#my very indulgent worldbuilding

[wisteria-lodge]

In Harry Potter and Malfoy's Suspicious New Interest, Draco mentions that Lucius has a raven named Orgoglio. That is a very charming and whimsical name. Did Lucius choose it, or did Narcissa? And why Orgoglio? Is there a particular reason why you chose this name? Is it a nod to Lucius being a wife guy and his lovely “Faerie Queene” Narcissa? Or is it more of a “sophisticated man chooses sophisticated pet name” sort of manner?

What a charming ask. You absolutely picked up on an indulgent little detail that I mostly just dropped in there for myself. :D But now I get to talk about it!

In my head, Lucius is 100% a Bird Guy. Those are his peacocks. And if you have so many birds, well then of course you're going to need to name them, and you're going to need a naming *theme.* So yes, all of Lucius' birds are named after characters from The Faerie Queene. They have been ever since he named the first owl he took away to Hogwarts Archimago (after the evil sorcerer character.)

And from Lucius' perspective... it's a family history joke. I actually like the little Pottermore detail that Lucius Malfoy I, Lucius' namesake, worked very hard to marry Queen Elizabeth I. I think that Lucius (present day) would both think that that was kind of cool, and kind of funny. The Faerie Queene was written for and about Queen Elizabeth I, and I bet the first Lucius had some kind of opinion about it. So Lucius' birds are his way of forming this positive connection with his family/legacy, because I do *not* think he had a good relationship with his father, and my vibe on his mother is that she died kinda young, and Lucius legitimately to this day doesn't know exactly what happened there.

We know from Sirius' tropical birds that non-owls can deliver letters, and Lucius would obviously be *all* over that. So of course he'd have a raven, and of course he'd name it after one of the poem's villains. Also, all the Faerie Queene characters do have these very fun, very whimsical names that just kind of fit the vibe.

[chiropteracupola]

A May morning.

[fleouriarts]

investigating different tattoo options for furries, featuring (ferret) riley and his stupid giant dolphin tattoo ❤️

wasn't able to cram it onto the pic, but another con to freeze-branding is that it can take up to 8 weeks for the fur to grow back white and show a visible design. it'd probably be the best option if it wasn't for that and its price if you weren't getting a premade design

[winds-of-zephyr416]

You know, I’ve been having a lot of OC thoughts lately. Usually my family gets to hear most of them, but none of them are available so now it’s tumblr’s turn for insanity :)

So in my fantasy world that I’ve been building for a couple of years or so now, I have these… gods. Eldritch, celestial beings who exist as spirits in the world. They don’t really consider themselves gods, they’re really more like a lost civilization than anything, but the premise still stands.

Anyways, I’ve been thinking a lot about their culture and language lately. They don’t really have to contend with things like death, they’re very much so immortal and almost impervious to harm, so they don’t really do a lot of things for survival. They also typically communicate with a form of telepathy, so language isn’t even a necessary thing for them.

But they still have a language. They still have architecture. They still have a society that comes together to solve problems. Granted, it’s a lot different than what human civilizations look like, because of the whole “impervious to harm” thing, but they have it, and that’s what’s important.

You know what else is important? Their language. Especially their language. Good lord I am not normal about their language.

Their language is made up of sounds that mimic the world around them. Some words are built up out of rippling streams and birdsong, while others are made out of sounds impossible for us to even hear. Their words are crafted, and many are made to have double meanings and ambiguity. They can’t be ambiguous when they trade thoughts and ideas through their minds, so the notion of being able to say something with multiple meanings fascinates them. They write songs and poetry, and they are engrossed with it, because sound has never carried so much meaning before. They make jokes. They find misunderstanding hilarious, because they’re so alien to their usual way of communicating. They adore puns. Language isn’t a necessity for them, but they developed it anyway, because it gave them a new way of having fun that they had never encountered before in their billions of years of being alive.

Later on, when humanity comes into the scene, they realize that they can use this thing called language to talk to them. Humanity is not like the gods, humanity needs to communicate through a physical medium, whether it be through sight or hearing or touch. Humanity is often confused or overwhelmed when the gods converse with them, because they find that many of the sounds the gods use are completely incoherent. They can’t recreate the sound of thunder in the sky, or crackling flame, and often they look around them in fear, as if the sound alone is indicative of danger.

So, the gods adapt. They learn the languages of humanity, instead, and talk to them in their own tongues. But mortals are curious, and the gods love to learn and teach, so it isn’t long until the gods try to translate the sounds of their language into something humanity can listen to and understand. The music of the slow cracking of the earth is shifted up in pitch until mortals can hear and hearken to the sound, and the mortals in turn recreate it with what their voices will allow. Slowly, the gods make their language perceivable, and slowly, humanity teaches them how to make it pronounceable.

The resulting speech is neither mortal nor divine, but somewhere between the two. Its words have a rippling quality, and in each sentence one can almost hear what is being spoken. The word for wave becomes a low crash, the word for music becomes a dancing song in the ears of whoever is there to listen. There is no doubt that there is magic in these words, with the way they call everyone in the room to their attention and fill their hearts with the very soul of what is being said. This language is not magic in a sense of control, it does not bind things in the world to its will, but it carries with it the memory of the world it was made to describe.

Later on, this middle ground, this speech both mortal and divine, would become lost and forgotten. It would not vanish violently, with the sudden fall of an empire, nor would it fade away with the few who are “worthy” of speaking such a tongue. No, instead it would grow and evolve with the people who learned it, moving across the continent and coming into contact with new lands and people. There, it would teach and learn in turn, and then diverge again, becoming yet another middle ground.

Slowly, like this, the language of humanity and gods together disappears. It does not die, but it dissolves, morphed into a thousand little pieces that stay on in other languages. It can still be found, if you look close enough, at the way speakers arrange their words, or in the rhythms they like to sing. Not even its name is truly past, still being borne by a speech that closely resembles the one long gone.

No, the language of mortals and the gods does not die, because, even in the darkest of days, when it seems like the world will perish and all life along with it, each syllable uttered in fear echoes the language that once carried nothing but joy, and each sentence given in comfort is another window into the years when things were bright. The tongues of mortals do not forget, even if humanity itself has.

And even so, were the speech of humans ever to forget what they helped to create, the gods would still remember. And maybe, the gods would teach and be taught by the mortals once again, in spite of the mutilated darkness that enshrouds these present days. Perhaps they already have.

[fate-defiant]

'kay so I doodled another thing before bed, just to test the tool further. I wanted to see what I could do if I went beyond just a sketch with a bit of color slapped onto it. Not gonna lie after fiddling witth the brushes further I was a bit dissapointed - they're not unworkable, but the limitations are frustrating nonetheless. I ended up doing the lineart as though I was working with a mechanical pencil - set the brush size to being as thin as possible(i worked on a 800x600 pixel canvas here, for the record) and then just sorta went over the parts I wanted to be bolder several times. It didn't turn out great but that's more of a skill issue on my part.

All this isn't to say that's it's bad, for the record, the main goal of the people making this was clearly to make something for people to have fun together with and not a perfect clone of [insert your preffered drawing program here]. If I experimented further I could definitely figure out plenty of interesting things that can be done with just the free features, I just don't have the time or the patience tonight.

[bogkeep]

haiz reading list for those who are curious

- the goblin emperor, katherine addison

- a song of ice and fire, george r r martin

- the queen's thief series, megan whalen turner

- the outcast chronicles, rowena cory daniells

- captive prince trilogy, c s pacat

- the song of achilles, madeline miller

- the stormlight archive, brandon sanderson

- heavenly tyrant (sequel to iron widow), xiran jay zhao

- bitterblue (graceling series), kristin cashore

Currently In Progress Of Reading But I think I Can Put Them On The List:

- hands of the emperor, victoria goddard

- for a horse and horseman (webnovel)

Not Exactly This Genre But Feels Adjacent Enough:

- teixcalaan duology, arkady martine

- a conspiracy of truths, alexandra rowland

- berserk, kentaro miura

- tilfeldigvis arial footlights forhistorie, silje e. fretheim & steingard vada

(obviously there are So Many stories with this flavour and especially within high fantasy genre i think it's harder to avoid it than to find it, these are just Some books that i've read and enjoyed, i've probably left some out, and i hope to read and enjoy so many more when i can)

ok so i think that my favourite fantasy subgenre is The Inherent Tragedy Of Being Born Into Royalty. which mostly means that i like to read about gay princes but with some nuance

[writeblrfantasy]

writers, listen up...

i've fallen out of touch with the writeblr community a lot in the past few years, and i want to rectify that. the community aspect was what made me fall in love with tumblr, and what improved my writing for the better.

the golden days of my writing were when i was highly active and engaged in this wonderful community, but life and work and the horrors of self publishing have overtaken my energy in the past year. however, i have been really struggling with original writing, and i want to get back into the community here.

that said...

you write fantasy with queer characters

are an indie author

post frequently about your wips (taglists are a bonus!)

are queer

are a very active and friendly writer

if any of these apply

please, please reblog and tell me about your wip. gush over it. infodump. characters and ships and worldbuilding and plot, i want it all! this is your invitation to be as selfishly indulgent as possible. let's make some new friends and restore some community!!

boosts appreciated!

[rassicas]

In which Cress encounters some unwanted visitors.

-----

this is a comic idea that has been tormenting me since march, but in august I finally started to make it real. very self indulgent, i'd been wanting to have cress forced to Kill as a part of his story for many years now though. hehe

The events of this story take place before Big Runs have started. Cress has never worked at Grizzco. Why is he being targeted by Salmonids...? That is the mystery... lots of worldbuilding thought went into this btw. i am open to questions. *folds hands together*

credit to my pal @roachgore for helping out with: - layouts on a couple pages/panels that i Struggled to envision (this is one of the hardest parts of comics for me) - grayscaling on pages 7-9 - sfx text on 7 and 8 - all the blood. he wanted to do it of course

[vexwerewolf]

If I could ask you for some advice, what do you think helps the flavour text of a mech or piece of equipment sell a player on the fantasy of using it?

I'm finding it frustratingly difficult to do so with my own homebrew content: I can come up with lore and backstory easily enough, but re-reading it feels dry, and I can't help but contrast it with how the descrptions in official content and other supplements is more evocative, at least for mechs.

Let's observe some corebook Lancer flavour text and examine the various varieties it comes in.

Purely Functional

While it's usually not the most fun type of flavour text, this just tells us what the weapon is, and - if it has any particular tags or on-hit effects - why it's like that. The Hand Cannon is a good example: here's what it is (modified pistol), here's why it does more damage, and here's why it has Loading.

The main advantage of Purely Functional flavour text is that it provides space for other types of flavour text to breathe. Flavour text is a great place for jokes, but it's not good for every piece of flavour text to be a joke - the pauses between notes in music are just as important as the notes.

Obfuscating Vendorspeak

The Bristlecrown Flechette Launcher this is a great example of dark humour that Lancer uses quite often: marketing fast-talk to cover up something really unpleasant. The joke here is based on us understanding precisely what the equipment does mechanically, and then seeing how the manufacturer tries to sell it. There's a bunch of dense technobabble here meant to obfuscate the fact that this weapon fires knives in every direction specifically designed to kill infantry.

Deadpan Weirdness

The joke here relies on describing something extremely weird like it's the most natural thing in the world. Wait, you're telling me that in a world where I can just print new parts if the old ones break, they put DRM on my fucking knife and I have to apologise to the fucking knife maker to get a new one? What the fuck, dude? Why are you acting like this makes any sense?!

My sword uploads fucking what to the Space Internet?!

Third-Act Twist

This type of flavour text disguises itself as something else - most often Purely Functional - and then hits you with Third Act Twist. It makes you go "wait, what?!" It's very classic setup-punchline stuff. You're telling me my mech can rot?!

As a side note, Lancer loves to use this for its NHPs.

WHY DID YOU PUT THAT IN SCARE QUOTES, LUCIFER

Worldbuilding

This is similar to the Purely Functional, but instead of just describing technical specifications of the weapons, it puts the weapon in the broader context of the setting's history. Okay, so we know what this weapon is and what it does - why was it built? What was the original use case, and why? Most importantly, what can the existence of this weapon tell us about the world that build it?

Whimsical Aside

This is the insertion of a light-hearted, humanising little insertion regarding how this piece of equipment gets used in the field. This serves to remind us that soldiers aren't cold, unfeeling killing machines: they can be as emotional, irreverent and silly as the rest of us, and they do things like name their mobile bombs...

... or call resupply drones "mech snacks."

The Ominous Out-Of-Context Quote That Explains Nothing And Only Raises More Questions

As I've said in multiple textmash memes, this is basically Tom and Miguel's shorthand for "this technology is Intensely Fucked Up in a way that it is more fun and scary not to explain." This is essentially Lancer's version of SCP's [REDACTED].

You might think this is the domain of HORUS, and you'd be right, but every single manufacturer indulges in these - although IPS-N had to wait until NRFaW to get theirs:

What the fuck do you mean by that, Lancer?

[apigeonisapigeon]

650 words and I haven't even gotten to the part where I break down all the different powers in exhaustive detail 😈

I started writing the summary. So far it's 400 words and counting of worldbuilding

[starflungwaddledee]

Who wins starstruck or a aroace guy

both of them, because she's also aroace just like me!

actually while i'm at it, here's the little animation i was working on for pride month but never got around to posting!

in my self indulgent aroace worldbuilding i like to imagine that labels for orientations and genders are just kind of... not that much of a thing on popstar, because it doesn't matter at all to anyone. nobody has ever cared about stuff like who or how you love, and 90% of them are picking their own pronouns anyway.

that said, it's still nice to have a little self representation here on our primitive earth internet, where this kind of thing very much does need to exist and we deserve to be proud of it!

[tanoraqui]

now that this fic is all published, I can ramble about the things that happen afterward in the timeline! Feel SO free to ask about anything you want more details of.

First off, all three posts about Dave the Balrog are 100% canon to this au, except for where they sometimes contradict the fic's worldbuilding or plot bc I hadn't settled on every detail yet. Also, Dave’s name is probably more like “Drav”, from the Sindarin “drava-”, “to hew.”

That happens much later, though - about 1980 TA. FIRST, immediately, as Celebrimbor says: it's time to save the orcs!

That is, wildly self-indulgent crossover with @ceescedasticity's fic(verse) elves, once, which isn't 100% my headcanon for orcs but it's essentially canon for this au because it makes everything VERY FUNNY in a tragic irony way. I've thought about this so much that it really deserves its own bullet-point post, but highlights include:

- Annatar attempts to conceal the fact that Curufin and Celegorm are orcs, and, y'know, have been since they died. This works until Celebrimbor identifies a bunch of the orc army's weapons as made by his father, even if the style is strange and fell, and the two of the have a HUGE fight in front of representatives of every Elvish kingdom in Middle Earth and most of an army of orcs.

- Bellow/Turgon is having the single strangest, most uncomfortable road trip of his life, and he counts the crossing of the Helcaraxë in that total.

- Turgon tries to convince Galadriel to take Celebrían and Elrond and get out of here, because inevitably this must be a cruel trick and all the orcs will be forced to turn on all the Elves. Galadriel is like, "Honestly, I've been watching Celebrimbor's slow corruption and Sauron's slower un-corruption for about 2,000 years now, and I think we actually have a shot at this. Also, bold of you to assume you can beat me in a fight."

- Curufin and Celegorm had BOOKED IT when Annatar's summoning-compulsion snapped, on the reasonable assumption that any plan the Dark Lord had for them + Celebrimbor could only be cruel to the extreme...so Celebrimbor and Annatar go on a bonus road trip to retrieve them.

- Everyone meets up by the Sea again, but instead of taking (or, obeying) the offer of escape into Ulmo's hands, Turgon and probably a bunch of other orcs volunteer to come help break the Crucible. They Deserve This.

- In the end, as usual, the day is ultimately saved - as are the souls of thousands of trapped elves - by the power of love and overwhelming violence.

AND THEN...

Celebrimbor & Annatar don't actually rebuild Ost-in-Edhil and Eregion as they were. Those days are over, and also the surviving Númenoreans kinda...regard Annatar as Absolute Evil, for some mysterious reason. And those who knew about the whole or even partial conspiracy - namely Tar-Miriel herself - aren't too keen on Celebrimbor, either.

They leave whoever wants to stay and rebuild in Eregion, leadership tbd based on the traditional system of craft-based meritocracy, and take a few decades off to lay low from geopolitics, work on their marriage, and for Celebrimbor to learn a little bit of necromancy so he can manipulate his own fëa and hröa, thank you very much.

They stay with the Witch-Queen of Calador for a while, discreetly because officially that kingdom is also not on good terms with its “former” evil-ish overlord. (The Witch-Queen of Calador and her not really sane, almost certainly unsafe, but arguably consensual relationship with Annatar really deserves her own post, too. She’s my favorite OC of this au. She really loves bats.)

Elrond & Celebrían get married! Elrond always knew his wedding would have to involve stopping drunken brawls from erupting between people who love him but hate each other, but he’d assumed it’d be Iathrim and Fëanorians, not an elderly Queen Miriel going for Annatar’s eyes with a butter knife.

Annatar regards the birth of Elrohir and Elladan with some concern, this alarming lineage now augmented by the blood of Arafinwë (cut off Melkor’s foot) and Galadriel (Melian’s pupil, hates him). But that’s nothing to how freaked out he is by Arwen, who is such an obvious Reprise of Lúthien that it’s now CLEAR that this was all a Melian scheme to assault him, personally.

He can’t just kill her now—Elrond and Galadriel and both right here, not to mention Celebrimbor. And then she’d absolutely be his enemy when she Returned… No, the only solution is to stay in Imladris for a while and become her most beloved uncle whom she would not dream of assaulting, whom she could not bring herself to injure even if circumstance and conscience forced her hand. Love has ever been the undoing of Melian’s line. The Reprise is obvious, but not so established that he cannot twist it into irony, Lúthien’s heir as his devoted student and companion rather than foe.

[smash cut to late 3rd Age Annatar watching the Music settle into place as Arwen interacts with the newest, currently toddling scion of the House of Elendil and nearly killing the child right then because no, no, thats not how this was supposed to Reprise—that’s his jewel of an elf-queen, Singer and trade-manipulator and niece, and he’s going to lose her forever? Killing the brat won’t even work, that would only make her follow him sooner, one way or another—]

Celebrimbor doesn’t want to build a city (and have his heart broken by the loss of the city) again, but he very much does want to ImproveThe World, and also to Make Things With His Hands. So he and Annatar, and whoever of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain wish to join them, set about… “Traveling” is too loose a term; just because they’re not city-building doesn’t mean anyone here wants to live on the road. They need workshops, forges, and ideally a maia-sized cat tree tall tower from which to survey their domain. They are a highly skilled work crew/technical, artistic & management consultants who change cities every 5-200 years, throughout Middle Earth and perhaps even other continents.

This what Celebrimbor and Annatar do, for most of the rest of their time in Middle Earth. A few of the Mírdain travel with them all the time. Others strike out on their own, or in similar small groups. Others stay in rebuilt Ost-in-Edhil, or Rivendell or the Havens or another Elvish kingdom, and come lend a hand when their particular talents are called for. Everyone who “died” in Númenor and was “resuscitated” by Annatar walked away with a strengthened, basically permanent osanwë connection to the simulated workshop group chat, which they’re aware of, and a location tracker and fëa-stamp saying “PROPERTY OF MAIRON, FUCK AROUND AND YOU WILL FIND OUT” which only an Ainu could detect.

They're the mysterious stranger(s) who accept an offer of hospitality on a stormy night and reward you with a magic ring that blesses your farm with fecundity. They arrive in a city in the middle of a cholera outbreak and inform the local rulers that they're here to overhaul the whole wells & sewers system in exchange for room and board; no, the local rulers do not get a choice in this. One time they do oust an evil ruling dynasty and just kinda take over the kingdom for a few centuries, but then Celebrimbor starts to get paranoid of his own growing attachment so Annatar reluctantly agrees to find and raise some honorable candidate for kingship [gender-neutral]. One of the Mírdain with them says, what about the choice of the people? And then after a lot of discussion, partly in collaboration with their local Men, they write up and seal with Power a Constitution that establishes an oversight body of political, economic, craft and etc. experts to oversee and have veto power over popular elections to kingship from a slate of candidates chosen by the current/soon-to-be previous king, on a strict thirty-year schedule. There, that should stabilize the whole messy business of mortal succession!

Also, 1300 years or so into the Third Age when this version of Gondor hits its equivalent of the Kin-Strife, Annatar takes advantage of its weakness to initiate a plan he's been contemplating for a while, especially while gaining local insight into a variety of nation-states and their management, and returns to Oroduin to forge what may he his last Great Work...a new standard of currency.

It’s called, in the common tongue developing from Adúnaic and Sindarin, the “mira”, pl. “miran”, from Quenya “mírë” (“jewel, precious thing). Where pettier currencies are based in gold or silver or the might of some particular empire, these hold value Because a Great Maia Said So—indeed, Sang So, Sang a new line into the Great Music that these coins would always have a value of…whatever he said so, if he updated a petty lyric or two of their Song. Those who use the coins don’t need to know this; they simply intuit, with coins in hand, what they are worth.

(You can lead even the mightiest empire by the nose if you control the price of grain alone, much less other commodities, or one currency relative to another. Each minute adjustment takes Power, especially to shift the natural balance of multiple interlocking goods…but Annatar is a master of the perfectly placed lever with which to shift the world.)

Maybe at some point the Valar are like, “okay, I think they don’t irrationally hate us anymore, I think this could work” and send a small group of Maiar to openly, humbly approach Annatar and Celebrimbor and ask if they might be apprentices in the craft of…whatever the fuck is happening here. Or maybe something adjacent, because Pallandro and Alatar would really like to fuck off into those excellent looking woods and hunt the remnants of Ungoliant’s spawn, and Radagast actually wandered away 5 minutes ago to talk to a bird. He’s gonna be a while. But Curumo and Olórin are listening politely!

…Or maybe not. Maybe it’s just the Jewelsmiths, slowly becoming folklore, bettering the world (and manipulating wide-scale economics) one stone at a time. (They’d still be the “Jewelsmiths” anyway, even if they included those who, in another universe, were called “The Wise.”)

As stated in the third Dave the Balrog post, they do Sail eventually, several centuries after Arwen’s death. Celebrimbor just gets tired, and Annatar can’t fix it. Ossë spends the whole voyage backstroking next to their ship and sarcastically quoting Annatar back at himself, Years of the Trees insults about being made weak and pathetic by love, until Annatar nearly lunges over the side as a wolf to tear his throat out.

[openphrase123]

i just finished this fic! it's good!

and because it's all done i want to like... be a LITTLE self indulgent and talk under the cut about some miscellaneous things that i ran into while writing it. don't click the readmore if you're interested in the fic and haven't read it yet i'm about to spoil the Whole thing.

also there is an epilogue to this fic now - go read that before this post if you're getting to this before the update!!

so!! i haven't written fanfiction in like FIVE YEARS. it's been a while! part of that is because i was doing original stuff and part of it was i was in a creative slump. so isat kind of dug me out of that and i owe it my thanks. i've been able to do a crazy amount of original work since starting this fic, it's brought back my creative discipline. in like seven years when my video game comes out you can thank isat for that probably

i originally set out thinking this was the only fic for isat i was going to write. and then as i was writing this i fell deeper into it. i kind of got out of isat a little disappointed in how it ended?? but now that i'm here i'm like ah it's fine. just cause i would have done something different in dev's position doesn't mean it's bad. it does mean i can write a bunch of fanfiction exploring things i wish had been tackled more in the game though LOL

i said this in one of the chapter authors notes but i DID start out curtain call hating loop with every fiber of my being. (as in i liked them as a character UNTIL the act 6 reveal which i thought was lame) and then i played through the game a second time knowing the loop twist and went "oh nvm this makes sense" so a lot of the loop stuff in this fic was actually written twice. originally i was just gonna have them soulmerge with siffrin and not be present at all but then i was like. no. i do want to keep this lighthearted and that's too depressing of an end for loop. i do have a loop postcanon doc so i'll go repay them for their slapdashed involvement in curtain call someday

i'm in a weird position with curtain call in that i wrote the themes and major conflicts Directly After playing through isat the first time. before i could really marinate and analyze the characters fully. so there are a lot of scenes and points where i think i wouldn't characterize certain people like that if i were to rewrite this from scratch? however i don't disagree with what i've written either - it's just an interpretation that i don't necessarily think is my favorite anymore.

neither is any of the worldbuilding i did for any of this - it works for curtain call and i think it was nice but i don't necessarily think it's my current interpretation of what the culture and people were like? i like the wishes being permanent thing, i like the language stuff, but i'd probably go in a different direction if i went through this again

i do actually still think "the forgotten island was destroyed by a volcano" is my solid headcanon explanation of what happened to it. in my heart. i think like - with siffrin as a character especially it's very important that he's always missing something, that it's not idyllically happy for them at the end of everything. so even if he can remember more from their own past, it's - you know - there's no way to go back. only forward.

in the vein of this i probably could have killed siffrin/loop's entire childhood family but i did not. mostly because i did think it was fun for him to have to explain all of those cultural taboos they broke to survive. which, of course, was not a big deal - any good parent would rather their kid be alive than lawful - but what is isat other than a vehicle to make siffrin work through every moral compulsion and spiral they experience

i had a thought halfway through writing the fic that i was stepping on the very good and beautiful odile friendquest by making the island real and having a lot of siffrin's personality dictate how it went. but i ultimately decided on keeping siffrin very close to their country, more than odile is to vaugarde, because siffrin actually DID live on the island when he was a kid and that i think is a Different type of "longing for your country" trauma than odile's. i think they can still drink over the feelings together though

writing bonnie is very fun but very emotional for me. the bonnie&siffrin age gap (preteen to late-20s) is the exact age gap between me and my niece so every time i need to sit down and write something for them i think about her and how much she's a little baby growing up. this has nothing to do with bonnie it just makes writing bonnie really hard for me

if the entire history of my ao3 account was not an indicator, i'm a very big fan of writing romance, but i did not want it to take over curtain call at all. i also could have left out sloopis entirely and almost did, but thought "you know. with the way loop functions in this fic. i should at least let that be open ended" cause sharing a body with a version of you who is dating some other guy is gonna get messy no matter what. it's just not necessarily something i had time to or the urge to explore here. think of it as a fun spiritual nod to the fact that isafrin is technically open ended in isat (<- cop out answer)

i think i'm pretty vocal in how much i am absolutely insane for the flashback "happiest i can remember being" conversation. who let them do that. i think a lot of how i worked with mirabelle and siffrin's relationship in this fic kind of revolved around that. important to me that it ends with mira checking in on him and getting the answer she was looking for all along <3

overall i'm happy with curtain call. glad i am done with it though. there's so much that's running in with it at once. i'll probably wait a month and reread the whole thing to myself front to back before i start having fond memories of this. i mean it's always gonna be the fic my nephew was born during and i'll always remember having a panic attack in the airport right after posting chapter 7 but it's gonna be weird letting this one sail off into the ocean of the internet. however feel free to ask anything about the fic, i wrote this in a lil hurry on a bad day and probably didn't cover everything

goodbye, curtain call!! i love you!!!!! i'll miss you!!!!

[looks both ways, waiting for most people to leave]

also. if you've read this far. i hope it's not too gauche of me to link my personal project. if you've read over 100k words of this you might enjoy the game i'm developing? i've been working on it for almost a year but i just started the devlog last month. it's still in early baby stages as far as a full video game goes but if you liked this you'll like the game when it comes out (similar nickname culture, timeloop trauma, petty interpersonal drama, very stupid jokes, natural disaster angst)

also there isn't a lot on the devblog yet, i've mostly been doing programming on it, i JUST started visdev i'm sorry if it's uglyyyyy (FOR NOW)

anyway i'm trusting you with that link. i'm going to use my professional name on that project when it airs don't cross the wires pretty please just pretend that's a butch-y cis woman's game <3 guard the closet door babeyyyyy

[theellipelli]

I need to eat drywall nostalgic chill is so good GGRRRHAAAHHHHHHHH FIGHTING FOR THE SPOT OF MY FAVORITE FIC EVER RN. Anyway I wanted to ask what ur process is when writing fic? Especially something so lengthy and lore-heavy like nostalgic chill. Been trying to cook up some hsr fic myself but I get so overwhelmed by the sheer amount of world lore ..

your FAVOURITE fic EVER??? that is a lot of praise... waow...

thank u for asking such a fun question!!! my process is very losey goosey, specifically for this fic, but ill try to explain it as best i can

the (VERY) rough outline for this fic has been planned out since long before i actually started posting it, with it getting more detailed near the end (a few of the final chapters have already been drafted, actually)

on the path towards the end ive spread out a few plot points which are either just cool things i want to write about (like all those damn fights) or important character stuff (like the bailiu heart-to-heart and every single jing yuan reality check)

when i start a new chapter, ill usually already know where i want it to end, often one of those pre-planned points. ill spend a few days (or even one or two weeks) thinking about how to continue the story, and then once i have an idea ill like, ill sit down and start writing.

typically, a good idea will be the easiest to write for me. if i get stuck anywhere before reaching the end of the scene, ill usually just scrap it immediately and start over. i try to make each chapter one unbroken scene, so a reached plot-point isnt necessary for the chapter to end.

like, for the most recent 2 chapters, the plot-point ive been writing towards is jing yuan meeting the master diviner, which was a VERY important thing that needed to happen before anything else. of course, everything is also following an overarching goal, which is mostly just jing yuans character arc, and that is built towards in the narration between major events. also worldbuilding i guess.

on the research side, i dont have much to say? my grasp on the xianzhou lore is already pretty solid (its my favourite area) so a lot of the research i do lore-wise is just double-checking that i have my facts straight. also, reading the xianzhou lore is good for inspiration, if im really lacking in that, which is unusual but not impossible.

i dont think my process is especially unique? its definitely not very structured, but thats unusual even for me. idk tldr i think of cool stuff i want to write about and then fill in the gaps between those cool stuff. tis fun

as thanks for asking such a fun question, here is a little yanqing for you. kisses. mwah. blessed be the indulgence.

[artbyblastweave]

Hey, I just read this superhero series called Rising Stars. Have you heard of that before, and do you have any thoughts on it?

Personally I loved it. 113 children in utero get affected by the energy of a comet passing overhead, and start developing powers. They all get different levels of power, some never realise what their powers are, some just straight up suck.

Like there's a guy who's totally indestructible. But he's not and stronger or faster, he just can't be damaged. And he can't feel anything tactile either. So he over indulges in taste because it's one of the only sense he has, and ends up obese.

There's a girl with telekinesis, who can only manipulate small objects. The carotid artery is a small object, so she gets headhunted by the CIA for assassination work.

And then there's the reveal that their powers operate off a shared energy pool, and if one dies the remaining power gets shared among the remainder. And then people start turning up dead...

Rising Stars has been near and dear to my heart for a very long time. It's by no means perfect, but one of the things I find the most compelling about it is how it positions superhumanity as a fundamentally extremely finite phenomenon.

Works in which superpowers are introduced to a world that didn't previously have them will often break in one of two directions; either they'll treat it as a new, sustainable equilibrium that will somehow fail to change anything of import, or else it's a floodgate that opens and completely wipes away the status quo. But both scenarios generally take for granted that capes as a general phenomenon are here to stay- that there's some replacement-rate mechanism at play. Rising Stars depicts a world where this isn't true, and moreover it very quickly becomes clear to everyone that this isn't true- that these 113 people are the only superhumans the world is ever gonna get. That's enough to be extremely disruptive, but not necessarily paradigm shifting- and the worldbuilding reflects that in interesting ways, the sense that the reaction of many is just that they've gotta wait these assholes out.

Maybe some of them habitually dine-and-dash at upscale restaurants but what are you going to do, call the army every time? Not worth it. There's fewer than a hundred of these guys, it's not like letting it slide is going to be the start of something. One of them takes over Chicago and runs it as a fiefdom? Okay, that's bad, but it's one city and everyone else who's similarly inclined already rallied under her aegis, still not a paradigm shift. The entire containment strategy for the ones who are habitually supervillainous is to ring up one or two of the ones who decided to be superheroes and dump them in Antarctica, forcing them to walk back. Obviously not a great solution but what's the incentive to come up with something better? This isn't a growing population that demands a systemic response, it's the same six or seven guys every time, and you're only gonna have to put up with them for so long.

And the series really did a lot with the fact that these people all know each other- a small-town's graduating class worth of superhumans who all grew up together. The "oh, what's so-and-so up to these days" energy of it all. The comparable sense of wasted potential as you get into your late-twenties-early-thirties, take a look at what everyone you grew up with has been up to lately, and really seriously evaluate what it is, exactly, that you've actually accomplished with your life, compared to what you thought you were going to do when you were a teenager. The Specials don't even have the luxury of existing in a conventional superhero universe where their personal mediocrity (real or perceived) will come out in the wash due to all the other superpeople running around-they're wasting more than just their own individual lives through their inaction or failure, and the series milks that growing sense of rat-in-a-trap tension as their numbers start to really dwindle in earnest over the course of the comic.

[freshbakedbreadstick]

A Game of Confession - Terzo x Reader

Papa Emeritus III “Terzo” x Reader

Summary: Terzo attempts to forgive you of your “sins”.

Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of the content. Reader is described gender neutrally but has a vagina. Mentions of vaginal fingering, lots of catholic imagery, ghost worldbuilding lore, mutual masturbation, edging, blowjobs, unprotected PIV (use protection irl folks!), creampies, slight breeding talk, dirty talk, Terzo talking you through it because his blabber mouth would, lots of yearning, established relationship, roleplaying innocence and confession if that makes sense, messy n wet, slight coercion, forced orgasms, glove kink/play, use of his title of Papa, degradation, name calling, rough play, hair pulling, overstimulation n post orgasm torture, very mild pain play, everything is consensual! Self indulgent PWP basically LOL not sorry ! 

Word Count: 4.7k

A/N: For the wonderful anon who wrote to me AGES ago abt writing some stuff for ghost . . .  I GOT U BABY I NEVER FORGOT U ! Anyways my catholic religious trauma absolutely came in clutch for this little work that i randomly got inspired to write ,  regrettably so LOLLLL anyways this is self indulgent as HELL bc terzo was my papa when i became a fan of the band and i miss him SO MUCH anyways enjoy besties ! 

The heels of your shoes clicked and echoed throughout the church as you approached the center aisle of the entrance. It was dark, the sun having since set that evening, leaving the stained glass windows to look as if they were covered in a sheen of ink. 

The only lights that illuminated the enormous church were the thousands of candles carefully lit by the sisters of sin who cared for the church. The outside ivory wax melted, exposing the red wax core and allowing it to bleed down the many candelabras and candle holders spread across the statues and tables within the nave. 

You paused for a second, looking out into the dimly lit darkness, feeling yourself shiver from an invisible chill that spread goosebumps across your skin. The church would feel unnerving if you weren’t as devoted to it.

With a quick sign of the unholy cross, you turned and tugged the black lace of your mantilla veil as you moved down the aisle, looking at the dark tiles of the floor as you moved. You turned sharply, weaving through the pews to glance at the dark wood of the confessional booth, tucked into the farthest side of the church and away from the altar in the center back of the whole building. 

You paused to look at the light within the booth, on the side where your papa sits. You can see the outline of him in the flicking light, a shadow casted on the woven wood of the door as he sat there, waiting. 

With a swallow sigh, you slowly approached the dark side of the booth, where the sinner would sit, carefully turning the brass knob to open it. The wood creaked loudly, making you flinch as it echoed throughout the lonely church. 

Automatically, your feet shifting inside the wooden booth to sit on the velvet covered chair that greeted your vision moments prior. The door slowly shut behind you, clicking quietly.

You wrapped an arm around yourself as you shifted on the seat, looking at the kneeling bench in front of you. The silk of your robe provided you soft comfort as you glanced at the braided wooden screen that separated you from your papa and obscured him from vision.

You didn’t realize you were breathing so raggedly until you heard him chuckle, “Breathe, my sweet, breathe…”

The smoothness of his voice made you jump for a second, the familiarity creating a rush of heat through your body. With wide eyes, your body moved automatically, shifting to turn on the gas of a small lantern attached to the side of the bench, igniting the small flickering flame to allow you to see your side of the booth better. 

You hiked up your robe and shifted to kneel at the bench, the soft velvet caressing your bare skin as you did so. The words came out of you, just as quickly as you were breathing earlier, “Forgive me father, for I have sinned…”

It was quiet as you sat there, chest rising and falling as you stared at the screen for anything, any noise or any reaction to your words. Your heart pounded in your chest as you took in the grains of the black wood, waiting. 

“Is that so?” You heard him whisper, voice rumbling. 

You nodded eagerly, forgetting that he couldn’t see you as you put your hands together in prayer.

“I… I have sinned in so many ways, Papa… please… forgive me…” you whispered, voice quivering.

“Tell me.”

Your breath caught in your throat. 

“Tell me your sins, my sweet, and I shall forgive you.”

You could feel your body shaking as you knelt there, making the wood of the bench creak beneath you. Your voice had been caught in your throat, rendering you silent as your mouth opened but nothing came out. 

He could sense your speechlessness, shifting closer to the screen to speak. You did the same, hearing the creaking on his side as a signal for you to come closer, your lips inches away from the divider in front of you. 

He spoke, softly. Soft enough to send a shiver down your spine. 

“My sweet… tell me… tell your Papa how you have made him proud…” 

“Papa…” You murmured weakly, “Forgive me for what I have done.”

You felt your lips brush against the wood as you spoke, making you inhale sharply, “I have pleased The Olde One so very much so with my sins… will you ever forgive me Papa?” 

You could hear the grin in his voice, “What is it that you did, my sweet? How is it that you have pleased him?” 

His breath fanned over the braided wood to your side, making you gasp softly as you felt it against your lips. He was close, so close to you at that moment. If that screen wasn’t there, your lips would be inches apart and your eyes would be locked together.

“Papa…” you said weakly, your voice shaking. You were suddenly aware of the silk robe wrapped around your body, the once comfortable fabric becoming too tight, too soft, and too overwhelming in an instant. 

“Tell me…” he whispered, “Tell me how you were a good little sinner for your Papa…” With a shuddered breath, you closed your eyes, knuckles pale as you gripped the bench, “Papa… I… last night I made myself cum with you on my mind…”

You couldn’t see it, but Terzo was on his knees, gripping his side of the bench with white knuckles. His fingernails dug into the wood, pushing dents into it as he eagerly awaited you to continue your words. He was holding his breath, glaring into the screen as if that would make it disappear so he could finally see you.

He could picture the way your bottom lip jutted out as you whispered your confession, eyes wide and trembling as you knelt with your hands together, uttering his title. 

Just like how he liked to see you.

“I couldn’t help it, Papa, I swear! The ache… it came back and it hurt so bad… i needed to do something, it felt like torture to just sit there and read my unholy prayer book!” You cried out, voice getting louder as you continued, “I told myself I would only take a second, it will be quick, but I spent hours teasing myself with my hand, imagining it was you instead…”

With a sob, you slumped against the bench, “My fingers weren’t enough to pretend it was you, but I cried out your name as I came anyways…”

Terzo could feel his body heating up with every one of your words. One of his hands immediately went down to palm himself through his pants, hissing quietly as his hand made contact with his clothed but aching cock. 

But it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t enough for him in the same way that it wasn’t enough for you. 

The ache, the same ache you described, burned him. It made his cock leak into his briefs, leaving a wet stain on them where the tip pressed against the rough fabric. It made him wince as he became hyper aware of how the now scratchy briefs shifted against his sensitive skin, as he took in ragged breaths. 

His eyes shifted down to glance at his hand, unconsciously gripping his shaft, swallowing harshly as he held himself back from bucking into his hand. 

“Tesoro…” he choked out, voice deep and gravely, “Tell me how you pleasured yourself…”

On the other side of the screen, you gasped. 

“But Papa…! That’s… that’s vulgar-”

“Tell me amore, tell me… if you don’t tell me the whole truth, I cannot forgive you…”

You could feel your lips twisting into a smirk, listening to his wavering voice. You couldn’t help but flutter your lashes as your hands quickly moved to push between the opening of the robe, fingertips hitting the skin of your stomach with eagerness. Your thighs were beginning to become uncomfortably sticky with your arousal by then as you dripped, remembering the other night when you stuffed yourself full of your fingers, crying out into the darkness of your candlelit room.

“Tell your papa what you did…”

You could hear the desperation in his voice, the straining he had to do to not break the stupid wooden screen and grab at your right then and there. 

“Oh papa…” you began, shifting to make your voice sickeningly sweet, “I couldn’t take it anymore… I just had to slide my clothes off and bring my fingers down to rub at my aching clit…”

Terzo groans, so loudly that it feels like the whole confessional shook.

You bit down on your bottom lip, holding back a chuckle. Your hand had begin to slide down your stomach, slowly and carefully toward where you needed it the most. 

“Then? Tell me tesoro, tell me please…”

He was begging now. It was just too easy to get him like this. 

“I rubbed in small circles around it, pinching and squeezing. I would tease myself papa… teasing by slipping my fingers down to gather the wetness I made and use it to slide back up and around myself…” you whimpered, glaring at the screen. 

He let out a strangled groan, the sound of clothing rustling makes you perk up, “Papa?”

Your fingers had stilled, just barely grazing over your clit, throbbing between your legs. Your body was on fire, desperate for any kind of stimulation.

The light on his side suddenly was extinguished, leaving you in partial darkness as your own lantern barely illuminated your side. 

“Papa?” 

Rustling and the creaking of wood was all you heard as you knelt there. 

“Papa is everything-” 

The sound of his door scraping open was all you heard, making your voice trail off. He was silent, shifting around and exiting his side of the booth, the door swinging shut with a click.

You slowly got up, knees aching a bit and legs shaking as you turned to look at your own door.

Your eyes were trained on the brass knob, watching it jiggle a bit before it slowly began to turn. You panted softly, staring as it shifted with a calculated slowness. You couldn’t even move as you watched, frozen in place as it turned and finally stopped turning. 

Within seconds, the sight, sound, smell, touch, and taste of your Papa invaded your senses.

He shoved through the door, pushing himself into the already small section of your booth to shove his body against yours. The door had clicked shut, long forgotten by the time his mouth was on your own, making you moan into him. 

One of his hands raced to your face, cupping it with a gentleness that made your heart soar, while the other went down to roughly yank at the knot holding your robe shut. 

“Fuck this game,” he murmured as he pulled back, dual toned eyes locking with yours, “Fuck it all.”

Before you could laugh, he pushed his lips back onto yours in a sloppy kiss and you felt your robe slip like water down your arms and into a forgotten heap on the floor around your ankles. 

You could only close your eyes in bliss, the messy gnashing of teeth and lips echoing in the small booth. Small whimpers escaped you on occasion, but a wide eyed muffled scream came soon after he shoved his hand between your legs, roughly parting them as his gloved hand came into contact with your clit.

You were too sensitive for the fabric, the cotton feeling too coarse against your sensitive clit. It rubbed small tight circles, similar to the ones you described to him, around your swollen bud, making your hips buck into his hand and body arch into his. 

As he pulled away with the taste of your saliva on his tongue, he tutted, “Take it, take it for your Papa…”

“Papa! Too sensitive!” you choked, legs quivering as you braced yourself against the wall, looking at him with half lidded eyes.

But he ignored you, too busy watching the way your hips were grinding against his gloved hand, both enjoying and running from the rough stimulation. His fingers were already becoming drenched with your juices, making him grin.

“You like making a mess of your Papa? You like to tease him?” he growled, bringing his sticky fingers to press against your entrance, rubbing around it to feel it clench around nothing.

You could only howl at his words, head thudding as you jerked it back against the wooden wall. “You beg for forgiveness, but this is how you do it? By teasing your Papa like a little bitch who has all the power?” he spit, eyes now trained on your face as he began to aggressively circle your hole, feeling it drool onto his glove. 

The hand cradling your face shifted toward your neck, large, warm, gloved fingers finding its spot around you and squeezing the sides with light pressure. You gasped out, gaze shifting from the roof back down to him. 

“Terzo!” you cried.

“No, I am not Terzo, amore… I am your Papa.” he barked, cupping your pussing with his hand. The heel of his palm rubbed deliciously against your clit, quickly drenching the fabric there too. You could only choke out a moan as his fingers at your entrance pushed in, stretching you with two of them. 

You were certain that you would’ve collapsed onto the floor if it wasn't for his hand around your neck and his body partially pinning you against the wall. Every muscle in your legs ached, begging to lay down or sit on his lap but you didn’t care anymore, the only thing that filled your senses was your Papa. 

The scent of candles and sex filled the stuffy little booth, grounding you enough to make you the tiniest bit aware of where you stood but not enough to distract you from the overwhelming feel of his wet glove against your cunt and his grip around your neck.

“You tease me, amore, you tease me so with these games you come up with,” he says, voice husky as he speaks lowly to you, eyeing you as if you were cornered pray in the woods, “Leave me throbbing and desperate for you… you like seeing me like this? Seeing your Papa so desperate and needy for you?”

You couldn’t respond, just crying out as his hand thrusted his fingers into you, letting the lewd squelching noise from your pussy reverberate within the room. He pushed them in, reveling in the feeling of your walls squeezing the soaked fabric as it rubbed deliciously against you. 

The dual combination of the rough fabric around the fingers he fucked you and on your sensitive clit made your knees snap together, but he was quick. The second your legs began to close, he shoved his own leg between them to hold them open once more, moving his hand feverishly in and out. 

“Tesoro… I need to feel you cum around my fingers…” he panted, the lantern on the floor casting heavy shadows across his face. 

You could only moan and cry out as you looked at him, eyes glazing over with pleasure as you felt your body succumbing to the pleasure, getting closer and closer to the edge as he curled his fingers to hit that spongy spot inside of you that made you feel like you were going to explode. 

“That’s it, amore, cum for your Papa. Cum around my fucking fingers, drench me.” he demanded, pressing his forehead against yours. 

You couldn’t take it anymore, crying out as you came around him, walls clenching with every wave of pleasure. His glove was soaked, the stickiness sticking onto him and your thighs with every thrust of his fingers. You hadn’t even registered that your hands were now gripping his biceps, fingers clawing at the fabric of his shirt with every arch of your back and buck of your hips. 

The pleasure that overwhelmed your senses, rolling up your body like an uncontrollable fire, was all you could perceive. It made your eyes roll to the back of your head and an uncontrollable grin spread across your face. 

You howled and whined as you came down, the slowing movements of his hand making you twitch with overstimulation. You babbled, slurring your words as you spoke, “Papa… s’too much… Terzo please… no more…”

Your vision blurred back just in time for you to watch and feel as Terzo’s hand inside you stilled, letting you ride through those tremble inducing aftershocks. 

His hand slowly unwrapped around your neck too, instead shifting to gently press his fingertips against your skin. His thumb gently ran over your neck, moving to your jaw before gathering the drool from the corners of your mouth to rub it over your bottom lip. He watched with sharp eyes, focused on how your bottom lip shined in the dim light. 

He pulled his hand away from your twitching cunt, making you whine and buck at the overwhelming feeling of the gloved hand shifting from your wet skin.

He chuckled, stepping back a bit to watch as you trembled, still gripping him and leaning against the wall to hold yourself up on your shaky legs. It was humiliating, watching the way he looked at you with a satisfied look on his face while you stood there, wrecked. 

But for him, it was torture. 

Torture to stand there and watch the way you drenched him as you came, calling his name out in the darkness. Torture to feel the way your pussy clenched around his fingers. Torture that his gloves separated him from feeling your soft, gummy walls against his skin. 

It was torture.

His hands moved to grip your waist, the sticky one making you whimper and shift away from it, but Terzo could only shush you as he dropped to his knees in front of you. 

With eyes wide, you realized what he was going to do.

“Terzo, no!” you cried, voice scratchy in your throat, “I’m too sensitive-!”

But it was too late, he already shoved himself between your legs and licked a stripe up your sensitive cunt.

“Papa!”

“Take it for me, amore,” he murmured, looking up at you as his lips attached themselves to your clit, sucking it without a care. 

You shrieked, pushing your chest up as you arched away from the wall. Your hands immediately moved to push his shoulders, to try and get him away. It was all too much, toe curlingly too much. 

You bucked, moaning and whining in the delicious torture as he slobbered over you, licking up your juices as if he discovered the elixir of life and was desperate for a taste. 

He groaned, sucking and licking you up, hands gripping your hips and holding you in place so you couldn't run away from him. 

“Terzo!” you cried, hips jerking for one final time as he pulled away, lips and chin glistening with you as he knelt there, looking up at you. 

He stood up, one hand immediately moving to grip your hair, “Get on your knees to pray, amore.”

With a heaving chest, you were pushed to your knees, nearly collapsing as you did so. You gripped his thighs as you looked up at him, staring as he made you watch him unbuckle his belt, the metal clanking loudly in your ears. 

Body shivering and hands gripping his thighs, he kept his focus on his cock, the way it painfully ached under his clothes. He wanted nothing more than to stuff you right then and there, but seeing as you were so sensitive from cumming so hard moments prior, he thought he could relieve some tension and get you warmed up again all in one go. 

Efficiency is key; it’s what he was taught as he went through his training to become Papa.

So here he was, one hand in your hair and the other tugging his clothes away with a hiss to let his pulsing cock spring free. It bobbed in front of you, making your mouth water at the sight of the creamy tip dribbling with precum. 

His poor cock was all achy, twitching under your gaze. The way the veins bulge around the thick shaft made you widen your eyes, Terzo groaning above you in bliss as the pressure of his clothes was finally off his cock. 

He wrapped his hand around the base, carefully squeezing it to let some more precum dribble out dropping to the floor between your knees. He moved his hand up, rubbing his thumb over the tip to spread his arousal over him, using his soaked glove and his precum lube himself up. 

You couldn’t hide your smirk as you looked up at Terzo, watching him begin to stroke his length, very obviously putting on a show for you. 

He shifted his hand, pulling your hair to jerk your head back and toward him. He gently slapped the tip against your cheek, “Open for me, tesoro.”

With no hesitation whatsoever, you softly parted your lips, just the way you knew he liked it. 

With a satisfied chuckle, he pressed the tip onto your lips, smearing the salty precum there. He gently nudged it into your mouth, pushing your mouth wider and wider as he slid in, the warm wetness of your mouth providing him with long overdue relief.

He sighed, gently rocking his hips into your mouth without a moment’s notice, fucking himself into you. The way your soft tongue ran along the length of his cock with every movement, coating it in your saliva, made him drop his tense shoulders and let his head roll back. 

“Cazzo si….” he moaned lowly, hips bucking a bit faster, making you moan around his cock. The vibrations made him groan, inadvertently bucking roughly down your throat. 

You choked for a brief second, only able to cough and get your breath back when he yanked you by the hair back. 

Before you could look back up at him to take him back into your mouth, his hands hooked themselves under your arms and dragged you to your feet. It was dizzying, the way he moved so quickly. One second your were kneeling on the wooden floor, knees aching and body shivering as the heat of sucking his cock invaded your core, the next you were standing, panting with shiny lips and wide eyes, and finally, you were bent over, elbows on the bench and face pressed against the wooden screen. 

“Terzo… shit!” you exclaimed, feeling the soft tip of his cock pressing against your puffy lips. 

He didn’t say a word, choosing to stay silent instead as he rocked his hips to slide the tip of his cock up and down your soaked cunt, swirling around your drooling entrance before moving down to nudge at your achy clit, spreading your wetness around himself. 

“Can’t wait, need you, amore. Need to feel you clench around my cock, you have teased me for far too long…” he murmured, one hand gripping one of your ass cheeks to spread it, eyeing the way you clenched at his words. 

“Please, Terzo, please!” 

He pressed the tip of his cock, red and creamy, against your entrance, gently pushing it against it before pulling away, teasingly, “You play with your papa so evilly so… and i fucking love it.”

With that, you cried out, feeling him push his cock into you, stretching you out and filling you with pure, unadulterated bliss. You could only gasp and moan into the screen, cheek slowly getting imprinted with the braided design of the wood as you held yourself against it, nails scratching along the frame. 

“You like that, amore? Feel good to be stretched by your papa? Feel good to finally be split open by my cock after weeks of this stupid little game of denial?” Terzo rambled, too lost in the feeling of your bare cunt squeezing him to focus on what he was saying. 

Your knees shook as you bent over the bench, threatened once more to give out on you. Lucky for you, Terzo’s large hands immediately went to your hips, gripping them so hard that his fingertips were sure to leave bruises for you to trace later, keeping you up and in place for him.

“Take it, tesoro, take my cock,” he chuckled, focused on watching your body swallow him in. He shuddered, finally bottoming out. Your hips pressed against his own, making you sigh and whine as you felt the rough fabric and metal of his belt and pants press against your tender skin.

He snarled at your noises, “Don’t fucking whine, this is what you get for being a dirty little sinner and teasing me…”

His eyes traced your body, watching you shiver and twitch as he held you against him. With a smirk, he murmured to you, “Now… say your prayers.” 

His hips snapped back, beginning to thrust out and into you, roughly. The first thrust instantly winded you, making you choke out, having not expected him to fuck into you so quickly and without warning. 

But whatever grievances you had, he didn’t seem to even think about them in that moment. He just fucked himself into you, snapping his hips back before pulling you into him, meeting you halfway as thrusted into you, making you jerk back and forth.

With every thrust, you could only cry out in pain and pleasure, enjoying the way he used you and how your body reacted to everyone of his thrusts. From your fingertips clawing at the wood to your face being shoved into the screen to the metal of his belt slapping your skin with every thrust, you fucking loved it.

And frankly, so did your pussy.

Terzo reveled in the way you clenched with every thrust, pussy gripping his beefy cock like a vice as he used you like a fleshlight, all in the darkness of the confessional. With every drag backward, he could feel you tighten, almost refusing that he pull away. 

“Greedy pussy, so desperate for me to fuck it, hm? You like me fucking you this way, using your tight hole like it’s a toy made for me?” he gasped out, slamming his hips back into you.

Tears rushed down your cheeks as you bit your bottom lip hard enough for a metallic taste to bloom on your tongue. It was all too good, the shocks of pleasure thrumming throughout your body with every animalistic thrust, forcing your pussy to submit to him. 

Your whiny voice pleaded with him, begging him to make you cum as the round head of his cock mashed against your sweet spot. He only responded with slurred promises and unconscious latin chants, drooling as he felt himself get closer and closer too, eyes locked on your beautiful body as you thrived in the pleasure.

“Shhh amore, I will make you cum. Do not worry, my sweet, I will have you gushing on this fat cock in just a moment…”

He was drunk on you. Drunk on the way you would make sweet noises for him, singing for him better than anyone he had heard in the choir. He was drunk on the way your body swayed, covered in a sheen of sweat that made your skin glimmer in the low lighting. Drunk on you and his favorite cunt. 

“Gonna cum!” you screamed, throwing your head back, eyes screwed shut as you were baptized in a pool of mind numbing pleasure. 

Terzo immediately shoved his hand down, pushing his gloved fingers to your clit, rubbing it profusely as he spoke, “Cum for me, tesoro. Show me how you sin. Just like that, my sweet, what a good little sinner for me. Doing so well, taking my cock and cumming so hard, squeezing me so tight and making me feel… so… good…”

With a primal groan, he came, paying no mind to the creamy ring forming around the base of his cock or the loud squelching of you two fucking. Frankly, someone could open the door right then and there and he wouldn’t care, too focused on the way squeezed every last drop out of him. 

As you came down from your high, you could only twitch and moan, feeling the warmth of his cum inside you spread in your lower belly, only exaggerating the feeling of being stuffed full to the brim. It didn't help that with every thrust as he came down, cum dribbled out of you, either dripping down to gather around your clit or onto the floor. 

All you could hear was the sound of your joint panting, with the occasional low moan and whimper as your bodies twitched, spent. The feeling of satisfaction of being fucked silly began to seep into your bones, making you grin to yourself as you held your sore cheek against the screen.

“I will never do that stupid denial thing you made me do again.” Terzo murmured, accent thick through his heavy breaths. 

All you could do was laugh.