouth parting with quiet, trembling gasps.

Your heartbeat thundered in your ears.

The nun's words echoed in your head, warnings of fire, of suffering, of bodies burning for their sins.

But Karina wasn't burning.

Your breath trembled as you stared, as the world you had known—the one built on prayer, on restraint, on the fear of temptation—began to splinter.

How is she not burning?

The apple slipped from your fingers, tumbling to the ground with a dull thud.

A hiss was heard. The sound was sharp, unnatural, cutting through the silence of the forest. Your body stiffened, a cold shiver crawling up your spine. Slowly, your gaze flickered to the tree beside you.

A snake. Its body coiled around the rough bark, scales glistening in the fading sunlight. It was watching you, its tongue flickering out.

Eve was tempted. Eve took the fruit.

Your stomach twisted violently as you staggered back, tearing your eyes away from both the serpent and the scene inside the cabin.

You ran. Branches scraped against your skin as you pushed through the trees, your feet barely touching the ground. The echoes of Karina's breathless moans clung to you, no matter how fast you tried to outrun them.

You needed to forget. To erase the moment of sin that had burned itself into your mind. To cleanse yourself before the weight of temptation swallowed you whole.

"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee..."

Your eyes clenched shut as you muttered the prayer, over and over, you repeated the words, as if their rhythm alone could cleanse your mind, could undo what you had seen.

The rosary felt heavy in your hands, the beads pressing into your palm. But no matter how tightly you held it, no matter how desperately you clung to prayer, the memory would not leave you.

"Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus."

You sucked in a sharp breath, your chest tightening.

"Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners—"

Your voice broke. This was your fall.

A single tear slipped down your cheek, then another, until you were gripping the rosary so tightly your knuckles turned white. A quiet sniffle escaped you, but the tears kept coming, blurring the dim candlelight of the chapel.

You could not stop trembling, your stomach tightening, a dull ache spreading between your legs, heat pooling where it should not.

Your thighs pressed together instinctively, but it did nothing to stop the throbbing. You clenched your fists, willing the sensation away, but the images had already taken root.

Karina. The farmer. The way her body had arched into him, how she had clung to him. It should have horrified you. It should have disgusted you.

Instead, a shudder ran through you as your mind betrayed you, as the image shifted, reshaped itself into something far more forbidden.

Not Karina.

You.

And not the farmer.

Jake.

Your breath hitched. The thought was wrong—blasphemous. But it came unbidden, vivid and consuming, slipping into the cracks of your mind like sin itself. You saw him above you, his hands gripping your waist, his lips murmuring something against your skin.

Your rosary slipped from your fingers, the beads scattering against the marble floor.

You gasped softly, snapping your eyes open as if waking from a dream—no, a nightmare.

Your hands flew to your chest, pressing against your heart as if you could smother the racing beat beneath your skin.

No. No, no, no.

Tears welled in your eyes again, this time not just from guilt but from fear—of yourself.

This was your fall.

The serpent had coiled itself around you, whispering its venom into your ears, seeping into your thoughts, your body.

Karina was expelled after the nuns discovered what she had done during the community outreach.

You helped her pack in silence, folding the last of her skirts into a worn-out suitcase.

Your nose was red, your eyes swollen—for many reasons. Of course, you hadn't told anyone what you saw. That was yet another reason you were a sinner. You had kept her secret, watched in silence as she was cast out.

But worse—you couldn't stop thinking about it.

And worst of all, you had lost another prayer partner.

Your voice was quiet when you finally asked, "Do you regret it?"

Karina's hands stilled over the fabric of her blouse. She stared at the ground for a long moment before exhaling slowly. "No."

"They're sending me away," she continued. "Some isolated place, far from men. Away from temptation. They'll make me enter seminary, force me to repent, try to fix me."

She let out a dry laugh, shaking her head. "Fix me. As if I'm broken."

You said nothing, letting her words settle between you.

Karina turned then, her gaze finding yours. "But I don't regret it. No matter what they try to tell me." A small, humorless smile tugged at her lips. "But you wouldn't understand, would you?"

Your fingers curled into the fabric of her dress as you folded it, staring at the delicate lace trim. "There are a lot of things I don't understand," you admitted. Then, meeting her eyes, you added, "But I do not judge. I am here to listen."

Karina studied you, her expression is pained. Then she let out a slow breath, sitting on the edge of the bed. "You know the story of Adam and Eve," she said.

You nodded. "Of course."

"They call it the fall," she murmured, tilting her head slightly. "But have you ever thought that maybe it wasn't a fall at all?"

You frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her fingers intertwined. "Eve took the apple. She chose knowledge, chose to know desire, hunger, craving. And for that, she was cast out." Karina exhaled through her nose, a bitter smile on her lips. "But maybe that was never a punishment. Maybe it was freedom."

She glanced at you then, "Christianity tells us that craving is sinful. That wanting—whether it's knowledge, pleasure, or love—will ruin us." Her voice lowered, "but tell me—why would God give us bodies that feel if He didn't want us to use them?"

Your throat felt dry.

"You've thought about it, haven't you?" Karina questioned. "You've felt it."

Heat crept up your neck, shame curling tight in your stomach.

Karina smiled, but it wasn't mocking. If anything, it was knowing. "It's normal to crave, you know," she said. "To want."

"In the city," Karina continued, "I heard students openly talk about sex. About how it's natural. They even discuss things like hormones, the way the body reacts to desire. When your clitoris—"

"Shhh!" Your eyes widened as you shot a panicked glance toward the door. Your hand moved on instinct, pressing against her lips to silence her.

"Do not use such vulgar words!" you hissed, even hearing such a thing felt wrong, like an invitation for sin to take root inside you.

Karina only laughed, she gently pulled your hand away, her lips curling into a teasing smile. "Why? Because the nuns don't want you to know your own body?"

Your cheeks burned, your fingers curling into your lap as you looked away. "Because it's wrong," you muttered. "You speak of things that lead to damnation."

Karina sighed, tilting her head. "Says who? The nuns? The ones who tell us that touching ourselves will set our bodies on fire?" She leaned in slightly, "Tell me, have you ever actually tried it?"

Your breath hitched as you swallowed, your pulse hammering against your skin. "I—I would never—"

Karina smiled knowingly. "Of course you wouldn't. Because you're afraid, aren't you?"

You stiffened. "Afraid of what?"

"That they were lying to you," she said simply.

You stared at her, Karina reached for your hand, her touch gentle as she placed it over your own lap. "If it's really so sinful," she murmured, "if it really makes you burn... then why don't you test it?"

Your breath caught in your throat. Her fingers pressed lightly against yours. "Go on. Just once. Just to see if their words hold any truth."

"If you want to touch yourself," she continued, undeterred by your silence, "put your fingers inside—but don't just push in and out. Curl them inside, find the spot that makes your legs shake."

Your entire body went rigid as Karina leaned closer, her lips curling, almost amused at your reaction. "And your clitoris—"

"Stop," you gasped, eyes widening as you instinctively clamped a hand over her mouth. Your other hand flew to the door, your head snapping toward it, terrified that someone might hear.

She giggled against your palm, her laughter muffled before she gently pulled your hand away. "Why are you so scared?" she teased. "It's just your body. It's natural."

Your cheeks were burning now, hot with embarrassment.

Karina sighed, tilting her head as if she pitied you. "If you ever do find someone," she continued, undeterred, "a boy—"

You swallowed hard.

"Let him play with your nipples." Her voice dipped lower, as if she were sharing a secret meant only for you. "Let him suck them, bite them just a little. It feels so good."

Your thighs clenched involuntarily.

"And a boy," she went on, eyes glinting with mischievous, "his penis—"

"Karina!"

She laughed, completely unashamed of her own words. "What? It's true! If you want to make a boy weak, touch him there. Play with it, stroke it, suck on it—especially the tip."

A choked sound escaped you.

"Giving someone pleasure," she said, watching your reaction, "is just as enjoyable as receiving it. Maybe even more."

Your hands trembled in your lap. You couldn't even look at her now. Your mind felt clouded, a war raging between every lesson the nuns had taught you and the curiosity her words planted deep inside you.

Karina exhaled, shaking her head. "You poor thing," she murmured, you bit your lip hard, trying to drown out the heat rising in your body with pain.

"You should try it, you know," she said after a beat, her voice almost gentle now. "Just once. Just so you know if they were lying to you all along."

Your chest tightened, your heart hammering so loudly you feared it might betray you.

Because the worst part wasn't her words.

It was that you wanted to know if she was right.

So you repented again.

You prayed and prayed for forgiveness, whispering desperate pleas beneath your breath, pressing your forehead against the cold chapel floor. You gripped your rosary so tightly that the beads left indentations in your palm, as if pain itself could cleanse you.

But it was getting harder. Especially now, with Holy Week approaching. Longer prayers, deeper fasting, more time spent in solemn reflection. And yet, the more you immersed yourself in worship, the more temptation gnawed at you.

Especially since Sim Jaeyun was the one leading Passion Week.

You sat among the others, hands folded in your lap, your gaze fixed on the cross, trying not to think about him. Trying not to remember Karina's words.

"If you ever find someone, let him touch you, let him play with you—"

You swallowed hard, clenching your fists against your thighs.

Women and men were not allowed to be seen too close together. A proper distance must always be kept, a respectable space left between bodies. A simple conversation was permitted—but only from afar.

"You do pray very often."

The voice came from behind you. You stiffened, your breath catching in your throat as you turned slightly—only to find him.

Jake stood just a few feet away, hands clasped in front of him. "Is something bothering you?"

You turned back toward the cross, swallowing the lump in your throat. Your fingers curled against your knees, sweat forming at your temples.

"No," you whispered, though the lie burned on your tongue.

Jake was silent for a moment. Then, softly, he said, "You can talk to me, you know. If something is troubling you."

You closed your eyes. How could you tell him?

How could you tell him that the prayers weren't working? That no matter how hard you tried, the thoughts would not leave you? That he was becoming the temptation you could no longer escape?

Your eyes started to water again, he knelt beside you, as his presence settled so dangerously close—closer than what was proper.

Your eyes burned with unshed tears, your fingers tightening around the rosary.

Jake watched you. From this close, he could see the way the candlelight illuminated your face, casting soft shadows along the delicate curve of your cheekbones. Your skin glowed, almost ethereal, as if touched by something divine.

You looked like a painting—one of the old Renaissance depictions of saints and martyrs.

Beautiful.

His gaze drifted lower, to the way your lips barely moved as you whispered prayers, the words shaky, your hands trembled over the rosary, clutched so tightly.

His eyes fell to your knees. The fabric of your skirt had shifted slightly, revealing the barest hint of bruised skin—evidence of hours spent kneeling.

He had seen piety before. He had witnessed countless prayers, watched the most devout of worshippers bow their heads in absolute faith.

But this—the way you prayed, the way you looked before the altar—felt different. He couldn't imagine what sin someone like you could have possibly committed.

His voice came quietly, "You should rest."

You flinched slightly at the sound of his voice,

"I can't," you murmured.

And then softly, without thinking—he reached out.

His hand hovered over yours for just a breath before settling atop your trembling fingers. Palm to palm, warm and steady, stopping you mid-prayer.

He didn't know what possessed him to touch you. Perhaps it was the way you looked so lost, so utterly consumed by something unseen. Or perhaps it was the fact that no nun was watching, no one to scold him for standing too close, for placing his hand over yours.

His touch was meant to be assuring. Nothing more. Nothing sinful.

But then you stiffened beneath him.

Your breath caught in your throat, your shoulders going rigid, your fingers twitching beneath his. Your heartbeat slammed against your ribs.

You turned your face toward him.

Jake sucked in a quiet breath as his eyes met yours—wide, desperate, a single tear slipping down your cheek.

He had never seen a gaze like that before. Not in church, not in prayer, not in the face of someone seeking salvation.

His fingers flexed slightly against yours, the warmth of your skin radiating beneath his palm. His thumb brushed against the back of your hand, a slow, instinctive movement, like a silent reassurance.

Before he could stop himself, his other hand lifted. Gently, hesitantly, he swiped away the tear that had slipped down your cheek, his fingertips barely grazing your skin.

You gasped softly. It was the smallest sound, but it sent something through him, something that made his fingers linger just a second too long against your face.

Your skin was warm beneath his touch. Soft. Alive.

It took everything in him to pull away.

The moment his fingers left your cheek, a strange kind of loss settled in his chest. He reached into his pocket, fingers brushing against the fabric of his handkerchief before carefully pulling it out. Silently, he placed it in your trembling hands.

"Whatever you were praying for," he murmured, "I'm sure God will understand."

As if to anchor you back into the faith you were grasping so desperately onto, he smiled.

The kind of smile meant to bring comfort. But to you, it only made it worse.

"I should go," Jake said, you nodded, unable to meet his gaze. He shift beside you, the soft rustling of fabric as he stood. His presence lingered for just a moment longer before the sound of his footsteps echoed against the chapel floor, growing fainter.

And yet, his warmth remained.

Your hands trembled as you lifted the handkerchief to your face, pressing it against your damp cheeks. His scent clung to the fabric—a faint trace of sandalwood and incense, something undeniably him.

You exhaled shakily, squeezing your eyes shut.

God will understand.

A broken sob escaped your lips as you clutched the fabric tighter, your body trembling with something you no longer had the strength to fight. Tears slipped freely down your cheeks, soaking into the handkerchief as you sniffled against it.

Your fingertips skimmed over the waistband of your skirt, then lower, brushing against the thin fabric beneath.

A sharp breath left you when you felt the wetness, sticky and warm, pooling between your thighs, evidence of the thoughts you had failed to purge.

You should stop. You should repent.

And yet, your other hand only tightened around the handkerchief, pressing it closer to your face, inhaling the faint traces of him.

Still kneeling, you stared at the cross before you. Your body trembled, shame curling in your stomach.

You sobbed, your weight tipping forward, forehead pressing against the marble floor. Your free hand clenched at your skirt, your knuckles white with restraint.

Your finger dipped inside, a choked gasp slipping past your lips at the sudden intrusion.

The feeling was new, startling and unfamiliar. You hesitated only for a moment before pressing deeper, your body clenching around the touch, breath hitching as pleasure licked up your spine.

The nuns had warned you—the body will burn.

But as your fingers curled, as something electric shot through your legs, making them tremble, you realized this was not pain nor suffering.

Your mouth parted, a quiet, breathless sound escaping as you rocked into your own touch, your other hand bracing against the marble floor to steady yourself, the overwhelming scent of him filling your senses.

Sim Jaeyun—his hands hovering over yours, the warmth of his palm against your trembling fingers, the way he had wiped away your tear.

Your fingers pressed deeper, and a soft gasp escaped your lips. You imagined it was his touch, his fingers exploring you with hesitant curiosity.

"You do pray very often," his voice echoed in your mind, "Is something bothering you?"

Yes, he was bothering you.

You pictured him above you, his fingers tracing over the same places your own were now.

"Does it burn?" he would ask, voice laced with something both sinful and sacred.

And you would shake your head—because it didn't.

It felt holy.

Your body arched into your own touch, your legs trembling as heat coiled deep inside you, tighter and tighter, threatening to consume you whole. The pressure, the ache, the need—it was overwhelming. It was blasphemous.

Yet, it was the closest you had ever felt to salvation.

A gasp tore from your lips, soft yet sinful in the silence of the chapel. Your fingers pushed deeper, your body rocking to meet them, each movement sending dizzying waves of pleasure through you.

Beads of sweat dripped from your forehead, falling onto the floor. You added another finger, stretching yourself further, testing the limits of your own body. A choked whimper escaped as your walls clenched around the intrusion, your breathing ragged. Your other hand fumbled against the floor, grasping for stability, but there was none—no safety, no sanctuary, no way to stop now.

You think about his hands on your waist, his lips trailing down your neck. Your body tensed, your fingers working faster, chasing the edge of an unknown pleasure that built higher and higher—until it was too much, too much.

With one final, shuddering breath, the world shattered around you. Your body trembled, pleasure crashing over you in violent waves, a silent cry caught in your throat as your mind went blank.

Your body slumped forward, forehead pressing against the cool marble floor, your fingers slipping out as the aftershocks of pleasure left you breathless.

There was only silence. Only your heaving breaths, the scent of candle wax and incense thick in the air, the fading echoes of his name somewhere in the depths of your mind.

Then, guilt settled in, so heavy. You had really fallen.

And yet, as you lay there, pulse still racing, you couldn't bring yourself to repent.

The days blurred into nights, and with each passing moment, you felt yourself slipping further into something you could no longer control.

You couldn't meet your own reflection anymore. The girl in the mirror was not the same—her eyes hollow with guilt, her lips parted in silent prayer that never reached the heavens. You had abandoned the comfort of your rosary, leaving it untouched on your bedside table. Even the scent of candle wax and incense, once a balm to your soul, now felt suffocating.

It was as if a devil had settled inside you, whispering in your ear, feeding your thoughts with things no holy woman should crave. And yet, no matter how fiercely you fought it, you kept returning to your sin.

Each night, beneath the shroud of darkness, your body became a traitor. Your hands moved without permission, exploring places you had been taught were forbidden. Your bedsheets tangled around your legs, damp with sweat, evidence of your transgressions.

And always, always, his name spilled from your lips.

Each time, you found yourself back in the same position—fingers trembling, thighs clenched, gasping into the silence of your room, drowning in him. And it felt too good to stop.

"Have mercy on me, O God, according to Your unfailing love..."

You whispered it every day in the chapel, hands clutching the rosary so tightly. "According to Your great compassion, blot out my transgressions. Wash away all my iniquity and cleanse me from my sin..."

Tears slipped down your cheeks, soaking into the fabric of your sleeves as you knelt before the altar. You sobbed, your body wracked with guilt, your lips forming words of repentance.

And yet—when you returned to your bed that night, your body trembling with guilt, your prayers still lingering in the air—

You touched yourself anyway.

"It's impressive how you always pray," Jake said, his voice gentle, filled with quiet admiration. A small smile graced his lips. Another interaction. Another moment that would be burned into your mind, another weight added to the burden of your sin.

"How you always find time to speak with Him," he continued. "I'm sure whatever you're praying for, you'd be heard."

You swallowed hard. Would God listen when your prayers were no longer pure? When you begged not for salvation, but for relief from the temptation standing before you?

You forced a polite nod, quickly wiping at your damp cheeks, hoping he wouldn't notice how red your eyes were. How broken you looked. Your knees ached from kneeling for so long, your fingers sore from gripping the rosary too tightly. If only he knew what your prayers had become—not words of devotion, but desperate pleas for deliverance.

You were about to stand, to create distance, to escape before your body could betray you again. But before you could move, Jake lowered himself to kneel beside you.

The proximity sent a shiver down your spine. His presence was grounding, yet it set something uneasy alight inside you.

"You know," he said, voice soft, "I quite admire you."

Jake smiled, warm and sincere, his eyes searching yours as if he was seeing something sacred in you. "You share a special relationship with God," he continued. "The way you pray, the way you devote yourself—it's beautiful."

"I've seen the way you never miss a prayer," he went on. "The way you kneel here for hours, speaking to Him when no one else is watching. I've seen the tears, the way you hold your rosary."

His gaze flickered down to your hands, still red from gripping the beads too tightly.

"And I think... that kind of devotion is rare."

You swallowed, forcing yourself to look away, because his words—his praise—felt heavier than anything the nuns had ever told you.

Because it was him saying it.

He didn't know that your devotion wasn't pure. That your prayers were not for holiness, but for control. That when you closed your eyes at night, it wasn't scripture that filled your mind, but the memory of his touch.

"God must love you very much," Jake murmured, tilting his head slightly. "To have someone as loyal as you."

You inhaled shakily, without thinking, you shifted back, settling onto the wooden pew. Jake stayed where he was, still kneeling, his gaze fixed on the cross. You swallowed. Your fingers curled around the rosary in your palm

"Can I confess, Jake?"

Your voice was barely above a whisper. Jake turned his head, he hesitated for a moment before moving to sit beside you, his posture still composed. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice is with quiet curiosity. "I am not a priest—I can't take such confessions."

You exhaled sharply, your grip tightening around the rosary.

"Forgive me, for I have sinned."

Jake stilled beside you his confusion was evident in the way his brows knitted together, in the way his head tilted slightly as if trying to piece together what you meant. "Why?" he asked slowly.

You couldn't look at him. If you did, you feared he would see it. The truth. The war inside you. The way he was the very thing you needed to confess.

Your throat tightened as you muttered the next following words. "Because," you whispered, forcing the words out before you lost the courage to speak them, "I don't think I want to repent."

Jake stiffened beside you. His breath hitched, his entire body going rigid. His fingers curled against his lap, gripping the fabric of his trousers. "H-How can you say that?" His voice was unsteady, a stark contrast to the usual calmness he carried. His soft features, always composed, always gentle, were now pulled into shock and disbelief.

You swallowed, your throat dry, your heart slamming against your ribs as you forced yourself to continue. If you stopped now, if you let fear take hold, you would never be free of this.

"I think of things I shouldn't."Your voice trembled, but your gaze didn't waver this time. "I touched myself."

Jake's body jerked slightly, his lips parted again, but no words came, as if he had been struck speechless, as if the confession had ripped the breath from his lungs. His Adam's apple bobbed with a harsh swallow, the tendons in his neck tightening. His gaze flickered away, darting briefly to the cross above the altar, as if seeking guidance, as if seeking a way out. But there was none. He could not look at you, not when the weight of your confession was still lingering in the air

"You..." he started, but the words failed him. He shook his head, exhaling sharply through his nose. His brows furrowed, "Why are you telling me this?"

Your hands clenched into fists in your lap, nails digging into your palms as you forced yourself to speak—forced yourself to ruin yourself completely. "Because it was you, Jake."

Jake inhale, his eyes widening, but only for a second. Something changed—something deep inside him, something that flickered behind his dark gaze like a dying flame suddenly reignited.

Your pulse pounded in your ears, your skin tingling under the intensity of his stare. But you didn't stop. You couldn't.

"I touch myself with the thought of you."

Jake's fingers dug into his thighs, gripping so tightly. His breathing turned shallow, uneven, his chest rising and falling at a pace that betrayed his struggle. His gaze dropped—just for a second—to your lips, before snapping back up, but the damage was already done.

He was flustered.

"D-Do not say v-vulgar things," Jake whispered, his hands trembling slightly where they rested against his lap. But it was his eyes that held you captive—wide, burning, conflicted.

Your throat tightened, and before you could stop yourself, tears welled in your eyes again. "I don't think I'm free of guilt if I confess to God."

Jake flinched at your words. His fingers twitched as if he wanted to reach for you, to stop you, to comfort you—but he didn't. Because he shouldn't.

"I keep praying for forgiveness," you continued, your voice trembling, "but I do not regret what I have done."

Jake inhaled sharply. His gaze flickered to the cross for only a moment—as if searching for guidance—before returning to you. Your lips trembled as you forced out the truth, the final confession that sealed your fall.

"I only feel guilty because thinking of you is a sinful act against my own people."

A tear slipped down your cheek, falling onto your lap, soaking into the fabric of your skirt. You weren't sure what you were asking from him—absolution, understanding, or something far more dangerous.

"God is willing to forgive again and again, right?" you choked out. Jake's breath hitched, and then you asked the only question that truly mattered. "But are you willing to forgive me?"

His throat bobbed with another hard swallow, but he couldn't speak. Because there was no answer to give. Not one that would be right. Not one that would be true. He stood abruptly. The movement was sudden, almost jerky, as if he was running—fleeing.

You watched him, lips quivering, hands still clenched together in your lap.

His palm was sweaty as he brushed it against his robe, his pulse erratic as he stepped out of the chapel, the heavy door closing behind him with a finality that made your chest ache.

You didn't call after him. You didn't move. Because what could you say? He was already gone.

Jake arrived early at the residence hall, his movements stiff, controlled, as if forcing himself into habit, but as soon as the door shut behind him, his composure cracked. His chest rose and fell with deep, unsteady breaths, his hands running through his hair in frustration. The ghost of your voice lingered in his ears, wrapping around his mind like a noose.

"I touch myself with the thought of you."

"I do not regret what I have done."

His jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides. He sank onto the bed, head falling back against the pillows, eyes squeezing shut.

"But are you willing to forgive me?"

His breath came out shaky, ragged, as he muttered, "Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name..." His voice was strained and the prayer did nothing.

Nothing to rid him of the images flooding his mind, of your tear-streaked face, of the way your voice trembled, of the way you looked at him as if he held the answer to your salvation. He sucked in a sharp breath as his hands gripped the sheets beside him, as the tension in his body coiled so tight it hurt.

And then—he felt the unbearable heat pooling low in his stomach. The painful ache of his cock pressing against the fabric of his pants.

He let out a quiet, desperate whine, the sound muffled against his palm as he ran a hand over his face, as if trying to scrub away the shame, the want, the overwhelming weight of you. Still, the words of his prayer tumbled from his lips, over and over, between broken breaths.

Just like Adam, he had been steadfast. Pure. Untouched by temptation. He had walked the path of righteousness without faltering, without question, his faith as unwavering as the ground beneath his feet. He had known his purpose—to obey, to serve, to resist.

And yet, you— the Eve.

A whisper of temptation. Just as Eve had reached for the fruit, her fingers brushing against the knowledge of sin, you had reached for him—not with hands, but with words.

And now, like Adam, he was failing. He had seen the fruit before him. He had heard the serpent's voice, had felt the first stirrings of doubt deep in his chest, where conviction once lived.

He wanted to reach back.

To taste. To know. To fall.

Because wasn't that what Adam had done? He hadn't been deceived—he had chosen to fall with Eve. He had taken the fruit from her hand, knowing what it would cost.

"Take a bite."

The voice echoed in his mind, low and insistent, curling around his thoughts like a serpent coiled around a branch. Jake sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes remained fixed on the ceiling, but he did not see it.

Instead, he saw you.

He imagined you whispering to him, your lips forming the very words that now tormented him. He imagined your fingers brushing against his wrist, leading him closer to ruin. Just as Eve had turned to Adam with the fruit cradled in her palm, you had turned to him with your confession, tempting him in ways he had never been tempted before.

His cock throbbed painfully beneath the confines of his pants, damp with his own arousal.

"Take a bite," the voice urged again, slithering through the cracks of his crumbling resistance. His hands clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. He should continue praying, to fight whatever temptation the devil was filling him.

But instead, he lay there, panting, burning not with the way the nun teaches, his body betraying him as he squeezed his eyes shut. He let himself imagine.

"Heaven and earth are full," the voices soared inside the chapel, the morning light streaming through the stained-glass windows.

"Are full of your glory."

Jake's lips parted, but he did not sing. His gaze was fixed on you. You stood in the choir, your voice blending seamlessly with the others, yet somehow, to him, it was the only one that mattered.

Your long white dress fell in soft folds to your feet, the fabric catching in the gentle morning breeze drifting through the open doors. The wind moved through your hair, shifting it slightly, making it look almost weightless.

You were a vision of purity wrapped in divinity.

"Hosanna, hosanna."

Your eyes are dull and distant, told a different story. You sang the words, but you were not present. There was no joy, no reverence, only an emptiness that should not belong to someone standing before God.

"Hosanna in the highest."

But to him, you were the highest. More than the chapel's towering walls, more than the altar bathed in candlelight, more than the cross above them all. His fingers twitched at his sides, aching to touch, to reach, to worship. But not as a believer should.

"Show me."

The words slipped from Jake's. Your breath caught in your throat, your eyes widening as you stared at him.

The small room at the back of the chapel felt unbearably tight, with the scent of old books and dust, the faint aroma of candle wax lingering in the corners. A candlelight was at the center of the table.

This was a place of study, of quiet contemplation, and A man and a woman should not be alone together. Not when the door was shut.

"Show me." Jake swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Show me how you touch yourself."

"H-Huh?" You stuttered, barely able to form words, your mind struggling to comprehend what he had just said. "Jake, you're so pure... I don't want you to be tainted like me. I already disappoint God—"

"Please, just show me."

His voice was desperate, his restraint fraying at the edges. Jake stepped forward, closing the distance between you.

Your breath hitched as he leaned over the table between you, hands bracing against the worn wood, trapping you between his body and the cold stone wall.

"I have thoughts about you too."

Your eyes snapped up to his, his eyes were glassy, his lips trembling as if the weight of his own confession was too much to bear, unshed tears brimming in his lashes.

"I thought of you that night," he murmured. You sucked in a breath, pressing yourself further into the table.

"I disappointed God too."

"Jake. . . " Your breath hitched at his confession as your eyes is searching on him. "Are you not afraid? Of the fire that will burn you?" you asked.

Jake's breath was uneven, his chest rising and falling as he leaned closer, his hands tightening against the edge of the table. "Does it burn you when you touch yourself?"

"Because when I thought of you," Jake continued, "my body just ached for your embrace."

Your heart pounded so loudly; you almost want to lower your head due to the proximity.

"It's not the fire that burns me."

He swallowed hard, his jaw clenched as his gaze bore into yours, "It's the ache of longing for you."

You had feared he would resist, that he would turn away, condemn you, beg for salvation. But he wasn't begging for salvation. He was begging for you.

"Take a bite," a voice in the back of your mind hissed—low and insidious.

And without another word, without hesitation, you reached for him. Your fingers curled around the nape of his neck, you pulled him in, lips met his.

A low, desperate moan escaped Jake's throat as he crushed you against him, his hands finding your waist, gripping you so tightly. His body pressed into yours, heat radiating through the layers of fabric that still separated you.

His lips moved against yours with a hunger that startled you. The tears that had brimmed in his eyes slipped down his cheeks.

Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling, needing. The kiss was desperate, both of your teeth are clashing. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more. The pressure of his mouth against yours softened after a moment, his lips parting slightly, then his tongue brushed against yours.

A soft gasp left your lips, and Jake seized the moment, his tongue slipping past the seam of your mouth, exploring, tasting. He groaned into you, the sound vibrating against your chest, making something hot coil in your stomach.

Your grip tightening in his hair as the kiss deepened, his tongue moving in slow, deliberate strokes, coaxing you into submission.

"If you want to make a boy weak, touch him there. Play with it, stroke it."

Still kissing him, your free hand drifted lower, hesitant, until your fingers pressed over the hardness beneath his pants.

Jake cried out. His entire body jerked, his hips stuttering beneath your touch as he broke the kiss with a sharp gasp.

"Oh my Lord—"

His head fell forward, forehead pressing against your shoulder as his breath came out in ragged, uneven pants. His hands clenched at your waist, gripping the fabric of your dress.

You swallowed, watching in fascination as his body trembled beneath your touch.

Carefully, experimentally, you pressed your palm more firmly against him, stroking him slow through the fabric.

Jake whimpered. His hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more friction, chasing the pleasure, more relief, yet it was never enough. Your name slipped from his lips in a strangled moan, muffled against your shoulder.

"I want to see you. Please." You whisper, more like a whine as your fingers continued to stroke him through the fabric of his pants.

Jake lifted his head slowly, his breath ragged, his pupils blown wide with something that had nothing to do with faith. Tears streaked his flushed cheeks, his lips parted as they trembled.

His gaze locked onto yours, vulnerable yet so needy.

"W-Will you touch me more?"

His voice cracked at the end, his body shuddering as he fumbled with the buttons of his pants, his fingers shaking too much to work quickly. You watched as he hesitated, his chest rising and falling rapidly, before finally tugging the fabric down past his hips.

Your breath caught in your throat.

A penis. His cock was thick, long, flushed a deep shade of red. Fluid leaked from the swollen tip, dripping down the shaft in slow, glistening trails.

You remembered feeling disgusted way in anatomy class, staring at the stiff, clinical images in textbooks, thinking the male body was strange, almost grotesque.

Now, your mouth watered.

Heat pooled deep in your belly, your pussy clenching together involuntarily. You didn't even realize what you were doing until you were already on your knees.

Jake's breath hitched, his body going rigid. His wide, teary eyes stared down at you.

"W-What a-are you doing?" He exhaled sharply, his voice cracking. You glanced up at him, your hands settling on his thighs.

A whisper from your past came back to you, "Suck on it—especially the tip."

Your lips parted, and you murmured, "I'm going to pray for forgiveness." then you took him into your mouth.

"Ahhh—!"

A choked gasp tore from his lips, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. His hands flew to your head, fingers tangling in your hair, but he didn't push. He held on for dear life.

His knees buckled slightly, his breath coming in ragged, shuddering gasps as your warm mouth engulfed him.

You tasted the saltiness of his arousal, the unfamiliar flavor spreading across your tongue, but instead of pulling away, you took more.

"Jesus Christ, this is disgusting," Jake cried, his voice shaking—yet his hands remained buried in your hair, his hips jerking forward, pushing himself deeper into your mouth.

His breath came out in broken gasps as he watched you, watched the way your cheeks hollowed around his cock, the way your lips stretched to accommodate him. His fingers trembled where they tangled in your hair, torn between holding back and pushing in further.

"It feels too good—too good, too good—" he whined, his mouth falling open, eyes glassy.

Your stomach tightened at the sound, heat curling between your thighs at the way he was breaking apart. You wanted more, you needed more.

Your tongue traced along the underside of his shaft, your head bobbing steadily, each movement coaxing more whimpers from his lips. His thighs trembled beneath your hands, his entire body shaking with pleasure so foreign to him that he didn't know what to do with it.

"You shall not take the name of the Lord your God in vain." The words echoed in the back of your mind, a commandment you had already shattered beyond repair.

But you like hearing him, hearing the way he gasped for God, the way his voice cracked when he moaned between whispered prayers.

Your eyes flickered up, meeting his gaze. Jake whimpered, his breath stuttering as you took him further, pushing yourself until the tip of his cock brushed the back of your throat. Your gag reflex tightened, but you didn't pull away. You held him there, letting him feel everything.

"A-Ahhh—!"

A loud, uncontrollable moan ripped from his throat as his head fell back, exposing the column of his neck, veins prominent, his Adam's apple bobbing with every gasping breath.

His body tensed, his fingers gripping you too tightly, as if he was seeing God Himself in the pleasure washing over him.

His moans grew louder, needier—his entire existence reduced to you and the sin you were leading him into.

His grip in your hair tightened, his hips stuttering as he fought to keep himself from thrusting into your mouth, from losing himself entirely.

"S-Something's coming—something's coming."

His voice broke, whimpering and breathless. Still bobbing your head, you reached down with one hand, lifting your skirt, fingers sliding beneath the fabric of your underwear. The moment your fingers brushed against your slick folds; a moan vibrated against his shaft.

Jake gasped, his thighs tensing, his entire body shuddering at the sensation.

Your wetness coated your fingers, and with no hesitation, you pushed one inside, curling it the way you always had when you were alone—except now, you weren't alone.

Now, it felt too good to be true. Because Jake was in front of you.

Because Jake was falling with you.

Your own pleasure built with every movement of your fingers, every muffled moan that sent vibrations through him.

His hand slid down, trembling, until it brushed against your cheek, his thumb wiping away the tears pooling at the corner of your eyes, tears from how deep you had taken him, from how overwhelming it all was.

His touch was tender, contradicting the broken, filthy sounds spilling from his lips.

"You're—" he choked out, his voice wrecked. "You're touching yourself?"

You hummed around him, confirming, not slowing down, your fingers working deeper inside yourself as his body tensed above you.

Jake whimpered, his head falling forward, his lips barely parted as he stared. His stomach coiled tighter and tighter, his body trembling as his hips stuttered, chasing the feeling, unable to hold back.

"You look so beautiful," he sobbed, his voice raw and shaking. "So divine."

His gaze never left you, drinking in the sight of you—on your knees before him, lips wrapped around his length, taking him so deep without breaking eye contact.

A choked moan tore from his throat at the way you looked up at him, at the sheer devotion in your eyes. It was as if you had been sculpted by God Himself, crafted not from dust but from light, from holiness.

Jake had always admired you.

The way you prayed every afternoon in the chapel, hands clasped. How your lips moved so softly in whispered hymns, the way your voice blended into the choir like something celestial.

How you knelt before the altar, head bowed, untouched by the world around you, your beauty standing apart from anything he had ever known.

Now, you were kneeling for him, your mouth worshipped something else entirely.

His hips jerked forward, unrestrained, a sob catching in his throat.

"Oh—oh, my God—"

His entire body shook, the pleasure nearly blinding. A choked sob left his lips as his release spilled into your mouth, hot and thick, coating your tongue. His hips jerked involuntarily, pressing deeper until your nose met his abdomen, forcing you to take every last drop.

You moaned at the sensation, fingers working faster inside yourself, chasing the same pleasure that had just undone him. The taste of him lingered on your tongue, salty, forbidden—yet you swallowed it all, not letting a single drop go to waste.

Above you, Jake shuddered violently, his hands tangling in your hair as if clinging to you for stability.

His head tipped back; his lips parted in a silent cry as he came down from his high. His fingers trembled against your scalp, stroking gently.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," he whispered, his eyes clenched shut, his chest rising. He held you there, cradling your head against his abdomen, his body still twitching from the aftershocks.

You tapped his thigh twice, a silent signal. Jake inhaled sharply, His grip loosened instantly, and with shaky hands, he let go of you, his cock slipping from your mouth.

A thin string of saliva connected you, stretching between your lips and the flushed tip of him before breaking. Your tongue remained out, your breath ragged, your lips swollen and slick with the remnants of his release.

"You... you swallowed my seed," Jake whispered, you stared up at him through lidded eyes, your breath shaky, your body still moving, fingers still working inside yourself.

His gaze flickered downward, following the slow, desperate motion of your hand beneath your lifted skirt. His cock twitched, still sensitive, yet already stirring again at the sight of you.

"It... it should be in your uterus," he muttered, his brows drawing together. "Not your mouth."

A slow smile curled at your lips, heat simmering beneath your skin as you reached for his hand, guiding it to your cheek.

"Then pump me with your seed, Jake," you whispered.

A sharp inhale left his lips, his fingers tightening at your sides before he pulled you to your feet.

His mouth was on yours again, his hands trailing down your back, finding the zipper of your dress. He tugged it down slowly, the fabric loosened, slipping over your shoulders, pooling at your feet.

Jake pulled away, his lips parting as he took you in—your bare form. His throat bobbed, fingers trembling slightly as they traced over your waist.

He bent down, lips finding the curve of your neck, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone.

Your gaze lifted past him, to the walls of the room—where portraits of nuns, saints, and martyrs hung in quiet judgement. Their solemn eyes bore into you, unblinking, unwavering. Your chest tightened, guilt creeping in but you didn't want to stop.

Instead, you let your eyes fall shut, choosing to surrender—to savor the moment.

"Teach me how to please you," Jake murmured against your skin, his hands encircling your waist, holding you close.

You inhaled sharply, your fingers threading through his hair before drifting down to cup his face. Your foreheads pressed together, breath mingling.

Jake's eyes fluttered shut as he sighed against your palm, his lips brushing against the center of it before pressing a tender kiss there. His own hands lifted, fingers tracing the shape of yours.

You pulled away slowly, you reached behind you, unclasping your bralette. The straps slipped from your shoulders, the fabric falling away, leaving your bare skin exposed to the afternoon light. Your underwear followed, sliding down your legs until you stepped out of them, standing before him in nothing but temptation itself.

Jake's breath caught, his entire body rigid as he took in the sight of you—completely bare, completely his to look upon, to touch.

His lips parted, his gaze roamed over you, over the soft curve of your breasts, the dip of your waist, the smooth expanse of your thighs. He had seen statues of angels, paintings of the Virgin Mary draped in flowing white, but no work of art, no scripture, no vision of heaven itself had ever looked as divine as you did now.

You turned, settling yourself onto the wooden table behind you, your legs parting slowly, revealing yourself to him without hesitation.

A shaky exhale left your lips as your fingers trailed down your own skin, tracing along your inner thigh before sliding to your labia. You arched your back slightly, sighing as you spread yourself wider, holding his gaze.

"Come here, J-Jake," you moaned, your breath hitching as you pushed a single finger inside yourself. Jake swallowed hard, his hands shaking as he reached for the buttons of his shirt. One by one, he undid them. He let the fabric slide from his shoulders, pooling onto the floor before taking slow steps toward you.

As he neared, his breath hitched, his gaze lowering to where your fingers disappeared inside your slick folds. His pupils dilated, "It's so wet," he whispered.

Before you could respond, his hand moved. His fingers wrapped around your wrist, still slick from your arousal, and gently pulled your hand away.

Jake's gaze flickered to your glistening fingers, then he brought your hand to his lips.

You gasped, your walls clenching involuntarily as his tongue flicked out, tasting you for the first time. His lashes fluttered shut, a soft groan slipping past his lips as he took more of you onto his tongue, savoring the taste.

When Jake opened his eyes again, they were darker.

"I want more." A sudden moan tore from your throat at his words, your body reacting before your mind could catch up. You reached for his wrist, guiding his hand between your legs, breath hitching the moment his fingers brushed against your slick folds.

Jake sucked in a sharp breath, his fingers trembling as they hesitated at your entrance, slowly he pushed a single finger inside you.

A gasp escaped you as he entered. His jaw clenched at the sensation, his breath uneven as he felt you—felt the way your walls clenched around him, soft and wet and so impossibly tight.

His free hand gripped your thigh for support, his own body shuddering. Then he curled his finger.

"Oh God!" A sharp cry left your lips, your back arching at the sudden jolt of pleasure. Jake choked on a moan, watching you intently, his eyes locked onto every flicker of expression on your face.

He did it again, this time slower, pressing deeper, and your fingers dug into his shoulders.  His breathing grew heavier, his forehead nearly pressing against yours as he whispered, "Can I touch your breasts?"

Your head fell back, your lips parting on a silent gasp. You nodded frantically, eyes shut, too overwhelmed to speak properly. But a pleading "please" slipped from your lips.

That was all the permission he needed. Jake's other hand rose cautiously, fingers ghosting over the curve of your breast before cupping it fully, squeezing experimentally. His breath hitched at the feeling—warm, soft, the peak pebbling under his touch.

You moaned at the contact, pressing into his palm, "You like that?" he asked.

You nodded quickly, tilting your chin up to kiss him again, swallowing his breath. Your body was burning in a way that the nuns never depicted, your core aching with want, and you didn't care how shameless you sounded when you pleaded, "Please, touch me more."

Jake swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as his fingers kneaded your breast, his other hand still buried deep inside you, working slow, torturous circles that made you gasp.

"Lean down and suck my breast," you whispered against his lips. "I heard it feels good."

Jake pulled back slightly, blinking down at you, his cheeks flushed. "Like a baby?" he asked, almost innocently, though the way his hips pressed forward, grinding his aching cock against your thigh, told another story entirely.

You let out a breathy laugh, though it was cut short when he twisted his fingers inside you, making your back arch.

"No," you whimpered. "Like a man who wants me."

Jake groaned, before lowering his head, his lips parting as he took your nipple into his mouth. The moment his tongue flicked over the sensitive bud; a cry left you.

He started gently at first, his lips soft and warm against your breast, still testing, still learning how to touch you. But as your back arched, as your fingers tangled into his hair and held him there, he grew bolder.

His lips sealing around your nipple, his tongue swirling. Then his teeth grazed the sensitive flesh, just enough to send a delicious shudder down your spine.

"Jake—" you gasped, thighs clenching around his waist, trapping him against you.

He moaned against your skin, his free hand massaged your other breast, fingers rolling the hardened peak between them, mimicking the movements of his tongue.

"Add another finger inside me—please, please," you begged, voice breaking, hands clutching at his shoulders, urging him deeper.

Jake's forehead pressing against your chest bracing himself as he obeyed. His second finger slipped inside, stretching you further, filling you in a way that made your toes curl. Your walls clenched around him, tight, warm, so wet, and Jake whimpered, his hips bucking against your thigh at the feeling of you around his fingers.

"I want you inside me," you whispered into his ear, tears slipped down your cheeks. Jake let out a shuddering breath, his body stiffening at your words. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment. "They said it will hurt," Jake whispered, his fingers, still buried deep inside you, twitched. His free hand came up to your cheek, wiping away your tears with the pad of his thumb, his touch so tender it made your chest ache.

He swallowed hard. "I don't want to hurt you."

You leaned into his touch, your lips brushing against his wrist as you whispered, "I want to feel all of you, Jake. Even if it hurts, I want you."

Jake's breath hitched, his forehead pressing against yours. With trembling hands, he withdrew his fingers from your heat, watching the way your body shuddered, the way your thighs quivered as he left you empty. He brought his fingers to his lips without thinking, tasting you again, his eyes fluttering shut as he let out a quiet, needy moan.

Jake let out a shaky exhale, gripping himself at the base. His other hand rested on your thigh, rubbing soothing circles into your skin. "Are you sure?" he asked.

You nodded, spreading your legs further, offering yourself to him completely. "Please, Jake."

With a shaky breath, Jake lined himself up with your entrance, his tip pressing against your heat. His hands trembled as he gripped your thighs, steadying himself, his forehead resting against yours as he slowly, carefully, began to push inside.

A gasp tore from your lips the moment he breached you. Your arms wrapped around him, clinging to his shoulders, molding yourself against him as your body adjusted to the slow intrusion of his thick cock.

The stretch was overwhelming. Tears welled in your eyes, slipping down your cheeks as your walls struggled to accommodate him. Looking down, you saw—he had barely entered you. Only the tip, and yet, it already felt so much.

Jake let out a strangled moan, his breath stuttering as he squeezed his eyes shut. 

"S-Slow," you whimpered, your body trembling beneath him. Jake nodded rapidly, biting his lip so hard. His entire body was tense, his self-control hanging by a thread as he forced himself to move at an excruciatingly slow pace.

"You’re so—" He choked on his words, a desperate whimper escaping him. "So tight—God—"

His hips twitched involuntarily, and you gasped, your nails raking down his back at the sudden jolt of sensation. Jake's breath hitched at the sharp sting of your nails, his cock throbbing as he pushed in another inch.

A broken sob escaped you.

"I-It’s too much—" you whimpered, your walls fluttering around him, trying to adjust, trying to take all of him.

"Shh, I know, I know—" he whispered, kissing your tear-streaked cheek, peppering soft kisses along your jaw, trying to ease the overwhelming stretch. His hands slid down to your thighs, holding you open, rubbing gentle circles into your skin as he murmured against your lips, "do you want me to pull out?"

You shake your head, Jake exhaled sharply, his breath warm against your skin, his hands steadying you before he pressed forward again, stretching you further. Until you felt his abdomen on your navel. Every movement forcing your walls to open for him, to take him in ways you hadn’t known were possible.

Your breath hitched when you finally felt the press of his abdomen flush against your navel. A hiss escaped you, your back arching off the wooden table at the overwhelming sensation of being completely full. "Y-You're inside me," you gasped, as your gaze dropped between your bodies.

Jake groaned softly, his hands gripping your waist, his cock throbbing inside you as he fought to remain still, to give you time to adjust. "Yeah," he murmured, "I'm inside you."

Your breath was ragged, your fingers shaking as they slid up to his face, tracing the curve of his jaw. "I'm not burning," you whispered, half in disbelief. "I'm not burning."

The nuns had lied. The warnings, the fear, the fire they swore would consume you if you ever gave in to desire—it was nowhere to be found. There was only warmth. Only Jake.

Jake swallowed hard, his gaze locking onto yours. He reached for your chin, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his eyes.

"You're not burning," you whispered. Jake brows furrowing, a gasp tore from your lips as he pulled out slightly before thrusting forward again, sinking into you. His mouth fell open, his head tilting back as he felt you, felt the way your walls clung to him, squeezing him.

His lips parted, but the only sounds that came were broken, incoherent prayers.

"Oh, God—" he choked out. His hands shook as they traced over your body, touching you, his fingers skimming your sides, your stomach, your breasts. You cried out as the pain shifted, morphing into pleasure.

"You're so beautiful," Jake sobbed, he thrust back inside you, deeper than before, his arms tightening around you. His chin rested atop your head, his lips brushing against your hair as he inhaled, breathing you in, letting your scent consume him as much as your body did.

"You're—you're everything," he whispered shakily, his hips rolling into you. "Made perfect, sculpted by God’s own hands," he moaned against your skin. "How could something so sinful feel so good?"

You whimpered beneath him, clinging to his shoulders. 

"I could do this every day," he moaned. Your breath hitched, eyes fluttering open, finding his face above you. He pulled back slightly, just enough to cup your face in his trembling hands, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks, wiping away the remnants of your tears. His forehead pressed against yours.

"I would do this every day," he corrected himself, groaned as he thrust deeper, his hips stuttering slightly at the way your walls clenched around him. "Worship you like this. Love you like this."

Your moans grew louder, your nails pressing deeper into his skin, leaving marks along his back as if claiming him in return.

Jake groaned, his lips parting, his body trembling from the way you felt. "Would you let me?" His eyes searched yours. "Would you let me taint you? Every day?"

His hands roamed your body, gripping your waist, then sliding lower to cup the back of your thighs, pulling you closer. His movements slowed, dragging out every sensation, every inch of him inside you.

Your back arched, your legs wrapping tighter around his waist, locking him in place, your breath coming in soft, desperate gasps as the pleasure built inside you. "Yes, yes!" you cried out. "Taint me, fill me with your seed—I don’t care anymore!"

A ragged moan tore from his throat as he thrust harder. "You're all I've ever wanted." His pace turned desperate, frantic. His hands shook as he rocked into you. His lips crashed against yours, swallowing your moans as he drove deeper, his body pressing you down into the wooden table. The room was filled with the sinful sounds of skin meeting skin, of breathless gasps and muffled cries.

"I’ll give you everything," Jake panted, his forehead pressing against yours, sweat dripping from his temple. "I’ll fill you up, I’ll make you mine—"

His thrusts grew erratic, his hips snapping forward, chasing release, chasing you.

Your walls clenched tighter, pulsing around him, and he whimpered, his body tensing, his breath stuttering as the pleasure coiled unbearably tight inside him.

"Jake, Jake," you whimpered, your hands drifted lower, fingers grazing over the stretch where your bodies met. You could feel him inside you, thick, pulsing, dragging against your walls with each deep, sliding thrust. 

Your fingers dipped lower, pressing against your clit. A sharp gasp escaped you. The moment your fingers touched the sensitive bundle of nerves, a bolt of another intense pleasure shot through you. 

Jake groaned at the movement, his grip tightening, his lips parting as he watched you touch yourself.

"It feels too good—too good," you sobbed, rolling slow, shaky circles against your clit, heightening the pleasure building inside you. Your walls spasmed around him, gripping him tighter, making his hips stutter.

"Oh my Lord," Jake moaned, his head dropping against your shoulder, his body shaking with the effort to keep himself together. "This—this feels too good. I am willing to sin every day to get a taste of you."

"I would trade heaven just to stay inside you forever—"

His teeth grazed your jaw, his fingers locking around your wrists, guiding your movements against your clit, urging you faster, desperate to bring you with him.

"Please—please, come for me," he begged, and with one last deep thrust, as your fingers circled your clit faster, as his cock hit the perfect spot inside you.

The pleasure snapped through you, your entire body seizing as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you. Your walls clenched around him, pulsing, milking him as your climax washed through every inch of your being.

Jake choked on a moan, his body jerking as he buried himself deep, hips stuttering, his breath breaking into ragged gasps. His hands trembled as they gripped your hips, holding you still as his release spilled inside you, hot and thick, filling you completely.

His lips found yours again as he emptied himself into you, his body still shaking from the intensity of it all.

You gasped into his mouth, still riding the aftershocks, feeling the warmth of him inside you. Neither of you moved for a long moment, too overwhelmed, too wrecked to do anything but exist in the sinful haze of what had just happened.

Jake’s hands slowly slid up your back, his fingers tracing over your spine made your chest tighten. Finally, he pulled back just enough to look at you, his gaze soft but dazed, as if he still couldn’t quite believe what he had done—what you had done together.

 "Are you okay?"

Your heart ached at the tenderness in his voice, at the way he searched your face for any sign of regret. But there was none. You reached up, brushing damp strands of hair from his forehead, your fingers lingering against his cheek.

"I'm full of you," you murmured, "I can feel you inside me."

Jake groaned, his hands tightening on your hips, his entire body tensing as he let out a shaky breath. Yet, even as exhaustion threatened to pull him under, his cock twitched inside you—still buried to the hilt, still too sensitive, yet already stirring again at your words

"Don't say that," he whispered, but his hands betrayed him.

They slid upward, over your waist, tracing the curve of your ribs before finding your breasts again, cupping them, thumbs circling your pebbled peaks. His fingers kneaded softly, rolling the sensitive flesh between his palms. 

Your back arched, your head tipping back, letting your hair cascade over the edge of the table. Your lips parted in a breathless moan, the aftershocks of pleasure still tingling in your veins, yet now, a new wave of desire was coiling inside you again. 

You were undone beneath him, your body glistening with sweat, your lips swollen from his kisses, your eyes still dazed, darkened with lust. And yet, you looked untouched. 

His grip on your breasts tightened slightly, his hips pressing forward just enough to remind you that he was still inside you.

"You make me forget who I am," he murmured, his breath shaky against your throat. "What I'm supposed to be."

His lips found the pulse at your neck, trailing down again at every inch of your skin. 

Neither of you noticed the way the candlelight flickered. Because you had both awakened the Tree of Knowledge.

And neither of you would ever return to Eden.

Jake had always been a man of God.

From the moment he could speak, he was taught that he was formed from the dust of the earth, molded by divine hands, a creation of purpose. His parents instilled in him the belief that he was meant to walk the righteous path, to live a life devoted to prayer, to obedience, to purity.

He appreciated every intricate work of the Creator—the way the sun spilled golden light over the stained-glass windows of the churches, the way the choir’s voices soared in perfect harmony, the way scripture spoke of faith and the reward of salvation. He saw God in everything, and in return, he gave himself to Him, dedicating his days to scripture, to service, to resisting the sins that so easily ensnared others.

Where others strayed, he remained steadfast. Where others indulged in temptation, he turned away.

He had watched boys his age succumbs to their own desires— lusting over naked bodies, wandering hands beneath heavy blankets. He had seen the way girls blushed at their names being called by the wrong kind of voice, the way they giggled behind cupped hands, oblivious to how close they danced to damnation.

But not him.

Jake had spent his youth guarding his body, his mind, his soul. He never allowed himself to waver, never let his thoughts wander to things he had been told were unholy. And if—if—his body ever betrayed him in the quiet of night, if his skin burned with an unfamiliar ache, if his mind was tempted by images that had no place in his heart, he would fall to his knees in prayer.

He would beg for forgiveness, whispering fervent apologies, asking for the strength to resist, the grace to overcome.

And for years, he believed he was strong enough.

He believed his faith was unshakable, that no force on earth could tempt him away from his devotion. He had spent his life resisting, rejecting, turning away from desire as though it were a serpent poised to strike.

During one of his evening services at the university chapel, he saw you. At first, it was nothing. A passing glance. A new face among many, just another student filling the pews, singing hymns.

But then, he saw you again.

And again.

You stood among the choir, always placed near the back, always just slightly out of reach—like something meant to be admired from afar, never touched. Your voice wove seamlessly into the others, rising with the organ, filling the chapel, but it wasn't just your voice.

It was the way you bowed your head in prayer, hands folded so delicately. It was the way you knelt before the altar, the way your fingers curled around your rosary.

And every time he saw you, every time your lashes fluttered closed, every time your lips parted to whisper scripture. He would whisper to himself, Song of Solomon 4:7.

"You are altogether beautiful, my darling; there is no flaw in you."

Because when he looked at you, he saw something more than human.

He saw a reflection of God’s love, a testament to His creativity—flawless, untouched, pure in ways he never realized he could ache for.

He told himself it was admiration. That his heart only quickened because he saw God in you. That the warmth spreading through his chest whenever you smiled at the nuns, whenever your fingers brushed against the pages of your worn bible, was nothing but spiritual devotion.

But the more he saw you, the harder it became to believe the lie. Because you were forbidden. So untouchable it hurt.

And by the time he had a taste of your poison, by the time your lips had met his, by the time he had felt the warmth of your body pressed against him, wrapped around him. He couldn’t stop craving.

"Jake—" you whined, your voice hushed, breathless, your hands pressed against the cool tiles of the wall for balance. Your body rocked with each deep thrust, your skirt bunched up around your waist, your panties pulled aside in rushed desperation.

Here he was, buried deep inside you in the thin, suffocating space of the girls’ restroom, his hands gripping your hips, guiding you as you bounced against him. He had barely gotten them down before he was inside you. 

Jake let out a shaky breath, his forehead falling against the back of your shoulder, his hips snapping forward, a choked moan escaping his lips as your walls squeezed around him.

"D-Do you love my c-cock inside you?"  He stammered. His hands slid from your hips, traveling up, slipping beneath your uniform blouse to cup your breasts, kneading them, his thumbs rolling over your sensitive peaks as he thrust deeper.

"Answer me," he pleaded, breath hot against the shell of your ear.

A sharp gasp left your lips, your head tilting back against his shoulder as your walls clenched even tighter. "Y-Yes," you whispered, your fingers curling against the cold tile, your knees going weak.

"Say it."

"I love it, Jake," you sobbed, barely holding yourself up as he drove into you faster. "I love your cock inside me—I love it so much—"

Jake whimpered, his grip on you tightening, his entire body shuddering against yours as he lost himself again.

Nothing in this world felt holier than you. Every secret rendezvous was another prayer whispered in the dark, another moment stolen between fleeting glances and hurried footsteps, another sin sealed between trembling lips.

It was your skin against his, pressed against the cold walls of empty classrooms, hidden beneath the dim glow of flickering candlelight in the chapel, tangled in sheets that smelled of guilt and devotion.

It was your kiss—sweet and sinful, your lips brushing against his top lip before capturing him fully, pulling him under, making him forget the weight of his conscience.

It was the way your fingers found his face, tracing over his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose, down to the sharp line of his jaw.

"Jake," you would whisper, your touch like a baptism, washing away the person he once was and leaving behind someone entirely yours.

Your hands never hesitated when they roamed his body, memorizing the contours of his muscles, the dip of his collarbone, the ridges of his spine. Your body molded to his, fitting perfectly, as if you had been crafted just for him.

And God, how could something that felt this right be wrong? How could he look at you and believe this was damnation?

You were not a temptation.

You were his salvation, And if this was sin—if loving you, wanting you, needing you—meant turning away from heaven, then so be it.

Because Jake had already made his choice and he would choose you every time.

"They say if you have sexual preferences, it's called a kink," Jake mused, his arms wrapped loosely around your shoulders as he stared out at the lake, watching the water ripple under the soft afternoon light.

It was a rare that the both of you escape—just the two of you, away from the suffocating walls of the university.  Here, it was quiet. Peaceful.

You hummed in amusement, leaning back against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. "Hmm, I think I have a nose kink."

Jake chuckled, tilting his head slightly. "A nose kink?"

You grinned, turning to look up at him, mischief dancing in your eyes. "I love your nose," you said simply, reaching up to tap the tip of it gently with your finger. "I love how it bumps against my clit."

A giggle slipped from your lips as Jake let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head, his ears tinged slightly pink.

"You're unbelievable," he murmured, pressing his chin lightly against your shoulder, but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed his fondness.

You shifted, wrapping your arms around his, your fingers playing with the fabric of his sleeves. "What about you? Do you have a kink?"

Jake pretended to think, his lips pursing before he finally admitted, "I love your tongue."

You raised an eyebrow, amused. "Oh?"

His smile widened, his fingers trailing lazily along your arms. "I love how soft it is when you kiss me," he said, voice dropping slightly. "I love the way it feels against my skin, how warm it is when you—"

He stopped himself, biting his lip, his cheeks darkening as he let out a flustered chuckle. "You know."

You turned fully in his embrace, resting your chin against his chest as you beamed up at him. "Say it."

Jake groaned, rolling his eyes, but there was nothing but adoration in them as he dipped his head, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. "I love how your tongue feels when you're tasting me."

Your giggles turned into full laughter, your arms tightening around him, and he let out a breathy laugh of his own, shaking his head in defeat.

The wind rustled through the trees, the lake shimmering under the sunlight.

"Do you think God still loves us?" you asked, Jake's fingers threaded through your hair, slow and gentle, playing with your scalp as he stared out at the lake, watching the way the sunlight danced over the rippling water.

"Yes," he said, without hesitation.

You blinked, tilting your head slightly to look up at him. "How can you be so sure?"

Jake exhaled softly, his lips curling into a small, thoughtful smile. "Because love doesn’t disappear just because we fall." His gaze met yours. "God loved David even after his sins. He loved Peter even after he denied Him three times. Love isn’t something that fades because of our mistakes. It’s unconditional."

Your chest tightened at his words, at the quiet conviction in his voice.

"Then why do I still feel guilty?" you whispered, pressing your cheek against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Jake sighed, his chin resting lightly atop your head. "Because we've been taught to fear Him more than we've been taught to trust His love."

Silence stretched, only the soft rustling of trees and the distant laughter from the festival carrying through the breeze. After a moment, Jake spoke again, "but when I’m with you…" he paused, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your arm, "I feel closer to God than I ever have before."

You pulled back slightly, eyes searching his, the weight of his words settling deep in your chest. "How?"

He smiled, leaning in to press a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead again before whispering,

"Because you are the most beautiful thing He’s ever created."

Your breath hitched, your hands tightening around his shirt as warmth bloomed in your chest.

Jake tilted his head, his lips hovering just above yours. "And if loving you is a sin…" he murmured, a teasing smile playing on his lips, "then I guess I’ll just have to keep repenting."

His hands wandered lower, tracing slow, idle patterns along your upper thigh. You shivered slightly at his touch, but it wasn’t just the sensation that made your breath hitch—it was the way his finger moved deliberately, forming letters, one by one, spelling out a single word:

"Mine."

Your lips parted, your heart stuttering in your chest as your gaze flickered up to meet his.

Jake only smiled, the corners of his mouth lifting, "I will leave the university," he said suddenly. 

Jake exhaled slowly, "I’ve realized a lot of things, and one of them is…" He hesitated, searching your face, then sighed. "I don’t think I was ever meant to be the man they wanted me to be."

Your throat tightened. "Jake—"

"Everything is okay," he reassured you, his voice firm, calming. "I don’t regret any of it. Not the prayers, not the faith—but I also don’t regret you. And if the only way to keep you is to walk away from what was never truly mine, then I’ll do it."

Your eyes glistened with unshed tears, your fingers curling around his wrists. "You would do that?"

"I would do anything for you," he muttered, "I was never meant to be a saint, and I don’t think I want to be anymore." His fingers tightened around yours, grounding himself in the warmth of your touch, in the certainty of this moment. "I just want to be yours." 

A breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding.  You swallowed, your lips parting before you whispered, "Ruth 1:16-17."

Jake tilted his head slightly, his brows raising in curiosity. You smiled softly, squeezing his hand. "Where you go, I will go, and where you stay, I will stay."

His gaze softened, warm and full of love, as if in that moment, there was nothing else in the world but you and him. Jake swallowed, his fingers tightening around yours as he whispered back, "Song of Solomon 3:4."

Your breath hitched. A sharp sting burned behind your eyes as you realized what he was saying, as the words sank into your skin, into your soul. Tears welled up, spilling onto your cheeks as he brought a trembling hand to cup your face, his thumb wiping them away.

"I have found the one whom my soul loves."

A quiet sob escaped you as you leaned into his touch, closing your eyes, letting the weight of his words settle into the deepest parts of you.

That was the day you faced the judgment of others.

Whispers followed you down the chapel halls, sharp as knives, spoken behind cupped hands and lowered eyes. You were no longer the devout girl they had known, no longer the image of purity they had placed on a pedestal.

You were cast out, stripped of the life you had once known, condemned for surrendering to the desires they warned you against. For falling, like Eve, for stepping into temptation and taking the bite that could never be undone.

But none of it mattered. Because just as Adam had followed Eve into exile, Jake followed you. It had always been him and you. It would always be him and you.

You would always choose him—religiously, faithfully.

You clutched Jake’s hand, sweat beading on your forehead, your body trembling as pain surged through you. Your body trembling with exhaustion. The midwife kneeled before you, her voice firm yet reassuring, guiding you through labored breaths as she prepared to deliver your third child.

Jake pressed a kiss to your damp temple, whispering words of encouragement, of love, his grip unwavering as he held onto you, just as he always had.

He wiped away the tears spilling from your eyes, just as he had that day by the lake, when he promised you that everything would be okay.

And as you cried out, as life pushed forward, as your body bore the proof of your love.

"You’re so strong," he murmured. "Just a little more, my love. I’m right here."

Another sharp cry left your lips, your back arching as the final push sent waves of relief crashing over you.

A baby’s cry filled the room.

A sharp, piercing sound, followed by the relieved murmurs of the midwife as she carefully wrapped the tiny, wriggling form in soft cloth. Your head fell back against the pillow, your chest rising and falling in ragged breaths, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes. Jake’s hand trembled as he reached for you, his lips pressing against your knuckles, his gratitude unspoken but infinite.

Tiny footsteps thundered against the wooden floor.

"Mama!"

The door burst open, and two small figures ran inside, their eager little hands gripping the edges of your bedsheet.

Cain and Abel—your firstborns.

Their wide eyes shimmered with excitement; their faces flushed from running. Cain, the elder, clung to Jake’s arm, while Abel climbed onto the edge of the bed, trying to peer over your shoulder.

"Did it hurt, Mama? Are you okay?" Cain asked, his brows furrowed in concern, his little hands gripping onto Jake’s sleeve.

"It’s okay, my love," you soothed, your voice weak but filled with warmth as you reached for them. "I am okay."

Jake’s breath hitched as the midwife gently placed the newborn into his waiting arms. A soft gasp left his lips as he cradled the tiny child against his chest, his eyes glistening with tears. His fingers traced the delicate curve of the baby’s cheek, his voice breaking as he whispered, "Seth."

At the sound of his father’s voice, the newborn let out a small, sleepy whimper, tiny fists curling against Jake’s chest. Cain and Abel watched in awe; their excitement momentarily silenced as they stared at their new baby brother.

"Seth," Abel repeated softly, as if testing the name on his tongue.

"He’s so small," Cain murmured, his fingers twitching as if resisting the urge to reach out and touch him.

Jake let out a choked laugh, pressing a kiss to Seth’s forehead before carefully settling beside you on the bed. His arm curled around your shoulders, pulling you close, his free hand still cradling your newest son. And as your children gathered around you, their voices filled with wonder.

As Jake’s lips found your forehead once more, you exhaled, a breathless, relieved sigh. You thought of Eden. Of Adam, formed from dust. Of Eve, crafted from his rib, made for him, meant to be his. The two of them had once lived untouched, unburdened, perfect in their innocence.

But love—true love—was never meant to exist without choice.

And so, they had fallen. Not out of defiance. Not out of sin. But out of love—a love so deep, so human, it had rewritten the course of existence itself.

Your body spent, your children nestled close, your husband’s arms wrapped around you as he held his world in his hands. Your tired eyes fluttered shut, as Jake pressed another soft kiss against your skin, your newborn stirred gently in his father’s arms.

Falling had never been a punishment. Because It is a gift.

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