#ooc: {out of the confessional}

[the-devil-less-known]

Hey, real talk for a moment, please!

So, I've noticed just now someone who has me blocked is reblogging my posts? I don't mind the reblogging, it's like a head pat, but I am bothered about it being an answered ask and I can't see who liked it enough to reblog and presumably follows me,,

Maybe it's the new roleplay tumblr culture, since there's rules now with following and passwords and such that I don't entirely understand,, but it's a bit distressing when I haven't interacted with a blog only to get blocked and finding posts reblogged by those that blocked me,,

I'm sorta hoping it's a mistake and it's because it was my main following that hadn't been touched for a hot minute; I know it's like, a very tiny non-issue, but between that and some Lucifer rp blogs I really admire also having me blocked without any interaction,,

It kinda crushes my spirit a bit, y'know? Like,, I know he's not like canon, and these are just muses, but it sorta feels like a rejection from the character himself haha

Anyway,, sorry for the vent, just um, if you want to follow me, could you check and see if you have

@our-brightest-stars

blocked? That's my main that I don't use anymore, thank you,, anyway,, to the usual programming

[fiirstnephalem]

bloodiedsails asked: Sending Positive Vibes Your Way ✨✨

OOC. Thank you for the positivity axolotl! I shall use their encouragement to try and get some things written!

@bloodiedsails out of character asks / always accepting

[fairymint]

♦ What was a mildly annoying thing that has happened to you rp wise?

mostly lack of communication, including those dumbass confessional blogs that were all the rage 10 or 9 years ago. It's a shame that 'positivity' blogs thereafter didn't seem to pick up, but I can see why- They can make some prime fodder for feelings of FOMO, even in the best of times. Communication has improved over the years, but I still advise to start small- whether that be negative or positive, you don't have to wait until the last second to message your partners! whether that's about having your boundaries crossed or questioning, or giving em praise, or asking about plot/shipping/biography shit. small bites is good!

[spurbleu]

disciple ✞︎

[ken sato x afab reader]

S. if you look for God, you won’t always find him. but you always found Ken.

warnings: mdni, religious imagery, mentions of vaginal sex and oral (both receiving), angst, toxic(ish) situationship, grinding/leg riding, ken before his growth arc, maybe a lil ooc

a/n: this one is a little nasty, sorry. i promise the next one will be cute to make up for it lmfao. inspired by @mitskicain and her beautiful work here.

word count: 3.8k

vote on sequel here !!

࿓༚︎︎‧✞︎︎⁎︎✳︎⁎︎‧︎✞︎࿓︎༚︎

Somewhere along the way, you had become devoted.

The Bible’s spine bound to your own- the alters of your chapel nailed to the foot of your bed. Velvet cushions the color of your undereyes- swollen mauve. You slept there, allegiance to something larger than yourself keeping you to its feathered seats, molded into a ceaseless kneel.

You could call him many things- a whore, bastard, a good (no, great) fuck- but Ken Sato was no god. Your spite made sure of it, refusing to enter the coitus infused oak that built your confessional. The stench of sex would not pull the truth from your stubborn lips, white in denial (wedding veil, erotic). His influence on yourself couldn’t be larger than your own. 

It wasn’t. It would never be.

You wrote out that lie on his thigh, your teary cunt on the harsh fabric of his trousers. They felt rich against the lace of your panties- embroidered in every language of your arousal, highlighting the blush as it sheens through the fabric.

“That’s it, baby. Ride yourself out- filthy girl.”

Obedience. You groaned- frustrated, mostly with yourself. It was out of character for you- doing bidding without complaint. Sculpting your body in the ways he wanted you to, foggy minded and pussy drunk. Since when were you willing to take orders?

You supposed it was his drafting party- 3 years ago. Arrogant, young bastard then- high on the birth of his success- talking to you like he had the world in the palm of his large, fledging hand (Atlas, before the world wore him down, too). Despite it, your friend had begged you at the bar,

“Give him a chance.” She was dating a Dodger at the time, albeit a much more mature one.

Reluctant, you entertained. Forcing an airy laugh at his formless jokes, many of them losing the punchline behind his liquored teeth. You would run your hand up his shoulder, massaging muscles under Abercrombie. They had been bigger, then- plumper and less relaxed- yet another desperate attempt to stand out.

Obnoxiously amateur. It was stamped on his forehead, his tongue, and his knuckles as he drove you to his apartment, black ink cracking the faulty persona he had created for himself.

There, he fucked you senseless.

His god given gift must have been stamina, you decided. He made the night endless, morning suspended by the brutality of your next orgasm, the expanse of his mattress (not yet expensive, impatient for his first paycheck) memorizing the way you screamed his name and the taste of your drool (vodka, and the admissions you were wrong- prayers).

It’s when you realized his orders always seemed to align with your desires- spoken or not.

You moaned again, hips curling against the space above his knee, grinding like your orgasm would return your dignity with a fat, blue bow. Replace what you had lost to the shape of him, fill the hole that had once been your own. Now who’s the amateur.

He held your hips with a plum grip- thumbs bruising the patch of skin beneath your dress- folded in careless wrinkles on your waist. It was one of your favorites- not that he cared. He could buy you twenty more of the same ones, if he wanted to. But he didn’t- no, now, he wanted to see you fold and whimper over the shape of his quads.

“C’mon baby. Cum for me, show me what I do to you.”

It’s funny. Your knees were half bent, straddling him in shaky rhythm. Your fingers interlaced behind his neck, hands sailing the nape of his neck, brushing against shore of hair- searching the waters for minimal stability. From far away- it would’ve looked like you were deep in prayer.

The twist of your nose mistaken for devotion, not lust. Your interlaced fingers and touching foreheads a physical vessel for the god you were calling out to- his name spoken quietly in breathy moans that fell from under your tongue. A religious ceremony- the Eucharist between your legs- wine against lace (filth in a chapel, dust on candles).

Your orgasm was sinful, the damnation near worth it as you crumpled into his chest, sighing your reconciliation. His hands slid up from your hips to your waist, eager to hold the space under your arms, palms pressing against your rocky exhale.

He pulled your face from his chest with a single hand, gripping your teeth through your cheeks. It wasn’t rough, but it was strong enough to break you out of your sexed stupor, your eyes meeting his as you searched for answers in the grey of his iris.

How did you get here?

Grinding his leg like it was your deliverance- like it would somehow stop the horns from growing. Your transformation from a devil into something lucid- a little more deserving of limbo. The red of your lips kissed away into a tasteful pink, the dim light above his bed illuminating your mussed hair into the apparition of a halo.

Equally- he torn the putridity from you, smudging the grime in a cross on your forehead (Ash Wednesday, burnt innocence and palm branches). Your crimes, pockets of lust found between your weeping cunt and glossy lips, held you captive to his embrace.

You were one big step away from salvation, and three small ones away from hell.

So instead of moving, you lay stagnant on the bed of your shared apartment, his back turned away from yours. There, you were left to think about what brought you to Ken Sato- God or Satan? Perhaps both, found in the gentle snore of the goliath next to you, his features in sleep contrary to the harsh lines that structured his jaw awake. They were softer, here, innocent.

You knew better.

Ken wasn’t a man of chastity. The way he fucked acting as your testimony, near selfish as he chased your orgasms, each shudder of your legs a building block to his tall ego. How, when he arrived at your dimly lit porch, breath low, there wasn’t that begrudging, drawling slow talk. Pointless questions about the other that neither really cared about.

No, Ken pulled you close. Skipped the part where you get to know each other, or that airy friction before your lips meet. Instead, you both pilfer your manners, settling for the impolite shape of a kiss, a precursor to how he’ll fold you tonight.

Perhaps that’s how you know him well. You’ve become so good at reading his touch on you, palm searing the details of his day with his lifelines into the small of your back, that you don’t even need to ask. People tended to speak with their words- but Ken had a particular fluency for the use of his hands.

They tell you other things, too. How his immaturity can still be found in his desperate sighs and arrogance. How his favorite meal is the one between your legs. How quickly he can fall asleep, and how he talks in it. You listen, wondering if this time, he’ll say something forgiving (like your name).

But that’s where it ends. You both fall somewhere between strangers and lovers, knowing more than a stranger would but significantly less that a lover should.

You still don’t know his favorite color.

But why would you want to? You didn’t- shouldn’t- care. As long as he kept his cock buried the in plush of your cunt, or his mouth on it, you couldn’t. It could be something poetic like sapphire, for all you care. But you knew if he ever asked, he’d say something stupid like,

“The color of your cheeks when I make you cum.” Abhorrently charming, and motivated by his own libido, you’d think, before straddling his thigh. Romantic enough to make the request of you riding his leg, dirty enough to actually get you to do it.

Again, that thoughtless obedience. You were losing your edge, that ardor that made you chaseable, out of reach. But now he had you around his finger, and it drove you mad.

You both knew you have every ability to walk away. To stand up, pack your things, and leave. You could never see him again, find a decent man who doesn’t talk to you like you’re some whore, and settle down. White picket fence- within your reach- just out the door. Ken wouldn’t chase you- but that’s it- isn’t it? He wouldn’t care.

But you wanted him, didn’t you. He fucked the unpredictability out of you- the effortless curl of his index finger bringing you on your knees, mouth open in a worship. You wanted to have him guessing, on his toes, like he had you.

“I only fucked you because my friend had begged me too,” You had said one morning, an attempt at regaining it, “You were charity work.” You watched the ridged lines of his silhouette for a reaction.

But there wasn’t one. He only chuckled, standing as he stretched the inflation of the dawn off his shoulders, “Yeah…I was pretty annoying back then, wasn’t I?”

You were approaching tantrum. Had you lost your bite? Were your canines dulled- since when were you a domesticated dog? Where along the way had he cured you of your rabidity? You came up dry.

So defeated, you had said, “Yeah. You were.”

He turned to you, that familiar glint in his eyes, not dissimilar to a priest before a homily (delivering the truth), “But you came back, didn’t you?”

He was right. You called him- three days later. Midnight, swallowing your pride and your arousal as you asked, “Want to come over?” and hopeful when he replied “I will never say no.”

And he hadn’t. You suppose that’s where your bite came back, canines softer but still effective. That when they tear into the softness of his neck, coming back bloody and hysterical, he bent into you. He started kneeling, eating you out like somewhere, beneath your noxious folds, was redemption.

(Is this where you’re his god? Above him, moaning his name, hips rolling in tandem with his tongue? If so, you feel powerless. Because outside the bursa between your legs, you had nothing to offer.)

But he never said yes either. He would just hang up, and in 15 minutes be at your door, seconds before his mouth was on yours. Maybe, he was saying yes then. Spelling out a y, e and s in the hickeys he left on your neck. But the selfish, younger part of you wanted to hear him say it.

Whisper it in your ear as he fingered you, or as you licked his tip, kneeling before him as he whispered his little plea. Yes, yes, yes, yes. Hear the heat of orgasm in the bobbing of his adam’s apple.

But instead, he talked to you rather than about you, when he was close (delusion- that he saw you in that moment).

“Your littl’ cunt it my favorite- y’know that sweetheart?”

You were folded beneath him, a rare time when you faced each other. His head was against yours, hot breath fanning on your bruised lips as his rutted into you, shroom tip making stars fuzz on the sides of your vision. It made his utterance, motivated by your clenching walls, beyond intimate.

You couldn’t help the weight those words held in your hands. Favorite. Such a complicated feeling.

You knew he fucked other girls- his whorish grin buried into dozens of cunts before yours. But a young, childish creature was born in the cavity of your chest- envy. It’s plump hands tearing the rips in your indifference, revealing the head of your heart. Bent over into the bed that would never be just yours, you felt it leak out of the intimate parts of you, slicking his cock as if it would stain him.

Although, there was an impish pride in it all. That you had bewitched him enough, ass flaring against his hips, flesh opening wide and obediently for him, that he made a mistake in calling you a favorite. A pedestal for you to kiss his feet at, where you looked down at the other disciples and you knew, you fucking knew, he was a close to yours as he was ever going to be.

That’s why, in the normalcy of it all, of being ‘the one’ (less romantic than you had thought it was when you were a girl), you weren’t surprised when he asked you to live with him.

Two years ago, now. He had been lying next to you, the drowse of sex pulling his chest up in a rhythm you found repulsively soothing, he asked you, “Do you want to move in?”

And because you had never been more causal about anything in your life (exhilarating, the apathy an illusion of control), that you replied, “Sure.”

Huge apartment- stench of wealth written in every spotless crevice. Modern, grey arches and colorless domes- highlighted by the rich brown of the oak that surrounded the exterior. The bedroom view overlooked Anaheim, and most mornings you’d catch yourself staring at the sunrise, another sleepless evening behind you. It was your favorite view of the city.

Not that Ken knew- you never told him, and he never asked.

That’s how you planned to keep it. Even if you lived together, nothing about your relationship would change. You weren’t going to role play the happy wife- waiting at the door with his liquor and lace under your apron as you asked him “how was your day?” over dinner. There would be no domesticity. It would stay a house not a home.

But eventually, it became neither. Instead, it became a church.

Business with reality ate away at both of your lungs, that by the time you reached the door, you were breathless and crawling. You found ceremony in asthmatic sex; body already accustomed to the feeling of asphyxiation.

There was never room in your lungs for actual romance. Not all liquor could be rum- not all love could be sweet. You settled with the discovery as you rode out your frustrations on his cock, feeling as he stretched you out (merciless, perdition by pleasure) the grip on your thighs motivating your assault.

Tell me, it would say, tell me with your hips.

Routine.

It was your service. The Gospel, as he whispers in your ear how much he missed you today, how much he needed this- you. How quickly you were brought to your knees, feeling as his cock stretched your throat- more room for the hymn of his name.

How you became the choir, the altar servers, the priest and the attendees all at once. How he made you everything, then (except for of course, God. He played that role in your selfish exhibition). How when you screamed his name, your cunt memorizing the feverish pace he thrust into you, angels heard worship.

You could feel it happening- that subtle, long, change from a devil to a disciple. That as his cock reformed the shape of your walls, your cervix slowly morphing into the shape of a crucifix, he made you a follower.

It was another year before the candles snuffed. His mother disappeared.

You had heard of Ms. Kato before. Not that he would ever take you to her- you aren’t exactly the type of girl you bring home (a vice, really. No mother wants to meet their son’s damnation.) But everyone knew about Ms. Kato.

He talked about her in interviews, and besides slumber you haven’t seen his face that soft before. Admiration- a son who loved his mother. It humanized him, and sometimes you’d find yourself searching for a similar plasticity as he cleaned you up, holding your bambi legs (if you got lucky, he’d place a kiss on your knee, gracious. Hopeful.)

You decided she had no place here, with you. Not because you hated her (far from it)- but out of a compassion. You wouldn’t stain the one thing that made him redeemable. A tenderness that shouldn’t be corrupted. There were equally parts of you that you would never share, and he would never know- for that very same reason.

Because if you do, you’ll be judged empty handed and irredeemable.

But then he cried.

He cried, in front of you. The peak of vulnerability, curling into your arms after breaking a kiss that felt particularly dull, uncharged. You had agreed, so many times, to keep things casual. To ignore the tug at your tendons to reach out, or to ask about him. To find out his favorite color.

And against all your better judgment, you embraced him. You held him as he sobbed into your chest, a boy missing his mother. Your hands bridged the gaps in his hair strands, fiddling the parts of his body he couldn’t feel in that moment (keep some semblance of distance, if that were ever possible).

You both fell asleep like that, tangled in the dips and rifts in your bodies. His tears had stained your shirt, not that you minded. It was nice, having him daub you with something less lewd- placing his tolerance on the crest of your chest.

The next morning, you sat on the edge of the bed as you watched him get dressed. There was a sluggishness about him, a depression between the sleepy jostle of his shirt, stretching over his heavy chest. The daybreak was dimmed by his swollen eyes, the imprint of your chest showing up a red rash on his cheek.

“Do you…want to talk about it?”

A mistake, but an empathetic one. Asking about him. Without sensuality, the motivation to get between his legs, that familiar ache in your cunt. No, this was a different ache- much higher- fluttering in the bluntness of your heartrate.

When he turned to you, it swelled, and you realized you had crossed a boundary. A thick one, the one that glued things together for this long. He didn’t glare at you- in fact there wasn’t expression. Dulled knife without bloodlust, just a utensil, half used and ready for the next meal.

“No,” he had said then, and you knew it was over. End of an era, nail in the coffin.

He told you he was moving to Japan shortly after. As he was packing his things into the U-Haul, you watched him from the doorway, and the world seemed to narrow between his acnetis. You swallowed as he taped the last box.

He stood in front of you.

Thinner, than three years ago. Older, a bit more mature- hell you’d even call him a man. He wasn’t playing dress-up in a fancy suit or in his baseball uniform- no, here you found him rather casual- in sweats and old merch. A hat, brush back your favorite texture- thick rooted hair.

3 years of your life, packed in a U-Haul and out the window of an airplane. Not that you even expected it to last this long.

But what was it anyway? A sorry excuse for a relationship? An exchange of goods that both of you needed but neither knew how to ask for? An empty embrace, without personality but with all the intimacy? You couldn’t figure it out.

What happens to a churchgoer when it’s stolen from them? Candles snuffed, building bulldozed, the beautiful stained glass broken in faithless shards at their feet, eroded by angel tears. Left to find another one, you supposed.

But that’s the thing- you weren’t just going to church to worship something, but someone. And now he was leaving, as you both agreed you would not follow, left to explore the expansive hole he drilled within your body by yourself.

You weren’t bitter- in fact you found yourself understanding. Every God abandons- and it will always feel too soon. There wasn’t a point in begging, praying, kissing. You had done your job, washed his feet, let him move on (why couldn’t you do it with him?).

“What’s your favorite color?”

His eyebrows furrowed as he gave you the apartment keys, half out the door with his last box- photos. Maybe you were in there, somewhere (would he frame it?). “What?”

“You never told me,” you found a goodbye in his eyes, so there wasn’t a need to say one back, “I want to know.”

“Why?”

You shrugged. There wasn’t an answer that would satisfy him anyway. He searched your eyes, perhaps for your own goodbye. When he came up empty handed, his shoulders caved with a sigh.

“Don’t have one. But I…” guilt. There it was. The desire to clean up half the mess you made, recognition that by leaving, you’re destroying a follower and her morale, the goodness and obedience you had built for so long. It flashed across his features in a ripple, rock hitting the water. A weak smile, and for a moment you had been convinced it was real (God’s son, a little more human, a little more tangible).

“I have always loved the color of your eyes.”

Cruelly romantic, and in the most inopportune time.

You caught a glimpse of what could have been as he drove off. Taking you with him, fucking you in the airport bathroom, hand keeping you quiet. On the plane, he’d interlace your fingers through his as you lift off (he finds out your afraid of heights). You live in Japan, he teaches you patiently how to say hello, holding you after making your bed. A domesticity, a place of worship, lost to an inability to talk- to risk.

He didn’t kiss you when he left, but you both know that was for the best. That your frenzied physicality, the only thing that seemed to keep you attending church, was absent in your goodbye.

It really was over.

He left your apartment half empty (church without an alter). He didn’t call like he said he would, neither did you, and your devotion simmered into hardened, bitter lines. Resentment was found in every corner of that apartment (because there wasn’t a place where he hadn’t touched), and truthfully, yourself (again, imprinted).

It didn’t take long before you moved out as well.

While packing, you came across a picture you took together at his draft party. You both looked so much younger, and it reminded you how big you could smile. A memory- that although you had convinced yourself you were never charmed by that amateur, there was a reason you found yourself under him that night.

And, funnily enough, for the next three years.

You burned it.

Fuck him. You would think. Good riddance.

But above your head, a flame flickered to life- orange in its birth, fueled by the ashes of your fervor, the years of your bleeding knees, and that fucking picture.

Even now, he’ll remain in your subconscious fidelity.

What a bastard.

[lottiies]

life is beautiful, but you don’t have a clue

⇢ getting all bruised up and battered with minimum medical aid from the government is brutal. leon doesn’t believe he deserves to be helped, though. after months of hiding these moments of vulnerability from you, he lets finally lets you in, knowing deep down that you wouldn’t turn him away

cw: fem!reader, established relationship, leon’s alcohol dependency and low self-worth, religious guilt, attempts to hide depression, brief description of wounds, angst, comfort and reassurance, patching him up, small snippet with chris, 3.2k wc

note: i promise there’s more to me than just writing ooc smut for him 😞 i rewatched vendetta and omg i want to hug him so bad. (˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ ) i’m not sure if the small font is too straining on the eyes, if it is, lmk!! i’ll change it back to the regular sized one. if you see typos, no you didn’t

divider below is by @/cafekitsune!!

just how many confessionals and assigned prayers would it take for leon to be forgiven for all his wrong doings? probably more than he could keep track of. then again, he hasn’t clasped his hands together and recited a muttered chant for redemption in ages. the belief in a savior dissipated alongside his naive outlook in life once upon a time.

he had laid on a cold hard mattress for hours in the infirmary made specifically for DSO agents. the nurses didn’t give him much care, though. he was patched up, prescribed some pain killers, and sent home. the recovery period was over a month long, but he knew he wouldn’t actually be granted that much rest before he had to be back in action.

two broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder. he’s dealt with those same conditions time and time again, but it never got any easier, especially as he got older. he was busy basking in his misery, longing for only two things: the bitter taste of alcohol on his tongue, and his girlfriend’s soothing presence.

he tried to keep this part of him hidden, he was ashamed. he had already opened up to you about his job, and how he would be away for long periods. what he didn’t tell you was that those said long periods usually included his recovery, so you didn’t have to see him all broken and battered. he usually kept all the lights in his house off even when the evening approached, so you wouldn’t know he was back in town if you happened to drive by his place.

the two of you had gotten together a year and a half ago, and he used to be more…stable. he feared you’d up and leave him if you found out how bad it had gotten for him.

but the thing is, he knew you would take care of him. your love for him was unconditional, and he didn’t know whether to be grateful for it or to feel sorry for you. after all, he was known to have occasional outbursts of irritation, being on edge from all his baggage and his frequent doses of hard liquor. but he wasn’t a bad man, he just needed some TLC.

he could nurse his good ol’ mind numbing beverages stored coldly in his fridge all he wanted, but it wouldn’t make him feel any better. in fact, his self-hatred only grew once he found himself depending on alcohol. in his head, he chose to rely on a drink to feel a buzz. in reality, that was far from the truth. a man like him was drowning in the depths of his baggage. PTSD, survivor’s guilt, and alcohol didn’t mesh well.

it was you who kept him sane, really.

you were the skin-kissing sun after a harsh thunderstorm, like a balm to his traumatized and guilt ridden soul. you saw him for who he was, the selfless and love-yearning man he had always been, not a grouchy killing-machine like some people started to view him as of late.

even when he was overseas, your love always managed to reach him.

it was those heartfelt text messages and voicemails he often received that made him tread through his missions carefully, he knew there was someone back home worth living for.

voicemails:

“hi leon! i know you said you might not have internet connection over there or that your phone might break but…um…i dunno, there’s a chance you’ll hear this, so might as well, right? i really miss you. i was procrastinating during my job the other day, yeah boo me…but i made a list of some movies we can watch when you’re back in town. maybe you can come over and we can cuddle on my couch all night, hehe. anyway, i hope you’re okay. i really don’t want you to get hurt or anything. call me when you fly back in?”

“oh shit, is this voicemail? [incoherent mumbling] uh, okay yeah. hi leon, i’m at rite aid right now. i don’t wanna sound nosy but i saw some of the bloodied medical tape you left in my trash and…and i just got worried and wondered if you needed anything? maybe you didn’t want to concern me but, tell me next time okay? let’s see…there’s a lot of different brands, i dont know which one you’d like. call me back ASAP, i’m gonna stay here for a bit longer just in case you do. bye, i love you!”

“okay i figured you wouldn’t pick up. i know it’s like four am but i just woke up and my dream was about us! it went like…like…oh shit. i think i forgot already, bummer!” silence, and some hums. “i literally just had the dream like five seconds ago and i can’t remember it anymore. i’m pissed! anyway, see you tomorrow? or today, technically. bye!”

messages:

found this meme and it reminded me of you…wait do you even know what a meme is? ha, loser

here’s the link to the letterboxd website i told you about earlier!

come overrrr, i’m off work at 8 today. unless my asshole of a coworker shows up late again, ugh

you left your jacket at my house, it’s mine now!!!

not sure if you fell asleep already but please text me back when you can and when you’re sober. ik we just had an argument but we should talk it over, i want everything to be okay between us, i love you. you’re not mad at me are you??

replaying those sweet voicemails was like a remedy, providing such raw tenderness that nothing else in the universe could. you were the epitome of an angel walking the earth, keeping him from falling into the pits of hell by visiting his dreams whenever fell asleep all splayed out on his floor with an empty bottle by his side. it should be you snuggled against him instead, on a bed.

while you gave leon all your sweet love, there were other people working behind the scenes, dishing out some tough love to leon. like chris, who had hit rock bottom once and didn’t want leon to fall prey to the same thing.

“and how about your girl? you really think she’ll want to deal with you being like this all the time?” chris asked, his voice more agitated than mad. he wasn’t angry, just worried and wanting to push the truth into leon’s head. he had found leon sitting on his ass with a drink too many times to be considered a brief stress relief.

“leave her outta this.” leon scoffed, turning off his phone (he had been staring at his wallpaper that was a picture of you.) “i don’t let her see this side of me.”

“side? leon, it’s not just a side. it’ll consume you whole. what happens when it becomes your whole life, huh? what happens when you start disappearing all the time?”

“get off my ass, chris.” leon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to not lash out. “i came here for some peace and quiet, not for you to nag at me like you’re my mother.”

“i’m not trying to–” chris cut himself off, unsure of how to get across to leon. leon was absolutely miserable, the only time chris saw some hope in his eyes was whenever he soberly rambled about you. “i’m just saying that you’ve got a good thing going for you, and i don’t want you to ruin it by not trying to get better.”

silence, so chris spoke up again. “she cares about you. so try to care about yourself too, okay? i’ve been there, i see myself in you. i know it’s not your fault that you’ve turned to alcohol. but, let her in, let her help.”

leon looked down at his glass, watching his own reflection, some guilt burning in his gut. he hung his head a bit, looking like a kitten that had just gotten in trouble. he knew chris was right.

maybe this once, he could break the cycle of hiding and cowering. his throat felt dry as he reached for his phone, wincing a bit at the shock of pain the movement caused.

his fingers struggled to tap his cracked screen, the brightness of it making his nose scrunch and eyes squint. eventually, he found the phone app, you were at the top of his list, and he dialed.

…

“leon!! hi, hold on, lemme turn my TV off, i was watching a podcast.” and surely enough, he could hear the background noise lower until it was gone completely and your heavenly voice was filling his ears again. “okay, done. i can’t believe you’re calling, i’ve been waiting all week! how are you? not hurt or anything, i hope? need me to pick you up from the airport or?”

his lips twitched, threatening to turn into a small smile at your bombardment of questions. but he bit it back, feeling undeserving of such happiness. your voice overpowered the weak buzzing of his fan and the wind that rusted outside.

“uh, no.” his voice sounded hoarse, so he tried to clear it. “i’m actually at home, was wondering if you could come over? i…kind of need some help. only if you can, i don’t want to bother you.”

the silence that lingered made him feel tense, his heart pumping so loud that the noise reached his ears. then he heard some shuffling over the phone, as well as some keys jingling.

“be there in fifteen.”

it was just like you to drop everything to help someone else, no questions asked (at least not yet.) god, he loved you.

his world had felt muted before you, devoid of any color and saturation. but every time you he thought of you, suddenly colors were blooming as if he was a blank canvas and your paintbrush strokes were bringing him to life and giving him a purpose.

waiting fifteen minutes felt like an hour, maybe because he was counting down the time on his fucked up lock screen. the numbers looked wonky, he could barely make them out. his watch was broken too, no luck there. having no concept of time, even for a moment, felt weird.

he eventually heard his front door lock twisting. he had given you a spare key just in case, he trusted that you would never snoop through his things or take advantage of that privilege.

“um, hello? leon?” you sounded worried.

“god, it’s dark in here…” you then mumbled, splaying your hand against the wall and searching for his light switch. a couple seconds later and bingo, the sudden bright light left you disoriented for a while.

“i’m on the couch. just…don’t say anything, please?”

your brows furrowed at his request, and you rushed on over, your shoes thudding against his wooden floor. surely enough, there he was, laying on his back with agony written on his features. he had his leather jacket off, his arms having nips and tears all over. small ones, at least, but still collectively all painful.

“oh leon…” a worried mutter fell from your lips, and you kneeled down, the harshness of the hard cold floor not even registering because you were too engrossed in him.

you didn’t want to cry in front of him, not when he was the one suffering. but the pain you felt in your chest for seeing your sweetheart look so defeated just had you getting a bit teary. leaning forward, you planted a kiss on his forehead, your hand raising to stroke the crown of his head. his hair was a bit knotted.

he leaned into your touch like a puppy, letting out a pleased sigh. your affection felt like a gift in a bow after the way he had been slammed around by infected enemies earlier.

“what happened? i—“ okay, he said no questions. you could save the context seeking ones for later, but you did have to know what was wrong. “where are you hurt?”

he didn’t dare look into your eyes, knowing that it would break him. he was looking down further at your neck though, so his gaze was at least on you.

“everywhere.” he managed to croak out with a dry chuckle. um, not helping. “if we’re talking specifics though, the doc told me i broke two ribs on my left side. i also dislocated my left shoulder, they put it back into place but um…y’know, it still hurts like hell.”

after taking a breath to compose yourself, you nodded and stood up. “okay. do you have an ice pack?”

leon nodded. “in my freezer.”

you went off to fetch it, also taking one of leon’s small kitchen towels and wrapping it around the ice pack before placing it onto the coffee table. then, you went to his bedroom, getting two of his pillows and the first aid kit in his bedside drawer.

his eyes lit up when you returned. you were so nurturing it made him want to sob into your arms. but he’d open up to you one step at a time, one day at a time.

“can you…can you try sitting up just a bit? you’re supposed to be a bit propped up.”

well, that wasn’t the worst he’s had to do with a broken rib. he could manage. with a grunt of pain, leon slowly propped himself up, giving you some time to slide the two pillows in.

“there we go.” with a small smile, you couldn’t resist but place another kiss against his forehead. it made him feel good, it was like all your gestures were doses of ibuprofen.

the coldness of the icepack had seeped into the towel. and you gently applied it to his left side, your eyes lifting to meet his face to watch for any indicators you might be hurting him.

“down or up?” you asked him, moving the ice pack up further. he hadn’t told you which ribs had been broken, after all.

“down, please.”

you hummed, moving it back down and letting it rest there.

“how do you know so much about this?” he asked. sure, an icepack was probably a no brainer but you seemed so sure of yourself by making him sit up more.

“google works wonders.” you shrugged alongside your answer. “i just figured some knowledge on the most common injuries would be good for me to learn since your job is pretty dangerous. call me psychic but i saw this in my future.”

some brief moments of quietness washed over afterwards, making him feel unsettled. were you angry because he had often kept his bedridden moments from you? he couldn’t tell.

“i’m sorry.” his apology hung in the room, every one of his nerves feeling on edge.

but it was your warm and gentle touch on his face that had him crawling out of his low self-worth and into reality. a reality where someone loved and cherished all parts of him from his darkest to brightest days. you.

“what are you sorry for?” your question was spoken through a whispered tone of voice. “you’re out here risking your life and saving people whose names you don’t even know, yet you’re apologizing?”

you kneeled down again so you could be closer to him, stroking the side of his face with your knuckles. “i wish you had told me, but i think i can understand why you didn’t. i don’t want you to feel like you have to hide this from me. you know i’m here for you.”

“i…i know.” he didn’t doubt how much you cared for him, but it was hard to feel like he deserved someone as great as you. what did he have to offer?

“c’mon, look at me.” you pleaded, having taken note of the way his pretty blue eyes hadn’t met yours even once.

he blinked, his eyes darting around a bit. he bit his bottom lip nervously before releasing it. it was only when he felt your hand slide down to hold his that he finally mustered the courage looked into your eyes.

he looked broken, but willing. a small glimmer in his eyes that begged for devotion and comfort, for his angel to continue guiding him even when he lost his path. to not be cast aside like he was replaceable. he couldn’t leave his job or the hell that was his life even if he wanted to, but you made life worth living.

you gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “i love you, leon. through sickness and health.”

you couldn’t suppress the desire to kiss him yet again, this time scattering them all over his face. your affection brought a surge of joy over him.

the wedding vow reference made him crack a grin. he chuckled a bit even though it caused his injured body discomfort. “i love you too.”

“did you think i wouldn’t help you?”

while you asked the question, your eyes skimmed over his body. his clothes were nipped at, the tears revealing some patches of his skin that had dried up blood or that were bruised. geez. you just wanted to cling to him, but you knew that would only strain him.

“i knew you would.” he began, watching as you stood up and disappeared back into the kitchen. he could hear the sink running. “i didn’t want you to spend your time looking after me, you have your own life to live. you shouldn’t have to babysit me.”

you came back with a wet towel, using it to clean up the dirt and blood on his arms, making sure to be gentle.

“babysit you? that’s not what it’s called, leon. i’m taking care of you, is all. i know you’d do the same and be even more stubborn about it.”

his eyes were trained on you, appreciating the concentration you held while cleaning him up. like a feather, your nimble fingers only left fleeting sensations against his skin. so delicately and tenderly, you treated him.

“yeah, i probably would. thank you.”

“don’t mention it.”

you spent the next twenty minutes disinfecting all his open injuries and putting gauzes over them, making some conversation but keeping it light since you needed to focus. there was more of a sparkle in his eyes than before, you had patched him up both physically and emotionally.

“how’re you feeling?”

“better. can’t say i’ll be able to walk properly tomorrow, though.”

“you need lots of rest to recover. you should sleep.”

and he was fucking tired, having stayed up all day. his body had been on fight-or-flight mode so many times that it had exhausted all his emergency energy. and initially he was sure his injuries wouldn’t let him rest, but you were here now, watching over him.

“yeah, i should.” he agreed with you. “will you…will you be here when i wake up?”

okay. you felt warm inside, he was opening up to you, allowing you to stay by his weakened side. “of course. and the day after tomorrow, and the day after that, and um, you get the point.”

you lifted a hand to rub at his temples, alleviating the headache he had. leon groaned contentedly, his long eyelashes fluttering as his eyes shut. he could feel some drowsiness kicking in already.

“i could get used to this.”

“mhm, just go to sleep.” you voice was getting quieter and quieter in his mind, when’s the last time he fell asleep this quickly? maybe when he was 20. last time he had a broken rib, he didn’t get a wink of sleep.

maybe life was constantly testing him, disrupting his peace at every turn, seeping into all the crooks and nannies. but he found his person, the one he wanted to spend the rest of his days with, the one who reminded him of how valuable his life and accomplishments were.

yeah, he could see his future, alright. one where he only picked up a bottle of beer during celebrations, one where he could be tangled up with you and be doted on without feeling guilt.

and it was sooner than later that those thoughts would be fulfilled.

[living-dead-author]

Hail Mary: Negan Smith x GN AFAB reader smut

I have a thing for Priests and also Negan. Today is Jeffery Dean Morgan's birthday also so perfect unintentional timing for me. This one shot is 18+ do not read if you are under the age of 18

Content includes: Pre season 7 Negan, Age gap (reader is mid/late 20's Negan is in his 40's), dub con in the beginning if you squint, spanking, reader orgasms from clit stimulation, praying while being spanked and stimulated, praise, pet names, some aftercare, maybe ooc Negan, not proof read

You step into the makeshift confessional booth in The Sanctuary. A couple of priests being here, one of them Catholic, has helped you retain your faith throughout this hell on earth. You shut the door and make yourself comfortable. 

“Forgive me father, for I have sinned.” You say, waiting for a reply, but you don’t get one. You can see the priest on the other side of the booth, but you decide to go on with it anyway, you need to get this off your chest. “I’ve sinned minorly and one sin that I think is bigger. A couple of days ago I stole a needle and thread from a bunkmate of mine to sew back up a sweater I have.” You pause, waiting for any kind of reply, but you don’t get one. You sigh and keep going. “Then about a week ago I lied and said I don’t have any experience watching children when I do. I only said that because I knew I was in no place to watch over someone else’s child at that time.” 

You pause again, moving a hand up to the cross necklace around your neck. You shut your eyes and continue on. “I spoke back to someone in a position above me. I apologized and they forgave me. I purposefully avoided some people because I didn’t want to speak to them, and I um…I’ve been having some very sinful thoughts.” You say, pressing your lips together tightly. You sit in silence with the priest on the other side of the confessional.

“What kind of sinful thoughts?” Your eyes quickly open and you know that the other person in the booth isn’t the Catholic priest here, it’s Negan. You feel your body get frozen with fear. Your hand grips your necklace tighter as you bite the inside of your cheek. “Don’t keep me waiting now.” He says in a bit of a playful tone, but all you can hear is how his voice has boomed before. You take a deep, shaking breath before you continue. 

“There’s a man here. His name is Warren. He’s an older man, barely old enough to be my father. He’s been very kind to me since we’ve met and I um…I’ve been having thoughts of what it would be like to kiss him. Thoughts of what it would be like to have him touch me in pleasurable areas. I um…” You hesitate. Knowing that the man who’s basically a god of his own here is listening, it's hard to find the right words. 

“You what? Come on now darlin’ don’t leave me hangin’.” He says in that same playful tone. You can tell he’s smirking behind that wall, getting aroused by your words. The problem is, you’re getting turned on too. You swallow hard against a lump in your throat and you speak. 

“I touched myself to the thought of him. I um…I had an orgasm too. I just couldn’t stop myself. It felt so good and those thoughts of him made me keep going.” You hang your head a bit lower as you hear him chuckle. After a brief silence he speaks again. 

“I know what you need. Now, you’re going to say five “Hail Mary’s”. But you’re going to have to finish them while I give you a bit of corporal punishment of my own.”  He chuckles again and you feel your face flush pink. The thought of him spanking you gets you wet and oh lord you’re biting your bottom lip to keep in your excitement at the thought of that. “Now, you’re going to come out of the booth and walk with me to a better place for this to happen. Somewhere private.” 

“Yes sir.” You say, slowly standing up as you fidget with your hands. It feels like eternities as you open your door and step out of the booth. Soon you’re looking up at Negan from where he stands. He’s got a huge grin on his face as he grips his bat, Lucile in one of his hands. He takes his other hand and firmly grabs your bicep. 

“God can forgive you for this, you’ve just got to take your punishment.” He says with that wide grin on his face as he leads you out of the makeshift church. You walk with him down the hallways and up some stairs, getting curious glances from people passing by as you try and hide your own growing excitement at what’s to come. 

Soon Negan takes you into a room with a couple long folding tables lined up together. You can assume this is a meeting room. 

“Now, bend over the table in whatever way you please and drop your pants.” He says, his tone teasing and excited as you do as you’re told. You hear him lock the door as you undo your belt and drop your pants and underwear, feeling the air hit your wet cunt and throbbing clit. You bite your bottom lip as you feel his gloved hand run over your bare ass. He sets Lucile down on the table next to you and he speaks. “Five Hail Mary’s. Remember that.” You stay silent, biting your bottom lip before he delivers a small smack on your rear, making you squeak and jump slightly. 

“Hail Mary, full of Grace, the lord is with thee.” You say as he rubs his hand over your ass before spanking it again, this time a bit harder in a deliciously painful way. You jerk slightly with the shock and pain but you continue on. “Blessed art thou amongst women-” He spanks you again, making you let out a soft noise and jerk again, “And blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.” 

“You’re doing so good for me darlin’. Keep going you’re almost done with the first one.” He says in a sweetly mocking tone as he spanks you again, getting another jerk and moan from you before you continue on. 

“Holy Mary, Mother of God-” Another spank, this time you don’t jerk but you bite your bottom lip and moan before you go on. “Pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of our death. Amen.” He delivers another spank and you moan again. Negan starts to rub your pink rear.

“Oh you’re being so good for me. So obedient. Now, keep going.” He says, spanking you again, this time a bit harder. You moan louder at the harder spank and you shut your eyes before continuing. 

“Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord it with thee.” He spanks you again, at that same, harder rate and you moan, taking a breath before you continue. “Blessed art thou among-” Another spank, “women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.” He spanks you again and you whine out in pleasure at the perfectly painful sensation. “Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us-” Negan spanks you again, your hips buck forwards and he quickly pulls them back. 

“Come on now, be good for me. Be good for God.” He says in that same teasing tone before you continue. 

“Sinners now, and at the hour of our death, amen.” He spanks you again before rubbing your bright red ass. You feel your clit throbbing as your slit grows wetter and wetter. “Hail Mary-” You can’t even get the third word out before he spanks you harder than before, earning a loud, gasping moan from your mouth before you’re able to recover and continue. “Full of grace, the lord is with the.” Another deliciously painful spank hits your red ass and you moan again. “Blessed art thou among women-” Another spank and you’re barely able to take how turned on you are, your poor clit is throbbing at how badly it needs to be rubbed. “And blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray-” This spank hits you right in a sweet spot and your knees bend down as you moan loud and long. 

“Do you need to stop?” Negan asks, that smug tone wearing off a bit as he grips your hips and helps you stand. You shake your head and moan again, biting your bottom lip before you continue. 

“I’m fine. Pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of our death. Amen.” Negan spanks you again, but this time it’s softer. You rest your entire upper body against the table as Negan starts to rub your aching, red, rear. You take a deep breath and continue on, only two more to go. “Hail Mary full of grace, the lord is with the.” As you continue on he just keeps rubbing your rear, his hand slowly moving towards your cunt. “Blessed art thou among women, and blesses is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.” You take another deep breath and moan as he starts to rub your aching clit. You start to grind against his fingers as you pant out the last of your fourth prayer. “Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death, Amen.” 

Negan chuckles as you grind against his fingers on your clit. He leans down and whispers in your ear. “One more to go darlin’. Now Once you finish this last Hail Mary, I’m going to let you cum. How does that sound?” He asks in a smug, husky tone. You bite your bottom lip so hard you swear it’s going to bleed but you nod your head. You take a deep breath and start your final Hail Mary. 

“Hail Mary…full of grace…the Lord is with the.” You say, your tone getting shakier and your words spaced apart as you feel him rub your clit in the perfect way. “Blessed…Blessed art thou among women, and…blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.” You’re basically moaning the words now as he keeps rubbing your clit perfectly. “Holy Mary…Mother…Mother of God…Pray for us sinners, now and…at the hour of our death, Amen.” You finish, your hips moving with his fingers as you feel your orgasm getting closer.

“Oh yes honey. God has forgiven you now.” Negan says, his pleasure evident in his tone as he keeps rubbing your clit at the perfect pace, almost like he knows exactly how to make you cum. 

“Oh Negan please~” You moan, your fingers trying to grip the plastic table you’re laying on top of as your body gets overtaken with pleasure. You pant and moan as your orgasm finally comes. You raise up your hips and you hold your breath as he keeps rubbing your clit, making you ride out your orgasm. Once you’re breathing again he moves his hand out of between your legs and he goes back to rubbing your sore ass. 

“You did such a good job darlin’.” He says, his tone still smug but you can tell he’s trying to sound more genuine. “Now, I’m going to get you set up in a room of your own. It’ll be small, but I promise ya that this won’t be the last time you’ll be cumming because of me.” He says with a chuckle, that smug, teasing persona coming back. “Now your pretty little ass is going to be sore for quite a while. So I think you should let me take you back to that room so I can properly help you recover.” You know that it’s not an offer. But lord if you knew that getting in Negan’s good graces would get you your own room you would’ve done this a lot sooner. 

“Thank you. I appreciate this.” You say, pulling your pants back up, carefully doing your belt and turning to face him again. He wraps an arm around your waist and he walks you out of the little conference room. You wonder what other benefits you’re going to get from going to him for your confession. 

[spicymalepolls]

ROUND THREE: POLL #2 - Semifinals

ROUND 3 ALL POLLS [HERE]

PROPAGANDA BELOW

🔞 18 + Content Ahead 🔞

Shen Qingqiu/Yuan:

*Warning! Light spoilers for the entire book!*

There are canonical, in-world, ooc hardcore rpf porn of him and his husband written by other characters, heavily featuring how sexy and domninatable he is. Shen Qingqiu has his chest stripped, causing his love interests gay awakening, his clothes torn sexily when in prison, his clothes torn and his waist caressed under house arrest, had the narrative interrupt his 'I must look like an old man' inner monolog to say he was looking fine as hell, and had an evil alternate version of his husband try to sleep with him despite looking just like that guy's childhood abuser.

Shen Qingqiu is also described as having a fat ass and long sexy legs in the explicit extras.

Image #1 (Rule 34)

Image #2 (Rule 34)

Olivine:

He's a guy from a BL porn gacha, so he quite literally exists to be lewded. Facts about him that make me feral:

- he's a big titted priest with nipple piercings, and it's all but stated that he pierced himself

- you see the outfit in the back in the official art? that's his formal preaching outfit. he preaches in that. not all the time, but that's because the outfit is, in his words, too formal.

- is a masochist. NuCa is one of those gachas that has damaged clothes portraits when characters take damage in battle, and in every single one of his variants, he has an ahegao in the max damage portrait. in all but one variant he has heart eyes with that ahegao. I have chosen my favorite from many choices to include in the image propaganda.

- one of his home screen lines is thinking out loud about how he's heard that having a dick piercing feels good, but then he realizes he's talking out loud and goes "ah! never mind, you didn't hear that..." it's adorable.

- has a scene where he gives a tit job, and cums just from giving said tit job. it was his first time giving a tit job and apparently he has a natural talent for it, and got turned on when he was praised for this.

- and also he loves sucking cock.

- and also loves being creampied.

- one time he fucked in a confessional booth. has a lot of public sex scenes, actually. he's also into exhibitionism.

I know he's going to immediately get swept because NuCa isn't /that/ well known as a game but like. Look at him. He's so submissive and breedable and incredibly lewdable

Image #1 (Official Art)

Image #2 (Danbooru)

Image #3 (Twitter)

Image #4 (Twitter)

Image #5 (Twitter)

[quantumripple]

Figured it might be neat to give post-mortems of fics I’ve written (in no particular order)

Gonna call this Quantum’s Post-Moretem Mondays even though I’m almost certain I’m never going to post this again on a Monday (work was just suuuuper slow)

So to start off we’ve got Pen Pals: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51609454

Premise: in early 2010 Taylor and Sveta become pen pals (hence the name).

Very much the definition of a rarepair since there’s only one other Taylor/Sveta fic that I’m aware of and it’s not even tagged.

And honestly hot take: the reason it’s a rarepair is that it lowkey just does not work as a ship. Taylor and Sveta are just not compatible, Taylor is far too… her. Sveta deserves better honestly.

What I like about the fic:

The bits of humour always blindside me when I do a reread. This one definitely leans on the sort of online humour you sometimes get with lesbians. Particularly the meme of two girls commiserating you each other that they “wish they could get a gf frfr”

I also just stole some funny bits from worm and adapted them but idk if I should count those bc they were just yoinked from worm.

I’m pretty proud of the background plot that’s happening in the fic. It’s pretty fun to explore those through only the lens of texts between two people. Things diverge a little bit and we end up with Echidna happening early, but the fight goes a lot differently. Ends up being a much longer fight/conflict but upside is case 53 stuff didn’t get leaked. Taylor eventually ended it by tag-teaming with a few heroes, getting the right power combo. S9 shows up after and a while after they’re there Amy takes Victoria. Taylor, thinking the s9 did it went on the warpath, she broke into the prt hq and stole the Bakuda bombs which she used to take out a few members before she found Amy and Victoria, made Amy fix her, then just fully executed her.

What I don’t like:

Taylor is extremely out of character. She’s too like… it’s hard to explain but she’s too cutesy, or dorky in a way that doesn’t really fit with how she is in canon. Triple especially anytime they’re discussing feelings. Honestly the only parts of her that feels in character is latter on in the fic when it starts getting into the broader hero plot stuff.

Sveta is also pretty ooc but not quite as bad as Taylor. She’s a hard character to write because while yea she’s got a lot going on at the end of the day she’s just a really nice person and that’s hard to write out unless you want something super fluffy.

And speaking of: the fic is just way too fluffy for my tastes these days. Like I had to skim the final scene where they’re being all sappy and confessional bc it made me feel ill lmao.

What I would do if I were to redo/re-explore:

Honestly this might be one of my few fics where I’d just cop it and say that it kinda doesn’t work conceptually. Taylor and Sveta just aren’t really compatible without changing one or the other.

Honestly if I were returning to it I’d probably drop Sveta (sorry) and actually just focus on the Brockton Bay plot stuff. So it’d be Taylor joining the wards, getting frustrated and then leaving and teaming up w Victoria and the focus is more in them becoming friends. And the other changes with Echidna and the s9 could be fun to explore.

Or alternatively I keep Sveta and lean into the doomed nature of the relationship, have it be a much more deep exploration of their characters and how they could interact. Follow Sveta as she makes an online friend but slowly realise that this friend of hers is weirdly violent as a cape. Have that introduce a lot more friction with Sveta judging Taylors methods more and more and Taylor just getting really defensive etc. and like…. It wouldn’t even need to have a bad ending per se. It would just be them realising that they’re really not compatible and that getting this invested in each other was a bad idea. Or the super good ending where Sveta comes around to Taylor’s way of thinking and they wage bloody war against evil, that could also be p fun. And not entirely impossible especially if Taylor is literally Svetas only friend.

Final thoughts:

This is one of those fics that still gets the odd random comment on ao3 which makes me remember it more often than other fics despite the fact that I don’t really have much to say/think about the fic beyond what I’ve already thrown up. It sits in my mind as a firm “basically ok, has its moments”

Curious to know what others think of it because honestly I barely do. I think I just picked it bc it was one of my shorter fics and sfw so I could read it between waiting for stuff to happen at work.

[roykleinberg]

Unpopular Tron opinion: Dyson is waaay less interesting in canon than the fandom makes him out to be. 🤷‍♂️

(I elaborated on this but changed my mind and cut three paragraphs lol)

tron confessional with moss

ohoh see now this is a Hot Take

and one that I don’t necessarily disagree with

I’ve said before and I’ll say again that I have gripes with Uprising, and unfortunately I think a good number of them come down to the fact that it’s an unfinished narrative. I really didn’t feel like the characters started to gel in an interesting way until post-Scars, and then the rug got pulled out from under us. so many plot threads and character development pieces never came to fruition — and I think that can definitely be felt with Dyson. it’s natural for any fandom to expand on characters well past their canon, especially in situations where things were cut and opportunities for canonical development were lost. I clearly have side character brainrot so I can’t really judge lol

but regarding Dyson specifically. hmm. yeahhhh. he seemed relatively one note in the show to me, honestly more so than Clu even — and there’s a sidebar discussion to be had there, because my tangential unpopular opinion is that I think Uprising took away from Clu as a character by having so many secondary villains. I liked the Argon antagonist trio a lot, but Dyson’s presence specifically removed some of the personal edge that made Clu’s whole deal interesting to me in the first place. by having Dyson be Tron’s bestie that turned on him and tortured him while Clu was kinda just. there. it squashed a lot of the tension between Tron and Clu, because I always felt like Tron’s repurposing was another deeply personal middle finger at Flynn — and foisting that process (or at least the start of it) off on Dyson just didn’t hit the same for me

and other than that there’s just never been anything super compelling about Dyson to me personally. or at least there’s nothing particularly unique about him? Cyrus also turned on Tron and whatever was wrong with him was way more interesting. Paige was a willing Occupation participant based on anti-ISO lies and was again more interesting to me. Dyson apparently just has a massive shift to fantasy racism after a single incident, and then proceeds to become an evil cop about it — without any of the nuance that Paige had

one other additional point that ties into this a bit but also my general why does everyone hate Flynn sentiments — it drives me up a wall that no one acknowledges that one of Flynn’s biggest dickhead moments, when he brushes Dyson off after the riot, comes entirely from a flashback from Dyson’s perspective. and based on his feelings and present day loyalties I don’t think we have any reason to believe he’s a reliable narrator, or that his memory of that interaction isn’t tainted by super obvious biases. Flynn clearly wasn’t perfect, but I’ve always side eyed that scene for being a little ooc based on who was recounting it

but like I said, I do wonder if a second season would’ve added more to Dyson, and I don’t suppose we’ll ever know :’) also please come back with your paragraphs I would always love to hear More Thoughts

[sydney-the-faithful]

Welcome to my blog!

Hello! I'm Sydney, it's a pleasure to meet you :) I started this account mainly to scroll & look around, but it seems to have been passed around school as a "good way to contact me"? Um. With my busy schedule, I don't post as much as I'd like to, but feel free to send a message!

I'm a library assistant & spend most of my time out-of-school either at the temple, or helping my father with his shop. When I'm able to find free time, I like to hear people discuss books and share aesthetic photo posts on here :) It isn't often, but it's a joy nonetheless. You know what they say, "There's no rest for the pious!" ^^

P.S.: (Because I've been getting asks about it...) Please, don't send me messages complaining about your books being overdue. You know the rules, there's really nothing I can do about it unless you want to get the headmaster involved.

Thanks!

Main Tags for Organization: #sydney_speaks — All of my thoughts in one place! ((1st person POV. In-character responses. Sydney replies/makes the posts.)

#sydney_scenarios — ((3rd person POV. Allows scenarios, highlights in-person rp scenes instead of having Sydney solely communicate through Tumblr. Also, gives a more in-depth view of their thoughts/feelings/actions.))

#personal — About me! Deeper, more interpersonal thoughts & feelings.

#recommended to me — Books, poems, songs & other pieces of media that I've been requested to check out :)

#library inquiries — For those too shy to talk to me in person, I suppose.

#+love — ((+Lust?)) Posts that I find endearing <3

#+corruption — A stockpile of suggestive posts that are sorted for later to be discussed in the confessional. ...Or ignored entirely. #destructive confessions — Categorizes my more... depraved anons? Mostly those who want to be harmed/harm me.

#((ooc)) — ((out of character. Thoughts, ramblings, & account updates from yours truly!))

More out-of-character info under the cut! Please read!

This is a roleplay blog run by @macabrecravings! The character I write for is Sydney the Faithful from Degrees of Lewdity. Please DNI if you are under 18!

Mainly, I run this blog as masc Sydney but absolutely feel free to refer to them as any gender w/ any body parts. Doesn't matter much to me, I'm just here to have a silly time writing for them!

Starting off, I intend to portray faithful Sydney, if y'all end up corrupting them that would be really fun to see :P

You can roleplay in any style! Whether that be plainly asking them questions to answer, sending in full fledged scenarios/traditonal roleplay, etc. I'll gladly take them all and reply as best I can!

Some responses may be ooc, but I'll try my best! This is just a random blog anyway, don't take it too seriously. Not trying to overwrite canon here, LOL.

If I'm uncomfortable with a certain ask, I'll most likely just delete or ignore it! So, be free! Send whatever! You'll never know unless you try :D

*OC/In character interactions are open and encouraged!!

(Last edited: April 3th, 2024.)

[the-devil-less-known]

Gonna eat and take a short nap, then I'll reply to all threads! Gonna see if my laptop will cooperate for once enough for me to trim threads, if not then I'll make new ones with links back and @ the appropriate rpbuddies🤍

Thank you for your patience, lovelies

[fiirstnephalem]

primordialchoice asked: When I first came across your blog, my first thought while skimming it was that Sima radiated a commanding presence in her witty responses. It intrigued me that she is a combination of darkness and light. I don't know her yet very well outside of your replies, your bio and verses, but I feel how warm she is from the way she has extended a home to so many people.

OOC. You've no idea how much this means to me, honestly. Sima's someone that I've built up from nothing more than being "Phenex's big sister" and she's been the result currently, of four years of development. I'd say that she was my "baby", well, she's one of them, I have many but Sima and Phenex are my most. Honestly, I am so glad that she gives that vibe and presence. She very much is someone who, despite the darkness inside of her, wants to do nothing more than spread light and warmth and be that caring mother figure in people's lives. I hope that she continues to be someone that you enjoy writing with and getting to know more of.

@primordialchoice SOMETHING ABOUT MY PORTRAYAL / ACCEPTING

[popstart]

i really hate how much Mk got the accessorizing treatment. It's like the worst thing fandoms do when they boil down a character only to the relationship they have with another character (ESPECIALLY female characters being boiled down to their relationships), but It's not even a fandom thing because that's quite literally just what happened to Mk in the show. She was just turned into a dog in a purse for Julia to carry around then unceremoniously drop for no apparent reason and barely talk about again. They treat each other as equals but the show so heavily favoritizes Julia It's actually laughable that their dynamic is supposed to be seen as equal.

There's only a few times Mk does something on her own or leads Julia in something and It's only really done when Julia prompts it. Even in season 1 where they did not like each other, Mk is still just a catalyst for Julia in literally every single way. It's infuriating because Mk is a character type we've never really had in the show before which makes her by default more interesting, but she never is able to actually be a character. I imagine her status as a unique character is her downfall. the writers just didn't know how to use her so they just didn't

and I'm not even saying Julia and heather are the exact same character. they're not. they're different. But it would be like if Alejandro's sole purpose and motivation in life was to be with heather. or to be just a male heather. Sure a lot of his character is tied with heather, but they compliment each other. Alejandro has his own ideas he executes far removed from anything heather does. He doesn't let heather just boss him around without a fight. he doesn't follow literally everything heather does just bc he likes her. he has agency outside of her

Conversely, every single aspect of Mk is tied to Julia in some way. In season 1 she uses JULIAS phone to find the secret confessionals which she uses to rat out JULIA to the other players so JULIA will get eliminated but in the end JULIA eliminates her.

In season 2 they IMMEDIATELY team up despite their previous feuding.(tangent but this has always been wildly ooc to me. Julia and Mk are the type to both hold grudges. Julias a massive dick all the time because literally everyone is annoying to her and Mk was so pissed at Julia in s1 for calling her some dumbass childish insult that she wanted to get rid of her for that reason alone. these girls are PETTTYYY.) After resolving literally 0 of their issues with each other, Julia all of a sudden just gets to boss around Mk into doing everything for or with her even though Mk is far from the type to give in to what people want her to do or think of her. but whatever. they're just bffsies now and Mk has 0 bite because It's Julia and her whole life is just Julia

It's just so awful how Mk is treated especially in comparison to the white girl that's constantly parading her around. Sure it can work sometimes. I'm not saying that none of what happened in the show should have happened, I'm just saying the lack of balance is staggering. Mk is treated like a henchman to Julia instead of them being equals in cahoots with the same goal. Mk is so far removed from being her own character or being unique and s2 suffers so damn bad for it.

Sure, some characters are codependent (Katie and Sadie) but Mk and Julia are not Katie and Sadie lol. It's not a fair comparison. I feel like even Wayne and Raj were less codependent on each other from a narrative perspective. They have a lot of screen time together and they make a lot of decisions together, but I'd more say they come up with the same ideas separately then high five each other about having the same idea bc that's just how they are. neither of them boss each other around all the goddamn time, and there's no favoritism from the writers on who comes up with what and who does what to deviate from being a pair. they're a pair and they work together a lot, but they're distinct characters. Mk is always just Mk and Julia. Julia can just be Julia but Mk has to be Mk and Julia

[soulsisterif]

Progress Update

Ooops, it's been a while, hasn't it? Time flies when you have to deal with the consequences of your poor decision-making skills. But I digress.

Last week was a bit of a mess IRL, and I also had to work on my "day off", meaning I didn't have the time or energy to post here. I did, however, keep working on the game so let's see what's new:

• Customization is the thing that took most of my time this week. You can now select your skin tone, eye and hair colour, hair-length, favourite and least favourite trait, and whether or not you wear glasses.

You can also select your job. I tried to add a little bit of everything, but if you got any suggestions I'm open to them.

• Lots of new flavour text throughout the game. Age, height, shy/bold, emotional/chill... You can find different scenes and reactions depending on those.

• I made the Shy/bold and Chill/Emotional stats a little more permanent than the rest, in the sense that there will be less choices to increase or decrease those two than the others. Since they're the most important in the way the romances develop you'll chose at the beginning of the game how your MC usually behaves and then the writing will reflect that, though the Chill/Emotional will be expressed more with inner dialogue and in the MC's confessionals than in actual interactions, particularly if you choose to play a Phlegmatic MC.

I think that's the best way to get a fairly consistent character portrayal. You can still choose bold options with a shy MC, or to have an emotional outburst with a Chill MC, but they'll be treated as an OOC reaction, as they would in real life. And, of course, you can still choose your individual dynamic with an RO.

• I added achievements. Just for fun. As of now, though, I don't think you can get any of them in this first chapter so maybe I'll just keep them hidden until they're available. Some are kinky, by the by.

• There are now saving slots available. Use them wisely. Or not

¯_(ツ)_/¯

• The scene where Dawn explains the basis of the show and what you, as contestants, can expect. About this, I'd like to ask you all about what you want to see but I'd rather talk about it in more detail, so I'll try to write a post tomorrow and find out what you'd like. If not tomorrow, I'm off on Wednesday, so, see you then.

(There will probably be a poll. You're probably sick of those, I'm sorry!)

Also, I have a few asks unanswered. Whoever sent them, know I'll try to get to them next week. I'm excited to have been asked my first "Tumblr classic" XDDDD

[papa-terzos-confession-booth]

Hello welcome to my confessional booth

I will have some rules

I am a Mdni account as I’m guessing you all will confess…some interesting things and I urge you to

I have the right to refuse to answer/ignore anyone I see fit

Other than that have fun lovely’s

——-

||ooc section||

Hello! I decided to open this up for a more nsfw part and I’ve seen people want an terzo account so have at. Please don’t be here if ur a minor I will not interact with you on this account as it’s sexual in nature. Go to my more (not completely) sfw accounts please💜 ( @ask-aether-ghoul ) this page is a bit of a work in progress look out for some minor changes if anything major happens I’ll make a post

💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

[nyxronomicon]

nyx!!! baby hi, how are you today? do you have plans for today? i brought you fresh cut flowers from my garden btw 𓍢ִ໋🌷

omg venecia my love <3 <3 I am putting these beautiful flowers in a vase on my desk omg they smell so nice <3 <3

FUNNY YOU SEND THIS ASK AT THIS MOMENT BTW because i'm literally about to post the next chapter of salvation after getting stuck on it for ages. but since you're here...

the reason I was stuck so long is bc I had gotten an idea for confessional sex w reader and Geto where they needed someone to occupy the other half of the confessional... so Choso was going to cuck in there. This popped into my head when I was writing the last part and I tried so hard to make it work but it was just clunky and ooc so I had to scrap it.

anyway pour one out for the magnum opus of cucking scenes... I might write it later anyway as porn without plot tho lol.