#in the context of the 'verse this fic is set in they absolutely do

[sinofwriting]

Satiated - Charles Leclerc (Dark Fic)

Words: 1,748 Summary: Charles wins Monza for the second time. (part of Claiming A Wife - Charles verse) Note(s): NSFW, DARK fic, the first part is dark, so inherently this part is as well. And if you haven’t read that part, please go read it. Context is somewhat needed.

Part One | Masterlist | Support Me! 

She clutches at Arthur’s arm as the final ten laps begin, Oscar Piastri gaining time, and the murmurs in the garage are loud. “C’mon Charles.” Arthur murmurs, his eyes glued to the timing screen unable to pull them away to watch the actual race. She presses a little closer to him, giving her brother-in-law what little comfort she can. “He’s got this. This is his race to win now.” He nods, but he still looks at the timing, unable to even blink and she can’t blame him. Her own eyes go between the race, the timing, and Charles’ onboard unable to blink as well.

The garage erupts into cheers as Charles crosses the line for the final lap, people starting to move around and out of the garage and Arthur is wrapping an arm around her urging her out of the garage and to parc fermé and she easily goes.

She had thought Charles otherworldly when he won Monaco, despite her fears overpowering it. But as she watches him get out of the car standing on it, and hearing all the Italian fans going crazy, seeing the flares, the fans starting to spill out, feeling the absolute joy radiating from Ferrari, she can’t help but liken Charles to a god.

The team grows louder when Charles throws himself into them. They all make sure to touch him and he does so back. He comes over to where her and Arthur are, pressing close to them, gripping her hand for a second as his other ruffles Arthur’s hair before continuing to touch the team members around him.

She watches with shiny eyes as he takes off his helmet and everything, setting it down before wandering over to the car. Sitting on it as a photo of him and a few other Ferrari members are taken. And then he’s walking back over to her.

Team members clap his back, reaching for him, touching him, Arthur is beaming at his brother, but Charles is only looking at her. It's still a new feeling to not feel uneasy when he looks at her and she basks in it.

His hands come up to frame her face and he presses kisses to her face. “I won, mon ange.” He murmurs when his lips catch the corner of her mouth. She smiles, head tipped back to look at him easily. “You won, Charles. You did so well. Now, hurry so we can celebrate.” He presses a last kiss to the corner of her mouth before leaving.

—

They are supposed to be home, in Monaco. Charles had been firm with the team about it despite the unexpected win. He had gone to the celebratory dinner and they should already be in the car to leave, but if there is one thing she learned quickly after Charles claimed her, it is that he is unable to say no to her.

It had been easy when they came back to the hotel, the Italian fans cheering and screaming, Charles taking photos and signing things for them, to get Charles to agree to stay for just the night and that they could leave early in the morning.

All it had taken, and really she didn’t have to do so, was her sitting at the edge of the bed, a pout on her lips. And when Charles gently cooed, asking her what was wrong as his thumb rubbed at the soft skin under her eye, all she had to say was that she wanted to stay for the night and Charles was calling the front desk and messaging his team to let them know and his family that they wouldn’t be leaving with them.

Unsurprisingly everyone is more than okay with it, the hotel even offering to send up a bottle of champagne which Charles easily declines.

“You alright, mon ange?” He asks, thumbing moving to trace over her cheekbone. “You always like to leave soon.” She nods, turning her face to press a kiss to the bare inside skin of Charles’ wrist. “I’m okay.” His eyes are wide as he looks down at her, his chest still, and then he’s sinking down to his knees, pressing himself between her legs, his hand dropping and leaving a burning trail down her arm. “Mon ange.” His voice sounds pained. Her hands cup his face, fingers gentle as they dance over it and his eyes flutter shut, breath hitching. “You did so well, Charles. So amazing.”

Nerves are gripping her, she feels shaky but isn’t, her breathing a little fast and before she can talk herself out of it, she bends and presses their lips together for the first time.

He’s still underneath her hands and lips and all she can hear is her own heartbeat, her confidence begins to flatter and Charles comes alive under her. A broken sound leaving his lips before he’s fervently kissing her back. Where her kiss had been a mixture of nerves and passion, his is nothing but passion. His hands grabbing at her waist, his tongue easily slipping its way into her mouth when she moans.

They continue to kiss but soon her neck and back ache from being bent over and she tries to urge him upwards. She wants to continue to kiss him. To lay back and feel his lips on hers, his body on top of hers, his body between her legs pressing them together, but he doesn’t move an inch.

“Charles,” She breathes, when he finally stops kissing her though, their lips still brushing however when she speaks. “Lay back, mon ange.” He lightly squeezes her waist and then his hands are moving downwards to her thighs. “I want to kiss you somewhere else now.” Her fingers grip at the duvet, something just short of a whimper escaping from her. Her body follows his wants, sinking down into the bed. “That’s it, mon ange.” A shaky breath leaves her and she can feel his lips against her skin, following the path of new exposed skin that her dress shows him as he pulls it up.

She’s about to remind him that it zips when she feels his breath against the waistband of her panties and then his lips. It makes her gasp, blood rushing to her face. “Charles.” “Shh,” he pets her thigh. She sucks in a breath as she feels his fingers curl around her underwear, her hips lifting as he takes them off of her. It releases into a moan when he presses his mouth against her with a moan of his own.

One of his hands grips her hip while the other pulls at her left thigh, spreading her more open for him. His tongue swirls around her clit and her fingers ache as they pull at the duvet. His name, as a protest or an ask for more, is on her tongue but unable to push past her lips. She feels like she can barely breathe as he plays with her clit, trying to figure out what she likes best, and when he does, he doesn't relent.

One of her hands leaves the bed, fingers tangling in his hair, trying to pull him away as her thighs try to press together, but it just encourages him, makes him groan, the vibrations in turn making her cry out. He continues to pleasure her until finally she falls apart for him.

“Such a good girl for me.” He murmurs, lips leaving a slight wet kiss to her thigh as she catches her breath. “Charles, please.” “I know.” He soothes. “I just need,” he doesn’t finish his sentence, instead dipping his head and her eyes roll back as she feels the press of his tongue against her hole. He moans against her and her thighs clench. “So good, mon ange.” And she whines feeling sensitive but ready for him to start again if he decides to.

His right hand leaves her thigh, moving upward and his left follows it. She doesn’t even realize what he’s doing until the heat of him is hovering over her, his lips dancing across the length of her neck until finally he’s kissing her again.

It’s slow and sweet, but now that she doesn’t have the distraction of his face between her thighs, she remembers what exactly she wanted. “Charles,” she breathes when he pulls away, letting them both catch their breath. His green eyes are wide, lips swollen and cheeks flushed. He looks both starved and satiated. “I want something.” “Anything.” Her eyes fall downward at the quick response, still somewhat unused to getting anything and everything she wanted. Her fingers tug at the shirt he’s wearing, a frown forming as she realizes he’s still wearing it. Her lips part, ready to ask for it off, but he’s already standing and pulling it over his head.

He goes to stand in between her legs, ready, eager, to kiss her again, hear what she wants, but she stops him, foot pressing against his toned stomach. “Pants and underwear too, please.” His mouth shuts with a quiet click, eyes widening, but he nods, stepping back.

His eyes stay glued to her as he begins to unbuckle his belt and she takes advantage of it. The nice lace panties are gone, but the matching bra isn’t.

Finding the zipper of the dress, she takes the small thing carefully between her two fingers and pulls, sitting up on her knees as she does so. She debates getting up and wiggling out of it standing before saying fuck it, either way she’d have to wiggle out of it, she might as well stay on the bed to do so. She’s pleasantly surprised when the dress comes off easily over her head, only a slight pause due to Charles having bunched it up so much.

She’s so pleased with how easy it came off, she nearly misses the sound of a belt dropping to the floor and then the quick follow up of clothes as well.

“Mon ange.” Charles breathes. Her heart beats a little faster, watching as his fist clench, feet shuffling, obviously wanting closer. She pokes her bottom lip, Charles’ eyes dropping it to, his tongue darting out to swipe over his own. “I never said what I wanted.” “Anything.” He repeats. The pout is replaced by a smile as she lays back down and spreads her legs wide enough for him to go between and he doesn’t need her to tell him what to do next.

[yuebinnie]

Proverbs 5:19

☾ Pairing : Human Alastor (Hazbin Hotel) x Fem!Reader

☆ Warnings : mdni. Priest!Alastor, implied chubby!reader, noncanon Alastor, dubcon, coercion, blasphemy, abuse of authority, blood kink, blood drinking, squirting, multiple orgasms, fingering (f receiving), cunnulingus, catholic prayers used in a sexual context, scriptures used to coerce, cum eating, size kink, loss of virginity (implied, not talked about), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, literally just smut

☾ WC : 9.8k

☆ A/N : Taking a break from Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea to write Alastor smut ^^ This contains heavy Christian imagery, so if it's something you are uncomfortable with, this fic might not be for you! I really enjoyed writing this; it's my first time writing smut for Alastor, so hopefully I do not disappoint you all. I also posted the fic on AO3, if you'd prefer reading there. Have fun!

There was something about going to church that felt incredibly soothing. The deafening silence every time you walked in during the early hours of the day, steps echoing against the painted ceiling and colourful rose window, the shadows dancing behind the burning wicks of the candles set on each side of the main aisle, the smell of dust dancing in the air like a reminder of how desolate the people who came to visit truly were. You had not always been religious, but you had found peace in believing that there was a divine truth, that being good in this life would give you eternal bliss.

The church was a small one, and an old one; how it was still standing you had no idea. It was annexed to a small decrepit churchyard with moss-covered headstones that dated from at least two centuries ago. To any passersby, it'd be believed to be abandoned, as the outside of the building was quite literally falling apart, the bricks slowly eroding and the tiles covering the roof covered with the same moss as the headstones. The exterior appearance did not matter however, only the inside did; that's where God resided after all.

Despite its age, the inside and of the church was well kept. Yes, the rose window was cracked, and, as an attempt to keep the place as pure as possible, electricity had never been installed. The candles did the job of keeping the inside lit, and as for the temperature, well, dressing warmly was mandatory during the colder months of the year. The benches were old and the varnish that had once covered them was long gone; dents and chips could be found here and there, but they were still sturdy. The altar was small and simple, a wooden thing settled on a small stage that hovered only a few inches above the floor. Near the entrance sat a confessional which reeked of mould, but in the absolute presence of God, the smell was easily forgotten.

You had a habit of going to pray most days when you were not bedridden from the exhaustion of spending the night reading your favourite verses. 5 AM; the perfect time to pray, just as the world welcomed the sun's warmth and light. Very rarely did you meet anyone else; it had happened a few times, mostly old people nearing death coming to ask for absolution for their sins. Otherwise, the only person you had seen was the priest, whom you only had spoken to once or twice. He would look at you while you kneeled and mumbled prayers and verses, a smile plastered on his face.

It was the only downside of it all, that unsettling presence. The priest, a handsome man you had apologized to God for finding attractive, was always smiling. It was a bone-chilling sight; it made you feel as though he could see right through you, like he had access to every single thought that cluttered the inside of your mind. He had asked for your name once and had told you to have a 'delightful rest of the day'. That day had turned out to be horrible, as you had learned your grandmother was diagnosed with stage four cancer and only had a few months left. You had prayed for her, but God had decided to take her, nonetheless. Your subconscious had linked the priest's words as a direct cause of your grandmother's tragic diagnosis, and you had tried your best to avoid talking to him ever since.

When you woke up that morning, sweaty and feeling stickiness between your thighs, you felt sick to your stomach remembering the dreams that had plagued your mind in your slumber. A faceless man, dragging his lips down your stomach, his fingers touching your body in a way that was so sinful; the only logical explanation was that you had been visited by an incubus, an agent of evil. God was testing you, letting evil reach you to see if you'd be as faithful as Job or if you'd succumb to sin like Eve had. You cleaned yourself and changed your nightgown to proper clothes, putting a slightly warm coat on before leaving your house.

The sun had not yet started to show itself, and a thick fog floated above the quiet streets. The sky was covered with grey clouds that seemed to hang low, you wondered if you could touch them if you reached up, but your mind was too preoccupied with your predicament to try and touch something so close to Heaven. Mind running faster than a hare trying to escape a wolf, you tried to convince yourself simple prayers would do, but a loud voice kept coming back, telling you this could only be forgiven by confessing. The thought of having to talk to the priest whom you had convinced yourself was the catalyst of your grandmother's death made you want to cry, but the thought of failing God and disappointing Him was far more upsetting. You reached the church as the first rays of light made the dew covering the Earth glisten, taking a deep breath before pushing the door open.

Your eyes fell upon the priest, who was bent down in the middle of the aisle, a long match in his hand as he lit the candles up. You froze, your eyes running across his shoulders and back. The door closed loudly behind you, and you jumped; the man's head snapped in your direction, his smile growing when he saw who had just walked in.

"You are quite early today, my dear," the priest stated simply, his focus going back to the unlit candles that still begged to melt under the burning flames. "Luckily enough, our Creator does not sleep; we're under scrutiny every second of our time on this earth."

You gulped at the words, the implications they held. You crept closer to the man, fidgeting as you thought of what to say. You let out a small quiet sigh, biting down your bottom lip as you stopped and stood a few feet away from him. The man straightened up and turned in your direction, his head tilted to the left as his gaze travelled across your face, "Oh my, whatever has you this upset?"

Your cheeks flushed as your eyes shifted from his eyes to the floor, the shame of what you had yet to confess weighing down your shoulders like the cross your Saviour had carried through heat and pain. You felt tiny, the priest towering over you; he had to be close to two feet taller than you. Had this been how Lucifer felt when he was at last pushed to meet his fate in the depths, a force greater than all administrating the final judgment? Sinfully powerless, a mere weak being? Tears gathered at your lower lash lines as you spoke, oh so quietly, your voice like the echo of an echo, "Father, I have sinned."

Seconds passed, silent ones, before the man hummed and walked past you, making his way to the front of the church. You twirled around, your eyes landing on where the priest now stood, in front of the old rotting confessional. You gulped, nodding to no one in particular before slowly making your way to the man who was stepping into the booth, the door closing behind him. You did the same, slowly closing the door after giving the empty church one last look, your eyes lingering a few seconds on the nailed Christ resting behind the altar, seemingly judging you.

You sat down, cringing at the creaking of the wood beneath your weight. The grille was pulled up, the silhouette of the man on the other side vaguely distinguishable. You took a deep breath, then spoke softly as you brought your right hand to your forehead, the gesture almost instinctual, "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen." You put your hand on your thigh, staring at the unmoving priest, "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It is.... too much time, since my last confession. I am a university student, in my last year to obtain a bachelor's degree." A low hum was heard, and you shifted in your seat, trying to find the exact words for your confession.

"Father, something terrible happened last night. In my weakened sleeping state, evil befell me. I was plagued with sinful dreams. You must understand, I am thoroughly devoted to Christ and our Lord, never have I let a man, or anyone, disgrace the body I was given; never have I had thoughts or dreams of this kind. I fear my will is not strong enough, that this evil shall come back and torment me. I fear I will fall into sin, just as our first predecessors did. I am nothing but willing, Father, so please, do help me. I am sorry for all these sins, and the sins of my past life."

You sniffled, wiping away the tears that had fallen down your rosy cheeks, your eyes glued on the silhouette of the man beyond the grille. His silence made you want to cry even more; were you a lost case? Had your fate already been sealed, your soul now tainted because of the touch of evil in such sacred places? You tugged your bottom lip between your teeth as you waited, seconds becoming minutes.

"This evil you speak of, what exactly has it done to you?" His voice seemed to have dropped lower, the sound a bit raspier. You furrowed your brow slightly at the question; you had been clear about the incident. As if feeling your hesitation, the priest continued, "Ma chère, only by knowing exactly what this evil put you through can I give you absolution."

You felt a blush creep up your neck, and flinched as the crack of thunder was heard beyond the church walls; your heartbeat quickened, was this Him telling you to obey?

You let out a small breath, before speaking up, the words shaky, "As I slept, this evil... Entered my dreams. It took advantage of my defenselessness. It disgraced my soul and my body. Upon waking up, there was... Remains of the sinful things it had my body do." You could feel the man's stare on you despite the grille separating you, causing yours to drop to your knees, feeling vulnerable.

"What sinful things did it inflict upon you?" Rain had started falling, as if the sky itself cried for you; the sound of it hammered against the roof, a continuous wail of grief for your poor soul.

"Father, I don't understand how this is necessa-"

"Do you not want absolution? Do you desire to be locked out of His kingdom? The choice is yours," his tone was harsher, demanding, even. You gulped and shook your head; no, that was not what you wanted. It was the furthest thing from it.

"I apologize for questioning your words, Father," you began, fidgeting with the hem of your coat, "From what I can remember... This evil took the shape of a man. A faceless man. I was in bed, and it joined me, and... We, uh, we kissed. It took my nightgown off." Your hands felt clammy, and you couldn't help but press your thighs together as you recollected the events of your dreams. "It kissed my breasts, then my stomach. It went... Down there, and stayed there until my whole body tensed up. Afterwards, it pushed itself inside me, it thoroughly disgraced my body. When I woke up, my body showed signs that it had reacted to the defiling. Father, please, believe me when I tell you that I was coerced by evil."

Thunder was heard again, breaking the silence that had settled between you and the priest. As the minutes passed, you became uneasy; was the man disgusted with you? Could he sense the sins radiating from your being? He cleared his throat, breaking your train of thought. Your eyes went back to his silhouette, waiting for him to speak up.

"I fear this is beyond the power bestowed upon me, dear," his voice was silky, it made warmth spread inside your chest, as if the vibrations it had created affected your very cells.

Your eyes widened; that was impossible. You had confessed and explained the evil that had haunted you. You had done exactly what He told His followers to do, confessed and asked for forgiveness. You shuffled closer to the grille, tearing up as you begged, "Father, please, there must be a way. I will do anything; I will suffer just like our Saviour has if it's what it takes. I'm supplying you, help me get rid of this evil."

“Very well,” the man said. You watched as his silhouette stood up and opened the door of the booth before it disappeared. The door of your little chamber opened, and you turned your head to look at the tall priest, who adjusted his glasses as he stared down at you. You took a few seconds to really look at him. Despite his smile that made shivers run down your spine, the man was handsome. His skin was tan, his hair dark and styled in an old-fashioned way. His features were sharp, intimidating, almost. Towering over you, his shoulders were wider than some quarterbacks’, and his waist was ridiculously small compared to them. His hands seemed to be twice the size of yours, and you found yourself wondering how he managed to button up his shirts with such big hands.

You looked back at his face as you blushed, realizing the man before you knew of your body in such intimate ways. You slowly stood up as you held his gaze, unsure of what to say next. He took a step aside and gestured for you to step out of the confessional, before closing the door behind you. The priest smiled down at you, “Follow me, dear.”

He started walking down the aisle, the flames of the candles on each side of it dancing as he passed by. You hesitantly followed him, looking out one of the small windows to see the rain pouring onto the world as lightning illuminated the sky. He stopped at the altar and turned to you, his smile ever present. You stopped in front of the stage; sinners did not belong anywhere close to that sacred place. The man stayed silent and with a gesture of his hand, permitted you to step up. You gulped and got on the stage, feeling extremely out of place.

“There is one way for you to repent,” he began, his stare fixed on you, “Though it is a bit unorthodox. The choice is yours, but you must remember that there is no place for sinners in Heaven.” He watched as you nodded quickly; you were eager to be forgiven, to go back to being free of sin. The corner of his lips twitched before he uttered one word, “Strip.”

Your eyes widened as your face turned a deeper shade of crimson. Stripping? You searched his face for hints of dishonesty, hoping he was playing a sick joke on you, but to your dismay, he was serious. Your body was frozen as you looked at him, not even the booming thunder making you flinch.

You opened your mouth to ask why, but the man beat you to it, answering your question before you even uttered a word, “Only by showing Him precisely how this evil tainted you can you be absolved. There is no need to be shy, ma chérie; isn’t He all-knowing? All-seeing? Wasn’t the shame of nudity created by His first creations’ sin? There is no purer form of devotion than to go beyond the embarrassment and bare yourself to Him; than to accept the vulnerable nature of your existence.”

He brought his right hand up to lay it flat against the wooden altar, observing you as you fought an inner battle with your dignity. His words were true, the wisdom of a man devoted to God, of someone who knew scriptures and their meaning. As if feeling your unmoving incertitude, he spoke up once again, “Proverbs 28:13.”

You blinked up at him, mind searching for the verse you had read many times before. You licked your bottom lip with your tongue before reciting softly, “He who covers his sins will not prosper, but whoever confesses and forsakes them will have mercy.” The priest hummed, and you raised your gaze to the crucifix hung on the wall behind the altar, feeling as if He was patiently waiting for you to submit to His will. You puffed out a small breath as you nodded to yourself, a hand coming up to the zipper of your coat, slowly bringing it down to then shrug off the piece of clothing and letting it fall on the floor.

You could already feel the wet cold seep through your thin sweater, but you ignored the feeling as you grabbed the bottom of it and lifted it up until it was completely off you; it dropped, finding its place next to your coat at your feet. Your eyes were unfocused, staring into thin air as you slipped your thumbs under the elastic band of your skirt, pushing it down so it pooled at your ankles. You stepped out of it, getting slightly closer to the priest whose gaze was burning your skin despite the goosebumps covering it. You brought a hand to your back, unclasping your bra before slowly taking it off, baring your breasts to the man. Your nipples hardened as the freezing air licked them and you bit hard down your bottom lip as you slid your underwear down your legs, then stepped out of your shoes, leaving you only wearing your lace-arbored anklets.

The man lifted a hand in your direction, a silent request for you to grab it. You did so all while avoiding looking up at him and followed him as he made his way behind the altar, his fingers squeezing yours slightly, “Our Lord blessed you with rare beauty, dear one, what a shame it led evil to you.” You gasped softly as his other hand wrapped around your waist, your eyes shooting up to look at him. He was still smiling, though his eyes seemed clouded with something you could not put your finger on.

He let go of your hand and grabbed the other side of your waist before effortlessly hoisting you up on the altar, the skin of your ass stinging from the cold of the wooden surface. Your gaze was questioning, and the man recited, his voice low and quieter than it had previously been, “I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that you present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable to God, which is your reasonable service.” You gaped at him; a true man of God, that’s what he was. “Offer your body to Him, and you shall be absolved. Show Him what evil has done to you, so He can forgive and make you pure again,” he held your stare, his pupils slightly dilated. You nodded once, and the priest stepped aside, leaving you to face your Saviour in your naked glory.

You slowly leaned back, using your left elbow to not completely lie down on the wood. You brought your trembling right hand to your lips, the tip of your index finger stroking the pink flesh as you recalled where the lips of the faceless man had touched you. They lingered there for a few seconds before dipping to your neck, dancing around the column of your throat as your eyes fluttered shut; if goosebumps had not already been covering your body fault of the moist cold, they would have appeared, the feeling titillating. Your chest rose and fell in a timely rhythm as you dragged your touch to your breasts where your finger gently caressed your right nipple. Your lips parted, small breaths making their way out as you gathered with your small hand the heavy fat of your breast, squeezing. You could feel the stare of the priest on you, but you attempted to ignore it as you kept going.

Your fingers went down your stomach, using your nails to slightly scratch the skin, and they stopped a few inches below your belly button. You opened your eyes and looked at the crucifix; His peaceful expression, despite being nailed and in pain, gave you courage and you spread your legs, giving your Saviour the perfect view of your most intimate era. You nibbled on your bottom lip as you slowly brought your fingers down, choking on a soft moan when they made contact with your clit. The simple touch made your composure fall a little, your lips parted as your face reddened, feeling more exposed than you had ever felt before. You gently pushed against the bundle of nerves, gasping as your fingers started to move, following a small eight-pattern.

You could feel your heartbeat thundering against your ribcage, matching the loud striking of the heavenly fire against the earth beyond the safety of the church walls. Soft pants left your mouth as you started working on yourself, closing your eyes to focus on the memories of the previous night. Every touch and stroke were vividly drawn in your mind, your fingers moving in an almost instinctual way, leaving you a whimpering mess. You moved your elbow that was holding your weight, slowly leaning your back against the cold wood, before bringing the now free hand to your face, covering your mouth with it as your thighs trembled. Your body was thrumming, humming with new sensations, your mind as foggy as the early morning that had welcomed you when you had stepped out of your home.

Lost in pleasure, you jumped, your eyes shooting open as you felt long fingers wrap around your wrist, the priest looking down at you, his own eyes sharper and darker than they had been earlier. Your fingers nestled between your thighs stopped moving as you stared at him, but he tsked, “My dear, you must not hide anything from Him. These lovely, sinful sounds you make, are not to be repressed. Let them be; let Him hear what evil inflicted upon you,” his voice sent a chill down your spine, your back arching slightly. You watched as the corner of his lips twitched and let him pull your hand away from your mouth, gulping as you nodded weakly. “Good girl.”

Your breath hitched at the praise, eyes not leaving his’ as your fingers started to move once again, bringing your legs up to rest your heels against the altar, spreading your legs a bit more. As if in a trance, your gaze fixed on the priest as you moaned and gasped, your hips twitching as you rubbed your clit. You saw his Adam’s apple bob, his eyes narrowing as you used your free hand to caress the skin of your stomach, slowly inching towards your left breast. Your fingers dipped lower, teasing your entrance, and with a bite on your bottom lip and a pinch of your nipple, you pushed your middle finger all the way to the second knuckle, your eyes widening at the feeling. You let out a throaty whine, pressing your head harder against the wooden surface that supported your weight. The cold was long forgotten, your body covered in a thin layer of sweat, muscles spasming here and there.

You slid your other hand between your thighs, the digits quickly finding your clit and gently stimulating it as you managed to push your finger further inside yourself. The faceless man from your dreams had used three fingers, and you could only wonder how your dream self had taken them, as you were struggling with a lonely, short finger. Despite the uncomfortable feeling, you bit down your lip and pushed your index alongside the finger that was already pressed inside you. Your face scrunched up at the stretch, a silent sob echoing through the dimly lit space. You felt your walls clench around your digits, your free hand still working on your clit as a way to make the dull ache more bearable. You waited a minute, giving your body time to adjust to the feeling, before carefully pulling the fingers out and thrusting them back in, a surprised whimper leaving your lips as a new feeling started to blossom in your lower stomach.

You arched your back and started speeding up the motion of your hands, unable to keep quiet as your body grew warmer and more tense. Your eyes fluttered open to look up at the priest, who was as still as Christ watching you from His cross on the wall. As you exhaled, you pushed a third finger in, welcoming the stretch with a high-pitched whine. Your knees dropped down onto the altar, leaving your womanhood fully exposed; you watched as the man glanced at where your hands were working in tandem to replicate almost exactly what the evil from your dream had done to you. You gathered the little concentration you had left and started muttering through gasps and moans, “Compassionate Father, you are the Lord who rescues His people. When I am overwhelmed with shame, help me find solace in you. You have said that you will help—though my sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are as red as crimson, they shall be like wool. Remind me that I have been purified by you, that the curse of sin and evil is no longer upon me. In your powerful name, Ame-” You were cut off by a large hand wrapping around your lower face, the feeling making your body jolt.

Right, it had to be the same as the dream; you had not uttered a prayer in it, far from it. You closed your eyes, moaning against the palm covering your mouth, as you focused on the growing tension in your core. Every second felt like minutes and every minute felt like hours as you quickly thrust your fingers in and out, all while you rubbed and nudged your clit. The pressure was almost unbearable, your whole body twitching as your hips tried to follow the movements of your digits as if they had a mind of their own. The priest moved his hand away, and you opened your eyes to watch him bring it to his mouth where he licked his palm, which was covered with your drool.

Something snapped inside of you and a loud sob made its way out of your throat as your muscles tensed up, your walls clenching tightly around your fingers as you stilled them, your mind unable to think about anything beyond the blinding pleasure that took over your body. Your eyes rolled back, pitiful sounds leaving your mouth as your back arched from the altar, your thighs squeezing together, trapping your hands between them. This felt so much better than it had felt in your dream. You teared up; the Lord’s love was so strong; evil could not even compare.

After a few seconds, your body relaxed, and you were left panting and sweaty, as if you had just run a marathon. Slowly opening your eyes, your vision became clearer as you blinked, a smile tugging at your lips as you looked at the crucifix, then up to the priest who had not moved. You removed your hands from between your thighs and brought your left one up to wipe the pearls of sweat on your forehead with the back of it. You wrapped your right arm around your chest, trying to hide your breasts as you spoke up, your voice small but hoarse, “Have I done it, Father? Am I free of sin? Has our Lord given me absolution?” Hope lingered; you had done what you were told to do, you had been good, and your Lord was good and forgiving, He had to have seen how faithful you were.

The man’s eyebrows raised before he let out a small chuckle, shaking his head slightly, “My dear, this was only your confession. The truest and purest form of confession.” Your smile dropped. You looked at him as he made his way closer to the wall, where he stopped in front of the crucifix that had observed you as you worked on yourself. His chin tilted up as he looked at it, before his head slowly turned to look at you, “But confession is not enough for this type of sin, sadly; you must also be cleansed.”

You sat up, your brows furrowed, watching as the man stepped closer to you. He stood in front of you, his right hand coming to rest on your thigh, just above your knee. His touch was warm and inviting, but you still wondered what his words meant, so you asked, “Cleansed?”

His thumb stroked your skin as he hummed and brought his other hand up to your shoulder, pushing your hair behind it, “Yes, dearest, cleansed. Your body was defiled by evil, it must be purified. You’ve shown our Lord and Saviour how, and now He shall reclaim your body as His’.” You looked at him, your eyes round and big, trying to make sense of the words that had just been spoken. A small pout appeared on your lips, and the tall priest bent down, his face now closer to yours as he said, his voice slightly louder than a whisper, “You are so easy to read, you know? But to ease your confusion; I shall represent our Lord and make you pure again.”

You froze, the realization of what the man meant hitting you just like David’s stone had hit Goliath. You gaped at him, your mouth opening and closing, searching your brain for the right words to speak, afraid to insult God and the man who stood before you. You gulped and said after taking in a deep breath, “Our Lord… I cannot think of mentions of this procedure in the scriptures,” you blinked, your eyes shining as you looked into his’. “Father, has this procedure been tested before? Where does it come from?”

His long fingers dug into the fat of your thigh as you saw the muscle of his jaw clench, a small whimper leaving your lips at the feeling. He kept squeezing, his creepy smile growing, “Are you implying my authority was not given to me by our Lord? That my will does not stem from His’? That I would go against scriptures, something I have devoted my life to?” You shook your head quickly; you had messed up. You were to never question the words of a priest, for he was much closer to God than you were, and you had done just that. This evil needed to leave; it made you do, think and say things that would only make you unworthy of Heaven.

“Father, do forgive me! This evil, it has taken control of my body and sou-”

“There’s no need for that. I shall make your sins a purest white than Abraham’s sacrificial lamb. You will be reborn a new woman, utterly sinless,” he inched his hand higher on your thigh, “That is what you want, isn’t it? To let your God make you pure again?” You gave him a slow nod and his smile widened as he brought his free hand to his face, removing his glasses and putting them on the altar next to you. He nudged your knees open and settled between them, sliding a hand against the back of your head as he sang praise to you, “What a good girl you are, ma chère.”

His lips smashed against yours and you gasped, your eyes fluttering shut as you tried to follow his lead. The hand resting on your thigh slid to your waist and forced you to get closer to him, his chest pressing against your naked breasts. You moaned into the kiss, pictures of your dream flooding your mind, causing you to wrap your legs around his tiny waist and arms around his neck. You ran your fingers through his hair, letting the man run his tongue along your bottom lip, your mouth opening slightly in response. His kisses travelled down your chin, to your throat, his teeth nipping at your skin as you let your head fall back, giving him better access.

His mouth slid to your chest, and you lowered your chin to look down at him as he wrapped his swollen lips around your left nipple. You grabbed a handful of his hair and pressed him closer to you, arching your back slightly. His eye shot up to look at you, humming against your skin, the vibration leaving you a whimpering mess. He separated from your pink, wet bud with a last lick, smiling as he flicked your other nipple with his thumb, “So eager for absolution, aren’t you?” Your soft pants were interrupted with a small gulp as you nodded once again; there was nothing you wanted more. He ran a hand up and down your thigh before grabbing it and removing it from his waist, doing the same motion with the other one a few seconds later. You silently watched as he kneeled, his face a few inches away from your exposed core. The sight made your heart skip a beat.

Something caught your eyes on the wall, and you looked up, seeing a rainbow light up the crucifix hung on the wall; the rain and thunder had dissipated as suddenly as they had appeared, and sun rays were beaming through the colourful tainted glass of the rose window at the entrance of the church. A small smile tugged at your lips, this had to be a sign you were on the right path. You bit down your bottom lip and gazed down, seeing the priest eyeing your womanhood, a hungry look on his face. Your cheeks reddened as you waited for the man to do something.

He slowly inched closer, and let his nose nudge your puffy clit, causing you to gasp softly at the feeling. You felt something warm run up and down your slit, your grip on his hair tightening as he flattened his tongue against your entrance. Your brows knitted, a small noise leaving your lips as he started to move his wet appendage up and down, moving his head slightly as he did so to get his nose to bump against your clit with each lick. His hands went to your ass, and he brought you even closer to his face; you wondered how he could even breathe.

Your mind started to wander as pleasure slowly took over your limbs; was the man between your legs mistaking you for a wine-filled chalice? The slurping noises his mouth was making against you travelled through your body and rendered you dizzy. You pushed his hair back from his forehead and his eyes shot open to look up at you as his fingers dug into the fat of your ass. His pupils were dilated to the point that you could barely see his iris and there was wetness spreading on his cheeks and nose. Lips parted, you sighed and slightly scratched his scalp with your nails, leaving the man groaning as his stare was still fixed on your face. One of his hands made its way down your thigh and disappeared from your view before it reappeared; a dainty wooden-beaded rosary was dangling from his fingers.

The priest took his mouth away from you, a wide smirk painting his lips as he grabbed your wrist and dropped the prayer beads in your much smaller palm. His other hand came forward and started stroking the skin of your inner thigh as he wrapped his long digits around yours, forcing you to hold the rosary. He licked his bottom lip before speaking up, “You know how this works, don’t you?” His smile grew as he watched you nod, “Perfect. Recite them in your head, except the Five Decades; you must recite those aloud. It’s Thursday, so Luminous Mysteries. Whatever your Lord has planned next and does to you, you must keep going, understood?” You nodded again but he shook his head, “Use your words, dearest.”

“I understand, Father,” you said, your voice small.

The man hummed and let go of your hand, dropping it to your other thigh, massaging the skin there as well. His gaze dropped to where your thumb moved to make the Sign of the Cross on the small crucifix pendant. You closed your eyes as you started reciting the Apostles’ Creed, surrendering your body to the faithful man kneeling before you. His lips pressed against you as you finished the first prayer, your finger moving to the first bead. He fell into a now familiar rhythm, leaving you incapable of staying silent as you breathed out soft moans. Something prodded at your entrance and slowly slipped in as you fell back against the altar with a thud. You arched your back as it kept going, much deeper than you had reached with your fingers. It pumped in and out a few times before the man added a second finger, the pressure and stretch making you whimper.

His tongue kept alternating between sucking on and flicking your clit as you busied yourself with prayers. The priest hummed against you before removing himself; you opened your eyes and lifted your head from the wooden surface, eyes widening when you saw blood on his chin and bottom lip. He removed his fingers from you and showed them to you; they were bloody too. You stared at him silently, uncertain of what to say, but he broke the silence, “See what the evil has left in you? Aren’t you so lucky your Lord is ever so forgiving? That he’s cleaning you up to make you free of sin?” You nodded and bit the inside of your cheek. His eyes were gleaming as his fingers went to your lower stomach, smearing the blood on your skin, which made goosebumps appear.

You studied his face, his sharp, dark hooded eyes were staring at you under his defined eyebrows, his plump lips were stretched in a smile; his tanned cheeks and chin were coated with a sheening coat of your wetness and blood. His hair was now messy—your doing—and his fingers were slowly making their way back to your slit. Without thinking about it, you reached out and cupped his cheek with your free hand, rubbing your thumb against his bottom lip. His tongue darted out to lick your digit as his fingers sank back in you, knocking the breath out of you. Your eyes closed shut as you gasped, your hand falling from his face to rest on your hip. You heard him laugh under his breath before the warmth of his mouth was back on you. Your mind reminded you of the rosary you were holding, and you started reciting the Hail Mary.

As you neared the end of the Glory Be, you felt the man add another finger, the stretch making your eyes tear up as you mewled weakly. The words of the prayer passed in your mind, disappearing as he started to thrust them in and out. Your walls clenched tightly around his digits as your chest rose and fell quickly, panting as your body tried to get adjusted to the burning feeling.

Your fingers landed on the first Decade, and you gathered all your strength to start reciting the prayer, your voice shaky, “Then Jesus came to Galilee to the Jordan to John, to be baptized by him. John would have prevented him, saying ‘I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?’ But Jesus answered him, ‘Let it be so now; for thus it is fitting for us to fulfill all righteousness.’ Then he consented.” You were interrupted by a yelp as you felt the priest’s teeth grazing your clit, your free hand landing in his hair, gripping it. Your hips kept twitching as you kept going, stuttering through the words, “And when Jesus was baptized, he went up immediately from the water, and behold, the heavens were opened and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove, and alighting on him; and lo, a voice from heaven, saying, ‘This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased.’”

The drag of the man’s fingers had turned pleasurable, and you felt your muscles tense up, the feeling in your lower stomach rapidly growing. You pushed on the back of his head, searching for more friction, and you moaned out loudly when he started mumbling against your clit as his fingers kept moving, “Oh my Jesus, forgive me of my sins, save us from the fires of hell; lead all souls to Heaven, especially those who have most need of your mercy.” You could not register the words but the movements of his lips on you made you come undone, your back arching from the altar as your thighs trapped his head in place, your hips lifting to follow his fingers and urge him to press his tongue harder against you. Your every muscle tensed up, crying out as the waves of your orgasm hit you just like the Red Sea had crashed into the Egyptians as He closed its parting. You spasmed around him, your walls trying to push his fingers out, and you felt wetness drip down your ass.

He separated from your clit, kissing it softly as he removed his digits from you, slowly standing up as you cracked your eyes open, your body still jolting randomly as it calmed down from your high. The light coming from the rose window had moved, and from your angle, it looked like a halo surrounding the priest’s head; a breathtaking sight that had you gape in awe. You watched as he tugged at the collar of his shirt, taking his Roman collar off and letting it fall to his feet. Your wetness was dripping from his lips which were harbouring a soft smile, his hands moving unhurriedly to unbutton his cassock. His eyes travelled up and down your spent body, then to the rosary you had forgotten you were still holding; you clenched your fingers around it and moved to a new bead, your lips moving silently as you recited the Hail Mary in your mind.

You kept your eyes on his hands as they reached the last button, the man shrugging off the black piece of clothing, revealing he was wearing a white tank top and black pants underneath it. You gulped at the true size of his shoulders; you had thought his cassock gave the illusion he was large, but even with it off, he looked huge. The smallness of his waist only accentuated how massive the built of the priest was. He had muscles but they were lean; despite it all, he looked strong and exuded a masculine aura that had you squirming in place.

Your observations were interrupted by his voice, “Do you feel like the weight of your sin has lessened, ma chère?” You dipped your chin once; you did feel lighter. The man grinned wider as his hands wrapped around your waist, bringing your torso up effortlessly so you were now sitting. He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, leaning over so his lips pressed against the shell of your ear, whispering, “You did so well, dear, you’re almost as pure as the day you were born. There’s only a step left in this procedure, but it will hurt at first.” He pressed a hand on the back of your head and pushed forward, forcing you to bury your face in the crook of his neck. You inhaled and felt his fingers massage your scalp gently.

He smelled so intoxicating; a mixture of moss, rain, coffee, tobacco and a hint of something floral emitted from his skin. You realized you had pressed your lips against the man’s neck when you felt him tense up, his hand stilling in your hair. You backed away slightly, blushing so brightly you were grateful he could not see your face, muttering an apology. His body relaxed again, and he hummed, “There’s no need for apologies. Bite down my shoulder—don’t be scared to bite hard—it will make you focus on something else.”

You opened your mouth to ask what he meant but pressed your lips together when you heard a zipper, followed by the shuffling of clothes between your bodies. You brought your hands to his chest, the rosary still in your hand, fingers fidgeting with the beads as you felt one of his large and cold hands spread your thighs a little further apart. You felt his fingers run up and down your slit and you gasped at the feeling, your nails slightly digging into the muscles of his chest. A wet sound travelled up to your ears and you closed your eyes, a shiver running down your spine when you felt a hand drop to your hip, kneading the fat there, and his voice, now a low murmur, “Bite down.”

You barely had the time to process the words that you felt pressure against your entrance which ceded, your walls wrapping around something so thick you shrieked before sinking your teeth into the man’s shoulder. It felt like you were being split in half; the thickness slowly forced its way inside you as tears gathered at your lower lash lines before they dripped down your cheeks. You bit down harder and pulled away quickly when you felt iron-tasting warmth coat the inside of your mouth, but the hand still in your hair pushed you against the bleeding bite mark, the priest almost growling, “Bite, and drink. At this moment, I am God; I am Christ. His blood is mine, and my blood is His’. Savour, dear one, and let me cleanse you inside out.” You let out a shaky breath before sinking your teeth back in his flesh, your brows knitting as he pushed his length an inch deeper inside you, “So obedient.”

You let the blood fill your mouth and swallowed, cringing at the taste but unwilling to go against Heavenly orders. Your arms snaked around his waist as he kept slowly pushing himself into you. The pain was unbearable, but your mind went to Christ, and how much he had suffered for the sins of all; the ache between your legs was a pinch compared to what he had endured, so you toughened up and let your tongue lap at the blood. Your brain felt foggy, and you could only take it as a sign that it was your body reacting to being filled with the divine energy pouring out from the priest. His length reached deeper than his fingers had, and you wondered how much of it you had left to take in.

You soon had your answer, the man stilling as his pelvis pressed against yours; he was so deep in you, stretching you so wide. Your mouth detached from his neck, and you pressed your forehead against his skin, panting loudly as you tried your best to relax your walls around him. The hand that was in your hair made its way to your waist, squeezing gently as you felt his lips press against your ear once again, “Your Lord is so pleased with you; you’re taking his cock so well. You’ll be redeemed in no time.” He slowly pulled out, leaving only his tip in, before thrusting in you at a medium speed, leaving you sobbing against his neck. It was overwhelming, the feeling of his length rubbing your inside and the warmth spreading in your chest, God’s love making you burn up. The feeling started to transform from pain to pleasurable pressure, your pained cries turning into needy moans.

You had managed to reach the tenth Hail Mary in your mind, your fingers reaching the second Decade. You whimpered out the beginning of the Second Luminous Mystery, “On the third day there was a marriage at Cana in Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there; Jesus also was invited to the marriage, with his disciples.” The priest started moving faster, his hips meeting yours at a much quicker speed; you whined as his tip hit a certain spot inside you, the rosary dropping on the floor as you dug your nails into the man’s shoulder blades. You could not concentrate on anything other than the drag of his length against your walls, panting and gasping each time he bottomed out.

He slightly pulled away from your body and looked down at you, his hips still moving as he brought a hand to grab your jaw from under, forcing you to look at him. He eyed you before crashing his lips against yours, moaning as he tasted his blood in your mouth. You slid your hands up to his hair, tugging at it and scratching his scalp as your teeth clashed together, tongues dancing. You pressed your chest closer to his’ and sighed as your nipples rubbed against his tank top, the feeling sending electric shocks to your core. You parted away from his lips, catching your breath, and your eyes opened and landed on the crucifix watching you; you smiled softly—oh how good was His clemency. Your gaze went back to the priest who was slightly panting, his lower face covered in blood—just like yours— as he smirked at you, sliding his hand to your cheek, stroking the skin tenderly.

In half a second, he pulled out and manhandled you, so you were now bent over the altar, your breasts pressed against the wooden surface as your feet dangled in the air, his large hands holding you up. His knee nudged your legs open wider and you felt him slip back inside you, the new position bringing a different sensation. His hips met your ass, and he started thrusting into you eagerly, loud smacks echoing through the church. You held yourself up on your elbows, holding your head up as you looked at the front door; if someone were to walk in, they would see the priest cleansing you, a Godsent blessing.

Your elbows started to tremble, and the man noticed; he slid a hand below your stomach and hoisted you up against his chest, your back pressed against him. He held you up, his arms wrapped around you as his pelvis smacked against your ass, your feet dangling one foot above the floor. He slid a hand down, his fingers running down your slit, groaning as he felt where you two were connected. He ran them up again and pushed his middle finger against your puffy clit, gently rubbing it as he kept working himself in and out of you. Your head fell back on his shoulder, and he took the opportunity to attach his lips to your neck, kissing and nibbling at the skin.

You truly never had felt anything like this; if you had been a fool, you’d have thought you were glowing from how fulfilled you felt. The familiar tension grew in your lower stomach, lewd noises leaving your mouth as the man dug the fingers of his other hand into your flesh, holding you closer to him as his movements became erratic. His groans and grunts were sending shivers down your back, only adding to the multitudes of sensations you were currently drowning in. As if he could feel you were close to reaching your orgasm, he mumbled against your neck, “Let go, ma chérie. Let evil leave your body, let God replace it with goodness.”

Your breath hitched and with a few more nudges on your clit, the pressure building inside you snapped. Your vision went white as you came, the feeling different from your previous releases. Even through the waves of pleasure, you could feel something drip down your thighs and could hear squelches as the priest kept thrusting his length in you. Your mouth was open, silent cries leaving your throat as you clenched tightly around the man. You felt his lips move against your neck, but you were too lost in feelings to understand what he was saying.

Your tensed-up muscles slowly relaxed as the remains of your orgasm washed over your body. You whimpered as the man kept moving, your core feeling overstimulated by his length still burying itself inside your sensitive walls. He quickly pushed your front back against the altar, grabbing your hips as he moved both his hips and yours in sync, your nails digging into the wood as your ass smacked against him. His thrusts were harsh and fast, leaving you breathless; tears were streaming down your cheeks at the delightful ache.

His hips stilled, his length buried deep inside you, as he groaned lowly. You felt your inside be flooded with warmth, whining as you dropped your forehead against the wooden surface, the cold of it grounding you. You were panting, the warmth creating a pleasant pressure inside your core as the priest rubbed his thumbs over your Venus dimples. He stayed inside you for a few more seconds, before easing out of you, leaving you feeling empty. He once again manhandled you so you were now sitting facing him, holding your limp body up as he dragged a hand up your moist thigh, grinning, “See this wetness? It was the remains of evil leaving your body.” His hand reached your slit and he gathered a sticky white substance on his fingers, bringing his hand up close to your lips, “And this is goodness. Do remember, my dear, your sins are scarlet and they shall be as white as snow.”

You gaped at him; he truly was a man of God. He pushed his fingers past your lips, and you let him, wrapping them around his digits as your tongue licked at the goodness. The taste was bitter, but as your eyes met his’, all you could think about was how caring and selfless the man standing in front of you was. You had come to him, worrying about your purity, and he had completely cleansed you of sin and given you his own God-gifted goodness, not asking anything in return. He removed his fingers from your mouth and brushed your cheek with the back of his index, his smile not faltering, “What is this look you are giving me?”

You blinked a few times, your cheeks flushing as you realized you had been staring, “Father, I must thank you. My body and soul were barren, and you made them anew again. I do not know how I could ever repay you.” His eyes narrowed at your words, his hand reaching to grab his glasses before he put them on and ran a hand through his hair. It dropped to your thigh and drew shapes on there, his gaze not leaving yours.

“Alastor,” he said simply before stepping away from you and bending down to grab your clothes. Your expression turned to a confused one as you watched him slip your underwear up your legs, your skirt following. You let him dress you, his fingers skilfully clasping your bra behind your back before he motioned you to lift your arms so he could slip your shirt back on. Once dressed he let his hand lay on your thigh again, before he spoke up, “My name is Alastor. Call me by it and your debt is repaid.” He grabbed one of your hands and dropped the rosary in it before grabbing your waist and helping you down the altar, “Keep this, use it whenever you feel evil is near.”

You nodded up at him and smiled, your grin faltering for a second when you saw that the crucifix on the wall had detached and was now hanging upside down. Oddly, you thought nothing of it and you looked back at Alastor, your smile spreading wide, “Thank you, Fa—Alastor.” You squeezed the rosary between your fingers, watching as he bent down once again, but this time to grab his cassock and Roman collar. You stood silently as he buttoned it up and placed the white collar around his neck. He straightened the fabric with his hands, before meeting your eyes.

“You look quite a mess, dearest, you’d better go home and clean yourself.”

Your hand flew up to your face where dried blood was caked on your chin and around your mouth, and you felt a blush creep up your neck at his words; he did not look any better. Despite it, you nodded, shifting on your feet as you thanked him once again, “I cannot express how thankful I am, Alastor, truly. You, uh, you should probably get cleaned up too; people would probably wonder why there’s blood smeared on their priest’s face.” The man chuckled and nodded before bending down to grab your coat, handing it to you once he straightened up. You took it and quickly slipped it on, putting the rosary in one of the pockets.

You clasped your hands together and bit down your bottom lip as the man put a hand against your back and urged you to walk with him. You walked down the main aisle silently, stopping once you had reached the end of it. You turned to him and opened your mouth to speak, but he beat you to it, “Go, now. Enjoy your newly found purity.” You smiled and dipped your chin once; he grinned back, “I will see you tomorrow, though I am hoping you will not walk back in here with that same pitiful expression you had earlier.”

You let out a small laugh as you gestured that you agreed before giving him one last glance and turning around, walking towards the door. You could feel his stare burn holes in your back but ignore the feeling, pushing against the door and stepping outside, the sunlight momentarily blinding you. You sighed loudly, looking around to make sure no one was close; the last thing you wanted was someone seeing you limp, your face bloody. You began to make your way back home, ignoring the way your thighs stuck together from your and Alastor’s bodily fluids. You thought about his words, and strangely, you found yourself disagreeing; you hoped the faceless man would come back. You had tasted true goodness, the powerful and unconditional love and mercy of God, and you wanted more of it.

[happypeachsludgeflower]

@ihavedonenothingright about Into The Shen Verse!! which, incidentally, also has the potential to be named “Shen-anigans: Into the Shenverse”

Who do you think would be the oldest? I’m making a family tree to start the fic planning, but I’m running into a wall and cannot figure out who has the most “Eldest Brother Energy”.

Shen Qiao is the obvious second brother. Thousand Autumns makes a point to always place him second. It basically writes itself there.

Shen Yuan was the third son in his family as stated in SVSSS which also slots in well here. And Shen Yuhua from Daughter of a Thousand Faces was the youngest child which also fits in nicely here, with the fact that Shen Yuan had a younger sister.

I’d add Shen Jiu (also from SVSSS) to the sibling set, but for the plot I have in mind, he fits either as a cousin or not at all. Also, with his childhood relationship with Yue Qi, he often gives off second brother/youngest sibling energy.

I do not have enough context on the other Shen’s just yet to slot them in. I’ve done a cursory search on each of them, but am still uncertain.

Shen Wei seems to have the most Big Brother Energy going for him, but he has a twin bother Ye Zun and would be difficult to slot into the eldest brother unless I just.. deleted his brother from the story entirely.

Shen Zechuan is the eight common born son and even in his adopted family is the younger brother. He is like, the babiest of all the Shen boys. And probably best as a cousin to the aforementioned lineup.

I can’t find a wiki on The Silent Concubine but I AM VERY ENTHUSIASIC ABOUT THE PLOT SUMMARY AND SHALL BE BINGING IT TONIGHT!! And from the summary, he is also fighting Shen Zechuan for the Babiest Shen Award.

As for Gu Yan, he is being adopted into the family. I cannot think of a reason he’d be born into it and given the name Gu Yan only to change it to Shen Shiliu later. He does however seem to have some semblance of elder brother potential. At least in comparison to the other candidates. He was a military commander. Which doesn’t necessarily make him elder brother material (I genuinely don’t know since I haven’t read more than the wiki) but most of our other contenders so far are canonically youngest siblings. Maybe he can be adopted before Shen Qiao is born??

Shen Li (and her mentor Shen Muyue) from Legend of Shen Li is absolutely a good addition to the family, but she unfortunately is not a contender for the oldest brother.

I considered switching Shen Li out with Shen Yuhua for the youngest sister since Shen Yuhua has extensive family in canon, but decided to keep Shen Yuhua as an adopted child. The Shen’s mayhaps kidnapped her from her family (who can be another branch of the Shen family and therefore she’s biologically a cousin) that didn’t care for her anyway after her mother’s demise.. she deserves a nice family besides her bestie Swallowtail. And from what I can tell from the brief Wikipedia article I found on Shen Li, she seems to have bamf older sister energy. I’ll have to watch it to know for sure though.

Anywho, our main contenders seem to be Gu Yan (who would be adopted), Shen Wei (but idk where I’d put his twin Ye Zun), or Shen Jiu (who we could explain away the younger sibling energy by him having a childhood friend that babied him).

Feel free to add other contenders in the comments.

[hitlikehammers]

hitlikehammers' Hobbit-Birthday Fic-Giving Fest

So you know how Hobbits celebrate their birthdays by giving gifts, rather than receiving them?

WELCOME TO MY HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY FIC-GIVING PROMPT FEST!!!

wherein YOU prompt ME to write stuff, and to clarify from the outset: YOU DO NOT HAVE TO BE FOLLOWING ME TO PARTICIPATE. Did you find this at random? Via reblog? Just kinda want a fic but don’t want my babble regularly on your feed? I. DO. NOT. CARE. This is my birthday month (well, soon) and I want to be giving and gregarious and generous and generally positive about writing little gifts so: prompt anyway.

THE RULES

✨ You have THREE (3) choices for prompting

CONCEPT PROMPTS: basically Ao3 tags, or close enough—pick one, give me a little direction if you don’t want me to just write ~anything~, and then you’re all set SONG PROMPTS: pick a song, ideally also pick a lyric from the song, and if you want to give me some short direction for it go ahead; these are the largely-random choice of Spotify on shuffle; it got kinda moody and angsty on me and picked songs I was never huge into and some from legitimately years ago but: the algorithm prevails DIALOGUE PROMPTS: either inspiration or to be included in the fic, I cannot guarantee either way but if you have a STRONG PREFERENCE, you should point that out; and again, if you want to provide a couple words of direction: do so

✨ if I am already writing you a gift fic for something else: THIS IS DIFFERENT (also shorter so even MORE DIFFERENT)—ask again if you want to, you’re more than welcome, honestly it’s more a gift for me because…hobbity-birthday 

✨ you have to MESSAGE/ASK ME or COMMENT ON THIS POST with your prompt because I am going to miss it if you reblog or tag or whatever-other-means-of-telling-me that is not a message/ask/comment, and that would be v sad ✨ I will only be writing ONE FIC PER PROMPT, so if you like one? Grab it. If I haven't had time to edit the list (which is likely because timezones and my work schedule) and they get duplicated, I'll reach out to the second claimer for a new prompt.

✨ if you’re not okay with NSWF content, you need to state that in the prompting message; I’m not saying you’re going get NSFW stuff, but if you’re absolutely against it, gotta flag that in advance 

✨ because someone asked: if you want to attach one of these to one of my existing fics/‘verses, include that because that’s usually super fun and there are only maybe two fics I wouldn’t try to follow up with a tiny thing on request

✨ the default ship right now is my most currently active one: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson. If you want to prompt a ship that is not Steddie, note that and check if I’m familiar with it here, or take your chances; I’ll message you if it’s not something I write

SO: pick one of the prompt lists above and send it my way so I can start writing you words.

PROMPTS ARE OPEN THROUGH 31 JANUARY 💜

so...y'know. Prompt me. It's my BIRTHDAY 🎉

also if you hate links have all the prompts, here: below

✨

CONCEPT PROMPTS: pick one, a provide a little direction with 2-3 words, up to a sentence

Merperson/Siren AU

Monsterfucking

Wrong Number/Wrong Blind Date AU

Hurt/Comfort

Baked Goods (as in: prompt me with a pastry you’d like to be eating rn)

Secret Relationship 

Royalty AU

Established Relationship 

Dark AU

Near-Death Experience

Missed Connection AU 

Cocktails (as in: prompt me with how your mixologist knows you)

Misunderstandings

Pre-Season 4

Domestic Fluff

Creaturefic

[Character]-Has-Powers

Vampire AU

PWP

Famous AU

Presumed Dead/Emotional Reunions 

Soulmate AU

Whump

First Times

Warm Drinks (as in: prompt me using what you order from your barista)

Magic AU

Fluff

Meet Cute/Ugly

Nightmares

Angels/Demons AU

SONG PROMPTS: pick a song, ideally a lyric FROM the song and a word or two for context of your intended prompting

Never Tear Us Apart—INXS

I Will Wait—Mumford & Sons

Any Other World—MIKA

The Days Of The Phoenix—A.F.I.

Manhattan Skyline—a-ha

Jilted Lovers & Broken Hearts—Brandon Flowers

Why Can’t This Be Love—Van Halen

The Navesink Banks—Gaslight Anthem

Holocene—Bon Iver

Wicked Campaign—Modest Mouse

Follow—Brandi Carlile 

Jesus Christ—Brand New

Little Talks—Of Monsters and Men

Clever Meals—Tegan and Sara

Will Anybody Ever Love Me?—Sufjan Stevens

A Light On In The Dark—Darlingside

To Build A Home—The Cinematic Orchestra

sever the blight—hemlocke springs

These Things—She Wants Revenge 

The Light Behind Your Eyes—My Chemical Romance

Come Undone—Duran Duran

Song For Zula—Phosphorescent 

Last Words of a Shooting Star—Mitski

This Must Be The Place (Naive Melody)—Talking Heads

Majesty—Madrugada

Fake Empire—The National

A Dustland Fairytale—The Killers

Fast Car—Tracy Chapman  

At The Bottom Of Everything—Bright Eyes

The Trapeze Swinger—Iron & Wine

QUOTE PROMPTS: pick one, and if you have a context, I’ll take up to 3 words as direction

“That’s… not what that means.” 

”They say when you meet the love of your life, time stops, and that's true.”

“…Why?” 

“Now, I’m not going to deny that I was aware of your beauty. But the point is, this has nothing to do with your beauty. As I got to know you, I began to realise that beauty was the least of your qualities. I became fascinated by your goodness. I was drawn in by it.”

“I’ve never felt this way before.” 

”So it's not gonna be easy. It's gonna be really hard, and we're gonna have to work at this every day."

“What are you doing?”

“I cannot let you burn me up, nor can I resist you. No mere human can stand in a fire and not be consumed.”

“I assume I deserve this, but can you tell me why you want to kill me this time?”

”We aren't here to make things perfect."

“You meant the world to me. I should have protected you.” 

"You're the first boy I ever kissed... and I want you to be the last."

“What? Like it’s hard?”

“Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would still be dear.”

“Who did this to you?” 

“I want to tell you with my remaining strength that I love you. I always have. I'll drift next to you every day as a ghost just to be with you. Even if I was banished to the darkest place, my love will keep me from being a lonely spirit."

“You here to finish me off, sweetheart?”

”When I first saw you, I felt like I knew you, and I couldn't stop seeing my life with you, and building a family together. One that isn't stuck in the pain of the past. It's very pretty."

“You’re worth so much more than me.” 

“I’ve never had a moment’s doubt. I love you. I believe in you completely. You are my dearest one.”

“This isn’t going to end well.” 

"Truth is, sometimes I miss you so much I can hardly stand it."

“Please! You have to let me make this right.” 

“Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”

“You’re a monster.”

“You and I, it’s as though we have been taught to kiss in heaven and sent down to earth together, to see if we know what we were taught.”

“You don’t want this.” 

“You have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love--I love--I love you. I never wish to be parted from you from this day on.”

“Why did you lie?”

”I don't want to sound foolish, but remember love is what brought you here. And if you've trusted love this far, don't panic now. Trust it all the way." 

[hollow-lime-green]

you've mentioned in 2sorcs that your interpretation of yuki's technique is different from canon, right? (I agree...the physics is not. physics-ing.) would you mind explaining your interpretation or would we have to wait for further chapters of 2sorcs/installations of the verse?

Oh yes, thank you for this ask, I would love to talk about this!

My interpretation of Yuki's powers is what I think they should be in a balanced universe where a.) Gege understands physics, and b.) Yuki is undeniably special grade.

I do really like Yuki's canon arc, but I think Gege copped out in how they got there due to him not really vibing with the math/science involved. Luckily, I am a STEM girlie here to womansplain. Since I'll mention about manga-only Yuki stuff, I'll put it under a cut.

(Side Note: I really hope some of the anime-onlies that I know have read this verse go back and reread if/once they catch up on the manga. There's a lot of easter eggs!)

Yuki's Canon Powers:

Yuki can use cursed energy to add virtual mass* to herself or her shikigami, Garuda.

*This mass only affects how hard she hits**.

**Until she adds enough mass to turn herself into a black hole, wherein it now does affect everything else.

Now, I think this is really stupid, because it is so limiting to say mass = power (force), and the black hole threshold is arbitrary. It is stupid on its own, and it is stupid in the context of the Kenjaku fight because if you let Yuki be cool, the fight can be way cooler. Kaori's anti-grav actually could have been an amazing counter and led to an interesting fight.

(Of course, the point of Yuki's fight is that she lets go of herself/her agency, and by not being selfish and arrogant, she loses the fight. The strongest need to be a little crazy, and they need to have unlimited faith in themselves/insane egotism. By doing what Tengen wants, she has to lose. I like it. But Greg still could've made her cool.)

Yuki's Powers (Taylor's My Version):

So, science: if the size of something stays the same, but the mass changes, the density has increased. So my interpretation of Yuki's powers is technically based on density.

Yuki can used cursed energy to add mass/increase density to anything she can touch (including other sorcs), and Garuda at a distance (familiar mechanics, baybee).

Yuki's cursed technique reversal is taking away mass/decreasing density.

All things are affected, not just 'power'. When things are heavier, they are harder to move and generally more durable, so she gets defensive buffs when heavy and speed buffs when light.

Yeah the black hole still works. But Yuki's relationship with mass is linear; there's no 'threshold' where suddenly Greg changes things.

These changes are relatively minimal in terms of the actual powers, but I think they would make a world of difference. When Yuki's powers interact with real world physics, she can have a lot more strategic options for changing her own mass, which you see in her spar with Geto. It's great for hand to hand. I have Satoru change his weight in the fic essentially by using a Blue behind him to lift himself up like a momma cat might lift their kittens up lmao. But Yuki could just directly target herself.

She could probably be special grade with *just* that change, especially since we know she has a DE and she has RCT. But I think it's balanced (whatever that even means in jjk) for her to also be able to apply her CT to unwilling targets, like Projection Sorcery. (By the way, Projection Sorcery is busted, and we will get into it 👀). With enemy/ally targeting, I think she'd be definitively special grade.

The Kenjaku/Kaori fight could have been an absolute masterpiece with the interaction between density/mass and gravitational pull. Both have both CT and RCT, so if you expanded on Kaori's antigrav and let her set a source point for gravitational pulls (similar to Blue), or at least a direction, she could reaaaaally fuck with Yuki. And then you've got the setting with Tengen's barriers falling apart. Kaorijaku could hover/fly, Yuki could go light to jump around on them. I mean - Greg, I just wanna talk Greg open up Greg-

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk <3

[argesta]

Academia, in my fanfiction (or at the very least, the ones I gravitate towards reading)? It’s more likely than you think!

In your last reply you mentioned chapter titles, so here I am to ask about the chapter titles!

And also how you decided who plays which roles. Ex. Santiago as Lestat’s oldest friend (from before he married Louis even) and member of his team.

I love this.... academia in my fanfiction more likely than you think... say that 😩

I’ll answer your second question first because it’s so, so good.

When adapting canon to an AU, what I’m interested in is the dynamic capture of a character over the static one. So by static, I mean a 1:1 parity with the character, a modern version of their job, direct translation of their personality, social status, identity etc. Dynamic essence is how they impact other characters + overall context.

To take Santiago - because he's this circus ringmaster in canon S2, this satyr, lurid spotlight figure, I could’ve easily just made him a tabloid guy, go the TMZ route. But that wouldn’t really convey what I needed him for - he’d just be a cameo.

Given that in canon he has such a fraught relationship with both Armand and Lestat - need but rivalry but resentment - I wanted to translate that above all else. And there is no better framing device for this dependency than to have him be this older, grizzled spin-doctor that has been working for “the cause” since forever, knows enough dirt to bury both Lestat and Armand, but does not have the resources to take on any of them individually. Armand himself is a new upstart that technically should be Santiago's subordinate, but in PV he comes with his own capital (the name and power and connections via Marius “eugh” de Romanus at his back).

To me, Santiago’s main draw in all his canon appearances is the fact that his power is so uncertain for all its apparent flashiness. His control is predicated on so many elements which lay behind the curtain (LITERALLY) and which we do not see until the finale.

We think he is calling the shots, but then: oh. You take a closer look and he’s no ringmaster or eminence gris, he’s just the town crier. There is no vertiable eminence gris in either IWTV canon or PV, because they’re all defanged. They are consequences of history and fatherhood, especially if you compare them to figures such as Magnus and Marius - these old men still moving pieces on the board from beyond the grave and/or before the start of the story.

Anyway, am I unnecessary and unserious for thinking this in-depth about it? Absolutely. Is this some artistic credo that I think all AU/fic writers should do? Definitely not.

It’s just the by-product of me outlining this AU-verse in 6 PoVs so far (Lestat, Louis, Claudia, Armand, Daniel, Nicki) so it’s inevitable that the world becomes part of the story. I’d love to get a chance to tell the events in PV from other characters’ point of view, or at least write more fic set in the same PV universe, so I just think of it as doing the planning in advance because I know it’ll come in handy later.

Chapter titles meta under the cut <3 sorry mutuals :’)

The chapter titles are all film techniques! Names come from either cinematography study (frame camera angle perspective etc.) or editing and transitional devices (montage, scene cutting and so on). They are mostly made for motion picture, but some are of course also used in other contexts like news live reporting social media etc. (though I do believe sm apps like CapCut come with their own name for stuff or whatever - I avoid platforming TikTok until it pays me).

I like taking this angle with all present & future chapters because it’s a clin to how the characters are mediating (and meditatizing) their experience through these like - artifacts and artifices.

I.e. TWO-SHOT being a wide-frame, single-take conversation between two people, with almost no one else (certainly #norealpeopleinvolved) entering or leaving the shot until the scene ends. CROSS-CUT being... well, to take it from the definition:

Cross-cutting is an editing technique most often used in films to establish action occurring at the same time, and often in the same place (...) can also be used for characters in a film with the same goals but different ways of achieving them. Cross-cutting is often used during phone-conversation sequences so that viewers see both characters' facial expressions in response to what is said.

Sometimes it's genuine - TWO SHOT really is just a two-shot, sometimes it's an irony/play on purpose/subversion, like SPLIT SCREEN showing on one level Louis-Claudia conversing on a literal screen, the proverbial split between Louis/Lestat, and the disturbing, growing similarity between Lestat/Armand as a common front (as perceived by Louis; being the split image of someone else, etc.)

Certainly I don’t need to oversell the point of why the performativity of editing and montage fits the universe these miserable girls are living in, or why the chapters are defined and sectioned through the techniques it would take to adapt them to screen. (Very clear that none of these characters can define their life without an audience, they’re so consumed with the self-narrative that they forget they are not only participating in it, but fully have the power to change it).

[caesarflickermans]

Twenty Questions: Fic Author Edition

tagged by the lovely @thesweetnessofspring and @bodyelectric77 (my heart is warm for uuu <3)

1-How many works do you have on ao3?

Two (+ a deleted one)

2-What's your total AO3 word count?

89,860

3-What fandoms do you write for?

THG. I’ve been writing in it for ten years (RP before fic), and I much rather go into publishing before I move to any other fanfiction tbh.

4-What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

She smelled like white roses

Burning bright in the city of the night

5-Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Absolutely! I try to, at least! Sometimes I get so excited about a comment that I’ll leave it in my inbox for a few days just to get excited again. Especially with my first fic that is very niche in this fandom, I get insanely happy about the fact that people are interested in it enough that they comment on it.

6-What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

This is hard, as I’ve only really written two works. Burning bright comes the closest, even if the final sentence is more a relief than anything, but it is mysterious throughout. Depending on who readers think the stranger outside is, the entire story can either be very angsty or not angsty at all.

7-What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

SSLWR is technically not finished as it has a second longfic coming up, but it ends on a very happy note. I’ve had THE urge™ throughout the fic and even while planning to kill Virgilia off as a repeated circle notion, but it’s breaking the circle that is so vital. Even if she has succeeded in finding out the truth about the past wife (a mystery from the first chapter onward!), educated herself about our past, and found actual love that exists/is not a fairytale, it’s still not a character journey over. If anything, characters—and on a meta level people—like her deserve a happy ending. Even if just to show that there’s the chance to do a 180, no matter the situation. (Doesn’t mean the horrors aren’t awaiting her though 😊)

8-Do you get hate on fics?

No, and I’m kinda? Surprised lol? Like maybe it’s just that niche that you’d only click on it if you are at least semi-interested, but with the heavy subject matter I had expected some people being very critical of the content—the whole debate what belongs and doesn’t belong in (fan)fiction.

9-Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Sort of? SSLWR included a smut scene in ‘Queenside’. It was very flowery, though. So, yes, but it’s not a very descriptive scene. I wanted to stay true to V’s character and focus more-so on the emotional inner thoughts and meaning of having this moment. That said, of course this isn't the last time they will do it, especially with the next longfic including more romantic couplings, but I don't see the purpose of writing them out. The before and after seems much more important, so if I end up wanting to write it again, it will be similar to the first moment in what it did and did not mention.

10-Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Not in fanfiction, but I’ve done a lot of AUs for Caesar and Virgilia in RP context. Caesar has really been in any kind of popular media from the past decade to roleplay with people’s characters there. He’s been a Tyrell in ASOIAF, and he’s been a former show host in TLOU-like verses. My most used one is a modern AU where he lives in NYC as a late night host. As for Virgilia, it’s been much fewer and I don’t really set her in other media anymore. But she has several modern verses, among those one where she grew up in a FLDS-like cult and escaped eventually.

11-Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No

12-Have you ever had a fic translated?

No

13-Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

No

14-What's your all-time favorite ship?

I don’t really do ships outside of the ones I have; which are Caesar/Cinna, Cressida/Fulvia, and Virgilia/Plutarch. I also have two ships with my rp partner, @beedelia. The first is Caesar/Bedelia Du Maurier from H.annibal, and the second is the sole victor I'm shipping Caesar with; a middle aged victor from 7 who lost his eyesight in the arena.

15-What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

I only have one more WIP planned and it’s going to take some time, but I have confidence in it being finished. I do have some loose ideas about writing some one shots that detail more on tertiary characters, such as Paylor, but it’s nothing more than an idea. Would be in the same style as Tigris' one shot, so it's more a "once I really start, I don't think it will be abandoned".

16-What are your writing strengths?

I think I’m a good character writer. It’s a given coming from RP, but I think I can breathe life into the characters I write, and give them good story arcs. With Virgilia especially, I’m always baffled that people say they like her character or liked her journey, so I’d say that’s working quite well for me writing wise.

17-What are your writing weaknesses?

That I take a long time and overthink everything. I want my first draft to be really good, so I cannot settle for okay. I rewrite sentence and am generally slow because I want what’s coming out on the blank screen to be good. It doesn’t help that—obviously—I’m no native speaker, so my sentence structure or vocabulary is never going to be the best; I feel like both are fairly repetitive. I do try to use Merriam Webster a lot to spice it up, but it can only help so much. I’m also not sure how I’m doing pacing wise. Coming from RP, I was used a lot more to, say, 200-500 word replies where I was writing short scenes with someone else. Pacing was never a question here. But I feel like I’ve improved on this ever since I started writing longer stories.

18-Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

It doesn’t happen in Panem, anyhow. As @bodyelectric77 has said, some headcanon that Spanish is spoken in District 4, but I don’t believe that the fascist government would want to keep any other language than English in its country, because it makes surveillance so much harder. But for a more general approach: I find it unnecessary. If the character doesn’t speak the language, then it’s essentially just a blank for them. Why should they know what the other is saying? If they do speak that language, then don’t build on the reader being able to speak it (or being bothered to look it up. Why do I need google translate for a fic, grr!). Just give me indirect dialogue then (“He said XYZ in Spanish”).

19-First fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter back when I was 12 or so. Both in RP and fanfiction.

20-Favorite fic you've ever written?

She smelled like white roses. It’s my passion project. Though I’ve got a feeling that Birds of the Capitol (current WIP) is going to be my magnum opus in a way. Really encapsulating 10+ years of writing (RP/fanfiction) in this fandom. I’m excited, scared, nervous, thrilled. Everything.

Tagging: @mollywog, @lemonluvgirl, @thesmileykate, @districtunrest, @petruchio

[astorichan]

For the fic writer asks (if I'm not too late): 7, 18 and 23?

You're not late at all! Thank you for throwing these at me :>>>

7. How many ideas for fics do you have right now?

Continuation of Shatter, a shortfic set in Dreams verse, a Hornet centric fic, an idea that Elle fed me (Hollow and fork centric), a collab idea, something very undefined but Great Knights and Hollow centric and one that I'm still rotating that I will not specify. So 6?

18. What’s one of your favorite lines you’ve written in a fic?

"It found nothing except its own Void and the Old Light’s warmth, ever colliding with each other, bound in an eternal loop with no end and no beginning."

I have more of these but they're not single lines so they don't fit the criteria. -sniffles-

23. How do you choose where to end a chapter (if you have multi-chapter works)?

Ummmmmm this is a good question that I never before attempted to put into words. I think that I mostly go for breaks, almost like an ending to a phrase. I take a breath at a finale of a chapter before starting the next one (save for cliffhangers, but those are a different category altogether: those I use for tension, mostly, or for a surprise factor). I want to music analogy so bad—the phrase ends but is still essential to the context of the piece as a whole, though without the phrase ending the piece would lose its integrity—but I don't know if that's coherent enough lol. I also do not chapter break a single action/event unless absolutely necessary: be it for a cliffhanger or for other surprise/shock value. Which may or may not be why my chapter lengths are inconsistent AF dghgfd

[someobscurereference]

I stumbled across your old Xander/Owain fic again recently and haven't been able to get it out of my head, I love the leo trio with my heart and soul and xanlow is great but there is something so compelling and wholesome about them being in such close proximity for so long bc of Leo and Laslow but not close enough to actually have any sort of relationship with one another otherwise until they finally get a moment alone and are able to forge a connection. I love We Meet Like This At Least Once and it's honestly so aggravating that the only other fics on ao3 under the tag are porn involving one of Xander's siblings in some way, for some reason, and seemingly have absolutely nothing to do with Odin being drawn to Xander's strength of mind, body, and character and the tenderness he embodies with those he trusts and loves nor with Xander getting to see him as the competent, profound, and thoughtful man he is and growing to find his theatrics a welcome familiarity that brightens the moods of those around him and alleviates some of the stress that weighs heavy on his shoulders >:/ Anyway this became a rant whoops but I simply wanted to tell you that I am eternally grateful for your wonderful writing and carrying this rarepair and ask if you've ever thought about how slowly or quickly their relationship would develop after your fic or how you think they may get together in a canonverse setting

(referring to this fic) 🥺🥺 I love!! Rarepairs!! And I'm really glad you liked "We Meet Like This At Least Once" and had fun with it! Because even though that fic was written in 2017, I had fun writing it and honestly would like to see more Xander/Odin fic where nobody expects that to work and keeps assuming they're with someone else or single, but they are wrong. Anyway, I reread my old fics sometimes and thank you for reminding me about this one. :D

Regarding your question of "if you've ever thought about how slowly or quickly their relationship would develop after your fic or how you think they may get together in a canonverse setting," I think in canonverse, Xander/Odin would bond like in the Gay Fates Hack, wherein they meet over swordsmanship and then get to know each other as people through that. In the fic-verse that I wrote specifically (and ignoring any other AUs that could happen), I showed how they got together. In terms of their relationship developing over time, I imagine there would be an engagement in two years or less. I don't know if Owain pays attention to the passage of time; more so his feelings, and they're already pretty solid about how they feel about each other. Owain liked Xander since he was a kid (childhood crush nurtured into love) and Xander, though his feelings took longer for Owain to grow, recognized those feelings within himself a few months before confessing. With this in mind and having grown up together, they have a solid base to work with already.

First few months of the relationship are getting used to each other in a romantic context + getting to know what each other wants out of the future on a deeper level (kids or no kids, what type of living arrangement would work best for them, what does their financial future look like, etc.) and then the next year or so is routine (and not so different from how their friend & family dynamic worked before, though obviously they have to make much more of an effort to see each other now due to their different schedules. Plus the ups and downs of Owain working + rewriting his book for publication while Xander works hard in the office and probably stays late a lot. So I think the time apart would be their biggest hurdle.)

The one difference between them I could see is that if Owain got the idea to take things further first, he'd suggest living together so it wouldn't be so hard to see each other, whereas Xander, raised a bit more formally, would probably have a ring and propose first and say "let's move in together as fiances/as a newlywed couple." A proposal may come as a surprise to some by that point, but Xander would point out that a year and a half/two years is a common amount of time for couples to wait to propose + they already have known each other much longer than that. So what are they waiting for? This would solve so many problems. And Owain would agree in this universe, I think.

Thank you for asking! :D

[wordhuntering]

Actually I'm gonna try because I hate not understanding my feelings.

For context: This is off a long thread of someone mentioning comments seem to be not as common on ao3 and wondering why and another person responding 'Yeah I stopped commenting because when I leave comments I find it worthwhile to say both what I liked and disliked and don't know how to comment without that.' (and mentioning that they like getting feedback)

Only for two separate people to be like 'oh just cut out the negative bits :).' Specifically saying cutting out the negative bits 'gives you a good comment' and then describing my role as a reader as 'being 'cheerleader and fan.'

Like I'm sorry, I think the assumption I as a reader should never say anything even slightly critical, that I'm supposed to just sit there and clap like an idiot or leave, or I'm being rude or mean is unhinged. It feels so fucking patronizing to me, as if one person telling me someone feels OOC is going to destroy my poor little writer feelings, and that this feeling is so universal only the minority of writers feel like they can take it.

I think it's because in my mind, fic is art. Like it's a genre that has it's own set of skills that are even separate from published books (and vise versa). When I write fic, I am making art. I am engaging with art. The idea that default experience of some one like me is expected to be one of needing to be coddled. That is frustrating. It's fucking infantilizing, and this isn't a new feeling. This isn't grandiose posturing as an adult. This is a feeling I had writing as a teenager.

Maybe it's the fact it feels so alienating? Like I remember being 13 and on fucking fanfic dot net writing problematic, poorly written fic and getting a mix of positive and critical reviews and feeling so proud that I was being taken seriously, that I was treated as a peer. And one of the comments that stuck with me was on the first chapter by this author I respected so fucking much. And they pointed out both what they liked and disliked and did the extremely simple crit of 'Hey this character is really OOC. Maybe you should think more about how they would react' and basically explaining the concept of character writing to me, and it blew my mind.

And they never commented on my fic again, because obviously I was 13 and not very good and they were definitely an adult and had better things to do and it never bothered me. And the idea I should have been denied these things unless I asked for it directly is so frustrating, especially when I have proceeded to ask for these criticisms for the next decade and barely got them.

Like is the difference that I came to fic from first being a book worm? That my frame of reference to fic was not 'a fandom activity' but instead as 'an act of writing'? As if by the very virtue that I spent time on something means I should be praised even when I wrote just absolute garbage? No one should be mean in comments (and I have gotten hate ones and they hurt) but there is such an obvious tone between hate and crit. One purposefully hurts and one can sting but idk having something I put time and effort into being taken seriously always, always means more when I feel like someone is seriously engaging with it verses just giving me encouragement not to hurt my feelings. Clearly some people just want some applause, but to frame them as the ultimate-- as the default that all others are derived from...I think that's what pisses me off?

idk sorry this is long just the frustration this gave me...like are we not all peers? Say something genuine to me. Don't cut off parts of your thoughts to make me feel better. I have put this piece of writing out there and have exposed parts of myself, some of it deliberate and some of them not, and have polished it and presented it. What do you see? All of you can't just be applauding. Tell me why. I'm so curious what you feel looking at it, even if it's boredom.

This makes me feel insane and mean in a way I can not articulate and is not deserved.

[onecanonlife]

(for the ask meme) i love this bit from chip at the bricks. "are you just now figuring that out?" is such a mood

ohhh chip at the bricks my beloved it’s been so long okay okay so (warnings for mention of things that the fic deals with, like panic attacks and trauma)

this whole exchange is so very important to me, because it’s essentially about them meeting on the same level, whether c!tommy wants to or not, and it just. it just shows how much tommy cares even though he doesn’t currently want to, even though he wants to convince himself that he doesn’t, it’s just

“Are we real?”

He swallows. “We’re real.”

“This is real?”

“This is real.”

“I’m alive?” But before Tommy can answer that one, he takes a deep breath. “Right, I—I’m alive. I’m alive.”

“Yeah,” he agrees simply.

wilbur seeking grounding and tommy giving it because there’s no world in which tommy doesn’t, no world in which tommy sees wilbur suffering like that, suffering from something that he has also experienced a version of, no less, and doesn’t try to help him. even if he hated wilbur, he wouldn’t let that happen. and he doesn’t hate wilbur, no matter how much he tries to claim he does throughout this fic

“Oh,” Wilbur says. “Well, fuck me, then. That was fucking awful.”

Wilbur’s voice is doing a strange thing, like he’s trying too hard to sound normal, and Tommy wishes, wishes he didn’t recognize the same thing in himself. He tries to pull his hands away, but Wilbur catches them by the wrists, and his grip is far too firm for someone who wasn’t aware of his surroundings only a minute ago.

wilbur, immediately after having a panic attack: time to downplay <3

and then of course we’ve got

“You’re kind of fucked up,” he says instead, and Wilbur snorts.

“Oh, I’m sorry, are you just now figuring that out?” he says, and finally releases him. He immediately tucks his hands into his pockets. “I’ve been fucked up since forever, that’s not news.”

i don’t know if i’d write current revivebur saying that, but i still feel like it works for the revivebur so soon off his resurrection, still trying to find his footing, still with that mindset of ‘me and tommy were bad for the server’ and all of that. and also, there’s the dueling desires of ‘i want to be close to tommy i do not want to be alone i want to keep him with me’ and ‘tommy knows what i am and i know what i am so i’ve got to emphasize how fucked up i am so he’ll leave and rip that bandage off already’. you know, just self-loathing things <3

again i don’t know that i’d write it quite like that for revivebur as he currently stands but. i still really do like that exchange

He hates this. He hates all of this, so much. He wants to go back to an hour ago, when he felt so secure in regarding Wilbur as something inhuman, nothing but a dangerous threat, not a person with feelings of his own. Now everything feels all complicated, and there’s not anyone there to help him work through it.

Because there’s supposed to be a line. A line between the good Wilbur, and the bad Wilbur, and he hates him because he crossed that line, became bad when he was supposed to be so very good. But what is he supposed to do if it turns out that line never really existed in the first place?

and then there’s this, which is probably one of my favorite parts of the whole fic, because tommy is really struggling with this. because spoiler alert: he’s never actually seen wilbur as, say, inhuman, but it was so much easier to at least let himself believe that he did. black and white thinking is a common problem on the server, and tommy is no exception to that (though, not to the same degree as, say, c!wilbur himself), especially because he never really got the chance to properly mourn wilbur and work through his feelings toward him

so, easier to believe that he believes that wilbur was good, and then he was bad, and he’s still bad now. less hurt that way, maybe. except, deep down, he’s always known that’s not true, and now he’s being forced to confront that

wilbur is a complicated person, and tommy’s feelings toward him are complicated, and that’s okay. and maybe that can be a basis for them to repair their relationship

[lea-andres]

Because I'm in a Denny's with my fiancé and thinking super hard about my lore (but not hard enough to keep writing When the Day Met the Night 😬) let's run through some of the more disastrous events of my (main) fic series. (@notquitejosh , we don't talk about the planned sequels to WtDMtN often, you might be interested in this.)

This got extremely long LMAO so it's in the read more.

- This is extremely minor, but I do want to bring up that Fang, Mina, and Bean absolutely destroy Mina's ex Manager's sports car. They don't exactly Street Fighter it, but they WRECK the thing. (When the Day Met the Night)

- Eggman kidnaps the winner of the fighting tournament to attempt to build robots based off of them, similar to the Android Shadows. This backfires when the winner gets substituted for someone else without his knowledge and the robots are rendered USELESS. (When the Day Met the Night)

- Eggman turns Triple S into Werehogs. They get loose, destroy his base, and escape into the world. (Unnamed Werehog fic)

- The Werehogs start destroying cities and attacking people. GUN wants to shoot them, the Restoration wants to capture them and cure them. (Unnamed Werehog fic)

- Jewel tries to set up a trap for Shadow where all the power characters jump the guy, and it failed, resulting in lots of broken bones for the power characters. (Unnamed Werehog fic.)

- Infinite is pardoned for his war crimes so he can get Shadow under control. (Unnamed Werehog fic.)

- Silver almost kills Espio while a Werehog. (Unnamed Werehog fic)

- Restoration HQ gets wrecked by Werehogs. (Unnamed Werehog fic)

- Eggman Nega attempts to conquer the Acorn Kingdom (which I stuck in the Sol Dimension because fuck Canon.), And the Sol Emeralds yoink all of the girls (and Infinite, LOL) and tosses them at Blaze to form a lesbian pirate crew with and stop Nega. (Unnamed Lesbian Pirates fic)

- Bark's Mom almost gets North Island destroyed by Eggman because she sucks. (Miserably Loving You)

- Infinite starts teaching Jewel how to be a bad bitch. Really ends up being disastrous for Bark's Mom more than anyone else, but Infinite had fun. (Miserably Loving You)

- I don't want to reveal the context of why this is disastrous, but Bean goes on a date with a girl. Yes, BEAN. (Miserably Loving You)

- Mephiles attempts to seize control of Espio's mind. (???)

- Mephiles tricks Sonic and Co into doing a thing that eliminates half of the life on the planet. (The Catalyst)

- Mephiles loses his powers and turns into a normal mortal hedgehog, and Silver starts dragging him around to make him fix this. (The Catalyst)

- Jewel breaks Mephiles's nose. Really only disastrous to Mephiles, but I personally love it so it makes the cut. (The Catalyst)

- INFINITE FUCKING DIES. DOES THE DOG DIE IN MY FIC VERSE YES IT DO. (The Catalyst)

- GUN takes Shadow and ???'s DNA (because I'm a bitch, I will say one person has correctly guessed who ??? Is. And @bitter-sweet-coffee knows, LOL) and makes a supersoldier kid (Chaos Specimen #91) they pump full of mind control serum to ensure they have 100% control of them constantly. (Project Chaos Specimen)

- Shadow finds out CS91 is his kid, and he and Omega level a GUN lab, take her, and go on the run. Shadow names her Maria, take a wild guess as to why you'll never get it. 😂 (Project Chaos Specimen)

- Maria, Rosella (Tails's kid, long story), and Briar (Whisper and Tangle's kid, they adopt him.) All meet. (Project Chaos Specimen)

- Briar steals and crashes the Marvelous Queen a couple of times. (Sequel to Project CS)

- The kids run away to bring Infinite back to life. (Sequel to Project CS)

That's all I can think of now, LOL.

[feather-dancer]

Tagged by @babblish

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you’ve written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💗

Scrambles around the AO3 account trying to make sure it’s not all Douxie OR the extreme AU oneshots that make zero sense out of context.

Fic One: Ghosts he left behind - Tales of Arcadia

What: The bathtub scene happened after the episode A House Divided, Jim never returned home afterwards.

Why: Originally the idea hit me after getting the song Broken Crown stuck in my head one New Years Day and just wanting to explore how different things would be if Jim was without that all essential support network. It was an accident of course, never meant to happen and yet it did. Merlin experiences melted cheese, Toby has banger one liners, Claire is trying to keep a brave face as war nips at their heels and it’s just generally ~fun~

This has been on hold for over a year now due to it deals with the themes of loss without answers using previous experiences, last February I lost a best friend and to this day have no idea what happened. It’s just been a bit too close to home for me to handle. I hope I’ll be up to it again soon.

Fic Two - As long as there are stars in the sky - Tales of Arcadia

What: It shouldn’t have happened yet the Amulet of Daylight decided to pay Douxie a visit after Kanjigar fell and given it won’t leave him alone it seems Merlin has decided he should have it. He is not thrilled by this development.

Why: I love writing Douxie. Here I can it, Zouxie, have absolute fucking chaos of them being the Trollhunter & Co. such as when he spritzed Draal in the face with water, Blinky rubbing everyone the wrong way and how existing knowledge really kilters things differently than a couple teens going in blind. Also I keep getting to spend ages making coherent Trollish which is fun.

Fic Three - Along came a word - A writing meme collection

What: A whole collection of prompted “drabbles” mostly around Nomura, Douxie, Otto or the Gumm-Gumm General Gnasha I kidnapped but sometimes other characters too.

Why: It’s probably a bit more adding these particularly when I owe five fake fanfic titles at the moment but I love the erratic nature of these? Sometimes it’s a troll dad date, sometimes it’s ensuring historical accuracy for what language is used at the time, it might be the funniest time for Jolene to pop up. Who knows! A Zadra and Izita one made someone very happy and that was worth it alone.

Fic Four - I know it now, beyond the sky - Tales of Arcadia

What: A Hammerhunter giftshot set in the Ghost!AU verse of supporting your bestie when you’re both about to start high school.

Why: This is ridiculously fluffy Toby wanting to have a game plan in place to limit the chance of people realising Jim is Trans and if things do go pearshaped having a backup.

Fic Five - The sun has set on Adrien Agreste - Miraculous Ladybug

What: Chat Blanc was de-akumatised but the timeline didn’t collapse after the other Ladybug left and now everyone is left to pick up the pieces. The problem is surviving civilians aren’t the only ones who remember...

Why: I get an active OT3 ship off the bat, a slightly nerfed Blanc in his old colours who is largely in hiding, Hawkmoth is beaten but there’s still three miraculous missing and a world is trying to recover from a tragedy that was (Technically) wiped clean. Only one chapter is up with the next half started but the chaos is great particularly the relationship between Luka, Chat and Marinette/Ladybug who was one of the first to die originally. Just don’t call him Adrien, he doesn’t seem to be available right now.

~

Tagging: @fragileizywriting and anyone else who wants to!

[marlasomething]

Jonmartin Week 2022 Day 6: Crazy Notions

Hello there!

As said in previous one-shots of this week, I cannot see a "challenge" and let it go so...Jonmartin week 2022 here we are! The idea is "forcing myself" to write piece of under 1K in different universes, let's see how it goes...and today it didn't go (sorry, wish @jonmartinweek don't mind me not holding myself accountable).

This was written for the prompt of day 6: Lost & Found/Found Family and it is set in my general Time-Travel Fix-It fic, but can be read without context (and, if you DO WANT CONTEXT...here it is the whole AU-verse.

Also: I will try to end all one-shots with the line of the finale "One way or another. Together". Only half this time...sorry.

As usual, do please forgive my quick tipper and non-native speaker mistakes,

Marla

Allons-y!

AO3 edition!

Whole week Masterlist!

There were many things Jon would have never thought could be included in the sentence “Jonathan Sims is…”

Eldritch (half) monster was absolutely one of them; but with a good argumentation, he believed he could have been convinced that was going to be his fate, sooner or later.

Father? That was one he had been certainly would never be after his name (and the proper verb in between, of course).

And yet, here he was.

Here they were.

Married man had also been one term he had refused to even consider a possibility. Even in the most honeymooned moments of his scarce prior relationships he had never seen the so-long-term relationship ever being an unlikely chance in his future.

He smiled to the pair at the other side of the window, as Ellie told something that was making Martin having to bit his lips not to laugh out-loud in the small café nearby the British Museum (though for lazier people it would already be way too far to be considered properly close to the famous edification) where he was to meet them after a not very pleasant evening trying to make a deal with Manuela, so she wouldn’t make the whole city go dark (streets included).

Just wait until next week and you can do that on the Royal Family vacation.

He had tried to sound conciliating, but both knew that, if she refused, the consequences for her people would be…rather unpleasant.

It wasn’t perfect for him either, though. As much as he couldn’t care less about whatever the future of the Royal Family held, he knew there would be innocent people just working for them in their retirement.

However, if he wanted to keep other factions from causing a major mayhem; sacrifices had to be made.

At least, these involved less people blown up that some of Gertrude’s had had.

Cruel; another word he would have never thought could be applied to him.

But not anymore for today; he thought, as he stared at his closest (though not only) family from the street right before entering the local.

Martin and him had definitively not been ready to take care of an infant when they had adopted Ellie, almost six years ago already, but…what else could have they done, when a baby not-so-accidentally marked by The Eye due to her biological parents’ doing had decided she liked them as her real parents?

And it wasn’t as if they hadn’t had more help than they could have ever dreamed of.

Part of an actual family. A small, broken family; but still good.

He opened the door, having to fight with the door for a minute (instead of healing before time, his patron could have allowed him a major strength than the one his tiny body was bound to have).

He saw his husband (fuck, he was; he really was his husband) muttering something to their little girl’s ear, she giggling afterwards.

He reminisced about a time in which Martin would have run to help him the moment he had started trying to force the door; even though he would have treated him afterwards as the most useless bothersome individual in the whole Creation.

He couldn’t be gladder of how things had changed since then.

He got to where his two spectators were sitting and took another chair, ruffling Ellie’s hair and giving a quick kiss to Martin, for the pure dread and horror of a woman behind him, who had just had her very own son come out to her and was doing her worst best to assimilate the news (after properly scolding the young man, of course).

The Archivist saw her and drank in all the little gesture had triggered in her (he could feed in more things beyond The Fear’s proper apparitions, he had learnt); with a coy smile only Martin noticed, giving him a half wink.

Being a monster sometimes had its perks.

As he sat, he complained about the door situation.

“Thanks for not helping, my love. I almost lost against a door.”

“Oh, come on! We both now that evil door was defeated before time, you are too bull-headed for it to go any other way. Also, perhaps previous-Jon would have lied defeated, but you are not like that anymore” he was right, he reckoned.

As much as he was still thin, he was now just constitutional thin, instead of someone-please-give-this-man-a-bloody-plate-of-beans thin, as he had been when they had first met (and worsen over time).

Taking care of yourself; what a concept.

“Were you really tinnier before, papa?”

“Ok, this is now bullying.”

“You don’t allow me to look into your past!”

In good sense; he thought, he didn’t want his daughter to see the things he had gone through…especially the scorned world he had helped creating…

He felt a hand over his.

Martin had learnt to recognise when he started spiralling.

“One day, when you are older” he said.

“I am technically older every day…” she pouted in a way that reminded him quite a lot…to, well, himself.

Nurture winning nature once again.

“You are a bad influence” Martin said, almost reading his thoughts. “So…the Manuela business…done?”

“Yeah, Melanie’s idea might have started as a joke, but, it has worked perfectly fine…”

“You’ll be telling her you had to make some changes, right?!” both men stared at Ellie, who was smirking as she shipped from her hot chocolate. “What? I’ve known Aunt Melanie my whole life! And that is already six years, you two really like each other and also really like to pretend you hate each other…grown-up stuff, I guess. Like when Sasha and Tim use the broomstick room at the Institute…” even Jon’s ears went notoriously red.

“No, not at all like that. Again, once you are old old I will tell you…better, your dad will” Martin gave him a squint look, but shrugged.

Yeah, it will be better for everyone if Martin did The Talk.

Good Lord, was he really planning of having to see himself in that situation?

Had this really all started with him complaining about the unprofessionalism of his predecessor?

“Gotta pee and the other thing!”

“Wash your hands well!” both men almost yelled as the not-so-tiny-already figure headed to the bathroom as if there was a price.

As they were left alone, they silently decided to pretend they hadn’t been together for quite a while (that, with the very fortunate events in their lives, should count as the triple of time), and just be on a very regular early date, soaking at each other eyes, exchanging small silly anecdotes and finally asking each other if they could get closer, almost holding each other.

The rest of world totally gone.

As Ellie came back, showing her hands to be perfectly humid to prove the point of her personal hygiene to be in complete check, Jon felt the smile in his face grow.

There was no other place he would rather be.

He stared as his phone, a text from Daisy shining on the screen, reminding him of the celebration Basira-should-not-know-nothing-about, directly answered with a sassy reply by Tim.

Found, that one maybe surprised him even more than father.

Once, he had been lost, far before the Institute.

Now, he was found and, as he began his conversation again with his partner and kid; he knew that, in any reality they existed, he would always eventually be found.

One way or another.

[deniigi]

what’s one of your fics you’re super proud about?

oh man.

I’m proud of like 95% of my fics, to be honest. But if I had to pick a couple that are like, near and dear to my heart they would be

Onwards - Spiderman.

This is a piece about Peter trying to heal himself and remember who he was after a period of being so self-sacrificing that he was almost self-harming.

It’s an emotional piece that I think conveys my own homesickness and pride in the Bay Area, where I myself found home. And there are parts of it which represent the struggles that I have watched my dearest friends go through while trying desperately to help the people around them get to a position of security and stability.

Wavelengths - Starwars, Dinluke.

This is a recent piece that I wrote with a Luke Skywalker and Din Djarin who are both on the ace spectrum and who got married due to extenuating circumstances and political reasons. As they finally settle into married life, they start running into all these expectations around sex and this fic shows them messily trying to negotiate that. Luke in this piece is almost sex-repulsed and has an extremely difficult time letting himself be intimate with others due to a great deal of trauma. Din in this fic is not sex repulsed, but struggles when sex comes with emotions attached to it; he experiences a great deal of guilt after he has sex with other people and so often abstains.

This piece is super fresh in my mind because it conveys a lot of the experiences that I have personally had as a person on the ace spectrum when it comes to expectations around sex.

Tangle them roots - Spiderman.

This was one of my first goes at writing ITSV Miles and in it Miles’s dad Jefferson is wrongfully arrested; Miles is taken to his limit trying to figure out how to negotiate that as a young black man, a cop’s son, and as a new Spiderman.

This piece was a revamp of the very first piece I did in the Dumpster Fires Verse, called giving notice. I wrote this piece to explore a similar situation but from Miles’s perspective and even though they came from the same place, Peter and Miles’s experiences are so vastly different that I was amazed with the result of the two fics, especially when they are set together.

Inimitable - Spiderman.

This is obviously my baby. My child. My favorite of all favorites. It follows the experience of a Spiderman who grows up in the context of Team Red and the Avengers, but who grows apart from them after a while. He leaves NYC to do grad school, then shit happens and he has to return to bring the city back to order, and to do so, he has to reassemble his old teams and relationships, which have changed so, so much as he’s gotten older.

This fic and the resulting series is everything that I’ve ever wanted from Spiderman. This Peter (Tats Spidey, as he’s later called) is a Spiderman that I feel like I can absolutely call my own. He’s wild, he’s gentle, he’s an overthinker, he’s hypercompetent, he’s jaded, he’s hilarious, he’s suave, but super anxious and awkward and self-depreciating.

If people read Inimitable and understand it as a love song to Spiderman and the people who he represents in this series, then I am happy for that to be my legacy in the fandom.

Shipwrecks - Spiderman, Spideytorch.

This piece is an exploration of Spideytorch with a Peter who is both neurodivergent and more culturally/religiously Jewish than any other I’ve written. Shipwrecks follows a Johnny Storm and Peter Parker who got together as teenagers and then broke up due to their diverging life experiences and priorities. In this last piece of the series, they are trying to get back together again.

This fic was me trying to figure out how Spideytorch could actually work as a real, no-belief-suspended ship. When I wrote it, I was overwhelmingly frustrated, trying to understand how to bring these characters together and I tried again and again to make it work. But there was no smoothness to the narrative. It had to be jagged and then it had to be exceedingly painful in parts. I realized a lot about who Peter Parker was to me in writing this. 

So those are my current top five since I could never pick just one!

[straighttohellbuddy]

📓 !!

Okay im so excited please know I think about How The Light Gets In's world every day still, and so anyways here is a side story I want to write but there's a lot of set up regarding the reader and eef becoming friends again. For context, they were incredibly close around 2014-2017, but people were getting creepy and invasive and demanding about their friendship (think 2012 toxic side of the Phandom, if that makes sense), and a lot of the reader's relationships were strained at that time because while they had been successful before, they were absolutely blowing up after their first album released and they became far more mainstream. They felt like they were bothering the people they had become closest to, both because they're worried that they're a bother, and because gossip rags and paps would harrass their friends looking for a scoop, and so they ended up just completely cutting off contact without warning one day right before they went on their first tour. the start of HTLGI is about 3 years since they'd been in proper contact with any of the creators they were close to at that time.

DON'T LOOK AT ME on their 2017 ep Hyperfocus was a more general song in response to everything that had been happening in their life around that time, with a focus on how they stop associating with anyone for a while, without outright addressing it, but on their latest album n o s t a l g i a, read at 5am ft. Troye was specifically written at the start of quarantine, when the reader was getting back into YouTube, about their feelings regarding how their friendship with ethan ended, as they spent a lot of this time looking back of their YouTube career, and he was the person they were closest to for a very long time, before they iced everyone out.

OKAY SO THERES MORE OF THE BACKGROUND OF THE WHOLE FIC AND THE READER BUT

Werewolf Ethan & Mark. I'm sorry I don't make the rules. They have golden retriever energy you cannot change my mind. But also because this is the HTLGI you know that supernatural characteristics are able to be activated rather than just triggered by the full moon. What I'm trying to say is since this is set in the year of Unus Annus, they film a video together that's like, you know that show where a person has to try and outwit a professional tracker? Except its the reader being tracked by two werewolves at night in a national park. Reader is wearing some sort of night vision camera on themselves so whenever it cuts to them the audience can't actually see how they're using their powers, if that makes sense.

Also the reader agreed to this knowing it would probably be when they ended up telling Mark and Ethan about them being a demon.

Video is titled Hunting Down An Old Friend

A few Moments that the boys edit out:

The reader using their stupidly sharp prehensile tail to swing from tree branches, though they leave in shots where the reader's tail can't be seen.

Knowing that with the werewolves having advanced hearing, the reader would give themselves away by talking to the camera, they take a few minutes having flown up to a high tree branch, to pull out a notebook and do a little sketch of how Mark and Ethan appear in their Demon True Sight, and holding it up to their camera.

Werewolves being one of the animals who can kind of sense demons without being able to identify them, essentially like dogs can sense natural disasters and are often good judges of character, this can be heightened on command for werewolves. There's about 15 minutes of footage cut out of the boys discussing or mentioning how this place has awful vibes and that they should have done this during the day. It gets worse as they get closer to the reader, who didn't realise that the boys hadn't thought to ever use that particular power around them before.

("I say this with so much love and appreciation for you, dude," Ethan yells, looking up at you from the base of the tree they'd finally found you in, "but I- this is making me anxious I feel like something terrible's gonna happen, and we should probably get out of here and film the rest of the video back at Mark's." And behind him, Mark's nodding, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, eyes scanning the trees for whatever was most likely the cause of this terrible impending doom.

Oh. It's you. And they don't know its you.

Now or never, you suppose.

"Can you cut the cameras for a second? You're going to be fine I promise," you called back, and though they obligingly did, they both seemed antsy. You cleared your throat awkwardly, "that... that terrible feeling, that's not the park or anything in it- well I mean, it is, but it's just- it's me."

and later

"Dude your wings smell like rotten eggs."

"To YOU Ethan! And no they don't!"

"If it makes you feel better they smell like burning and rotten eggs."

"It does not."

(for reference, when enhancing their sense of smell werewolves can kind of distinguish various supernatural creatures, or parts of supernatural creatures. Some creatures have an inherent scent, but some, like angels and demons, only have distinct scents when they've activated certain attributesor abilities; demon wings smell like fire and brimstone, which unfortunately means burning and rotten eggs. I like to think angels wings are like the love potion in Harry Potter that smells like the things you love the most. Mark and Ethan usually don't enhance it around each other because they smell like wet dog to the other)

This gets about 2k notes on tumblr. The reader likes it:

Ethan finally finding Y/N at the end of Hunting Down An Old Friend (2020) Colourised.

Other things to note regarding all this:

It takes a while to rebuild their friendship to the point where they're comfortable enough to be on camera together (eef and reader specifically).

However, the Unus Annus video is the first thing they properly do together, and the reader, in an effort to connect more and make up for the past, will join in multiplayer gaming streams if asked.

Impromptu duet in proximity Among Us of Young Volcanoes by Fall Out Boy, which has their respective chats and fandoms losing their minds, except it stops abruptly after the first chorus as they both remember the opening lines of the second verse (make it easy, say I never mattered -- those lyrics hit a little too close to home)

But also the reader convinces him to join him for a proper cover in like, February of 2021, and it's something deeply sappy (I'm thinking Bon Iver by mxmtoon because I think its sweet and fits them well)

Also Ethan being reminded that the reader is kind of a much bigger deal than when they'd been friends before.

designed to hurt (touch me) from their ep Working On It is nominated for a Grammy for Track of the Year, and n o s t a l g i a wins Best Pop Album (because it's my fic and I said so)

FIRST OF ALL designed to hurt (touch me) is a beautifully produced song about Corpse (which people do not know) and the title itself is literally making fun of something he said IMAGINE his reaction to it being Grammy Nominated 😂😂😂 God he'd be proud but lowkey fuming, meanwhile the moment the nominations are announced the reader tweets:

me: here is an album where I processed my entire world view including heartfelt explorations of the trauma of existing and oversharing in the public eye from a young age without the traditional barrier between audience and entertainer

the grammys: that's cute BUT you know the song you wrote to bully your boyfriend and also be horny on main for him before you guys were even dating? THAT deserves its own recognition.

meanwhile Ethan's like..... this is the same person who I filmed a video with playing cards against humanity, and you laughed so hard you almost threw up. I am very proud but deeply confused.

The Hot Meme of Late April 2021 is "2 time Grammy Award Winning Artist Y/N" with a gif, still, or quote from the reader where they're just being an absolute chaos gremlin.

Of course we have "If I bleached my asshole for charity I'd do it tastefully."

2 Time Grammy Award Winning Artist Y/N speaking to their actual boyfriend in the year of our lord 2020: You are being executed for Clown Crimes.

ethan posts a short video to twitter simply of his screen where he's renaming a folder from "Never Before Seen Images of Grammy Award Winning Artist Y/N" simply changing it to 2 time Artist. The reader responds specifically to his tweet with a video of themselves asking Google how to hard reset someone else's computer.

So many screenshots from old videos surface that week.

I miss this world. Sorry this is rambly!!