#length: multichaper

[lockwood-fic-recs]

Occult Theories

by chiiyo86 on ao3

Rating: T | Category: F/M, M/M | Relationship: Lockwood/Lucy/George

AU. 1971, Inspector Montagu Barnes arrests a trio of teenagers that have broken into a church. Delusional kids claiming that ghosts are infesting the country - Barnes has met dozens of them. But the story of Anthony Lockwood and his two associates, George Karim and Lucy Carlyle, isn't one of bored kids looking for a thrill: they are pioneers, fighting to understand a problem that everyone is turning a blind eye to.

Or, what if Lockwood, Lucy and George lived during the early days of the Problem?

[jilyarchive]

hi i am looking for a modern non magic au jily fic that was based off of dash and lily where james and lily communicated through the notebook when they were kids and then james moved away but they reunited when they were out at a club and there was something about them both being in twelfth night

One of my faves!

Title: ‘Tis the Fucking Season

Author: thequibblah

Rating: M

Genre(s): Muggle AU, Fluff, Angst

Chapters: 7

Word Count: 31,297

Summary: Six-year absences. Yearly photograph burnings (figuratively). Low-cut tops. Two nosebleeds. Little red notebooks. The Past, with a capital P. The desire to pour your heart out to strangers (maybe pathologically). The desire to do unspeakably bad things to one James Potter. These are the ingredients that make up Lily Evans’s holiday season. Shelby the cabbie is in for a fucking ride.

[petrichorium]

Less that I’m having ideas above my skill level more that I’m having ideas above my adhd-nerfed executive function level bc I can write plot I have a great knack for pacing I can write character development like nobody’s business but I will get bored of a fic after like 20k words and/or six months

[kohakhearts]

entanglement

Goh is determined to prove his worth as a researcher once and for all.

As usual, things don't quite go his way.

fandom: pokemon (anime) rating: t relationship(s): goh/gary chapters: 2/16 word count: 8 278 written for: @whumptober (prompt: troubled past resurfacing) read it here

“Here late again, I see.”

Goh glances up only briefly enough to match Horace’s voice to his face. When his eyes fall back to the papers scattered around his desk, he asks, “Don’t you have something better to be doing than judging me?”

“I’m not judging you. Just making an observation. You’ve been here later than the rest of us every day this week…”

“Observation… Judgement… What difference is there, really?” He narrows his eyes at a particular line of writing. It must have been late when he wrote it, because it’s nearly illegible, even by his own standards. “I think you’d be better off observing something a little more meaningful, but suit yourself.”

“You’re part of our team. Isn’t that meaningful enough?”

He deftly picks up the piece of paper and drops it in the bin under his desk. Just another bit of sleep-deprived nonsense.

“You know what I meant,” he says. “Go home, Horace. I’m not interested.”

“The professor thinks you’re working too hard.”

Goh grits his teeth. “Since when is that a bad thing?”

“When you don’t know your limits,” Horace says quietly. “Anyway…I guess you’re right. It’s not my business. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Sure, whatever.”

He doesn’t turn around to see the hurt expression he’s sure Horace is sporting. They used to be friends, a long time ago. But Horace is the one who made it all fall apart, not Goh; and even if he swears it was a mistake, or that he’s changed, Goh knows better.

People make false promises all the time. He can save himself the effort of hoping this one will be different by never giving himself a chance to hope in the first place.

Besides, Horace can’t possibly understand why Goh needs to work so hard at this. Their research team revolves around Mythical Pokémon, particularly Mew, but they’ve recently hit some walls in recent attempts at tracking it down. So, Goh has elected to take a different route—one many of their colleagues have scoffed at, have written off as impossible. Even more so for the likes of Goh.

Well…not colleagues, so much as colleague. Gary Oak is the apple of Professor Amaranth’s eye, and he doesn’t waste any time, ever, in making sure Goh remembers it. When Goh first brought up the idea, Amaranth had been interested, but Gary’s vehement disagreement regarding its place in their research quickly swayed him to doubt.

“It seems too dangerous,” is what he said. “Perhaps we ought to explore other avenues first.”

But Goh knows placating when he hears it, and the words beneath that sentiment were all too clear to him even then: You don’t have the talent to solve this mystery yourself.

keep reading

[rosiehunterwolf]

Ahhhh I should actually write something I’ve been dying to for like FOREVER

(Ignore the fact they don’t have titles, my WIPs are nameless creatures)

@fabro-de-omres @amour393 @arpeggiopeg @goldenavenger02 I think the other writers I know already did it (and you guys might’ve as well) but if not you can just hop on too!

Tagged here by @kimium!

Rules: Make a 24hr poll listing the titles of every WIP you want to work on. (It’s fine if you only have one, still make a poll for the vote count). Whichever WIP title gets the most votes, write 1 sentence for every vote received.

Here are your options…

These are the only options at the moment, sorry!

Tagging: @waythroughtheice @tyrantchimera @emeraldthelynx

Feel free to play or ignore!

[sashi-ya]

𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪, 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 ٠࣪⭑ kuchiki byakuya x mistress! reader - nsfw scenario

🍒 tw: mdni - nsfw content. oral . submission. vag. cheating. unprotected. 🍒 a/n: this is a little nsfw scenario based on a bigger, multichap fic that's coming very very soon. Reader is the Kuchiki family nanny, if you haven't read the manga you won't understand who Ichika is, but reader is that little girl's nanny. This story takes place after TYBW, so, Byakuya is not cheating on Hisana... but, who is cheating on then? well, you might want to read the coming fic to know! 🍒 a/n 2: this is a very self indulgent scenario, just to rest my brain from all the chaos now that I have graduated. please enjoy!

Mature, he has become more mature. You can tell; everybody can tell as well.  Heart as important as mind, tears have been shed, smiles that appear more often… Kuchiki Taichou has become a true man. 

However, this man is not only your boss, he is your lover… and you, darling, are this man’s mistress. 

And this man, whose hand guides you to stand up from the chair and kneel in front of him, is about to let you know how good maturing can feel… 

“Kneel down” he commands, with the soft motion of his arm, in the same delicate way he conducts Senbonzakura against the enemy.

You obey, the cold floor beneath your knees becomes irrelevant as a heat grows from your core and filters through every tissue of your body. 

His index runs from your top lip to your bottom, pressing ever so slightly to separate them. The tip of your tongue tastes the tip of his finger, the more it slides inside your mouth. Slowly, pushing in, while the rest of his hands grips your mandible. 

Eyes fixed on his majestic image, absolutely spellbound, body completely given to him… soul gifted, granted. You want to taste him; you want to get drunk with the honeys of his sex. 

“It’s been a long day, I’m tired…” he whispers, in the most serious way possible. His free hand caresses your head, brushing your hair back with loving soft touch. 

You shiver; the simple touch of this man can cause this in you. 

With no words to be said, as his finger slides even deeper inside your mouth, pushing down your  tongue, perhaps even making some room for yours to receive his sex inside, your eyes shine as you wait for his clothes to finally slide down and off his body. 

Ah, the pale skin you adore; the V shaped abs, pointing down his sin, the protruding hip bones… impossible for you to stop yourself, your hands reaching his warm flesh. One palm on the hip, the other going up his belly. 

“Have you been waiting for me, (Name)? I am just only able to free myself for now” he asks, sticking his index off your mouth. You suck it as he does, covering it all in your wet saliva. 

You nod; puppy eyes looking up, pupils showing desperate desire. 

“I want to please you, Kuchiki-sama” you purr, pressing your cheek on his thigh. “Please, allow me to please you… then, you can go back” 

Byakuya scoffs with sweet intent, you are such a soft creature made of pure adoration… how lucky he feels to have you, even though he shouldn't even touch you...  

“There is no need for me to allow it, go ahead sweet one” he whispers, running his long fingers through your hair, pulling you towards him, letting your hands slide the hakama off to discover his sex. 

Unpolluted, hard, perfect… erection waiting to be devoured, touched, pleased. 

Byakuya lets you do, with your hand delicately surrounding his shaft and your lips kissing the wet tip. A few pecks, and some licking, making it yours like a sweet lolly. 

The Shinigami takes a deep breath, throwing his head back. The sharpness of his mandible, the tensing muscles on his neck and the sweet silent whimpering makes you go a little harder; engulfing the whole length, making the tip hit the back of your throat. 

Byakuya’s abs tense and spasm, and in reaction for such pleasure he pushes your head against himself. It makes you gag a little, a sensation over his sex that fans the flames of perversion even higher. 

You bob your head, sucking faster; delicacy has been left aside for some time. Byakuya needs more, and you are happy to give it all for him. 

Now the sounds coming from his mouth are audible, loud. Panting added, falling into the trap of concupiscence and depravity. You are running out of air, you can’t reach for it, your mouth is too occupied surrounding his dick to grasp for a little oxygen. 

You can feel it on your tongue, on your cheeks, the way his length throbs and turns more and more swollen. Its warmth increases, climax is closer.

“Stick your tongue out” he commands, getting his sex out of your mouth. 

You nod, panting. Eyes, a little watery because of the gagging, fix on his night sky ones. You obey, your tongue rests on your lower lip, waiting for his seed, eagerly. 

He takes a few pumps to his sex but stops. His hand grazes your cheek, sweetly, lovingly. 

“You know what? I think your face is way too precious to ruin it with such low act… please, standup” he whispers, grabbing your hand to help you lift from the ground. 

You gasp; Byakuya has definitely become a gentleman… 

He walks backwards, pulling you from your hand towards him. Flopping on the chair behind him, you are dragged to sit on him. 

Your legs hang from the sides, as you face him. Your hips straddled on his lap, his sex impaling your entrance with the same mercy he holds against enemies… none. 

Arms surrounding your waist, hands pushing the small of your back against himself, your lips crashing against his… oh, the intimacy, the need, the desire. 

Your hips move back and forth; his hands help you bounce. 

Byakuya closes his eyes, shutting them with strength, as he focuses on keep going. There is only much he can do to last longer, as climax was around the corner. You didn’t mind, though. You were happy receiving his seed in your mouth, and now, you are happier to do it inside…

He grabs your wrists, making your arms be thrown back over your head. The captain pins them against the in between of your shoulder blades, making your chest pop, with breasts bouncing closer to his face. After all, Byakuya is just a man, he simply loves to watch that hypnotic carom of your pair. 

“You are clenching to me, are you coming?” he asks, almost in pain, trying to wait for your orgasm to arrive. 

“Y-yes, Kuchiki-sama… ngh ~” you whine, humping faster, clenching harder. Your walls can’t stop spasming, can’t stop milking the man underneath you. 

Byakuya lets your arms go, just for you to let them fall on his shoulder. Your nails carve into his flesh, for once it’s ok to leave marks on his back. 

Skin to skin, belly against belly, shivering, trembling. Teeth hitting against the other’s with sloppy kisses and erratic tongues. Eyes closed, only feeling, only listening… 

“Come for me…” “Fill me up, Kuchiki-sama… i'm here to please you, here to love you~” 

[stargatebarbie]

I have a fic on the go at the moment where one chapter is near twice the length of the rest and its annoying me. im finishing all chapters before I post and I'm thinking of splitting that one up, and it got me thinking

bonus points tell me in the tags if you have a preferred chapter length

[morningstargirl666]

hi! do you have any long canon klaroline fic recommendations?

i’m missing klaroline and actual canon isn’t gonna cut it

I'm going to assume by long fics you mean multichaps? I've always found this fandom seems to be lacking in them, and I'm not talking about the 5-10 chapter fics --- I mean the long ass, epic-length fics that transport you to another dimension and rob you of nine hours of your life in a back-alley because you couldn't close the ao3 page at 1am. Other fandoms seem to have dozens of them but klaroline? Not so much. Writers here seem to prefer the 50k one-shots or playing with a different AU altogether, which is fantastic of course, but sometimes you crave something different, you know? Something you can lose youself in. It's what made me write TBBW, initially. However, that doesn't mean the fandom doesn't have some canon-divergent gems.

Epic-Length Wonders:

Red Queen by KS_Caster / @ks-caster

3-Part Series, Over 200k+ words. Season 4 Canon-Divergent. The last part is a WIP. I absolutely adored this fic when I first read it and I still adore it now. Klaus puts Caroline first and continues to put her first during the search for Silas' cure and it is fucking amazing. The werewolf/hybrid world building in the second fic inspired me to write more fics like it. It's not had as much attention since it was moved to AO3, but trust me, this fic is a hidden gem.

Wicked Schemes by willowaus / @willowaus

30 Chapters, 260k+ words. Season 1 TO Canon-Divergent. Ignores the baby plot. Caroline inherits the powers of a harbringer and the way its weaved into the fic so flawlessly makes you question if it wasn't just canon to begin with. Honestly epic world building. Wolf!Klaus also makes an appearance! A true klaroline classic.

make them bow. by for_darkness_shows_the_stars / @stars-and-darkness

35 Chapters, 220k+ words. Season 1 Canon-Divergent. Klaus is dropped into season one while Caroline is still human. Klefan bromance. Damon retribution. Forbes family dynamics. Klaus covered in blood. Council Members and Founding Family warfare. There's a reason this is the most commented-on fic in the entire fandom even though it's barely been out a year.

Binge-In-One-Sitting Multichaps:

Til I Tasted You by KiryTheStitchWitch / @kirythestitchwitch

4 Chapters, 22k. Canon Divergent/Soulmate AU. Will ruin you with single most devastating declaration of love in existence, forewarning you now.

throw roses into the abyss by marxandangels / @marxandangels

7 Chapters, 99k+. WIP. Technically Season 6 Canon-Divergent (after Liz dies) but ignores canon for the most part, especially TO wise. Explores the concept of humanity-less vampires so well, with a dash of world building on the side. Klaus and Caroline's relationship is also explored with such nuance --- like these two aren't just attracted to each other but entwined by their very souls, kind of nuanced. Oh, and the bloodsharing scene drawn by here by @stardust414 lives rent-free in my mind.

Someone's First Choice by unpublishednovelist

10 Chapters, 29k+. Post-Canon. This one's a WIP but I'm keeping my eye on it because it's good. Like hella good. Caroline decides to say fuck it and goes with some college friends to New Orleans for Mardi Gras, accomadation covered by our favourite Original hybrid. She breaks up with Tyler over voicemail. Queen shit.

All I Need by emeraldvixen

14 Chapters, 60k, E rated. Canon-Divergent/Wolf Mate AU. In the mood for some hot and steamy smut? Emeraldvixen's got you covered.

the fate makes for a lousy poet by for_darkness_shows_the_stars / @stars-and-darkness

7 Chapters, 50k+. Season 3 Canon-Divergent/Soulmate AU. The Originals in pajamas. Need I say more?

Who put Bella down the Wynch Elm? by for_darkness_shows_the_stars / @stars-and-darkness

7 Chapters, 60k+. Post-Canon. A murder mystery whodunnit with original side characters and Caroline in all her bad ass glory, after she's left Mystic Falls and its hellmouth-worthy shenanigans. Just - for a minute - imagine canon expanded on the tvd universe and revisted the fact the Originals are little more than nightmarish stories in the supernatural world, or that Stefan is the most infamous mass murderer on the east coast and maybe you'll understand how amazing this fic is.

Important to note these were all specifically Canon-Divergent multichaps. There's plenty more gems out there, just for different AUs and lengths. I also only looked at my ao3 bookmarks for this, so like, I'm probably forgetting several.

[jrooc]

Masterpost

Here's a list of my workkksss.

If you're going to read anything I write, read my multichap Sports AU: In My Veins Like Lightning

1-shots that people have gotten excited about:

Drunk Text - My first ever piece w/ a s3 fill-in about Ian and Mickey getting closer one night in the van before they kiss.

If you can't stand the heat - Ian and Mickey are chefs. It's competitive, enemies to lovers, there's banter, there's smut, there's a sprinkle of romance

Dear Gentle Gallavich Reader - a prompted one-shot based on Bridgerton. Regency era smutty fun.

Mid-length:

I was lost but your fool - Smutty, fluffy, a unique take on an ABO, 4-chap, takes place over a long weekend

Redemption Tale - s4 fill in and fix it that has it's own mini following

Fun/Funny:

Infinite Runner - Video Game AU where Ian finds himself face to face with the video game character he's been dreaming about

A New Personal Best - Olympic Village AU with athlete!Ian and athlete!Mickey

The rest of my works are here

[azureashes]

Bless Me Father, For I Have Sinned

MDNI 18 +

TW: Religious Trauma, Religious Themes, Heavy Fingering, Throat fingering, Priest!Sukuna, gullible Reader, religious manipulation, internalized misogyny, CULTS, oh and cheating! (I forgot about the cheating cuz dude doesn't even get an honorable mention)

This is probably going to be a multichap, as a lot of things have yet to be addressed in this first chapter. Also Sukuna is potentially TOO soft in this first chapter, but he's luring her in first so you know... something, something, honey, vinegar.

Inspired by THIS artwork and THIS playlist.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

“I’m going to teach you something about submission, sweetheart,” there was that familiar, sinful voice in your ear. “And after these…” he paused as if glancing at a clock, “eight and a half minutes, you’re going to understand something about it that you didn’t before.” 

Rain pelted the glass window panes of the gray buildings with their colored awnings that blurred at the edges of your vision as you swept down the cobblestone street. Lights were blinking out on both sides of the road as the quaint little shops closed up for the night, leaving you increasingly shrouded in darkness. 

Gasping for breath, you turned where you stood, taking in your surroundings with a mounting sense of despair. At the end of the road, your eyes caught on a proud building that towered above all others in the square. 

A towering edifice of gothic elegance, the church stood with its grand arch soaring into a pointed dome, its dark stone facade gleaming in the rain. Round windows adorned with intricate lattice designs glowed with an ethereal light. Nearby, ivy and dark, lush foliage clung to the walls, and twisted trees framed the entrance, their leaves glistening with raindrops. An ancient oak door stood ajar, warm candlelight flickering from within, casting a golden glow that beckoned you inside, both inviting and ominous, as if whispering secrets of the human soul to those who dared to approach.

You swallowed thickly, craving the warmth you hoped to find within. Your feet moved as if compelled by some unnatural force, and before you could consciously make the decision, you found yourself stepping over the threshold of the ancient building. You stepped into the narthex, where maroon carpeting and gleaming mahogany furniture greeted her. 

Catching your breath, you took in the long crimson aisle runner that ran along the length of the nave, leading up to the altar. The altar itself was dominated by a crucifix in such a deep shade of mahogany it seems to waver between red and black. In fact, most of the ornamentation of the sacred area reflected scenes of biblical tales so gruesome and violent that the excessive scenes of bloodshed left an almost pulsing, ethereal red dominating your vision. 

There was the reredos, adorned with haunting imagery of saintly martyrdom. You recognized each of them with practiced ease. The central panel depicted Saint Agatha with her severed breasts on a platter, her serene face juxtaposed against the brutality of her martyrdom. To either side, scenes of Saint Lucy with her eyes on a plate and Saint Philomen, with arrows piercing her body and chains constricting her limbs. 

There was no romanticization of their scenes of martyrdom in the manner you were accustomed to. Their sacrifices were made apparent in graphic detail and their blood seemed to glow almost hauntingly. Saint Lucy’s eyeless face was turned towards the viewer, as were the other two saints, almost in judgment. Almost as if they were saying something. Reminding you of something. 

With a shiver, you turned from the gruesome imagery towards the font of holy water. Swallowing thickly and struggling to regulate your breathing, you dipped your fingers into the water - shuddering inexplicably as you did so - and made the sign of the cross on yourself with a practiced hand. 

Then you made your way down the aisle, your black, court heels muffled against the plush runner as you approached, your eyes taking in the black candelabras, the gory visions of Ezekiel depicted on the stained glass windows, the many candles glowing ethereally in impossibly tall candlesticks, many adorned with reliefs of further scenes of martyrdom, depicted once more in such graphic detail that you could not help but stare. You were taken aback that the many relics and artworks depicted mainly women. Female saints and martyrs. Women in worship. You were hard-pressed to find even one man depicted within the church, but could oddly find none. 

In addition to the strange adornment, the ominous silence of the church set the hairs at the nape of your neck on end. It was not the usual, hallowed calm you were accustomed to, but the tense silence that followed a gunshot, or the suffocating stillness after the last gasp of death. 

You considered turning around and walking right back out, but hesitated. You wanted something different. A new light shed on old beliefs. Some way out of the impossible cage you had been born into. You could not always run from things that varied from the norm that oppressed you. 

With a grim expression, you made your way further into the church. Dim candlelight flickered at the edge of your vision and you made towards it, relieved to have found the confessional. It, too, was constructed of the deepest shade of ebony, and stood invitingly in a corner of the area, just before the sacristy beyond which priests prepared for services or otherwise spent their time. 

Taking a deep breath, you pushed open the small chamber door that led to the penitent’s side of the confessional and stepped inside. The overpowering smell of incense surrounded you as soon as you let the door fall shut behind you. It smelled strongly of roses, with a sweetness that could make one sick, but beneath that floral scent, something acrid, almost sulfuric, burned your nostrils. 

 A kneeler awaited you in the center of the small space, covered with cushioned velvet just at the foot of the confessional grate. At two corners of the room you noted an odd gap between the wall and floor. Almost as if they weren’t quite connected. In fact, with every step you took, it seemed the floor moved ever so slightly with your weight. Was the confessional not set directly on the ground?

You frowned and admonished yourself for the way you had been judging the church ever since you had entered it. Who were you to judge over a house of God? What gave you the audacity, or the right?

Ashamed, you moved towards the confessional grate and interlocked your fingers, kneeling with humility and lowering your head as you struggled to sort out your thoughts. You were suddenly acutely aware of the rain dripping down your hair onto the confessional floor and down the back of your neck. The wafting incense made it hard to think straight, bringing deeply buried feelings dangerously close to the surface. 

“Bless me father” you said, your voice demure - if not downright miserable - “for I have sinned.” You got the words out with difficulty, the pain in your heart overpowering you anew, as the warmth of the confessional started to become stifling, the rain on your skin feeling almost sticky. 

“ Welcome , my child,” the answer was a smooth purr, deep and dark and sinfully enticing. You started in surprise. You had never known a priest to sound like that. “What brings you to me today?” The words that followed did nothing to relieve the unholy effect his dark baritone had had on you and you flushed, deeply ashamed. 

Recentering yourself, you focused inward. On your pain, your torment, your sense of estrangement. “I’m struggling with…” what sin was it? What could describe your inability to fall into line? “...pride,” you finished finally. 

“I feel guilty about wanting to be seen,” tears pooled unbidden in your eyes, you tried to blink them away but new ones replaced them faster than you could rid yourself of them. Taking a deep, shuddering breath you lowered your forehead against your clasped hands. The tears dripped slowly down the length of your nose, you were helpless to stop them. You took a deep, tormented breath and continued.  

“I feel guilty about wanting to be loved and cherished.” You choked the words out on a low, hushed sob, “I feel guilty about…” but no more words would come as emotion overwhelmed you. Your family. Their expectations. Drowning beneath them. Always less than, less than, less than… Less than your brothers, less than your father, less than your fiancé. Why could you not be happy with less? Why could you not be like your mother, blank-faced and passive and content? Why did you want to be adulated and adored like your brother? Why were you only loved when you lowered your head, when you made yourself small, when you reduced yourself to nothing? Why could you not be happy that way? 

You thought of your fiancé, of the bruises that ached, still, on your shoulder blade, on your arms, on your thighs… 

Why could you not submit?

The incense was choking you, you couldn’t think, you couldn’t breathe. You sucked in one breath after another, but they did not seem to fill your lungs as image after image replayed in your mind. Your fiancé’s leer, your father’s frown of disapproval, your brother’s smirk… Your professor’s effusive disappointment as you dropped out of college, your boss’s concern as you quit your job… the blank face that looked back at you in the mirror every morning when you awoke. 

Why had your obedience not brought your contentment?

You lost sense of your surroundings as you fought for breath, fought to get a handle on your tears. You fell from the kneeler with a clatter as you scrambled backwards, towards the wall as you clutched at your chest, wheezing, trying to get your lungs to take in air - or to expel it. You weren’t sure which they were supposed to be doing. 

The small, cramped confessional seemed to be spinning around you as the incense only further dulled your senses. You were going to faint here. And it was going to end up in the news. And your family would be humiliated. And it would all be your fault.

Everything, everything, everything. You were to blame for all of it. Because you were cursed. You could only be good by fighting every natural instinct you had. By destroying yourself. It was the only way to prevent your existence from tainting your loved ones, from harming them, because you were…

The door to the confessional swung outward and your eyes caught on the man - no, the priest - beyond. He towered over you, his hulking figure filling out the small door frame until he flooded your vision. His body was powerful, well-muscled even through his robes, his eyes were piercing and perceptive, as if they saw right through you - to the very center of your core. He wore a shock of pink hair, black at the roots and there were deep shadows on his face, or were those black markings? You couldn’t tell. He was devastatingly handsome all the same, and seemed far too young to be a priest.

“ Well ,” again, that smooth baritone that made you feel so very small - but in a way that you found yourself liking. A way that made you feel almost safe. “You’re quite a sight.” There was amusement in his eyes as he beheld you, even in your predicament. 

“Now, now…” his voice was distant, but oddly comforting. It had a hypnotic quality to it, a reassuring one. “Breathe.”

“Slowly now,” he admonished gently. And you did as he asked, sucking in one shuddering breath before releasing it shakily. Again. Again. Again. Slowly, sensation returned and your vision cleared along with your awareness that the handsome priest - whose handsome face matched his body in every way - had crossed over to your side of the confessional. It was little wonder, given the way you had nearly collapsed but it was embarrassing nonetheless. 

You chanced another glance at him, but he continued to observe you silently. It took you a moment to realize that he was waiting for you to continue. To hear what you wished to say. And wanting to be heard was strange and foreign. Your tongue tied itself up in knots as he stood there, looking down on you. There was something different about him, something… if not divine, then certainly supernatural. 

It was not at all the same, making your confession to his face, there was no longer the sense of anonymity that you liked to hide behind. But instead, a sense of connection and vulnerability that grounded you unexpectedly. 

Reflecting on the pain that had driven you to this place, it all seemed to center on one singular axis. Your own inability to comply with the wishes of those who held the reins of your life in their hands. Although you knew that was what your faith asked of you, you found yourself rebelling and resenting your lot in life again and again. And every time, it invited conflict and pain into your world. Every time you ended up hurting those you cared for. 

“Why can I not obey?” the tears streamed down your face. You had only ever wanted to be good. Only ever wanted to do good by those you cared for. Only ever wanted to be loved. “Why can I not submit? Why can’t I be good ?”

The strange priest lowered himself towards you, his wrists resting loosely on his knees as he sat back on his haunches. “Submitting is not so very hard,” he murmured, his voice casting its now-familiar spell on you. “I could teach you.” 

There was a look in his eye that seemed to swallow you up, seemed to burn you alive. This priest knew something. Something that would help you make sense of everything. Maybe he could save you. Maybe he could help you learn to be at peace with yourself. 

He reached out towards you and as his hand drew closer, you realized with a sudden jolt how inappropriate this encounter was. How wrong it was for him to join you on the penitent’s side in this intimate space that barely had room for one. How untoward it was for him to be reaching out to touch you. 

But you had spent your whole life wishing someone would cross beyond your walls, spent all your years wanting to be touched and seen. And with the way he was looking at you, with the utmost confidence, with an overpowering self-assurance, you could not help but want the distance between you to shrink into nothingness. 

“Submitting to someone,” he purred, his outstretched fingers grazing your cheek, sending a thrill through you. “Should come naturally. It shouldn’t have to be forced. Do you understand?” 

You were beginning to. The way his voice washed over you, the way his gaze set you alight with the intoxication of being truly seen, you thought you could vaguely understand what he meant. You nodded, even as the sheen of tears in your eyes reflected the surrounding candlelight, even as your cheeks glistened with their wetness. 

“There now,” his lips curved into a half-smile even as his eyes narrowed, but he did not remove his hand, continuing his gentle caress. “Isn’t that better?”

“I’m cursed,” you choked out in a hushed whisper. “I’m the evil one.”

A spark of something went through his scarlet eyes. As if he had been playing with you up until this point, the way you might play with a stray kitten on the street but now something had shifted. But he recovered, and the fingers that had been trekking lazily up along the side of your face moved to cup your cheek. 

“Is that so?” there was something dark in his voice. Something curious. Something angry. 

“I only bring them grief,” you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to block out the disinhibiting effects of the overpowering incense. Trying to stop yourself from leaning into his palm. Nuzzling it. Kissing it. 

“I can not contain myself. I can not be humble and obey. I can not be as they want me to be. As our faith requires me to be .” You shuddered at the admission, your internal torment causing your shoulders to hunch over as if you wished to cave in on yourself. “I have prayed every day, wept every night…” 

You lift your tortured gaze, awash anew with fresh tears, to his contemplative crimson irises. Red? His eyes were red? Why had you not noticed before? Or was that merely the glow of the many candles reflecting all the red furnishings in the church?

You suck in a deep breath and despite yourself, you reach out to hold onto his wrist, as if begging him not to remove his hand. “Please…” you plead, your voice wavering, “Can you save me?” 

It was wrong, you knew. For no one person could bring salvation. You would need to find it yourself, through prayer, through the scripture, through acts of penance… But he didn’t seem like a normal priest. You dared to hope.

His hand moved further back, his fingers digging into your wet hair, his hold curving around the back of your neck, lifting your gaze up higher as he kneeled between your legs, crushing the pleats on your long, gray skirt. His eyes skirted over you then and a fire flamed to life on your skin wherever those eyes lingered. On your white blouse buttoned up to the very top, the leather belt with a golden buckle that hugged your waist. The pearls at your ears, the thin chain around your neck. Your gleaming watch, your designer purse, the band on the fourth finger of your left hand. 

“But of course I can,” his breath whispered over your lips as he spoke and a sense of almost crushing relief swept through you, making you shiver. He could save you? You could be saved? There was a way to find peace with your situation without abandoning your faith?

His thumb caressed your cheek, prompting you to open your eyes again and he continued, that dark voice sending low vibrations through you. You knew something was wrong about this scenario, knew that you should not be so close to him, knew that there was nothing priestly about this arrangement. But you could not bring yourself to care, for in mere minutes, he had given you more hope than you had had in decades. 

He was different, but you needed different. You craved different. 

“I can save you,” he repeated, drawing your thoughts back to the present moment. To his face lingering a breath above yours. “But I will need a token of your loyalty.” 

“A token?”

Perhaps you should have known then, that priests did not operate with tokens. That they did not strike deals. That there was, in fact, a very different manner of creature that promised impossible things and demanded exorbitant payment. 

But there was nothing you would not give in that moment. “What? What can I…” the incense in the chamber with you was heady, perhaps even intoxicating. The pink mist wafting between your faces made it impossible to consider what the right course of action was. 

The priest glanced at your hand, resting on the floor beside you and you turned to look at it as well. “My ring…?” you stammered, and lifted your hand without a second thought to remove the ring. You could claim to have lost it, your family could easily afford another. Your fiancé would be angry, but it would not be worth breaking up with you over. 

“Not the ring,” Sukuna dismissed with a click of his tongue. “Your request is quite unique, I’m sure you know. The manner of service you require is not something an ordinary priest could offer you, yes?”

Eyes wide, you nodded in understanding. Of course a ring could not pay for your salvation. “Then what…?”

The thumb that had been grazing over your cheek now moved towards your lips, brushing along the length of your lower lip once, twice, in slow, languorous motions as if feeling every groove and every inch of skin. 

“Give me your time.” There was a sense of finality within the demand, a sense of foreboding. But it only served to heighten your delirious sense of hope. After all, a payment made brought you that much closer to the end you hoped to achieve, didn’t it?

“H- how much?” you wondered, not sure at all how you would be able to give him your time. Would he ask for years? The rest of your life? Would you wake up from a coma when he had taken the time he asked of you? 

“Ten minutes,” was the cool answer, his eyes still wandering over you, taking in the sight of you like a project in the making. 

“Ten minutes?” you repeated dumbly. Well, that was nothing. That was neither years, nor a lifetime, nor anything of consequence. 

“Consider it a down payment,” he smiled at you again, that strange, self-assured smile that felt like a sticky trap you did not mind wandering into.

“Yes!” you replied breathlessly, not even waiting to think about it. Ten minutes of your life to be at peace, to be loved, to stop being the evil that brought anger and resentment wherever you went? You would have given him ten years if he had asked for them.

Somewhere in the distance, a thud sounded as the church doors slammed shut and locked themselves from within. A grin split the priest’s lips, revealing sharp canines. “Very well then,” he said smoothly, a self-satisfied expression on his features. “These next ten minutes,” the thumb that had been tracing your lips stiled suddenly, before moving between them and entering your mouth without warning. “Belong to me. ”

You choked on a gasp as his thumb idled past your teeth briefly and then pressed down on your tongue. Wide eyes flew towards his own, but his eyes were hooded, his face impassive as he observed you. 

“Ten minutes,” he reminded you. 

So that was what he had meant. Why had you thought he meant some sort of fairytale exchange of life forces and power? Why had you assumed your interaction had had some touch of the supernatural? 

Perhaps you had better run. Maybe you had gotten yourself wrapped up in something way out of your depth. 

“You will need to learn ,” he intoned, as his other hand moved towards your collar. “To obey.” The first button of your blouse popped open beneath his fingers, as ready and willing as you had been when swearing your time to him. 

“To submit.” 

Your own words came back to you, and with them, the sense of hysteria that had accompanied them. You despised the words. Obedience and submission. They filled you with a blinding rage, a murderous fury. And to hear them repeated back to you now reminded you of how impossible they were. How hateful.

As his left hand continued its journey down the front of your blouse, each button falling open at his touch with practiced ease, you blinked away tears and tried to swallow the saliva that was pooling in your mouth but found that you could not. 

“Mm-mm-mm,” he shook his head, “that will not do.” He moved in closer, his thumb shifting in your mouth as he did so, almost massaging your tongue. 

When his lips were right at your ear, he spoke again, “submission is the easiest thing, little one.” 

You wanted to believe him, but conflicting emotions rioted in your stomach. Your fiancé, your angry family, your misery - and the hope that he could change everything. In exchange for these ten minutes. 

His left hand cupped your breast and your eyes fell shut at the touch as a gasp escaped your throat. The sensation was intoxicating. Nerve endings sang with pleasure. His hands were so big and warm, his touch addictive. You found yourself arching your back despite yourself as you allowed the sea of sensation to sweep you away. 

“I’m going to teach you something about submission, sweetheart,” there was that familiar, sinful voice in your ear. “And after these…” he paused as if glancing at a clock, “eight and a half minutes, you’re going to understand something about it that you didn’t before.” Then his teeth were on the curve of your ear nipping at them with surprising tenderness, his tongue following all the way down to your earlobe before his mouth ventured further, his teeth finding the vein that pulsed at the side of your neck. His tongue marked the length of it before his mouth closed in on it, teeth biting into your skin as he sucked at the soft and supple flesh. 

What was he…? You couldn’t think. You didn’t want to. 

His other hand had shifted to your right breast now, repeating its ministrations, sending shivers through your body. An index finger journeyed lazily between the two mounds, hooking into the front of your bra and tugging it down until your breasts sprang free. The sudden rush of cold air made your nipples perk up, as if begging his attention and he complied, first kneading your breasts with increased force, always pushing just an inch past what you were willing to accept at that moment. Enough to keep you on edge, not enough to make you push him away. He pinched your nipples and toyed with them until helpless mewls escaped your mouth, muffled by his thumb. You could feel him smile against your neck.

How much time was left? You didn’t know. You weren’t sure what you were hoping for… a swift end to this encounter or that time would somehow stretch out for you, extending this moment eternally. 

He drew back slightly and you opened your eyes as if summoned by him. 

“Open your mouth,” there was none of the coaxing tenderness he had shown you earlier. This was a command, unyielding and expectant. 

You obeyed unthinkingly and watched as he cocked his head to the side, his gaze fixed on the inside of your mouth. It was so odd, and you felt terribly self-conscious, but you could not bring yourself to think too clearly while his other hand was still working its magic on you. 

Instead of his thumb, he now inserted two fingers into your mouth. His left hand paused briefly, to smooth your blouse from your shoulders, and the touch of his hand running along your upper arm, though chaste, sent a shiver down your spine. 

“Suck.” A simple, unmistakable order.

Your cheeks burned in humiliation, your mind clearing a bit now that his left hand had busied itself with your clothing. You wanted to say something, to push him off and pull on your clothing and storm out of the so-called church. But on the other hand… you wanted to know what would happen if you did as he asked. You wanted to know what was waiting for you at the end of this encounter. 

You wanted his eyes to light up with approval when you pushed past your own inhibitions. 

So you closed your lips around his thick fingers, and you sucked. They tasted of salt, of the incense that surrounded you, and they tasted of sin. You closed your eyes, relishing the taste of him, even as his fingers inched towards the back of your throat. 

His left hand, meanwhile, meandered down the length of your leg reaching for the hem of your skirt, but you hardly took notice until it had slipped underneath it and smoothed its way up your inner thigh. 

Then your eyes shot open in shock and dread. You gave him a pleading look but he only shook his head with a small smirk. “Ten minutes, we agreed.” Clicking his tongue as if disappointed, he added, “Or are you calling off our deal?”

Before you could answer his fingers inched further towards the back of your throat, and tears burned at the edges of your vision as you tried not to gag. He grinned down at you, positively relishing your conflicted expression and the satisfaction on his face made you forget all about your own discomfort. You licked at his fingers, sucking them in deeper, trying to prove to him how compliant you could be – and then his left hand found the juncture of your thighs. 

A thick, lazy finger idled up your slit through your damp underwear and you shivered. Saliva spilled from the sides of your mouth as your jaw went slack at the sensation. Fuck ten minutes. You wanted everything. 

As if hearing your thoughts, he pulled your panties to the side and buried his fingers into your hot, wet folds. Slicking up and down along your slit.

“My,” he chuckled, “isn’t this easy?”

You could only whimper in response, as the fingers of his right hand teased down your throat, backing off ever so slightly, only to plunge back down again. You gagged, despite yourself, and your body shivered in response. He allowed you to recover momentarily, only to then continue his ministrations undisturbed. 

His fingers found your clitoris, tracing lazy circles around it, stoking a fire of sensation until you wanted to weep with need. Your hands reached out unthinkingly, to hold him, to feel him and they came to rest on his shoulders. Ten minutes, he had said. Surely, that time was almost up. He wasn’t going to leave you hanging, was he? You focused on his fingers again, on sucking on them the way he had told you to. If you did what he said, he would reward you, wouldn’t he?

Sure enough, as soon as you redoubled your efforts, he plunged the fingers of his left hand into your warm cavern. It was a tight fit. Your fiancé had only ever entered you the one time you wanted desperately to forget. But this was nothing like that. There was no painful friction, no panic. You were positively boneless. Pudding in his hands. He slipped in and out of you easily, as if your core welcomed him. As if he were quite at home. Even as his thick fingers stretched you out, you cherished the discomfort. The feeling of your walls stretching for him, accommodating him. His practiced fingers slid against your inner walls, exploring you thoroughly until they found a spongy patch of flesh that had you moaning against the fingers that were now knuckle deep in your throat. 

He turned his head to the side, again, as if looking at a clock somewhere you couldn’t see. And in that brief moment, completely at the mercy of his hands, all pride and dignity forgotten - time stood still for one brief moment as you took in his side profile, illuminated by distant candlelight. His sharp nose, his bold jawline, his expressive, powerful eyes. And then the moment passed and his gaze returned to you, and again, you felt like a morsel in the jaws of a powerful predator. The sensation was positively thrilling. 

All idleness and teasing forgotten, he doubled his pace. His fingers slamming in and out of you with something bordering on cruelty – or it would have bordered on cruelty, if it wasn’t making you see stars. You wanted to say something, to moan, to scream, but his right hand fucked your throat at an identical pace and you felt entirely like an animal spitroasted over a fire. 

“There now,” he hummed, breathless, eyes gleaming at the sight of you so undone, “you’re almost there.” 

Your body felt rattled with the force of his thrusts and you pulled up your knees without quite knowing why, wanting to feel him more deeply. Your eyes shut as the feeling he had been weaving over you intensified to the point of being painful. Something powerful was building up, ready to engulf you, ready to destroy you. 

And you would so love to be destroyed by his hands. 

“ Good girl ,” he murmured into your ear as you clung to his chest, positively delirious with pleasure. His voice, that voice , that you would likely never get used to, settled over you like the most wicked of magic. The two words swept over you like an unbreakable spell. You sucked in three quick breaths in succession, and then you came undone. Moaning against his hand, you trembled from head to toe as waves of pleasure crashed through you mercilessly. And even then he did not stop, still burying his fingers into you, only to pull them out and slam them back in, fucking you through your orgasm until it bordered on torture, until your walls clung to him as desperately as your fingers clung to his robes. Liquid gushed from you, dirtying your skirt and pooling on the confessional floor. Only then did he remove both of his hands and settled back to observe you, panting through your orgasm, spittle dribbling from your lips.

You fell back against the wall, your eyes fluttering closed as you fought for breath. Your hands hung limply at your sides, and one knee was still drawn to your chest as your other leg stretched out at an odd angle. 

Your throat ached, but you missed the taste of him already. Your body sang with happiness, endorphins rushing through you. You had never felt so alive. 

“Heh,” he eased back slightly, and ran a hand through his hair. The sight of him was intoxicating. The small smirk, the mischief in his eyes, the proud cheekbones. You couldn’t tell if he had used the hand that had been halfway down your throat or the other one, but by the looks of it, he didn’t care either way. 

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, willing yourself to regain some composure. On trembling hands, you pulled away from the wall and struggled to straighten out your appearance, avoiding his gaze. You tugged the hem of your skirt back down over your knees and winced as you felt the wetness between your thighs. Your fingers fluttered towards your blouse, fumbling in your haste to button yourself up again as shame washed over you. What had you done? 

You glanced at the ring gleaming on your finger as your fingers flew over the buttons of your blouse. You needed to put this to rights. You needed to do something to dispel the awkwardness that lingered in the air.

You cleared your throat, chancing another glance at him as you smoothed your hair back behind your ears. Open amusement danced across his features at your discomfort and a blush burned across your cheeks. 

“Right, well…” you glanced at the fluids that had gathered on the confessional floor and winced, reaching for your bag. “I’ll clean that up.”

“Leave it,” he dismissed lazily, and you abandoned your fruitless search for a tissue or a disinfectant wipe. 

He squatted before you, still, an elbow resting on his knee, his chin resting on his knuckles as he watched you flounder in embarrassment. 

“ What have we learned ?” was the question he posed. The tone of his voice, like a teacher speaking with a prized student, had you tripping over yourself, wanting to deliver the right answer even though you weren’t quite certain you had understood the question.

You paused, suddenly brought back to the heat of the moment that had passed between you. The ten minutes that had turned your world on its head. 

“Learned…?” 

I’m going to teach you something about submission, sweetheart… you’re going to understand something about it that you didn’t before…

You bit your lip, flushing even more deeply as you recalled his earlier words. What had you learned? There was no denying that you had submitted to him, been driven to obey him. Even going so far as to want to prove your obedience… You cringed. It was embarrassing. 

But he did not seem to look down on you for it, even as he went on observing you amiably. Enjoying the expressions that flashed across your features as your mind rioted, dashing from one train of thought to another until they inevitably crashed. 

Submitting to him hadn’t required conscious thought. It hadn’t required effort. It was the simplest thing, like a base instinct written into your DNA.

You glanced up at him again, his smirk widening as he saw the realization dawn on your face. 

“It’s… not hard,” you admitted in a nervous whisper.

“Come again?” You couldn’t tell if he was teasing you or not. Teasing you seemed to be his default state. 

You cleared your throat. “It wasn’t hard,” you repeated, louder this time. 

“Not hard?” he tutted, “I think you can do better than that.”

You swallowed, glancing over his shoulder where still no one had appeared. Was there anyone else in this church at all? You thought about what the two of you had done, how loud you had been and embarrassment threatened to overwhelm you. 

“It was easy,” you confessed finally. “It felt…” you closed your eyes, recalling the sensation, the moment you had chosen to put all thoughts aside and put your trust in him. “Natural,” you concluded finally, confused even as you said it. 

“And why was that?” he prompted, not yet letting up. 

You bit your lower lip, missing the way the priest’s eyes darted towards your mouth as you did so, and contemplated what could possibly have been different about this particular moment, that made it so easy to yield to this strange priest whereas giving even an inch to the men in your life felt like dragging a knife through your veins. 

Now it was your turn to consider him, cocking your head to the side as you took him in. He was strong. Physically, mentally. Confident. Whatever happened, he looked like he could handle the fallout. From the moment you had met, he had given you his complete and utter attention. Listened to you. Taken your concerns seriously… 

It was him. He was different. 

You averted your gaze, then. Not knowing what to make of that information.

“I suppose it depends on the man.” By the time you realized you had spoken aloud, it was too late. Your face burned all the way up to your ears, utterly mortified. 

“Hmm,” the priest hummed, finally rising to his full height and holding out a hand to help you to your feet as well. “Surely, our Lord and Savior would not require you to submit to and obey an unworthy man, wouldn’t you agree?” 

Again, that seductive voice, saying things you had always longed to hear. 

“But aren’t we meant to obey… the men in our lives?” Confusion furrowed your brow as you dusted off your skirt, neatly sidestepping the wet floor as he led you out of the confessional, the loose floorboards creaking under your weight as he did so. 

“I think…” the crimson-eyed priest purred, sinful temptation in his voice, “if you were meant to obey them, then you would want to, wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t you have a natural inclination to obey the ones you were meant to obey?” 

You froze, your gaze entranced by his proud lips as he spoke. You had never felt a natural inclination to follow anyone. Not until today. 

“But I…” you lowered your gaze. You were going back to your family, to your fiancé. If anything, this realization only made things more difficult. You left your protest unspoken as he led you back the way you had come, down the nave and towards the church doors. 

“Fret not,” he smiled, bringing the knuckles of your hand up to his lips and pressing a brief kiss to them. “I did agree to save you, didn’t I?” 

You blinked, and then nodded slowly, daring to hope. He had said he would save you. This was only the beginning. Surely, by the time he was through with you, you would have no more doubts. 

“Come to the service on Sunday,” he lifted the latch and opened the church door, revealing that the rain had stopped and gentle moonlight glistened on the wet pavestones.

“I go to church with my parents on Sundays,” your brow furrowed as you turned towards him, reluctant to leave his presence for reasons you could not explain, even to yourself. There was no possible way to explain to your parents why you were suddenly visiting a different church. 

“So you do,” he agreed smoothly, as his hand found the small of your back. “But this Sunday, you’re coming here.” 

There it was again. That inexplicable pull. The desire to do as he asked, the certainty that it would be worth it.

Your eyes sought his, wondering what lingered in their depths, even as a raised brow dared you to deny him. You should probably feel guilty about what had happened, but you could not summon the emotion. Nothing about it felt impure. He was helping you understand the tenets of your faith, wasn’t he? And you did feel like you understood things a little better now. Far from feeling guilty, all you felt was an overwhelming sense of relief, an intoxicating feeling of not being alone. 

“I’ll be here,” you promised, although you did not quite know how you would manage it. 

You turned towards the steps, not wanting to outstay your welcome, and floated down the three short steps to the main road, acutely aware of his eyes on you. You hesitated on the last step, and turned back towards him suddenly, where he stood shrouded in the shadows, limned in the light of the candles behind him. 

“What’s your name… Father?” You added the proper address as an afterthought, almost having forgotten that he was a priest.

A small smirk curled at the corner of his lips, likely because of your late addition, and when he spoke, the name washed over you, settling in your heart like a key turning in a lock. 

“Ryomen Sukuna.” 

[bookishbrigitta]

2024: My fics in review

Inspired by the wonderful @otterandterrier's AO3 Wrapped post, I decided to take a peek at what I wrote this year.

And Holy Cannoli, y'all. As it turns out, I wrote -- and published! -- a lot! Not sure how that happened, but I went from 2 published fics and just under 8,000 words in 2023 to 20 published fics and almost 41,000 words in 2024.

The only fandom I published work for was Star Wars, my main fandom. I often find I focus on writing 1-2 fandoms per year, but I have scattershot WIPs all over the place, so...

Anyway!

My fics

Christmas on Coruscant (12K words, fusion universe AU for the 2023 Han/Leia exchange)

Talk Dirty (1,950 words, crackfic featuring Rebels and OT characters)

Married Love (137 words, Anidala self reflection with a vintage rhyme)

A Time To Rend (400 words, Obi-wan, Bail, and baby twins vingette)

Take Good Care! (1K words, post-ROTJ, postpartum oneshot featuring Luke as the best uncle/brother ever)

Of Course, Kiddo (2700 words, "everything is fine" ST AU with Best GirlDad Ever Han Solo)

A Wookiee in Trouble (is a temporary thing) (8K words, post-ROTJ multichap: Han and Leia get the "I'm at a party, please don't tell my parents" call from their nephew)

A Hairy Situation (660 words, Kanera: Some human shedding takes intimacy off course)

What Kind of Man (1K, unfinished multichap: Han thinks about his family, his father-in-law and the domino effect of his decisions)

Goodnight Kashyyyk (1700 words, pre-ANH: Uncle Han puts a wookiee toddler back to bed)

The Start of Something New (1K words, for HanLeia week: Han and Leia make a new tradition, feat. pointless historical trivia)

Perfect, Chaotic Reflection (365 words, for HanLeia week: Luke's niece is a lot like her parents)

Falcon of the Steppe (1800 words, for HanLeia week: 3 times Han and Leia hear a certain wedding song)

I'd Like to Make Myself Believe (2200 words, for HanLeia week: New parent Han has a run-in with the Force)

Someone Who Loves You (190 words, for HanLeia week: Leia gets a certain phrase turned around on her)

Love Persevering (1700 words, for HanLeia week: Leia takes care of Han while he tells her about Jaina)

Close Shave for Kanan (1400 words, pre-Rebels Kanera: Facial hair is foreign to Twi'leks)

Happy Families Aren't Alike (630 words, Kanera AU: After a brief misunderstanding about another family, Kanan and Hera reflect on theirs)

Great (400 words, post-ROTJ AU: Owen Lars meets his great-nephew -- and namesake)

Brave Girl (1270 words, post-Rebels Kalluzeb: Klavida tries something new and has a cuddle with her dads)

Stats

20 published fics

almost 41,000 words

3 multichapters (2 finished, 1 wip)

17 oneshots

A Time To Rend topped hits, kudos, and bookmarks!

Longest fic: Christmas on Coruscant

Average length: about 2000 words

Happy New Year, everyone! May you have the capacity to write and read what you want to in 2025!

xoxo BookishBrigitta

[lockwood-fic-recs]

status update

by menina123 on ao3

Rating: T | Category: F/M, Gen | Relationship: Lockwood/Lucy

LinkedIn: You have 1 notification. Congratulate Lucy Carlyle for starting a new position as Consultant Psychic Investigation Agent (Aural phenomena specialty)

Everything's the same, except everyone has an iPhone—a slight canon AU where technology has advanced to the present day. The story of the Black Winter through social media posts, texts, Google searches, playlists, and (sent & unsent) emails. Starts at the end of The Hollow Boy and goes through The Creeping Shadow.

[korkiekenobiconfirmed]

had this wild west AU floating around my head but I need to finish my other wip first. gonna post the summary here to gauge interest & motivate myself for later so like...

Corrupt, power-hungry lawman Coriolanus Snow gets wrapped up in a murder case — on the wrong side of it this time. The only living witnesses are outlaw Sejanus Plinth, disgraced heir to the Plinth Railroad Company, and the mysterious, dangerous Lucy Gray Baird, a performer with a reputation for poisoning.

They dump the bodies and hide the weapons, but the deceased were connected to some powerful people, and Coriolanus, Sejanus, and Lucy Gray must flee town for their own survival before making any other moves.

When the hammer falls, which end of the gun will they be on? And when the hangman’s noose is tied, who’s in the gallows and who has a hand on the lever?

[Snowbairdplinth, unknown length, probably multichap, definitely angsty, maybe a happy ending. not a word has been written besides all this tho]

[memorizingthedigitsofpi]

I get what your saying about oneshots but what if my story NEEDS context? what then??

Some stories do need context, but I think it's worth taking the time to investigate whether yours actually does or not.

The wonderful thing about fanfic in general, and posting on AO3 in particular, is that your readership is already familiar with the characters themselves and the canon setting. But not only that! They're also aware of popular tropes, other canon settings, the ways in which stories can be told.

Do you need to write the context? Or can you provide the context with the metadata on your story? Do you need to show your characters getting together, or can you just tag it "established relationship"? Do you need to explain that you're taking the characters in a different direction from canon? Or can you just say "post-s03e10 canon divergence"?

Do your readers need to know all of the details about how the characters got to where they are, doing what they're doing? Or can they figure that part out for themselves and just pick up with the story in progress? Maybe you give them a little "previously on..." type of author's note or summary to sketch in the basics and then just dive right in?

A lot of the time when people think they need to write the context around a (potential) oneshot, they don't necessarily mean that their future reader needs to know how the story got to this point. What they really mean is that they, as the author, need to figure that out. Maybe it's because you haven't quite got them in the right emotional place in your own head yet. Maybe it's because you're still working out their motivations.

Sure, that context might end up in the finished story, but it doesn't necessarily have to if you'd rather write something shorter.

I also use the term "oneshot" a lot when a story could also be a twoshot or a 5+1 or whatever other format. I think I have a bad habit of saying "multichap" when I mean "longfic." The two really aren't synonyms after all. I have a work that's 36 chapters, but it's only 45K words (a length that isn't typically considered "long"). I've broken 100K exactly once in my life, and that work also had over 100 chapters. Some other writer probably could have written the same story in 5 chapters that were 20 times as long as mine.

If you've already got a few stories out there, whatever their length may be, you can also use them to do the heavy lifting for you. I've done that so. many. times. I want this pairing in this sort of situation so that I can have them act out this particular scene? Well, let's see if any of my existing fics provide a universe that would work well. If so, I can turn a single fic into a series or turn a oneshot into a multichap.

I'm the kind of author that makes people subscribe to completed works, but hey - whatever helps you get the story out and onto the page. No one's ever complained about it to my (virtual) face.

This is a very long answer to a very short question, but all I'm getting at is that it can be really useful to figure out what you want to get out of a story. Do you enjoy writing epics? Then don't let me stop you. But if you wish you could just write that one scene or a half an episode or a slice of life or a series of unfortunate events - you can do that too.

There are so many more ways to write a story than just a novel. It's worth trying some of them out.

[altocat]

what does your writing process look like? like when you have plans for a one-shot how different are they from a multichap? are you more of a just sit and bang it out when you have the time and/or the inspiration more stream of consciousness or do you work up an outline that you pretty much always stick to?

My mind is typically very active at night. That's usually when I get my writing done--no distractions, be it work, family stuff, etc. It's a lot more manageable that way.

As for the process itself, it really varies on how focused I am. I typically do a LOT of brainstorming before I commit to something. But I've noticed that if I'm writing something multichap, I can have a general idea on the chapter length, but it usually takes a lot more than what I have initially planned. Shelter was originally going to be SEVEN chapters if you can believe it. Same for Sinners. It...didn't pan out that way lolol I just had too much to say.

Normally, I get a drink and a snack and then commit the next two hours to banging out at LEAST 800-1000 words. If I can remain consistent, chapters are usually fully complete over the span of 2-5 days if I take my time. Sometimes 1-3 days if my focus is razor-sharp. It varies depending on my mood. Music helps a LOT for inspiration. As for Oneshots, those usually come together a lot quicker, but only when I'm very motivated. I've completed Oneshots within the span of hours from time to time. Other times I just nip at it a little at a time. Like I said, it varies.

Hope this helps!

[ten-cent-sleuth]

I know I’m not a big part of the xReader community, as I rarely read it and even more rarely interact, but I wanted to try making some friends there so I’m going to be posting a Sherlock Holmes x f!Reader multichap soon! Usually, I like to write 4k+ chapters and to have everything completed before posting the first chapter, but since this multichap will serve as my entries for July Break Bingo, I’m going to try something different this time.

Each chapter will be whatever length it ends up being at first (I’ll bolster them all in the revision stages later), and I will post them here as soon as they’re done. Once every chapter is posted, I’ll go back and edit, and then I’ll post the new version on AO3. I look forward to sharing the journey to a good copy more closely with my readers!

However, that does mean there will be some inconsistencies to be suffered through. Especially since this multichap will be a case fic, I’m expecting plot holes as well as OOC moments to abound. I apologise in advance, welp.

Now, for the more fun info!

Below is my empty JBB card if you are curious to see what will be giving the fic some direction. I intend to get a blackout with this multichap. 👀👀👀

Synopsis: Your father hires Sherlock to investigate your husband’s death…a decade after it occurred. Why is your father suddenly concerned foul play was involved? And what is motivating Sherlock to take on a case that has every expectation of being dry and uninspired? (Takes place in the world and time after the Enola Holmes film but before the sequel.)

Warnings: please see this post for those and feel free to send me an ask if you need more details (I’m keeping them separate to avoid spoilers)

Masterlist: A Galling Yoke Part 1 … Part 2 … Part 3 … Part 4 … Part 5 … Part 6 … Part 7 … Part 8 … Part 9 … Part 10 … Part 11 … Part 12 … Part 13 … Part 14 … Part 15 …

Status: on hiatus [as of 2024-12-17] (but Part 15 should be a satisfying ending until the next update) – please let me know if you would like to be tagged with updates! :)

Thank You, God, for my writing and thank you, dear reader, for reading. <3