#sacrilegious project

[sacrivn]

Sacrilegious has received a minor update!

New files are available to download on itch.io, profile can be found on the pinned post ^^

The new update includes a timeline change, a little message at the end, and the new streamer mode to make it safe to stream/make videos about!

[moth-apocalypse]

I'm so conflicted I have a writing project I really wanna do... but I'm worried I'll abandon my current writing thing if I do... sobs. The consequences of Too Many Ideas.

[mvncesa]

dare I say … that eskel would be julian’s favorite in any sort of witcher verse

[sacrilegious-skeletal-scribe]

hey shitbag

Feeling good in your fingernails? Do they fit the caps of your hands? Congratulations, I’m happy everything fits the way it’s supposed to, month late returns are a hassle on both ends of the phone line.

I’m very tired, but I wanted to say hello from either side of the mirror I should’ve thrown out years ago, but now it’s been hanging off my septum so long i wouldn’t know what to do without it. What’s the turnaround time for a lie you forgot you were telling? 

Regardless, I hope January hasn’t been treating you too unkindly, and that my weird little brain worms dance in a way that make yours go, ‘What the fuck are they doing, get back in containment dickheads, the floor supervisor’s gonna notice.’

The last few months have been somewhat hectic, and coming out the other side of the cosmos blender always leaves my center of gravity somewhere against my ears. I’ve been shaking it down to somewhere reasonable, I’m thinking my right lung, but the interim always leaves doubt and half-measures gumming up the helix gears. 

Making art about making art is, not too niche, but feels like the worst child of self-congratulations and impostor syndrome, and that’s ground I’ve already spilled the kool-aid on but… Dripping candle wax onto parchment paper about the physical ways it affects you, from mistreating your hands to mistreating your sleep, your food intake, the emotional stakes of picking up a fountain pen and expressing yourself regardless of vagary, obfuscation, and letting anyone see it.

It’s one thing to be insulted online, but the stakes feel higher because oh, god, what if they’re right?

And even that feels too open, it’s not a cyclical argument, it’s just compounded into itself, and maybe this is the wrong fear to have, consider our range of soul eating anxieties, ‘cause the center of the tootsie-pop is only downhill from here—

And sometimes, you idiots are the nicest people my art’s ever seen, you’re certainly kinder to it than I am, and when a stranger, someone who has no reason to give me half a second of their day gives up a minute, or three, or five, just to read something I wrote! 

Well. Nobody plays games just to see the end credits.

[vavoom-sorted-art]

Cranking up the heat - Part 23 (+interlude)!

the boys needed a break, but that doesn't mean you do: that's right! TWO new chapters are waiting for you down below, written by the lovely @ukcalico!

He flexes his wings and feels a jolt of demonic energy crackle through them, latent power unfurling, striking him pleasantly between the shoulder-blades. His skin prickles as the energy washes through him, a feeling not unlike the warm shudder that follows knocking back a decent swig of single malt. A sacrilegious act, Aziraphale would call that.  Try this for a sacrilegious act...

tagging @goodomensafterdark

[witheredoffherwitch]

I'm gonna get roasted for this, but it's hilarious how some fans are acting like George R. R. Martin is some fragile flower that needs to be protected from the sacrilegious beats running their favourite dragon show. He's literally a co-producer who has his hands all over this project. He probably gets a private screening of each episode while we peasants have to wait for airing - and let's not forget, he's making bank off of this multi-million dollar project just like everyone else involved.

But of course, the book purists are the ones throwing fits over the changes while the regular viewers, by all accounts, seem to be loving it!

[01zfan]

human like me | l. sh

sohee x fem reader | 7k words

last installment of the sacrilegious series WHO ELSE THOUGHT I’D NEVER FINISH IT? seriously though, thank you guys so much for your patience and for supporting this series i love every single one of you guys. also sorry for this being different than the summary on the masterlist it was too similar to umf so i changed it. this is also definitely my saddest work but religious is sad to me so it works.

contains: MAJOR character death, depictions of depression, implied virginity loss, cheating (???), kinda a dark fic but in like a very sad way (???)

sacrilegious materlist

sohee was always in your life. you believed that even before you met him he existed in your orbit, passing by you constantly but never colliding. he was shrouded in mystery but he felt familiar, like you had seen his face in the mass of people when your eyes would wander during service. when he came to introduce himself as the new student in your class, you tilted your head, trying to remember where you’d seen him from. the answer was so close yet so far away. you tapped your thigh and tongued your cheek, a habit of yours when you felt bible verses caught on the tip of your tongue. 

although everything about sohee felt familiar it was the smell of him that rang the most bells in your mind. when he came in close to shake your hand it was like you were taken back to a time in your life where you felt at peace. it happened so suddenly, one moment you were confused the next you knew everything. your olfactory neurons were firing off a storm, transporting you somewhere when sohee came close. you lingered for a second too long when you came close to him, closing your eyes to try and remember where you were.

when you finally pulled back from sohee he looked confused but not afraid of you. he had big expressive eyes, ones that were a clear indicator down the road that this was his first life. when you apologized and pulled away he told you it was okay, hesitating a moment before asking you if he smelled bad.

“no” you shook your head instantly “you just smell familiar.” you said.

sohee smiled and you smiled back. when he turned his head you counted the moles that dotted on his cheek. something in you knew the number, counting them over and over again to see if you were right.

“is that a good thing?” sohee asked when he turned back to you. “that i smell familiar?”

he pinched the fabric of his shirt and move his head to his shoulder to smell it. you groaned inwardly at another failed attempt to socialize with your peers. too many times you ended up embarrassing yourself or saying something that could be taken as an insult to the person you were talking to. but when sohee was done smelling his shirt he didn’t look annoyed or perturbed by your comment. instead, he leaned forward to you and took a large whiff, as if he was trying to be as loud as possible. your classmates turned to look at the two of you in the back of the class. sohee didn’t seem to notice the confused people looking at the two of you.

“you smell good.” sohee took another sniff, rolling his eyes up to his head like he was thinking. “is this how i’m supposed to greet people?” he said.

when you laughed at his question all of your classmates stared at the two of you again. your laugh felt foreign almost, you were so used to hushed laughs to yourself during boring parts in sermons when your mind would wander. sohee’s eyebrows raised before he laughed along with you.

ever since that day sohee stuck close to you and you stuck closer to him. he had become the weird kid in the school and you were the silent one, reputations that stuck like a second skin to the both of you. it was a match made in heaven.

you remained friends throughout school, both of you helping eachother through the late nights of worship and bible study. you became partners for every project and seat mates in every class after your reputations for being different ran through the school like wildfire.

you remember at graduation recalling the irony in how quickly you and sohee were judged for being different. from the outside looking in, you would’ve never known that your catholic classmates had a tendency to judge and alienate those who were different. kids who had been preached the teachings of the bible before they could walk were the most self-righteous. they thought it was their prerogative to isolate the ones who didn’t fit into their cookie cutter mold. you were all smacked with rulers to instill the fear of god and his gospel in your young impressionable minds, but even after a lifetime of teaching people could still become hypocrites. 

even if you had become okay with your reputation, you still felt a stone in your throat after everyone threw their caps in the air. it seemed like before everything touched the ground everyone was gone. people left in their cliques that were formed long ago. after the ceremony you found sohee and you two roamed the school grounds like ghosts. it was strange, sticking around the place where you guys were bullied while everyone else left to the next chapter of their lives. when the moon was high in the sky you guys found yourself at the playground, recalling all of the awful things that happened to the two of you at the hands of your peers.

“to hell with them.” 

sohee said it loud and proud as you guys sat on the swings you never got the chance to play on. when you heard the words fall from his mouth you gasped, feet digging into the wood chips to stop the little momentum you had. sohee was still in his seat, only rocking back and forth on his feet. he turned to you with a smile on his face, cheek pressed to the uncoated swing chain.

“i’m serious. they were awful to us.” sohee said.

he looked up to the moon and you did too. something inside of you wanted to agree, to say to hell with all of them. but you couldn’t. you shook your head and turned to sohee, heart beating in your chest as you thought of everything coming to an end.

“one day, they’ll realize what they did was wrong.” you said.

even if you sounded so sure, sohee still scoffed. his head looked down at his feet now as he kicked woodchips around.

“i doubt it.” sohee murmured under his breath.

you let out a sigh, trying to let the need for an apology fall from your shoulders.

“thessalonians 5:18” you say.

instantly sohee beside you groans and tips his head back in the narrow swing seat. you laugh and start spinning in the seat to twist the chains.

“i hate when you quote bible ve—.” sohee complained.

“give thanks in all circumstance; for this is the will of god in christ jesus for you.” you interrupt. 

sohee makes sounds of anguish the whole time you quote the verse, and you mockingly increase your voice to be over his. when you’re done you let the chain of the swing untwist.

“and what should we be grateful for in this situation?” sohee asked.

“i met you.” when sohee turned in his seat you suddenly felt nervous. you maintained eye contact, counting his moles over and over again to try and steady yourself. “i’m pretty grateful for that.” you say.

for a moment, it’s just you and sohee staring at eachother. the moonlight shines on your faces, and you both grip the stiff tops of your graduation caps to ease your nerves. even if your outside you suddenly feel suffocated. sohee breaks away from your gaze first, clearing his throat and looking forward at the jungle gym.

“i’m grateful too.” sohee said.

a smile came across his face when he let one of his hands drop away from the chain of the swing. he was subtle as he slowly moved his swing sideways to get closer to you. his hand was still in the space between your two bodies when you let your hand drop as well. it was slow, both of your heads tilted towards the night sky while your fingers found eachother. it was a gentle touch then a tight squeeze as you two held hands. any attempt to look at eachother was futile, the both of you were nervous messes while your fingers intertwined. suddenly you didn’t care about the graduation parties you weren’t invited to, or the events you were excluded from—you had sohee and you had god. both were two constants in your life, both made you feel safe, and both were on your mind constantly. 

when you started thinking about sohee more than you thought about god, you knew something was amiss. it happened suddenly, weeks after you guys silently held hands underneath the moonlight. you both were kneeled at the altar with lowered heads as you murmured prayers underneath your breath. when sohee looked up and you saw his head tilt back as he did the sign of the cross you focused on his bobbing adam’s apple. it was ironic, the forbidden fruit lodged in the first mans throat was the thing that first sparked your lustful thoughts. 

sohee kissed his hand at the end and stood up. you felt like your knees were glued to the floor. when sohee looked down at you, you couldn’t stop your eyes from going wide. everything about sohee was familiar, you knew him like the back of your hand after spending so much time together. but from this position of him looking down at you, everything felt new. 

the feeling that churned deep in your stomach was something you never felt before. it didn’t seem to go away, only intensify as your time with sohee continued. when he spoke to god you felt your mind wander to what he’d sound like cursing the name underneath his breath, bringing in his plush lips between his teeth. when you caught glances of sohee’s hand thumbing through pages of the bible you got lost, entranced by the way his slender fingers scanned down the pages to find what he was looking for. 

sometimes the churning hurt, it got so intense that you would almost feel pain in your bed at night. the sin was so suffocating you tossed and turned until you fell asleep—but even your dreams couldn’t give you an escape. 

you were taken to an early morning, laying in a bed with silky soft sheets. when you sat up in bed you saw thin white curtains dancing in a gentle breeze and sohee sitting behind them, their sheerness giving you a filtered view of sohee. he was always focused on something else as he sat at the table. sometimes it would be his book, sometimes it would be his phone. but it was always his lips that caught your attention first, soft and pink mouthing something you could barely make out. then your eyes would wander to his fluttering eyelashes, so visible even if your were half a room away. 

sohee’s attention would always go back to you, smile on his face as he got on the bed and crawled towards you. in the white room, reflecting purity you found yourself thinking only of the loss in innocence as you backed up to the headboard. sohee looked down at you, right in the eyes then down to your lips. your own eyes wandered too, gripping the smooth sheets in your hands as you tried to figure out what to do next. sohee’s hand was familiar, like it was a touch transcending planes of consciousness as it clasped over yours. sohee knew to lean close, so close that you felt the ghost of his lips jolt you awake.

when the dreams got to be too much, you found yourself pulling sohee away during transition time in the oratory. you pulled him away mid conversation with his new friend he made in the choir. sohee could barely mutter a sorry to anton as he followed behind you, being pulled by his hand. sohee stumbled as you continued pulling his hand to go against the mass of people. you didn’t answer sohee’s questions of where you two were going, and you didn’t stop moving until you both were cramped inside the janitors storage closet. 

sohee looked around the room, staring up at the single lightbulb that hung from the ceiling.

“is this the new prayer room?” sohee asked.

you shook your head, trying to figure out how to confess to your friend that you were sinning at the thought of him.

“sohee.” you’re serious, and sohee looks at you worried as the lightbulb above your heads sways in space. “i have sinned.” you confess.

his head tilted slightly as he tried to figure out what happened. he looked at the top of your head when you hung it in shame, gripping his hands as you tried to come up with the words to say.

“is it bad?” sohee asked quietly.

you knew now that you were being dramatic then. compared to what you ended up doing later in life, having lustful dreams about your friend wasn’t even the tip of the iceberg. but when you’re young you don’t know any better, and when you are taught about cardinal sin and damnation you think everything is absolute. so even though they were only dreams, the tears welled at your water line as you nodded your head to sohee’s question. 

“like, how bad?” sohee asked.

“cardinal.” you said simply.

sohee did a sharp intake of his breath and you went back to letting your head hang. you felt the heat start in your chest at the humiliation. no amount of repenting could save you, or take the thoughts from your mind. 

“which one?” sohee asked.

you were convinced you were cursed, even in with the gravity of the situation weighing down on you in the cramped closet your eyes still found their way to sohee’s lips. how he chewed on them as he tried to figure out what to say to you. how his eyes were wide as he looked at you. his hands that held tightly onto yours. you counted the moles on his face over and over again until you found the words, trying to shake the thought’s from your mind.

“lust.” you answered.

sohee had to strain his ear and repeat the motion of your lips a thousand times. from your whisper he almost missed it—he believed he was making it up until he mouthed the word himself. he let your word float in the cramped closer between the two of you as he tried to figure out what to say.

when he saw your head hang even deeper in shame sohee lifted your gaze by lightly shaking your shoulders. it took everything to maintain eye contact with him like this. the lightbulb that hung above your heads shined down on sohee like a ring of light above his head. he began sweating a long time ago, from being shoulder to shoulder during mass now in this tiny space where the tension felt like a thick fog. sohee had a thin layer of sweat on his forehead, and the light that caught it made him glisten. you tried to swallow your thoughts as sohee continued to look at you.

“it’s normal. to feel that way.” sohee assured.

his eyes were big as he tried to comfort you. when you shook your head he nodded his, trying to show you everything was alright. the guilt and shame ate you up inside.

“even if it’s about you?” you asked.

you swear to god that you don’t remember what happened next. all you remember was that one moment everything was still. none of the cleaning supplies moved on the shelves, the lightbulb above your heads didn’t sway from its cord. the next sohee back you into the wall with his lips on yours. teeth clashed as you knocked things down. you stumbled, almost putting your foot in a mop bucket before you greedily tried wrapping it around sohee’s waist. he held it there by a grip on your thighs, but he was no better as he failed to balance himself in the small space. he nearly fell, only held up by the grip you had on his shoulders. 

when you pulled away the swinging lightbulb illuminated parts of sohee’s face. even if his eyes were dark from lust you didn’t shy away, you only licked your lips to try and remember the taste. 

the first time sohee touched you, it was quick. both of you were so burdened by lust that clouded your judgement. it held you so tightly sometimes you felt air getting caught in your chest and the only relief was sohee sticking his hands underneath your shirt. in relation to things you two did in the years to come, it was harmless. but in that moment, both of you looked to the ceiling in the janitors closet like god was going to strike the two of you down then and there. when nothing happened, you let out a sigh of relief and stuck your own hand underneath sohee’s shirt. you were softer then compared to now. sohee was warmer then too, his skin was smooth but felt like fire underneath your fingertips. when you thought about fire you hesitated, no longer reciprocating sohee’s fast and wet kisses he placed across your face. he pulled away, eyes blown out as he looked at you with worry.

“what’s wrong?” sohee asked.

“this is wrong. god is watching.” you whispered it, like he was in the cramped janitor closet that barely had enough room for the two of you.

you were so stupid.

sohee knew you were stupid, you swear to god he knew it too. even though he put a gentle kiss to your forehead and reassuring pecks to the apples of your cheeks you think now he was mocking you. 

you didn’t take your hand away from sohee’s bare stomach, and he pressed into your yours gently. he looked up for a moment, before turning his attention back to you.

“we can just repent, yeah?” sohee asked.

you thought about it too. lust was a sin, but the feeling of sohee readjusting your leg on his waist made you believe it was worth it. you didn’t need much convincing to melt into sohee’s kisses again, to push him against the walls of the small closet until cleaning supplies fell from the sides. you were desperate but still shy, not letting your hands wander from the space of sohee’s torso. that was all you needed then, just touching his bare skin gave you enough to feel that pressure churn in your stomach. 

that’s how lust worked. it started off as a supernova, burning bright and fast, over as soon as it started. that’s why you and sohee were able to reach peaks you had never known before just by kissing and pushing eachother against walls with your hands touching bare stomachs. the two of you were moaning into the others mouth within minutes, returning to church service uncomfortable in your underwear and sweaty underneath your tunics before anyone noticed you were missing. 

in the beginning it was only touching and kissing, before the lust became unbearable and needed more to be sated. before you knew it you were pushing sohee’s hands past the waistband of your pants or up your skirt, and sohee was closing your fist around his dick with his hand as he snapped his hips forward. you had graduated from the janitors closet to prayer rooms, even sneaking away to feel eachother in the youth group meeting rooms or sohee’s bedroom when his parents weren’t home. it was risky, but that was the thing with lust, it took away your inhibitions and made you daring.

you were always lucky, after coming back from sneaking away with sohee all you had to do was sit in the pew and wait for service to be over. sohee had to sing in front of your congregation, pursing the lips that you kissed swollen with hair your carelessly mussed. he was unaffected, smiling to you in between hymns. 

you believed sohee was an angel, someone god sent down with a heavenly voice to spread his word. even when he had his hands down your pants, whispering unholy things into your ears as you came undone you thought he was an angel. with a supernatural singing ability you believed he was invincible.

you found out later that sohee was a human like you, a creature of flesh and blood that could be here one second and gone the next.

to this day you don’t know what happened. everyone kept it a secret from you, or maybe it was something your mind tuned out in efforts to protect your sanity. all you knew was that sohee looked so cold now, and you were the one looking down at him. you finally got the apologies you wanted in highschool. the people who berated you and sohee and isolated you in class came up to you with tears in their eyes.

we were young dumb kids back then.

sohee was so sweet.

we could tell your love was real.

may god protect you.

you almost laughed when you heard the name of god, but it didn’t seem appropriate to laugh anymore. when the preacher got that strange wheeze in his voice that sohee would mimic you had to bite your tongue, and after the service you almost chuckled as you tried to find a word to describe what sohee’s parents were now. what do you call a parent that lost their child?

inverse orphans?

you gripped the plate that had sohee’s favorite snacks as you held back a laugh. you watched from the corner of sohee’s living room, seeing everyone mingle and talk. you felt like sohee that night at graduation, scoffing up to the sky when you said the bible verse. there was nothing to be grateful for in this moment. you weren’t grateful to sit in the front row of mourners, sandwiched between his mother and anton. you weren’t grateful that they asked you to share a memory you had with anton, or to spare kind words. you weren’t grateful that his mom pulled you aside and sincerely thanked you for being her sons bestfriend. you weren’t grateful to stand in the same living room where you spent countless days with sohee after school, talking about the future with eachother in mind. 

to hell with them.

you adopted that mindset then and there. the shock turned to indifference and numbness in that moment while you stood in the corner of sohee’s living room. you didn’t bother saying goodbye, leaving through sohee’s window after you snuck into his room to lay in his bed. you were nosy in his space like you always were, opening drawers and wrapping his clothes around your face as you tried to recall where you remembered his scent from. you stole a black hoodie, and the red baseball cap that perpetually rested on his dresser. you snuck through sohee’s window, trying to not be seen. but as you had one leg out anton was coming in, peaking through the door like he had done countless times before. 

for a split second you saw anton’s eyes go to sohee’s bed. you followed his line of sight, almost thinking that sohee was there. you almost saw the outline of sohee’s body relaxing on his bed like you had seen so many times before. but before you could really take a look anton eyes went to you halfway out the window. 

“oh. hey.” anton said when he saw you.

you didn’t say a word to him. the only thing you did was move your body to the side when anton’s eyes drifted down to sohee’s things in your hand.

“i was wondering if—”

before anton could say anything else, you left. you swung your legs over the windowsill to the fire escape, walking down to the street. you drove in complete silence all the way home, looking to sohee’s things in your passengers seat at the stoplight.

on your way home you became increasingly numb to everything. you let yourself cry when you initially got the call, and tears fell when you saw him for the last time. but now, as you walked around your apartment you didn’t feel anything. you didn’t care about anything. 

except for that damn light. 

the reminder that the sun continued to rise everyday weighed heavy on your conscious, and the fact that your apartment had so many windows made the light virtually inescapable. in the beginning the light used to bring you life, even if you didn’t want to admit it. you didn’t want to admit that you liked waking up from the gentle sunlight coming through the windows and getting an early start to your day, or how refreshed it made you feel. you found it extremely ironic to actively deny the benefits of the sun in front of the sun itself—but sohee was no longer here to make the sun seem dim in comparison. now it was just too bright. your apartment that used to be bathed in the sun felt like it was burning you alive. 

sohee used to talk about the windows in your apartment like it was a perk, and for a while you believed him. when you signed the lease he got your sheer colorful curtains, and the sun came through the same way it came through the stained glass windows in the chapel. at first you loved it, feeling like you were always in a place of worship. but now you hated everything that reminded you of church, or anything that was connected to god. 

you didn’t want to see the light, you didn’t want to see anything related to the church anymore. god abandoned you a long time ago, if he was even real. you didn’t know if it was more upsetting—to find out god wasn’t real or if he was real and didn’t stop good people from dying or suffering. if you thought about it too much, if you were forced to see what your life had become because of the colored light filtering through your sheer curtains you would only get violent and trash something else in your apartment. so the first change you made to your apartment was buying blackout curtains. once you were done hanging up all the curtains you closed your eyes then opened them, happy to find that it almost looked the same. 

after you hung up the blackout curtains, avoiding the world became easier. you didn’t have to hide from the sun underneath pillows or your covers, and you didn’t have to worry about the sun interrupting your long periods of sleep. you didn’t have to go through the pounding headaches from sleeping for too long and you realized if it was already dark in your apartment, you didn’t have to know that life went on. the earth didn’t continue to spin in your pitch black apartment, if you didn’t check your phone the illusion of time standing still wasn’t broken. the sun never set or rose when you hung up the blackout curtains. 

the first person that saw you after everything was sohee’s bestfriend. you had heard his knocks before, and then before that as well. you didn’t know what day it was, and when you finally peaked through your door anton looked just as lost. he looked like he was already preparing to walk away, back turned to your door when you finally opened it. he turned immediately, smiling with cracked dry lips and red eyes. 

“i came by earlier.” he picked at the lid of the glass dish in his hands. “you must’ve been out.”

you are still silent behind your cracked door, not used to speaking to other people in so long. you mainly can’t focus because of the blinding light. you cough behind the door, trying to clear your throat.

before you can speak, anton holds out the meatloaf towards you like a peace offering.

“sohee’s parents came by service today and they wanted me to give this to you.” he said.

“i hate meatloaf.” you said.

when anton heard the defeat in your voice, he finally dropped the act. you saw his shoulders visibly sag, you saw him smile and his eyes drop. your eyes went to the bottom of his tie, how the fabric was darker than the rest from blotting away his tears. maybe he had the same epiphany you did about the church. it didn’t work, and the pain never goes away. anton looked up from the letter placed on top of the dish to look up at you.

“can i come in?” when you looked behind you getting ready to decline anton took a desperate step forward. “please.” he begged.

you only opened the door up a little wider, feeling like the light was infiltrating the refuge you built away from it. 

when anton squeezed through the small space, he brought you in for a tight hug. he hugged the same way he did at the wake, and you stood there frozen now the same way you did then. when it was the three of you, you always welcomed the hugs, smiling while patting his back gently. but when it was just you and anton, it felt awkward. you hugged friends with enthusiasm, but you were always apprehensive of strangers. that’s what anton was now that the reason you two met was no longer there. it felt intimate to have a stranger in your apartment just to drop off food and well wishes. you shifted on your feet and shrunk into sohee’s oversized sweater that only reeked of you now. 

anton was the only person on earth that understood sohee like you did. maybe that’s why you felt such a connection to him when he was alive. anton was the only other important person in sohee’s life, and it was something you two wore like a badge of honor. competition for sohee’s attention slowly turned into a friendly teasing and forced hangouts. anton also went through a period of isolation at the hands of his peers. after your shared trauma and shared love for sohee it only seemed logical that the three of you would become a trio. 

but now it seemed awkward and painful. anton didn’t realize it like you did at the wake, but when he pulled back from the hug you could tell he knew. he separated from you immediately and cleared his throat. anton’s anxious fingers flexed around the pyrex dish, like the food was going to save him. your hands stayed at your side while you tried not to think about what it would be like if sohee was still here. both of you would be laughing to exaggerate the awkwardness, letting your shared love for sohee overcome the tension. but the veil was lifted now, and you both knew it. 

while anton tried to navigate your shadowy apartment, you started thinking about how much in common the boy in front of you had with sohee. the two had the same dialect from growing up in the same town. they had the same affliction in their voice brought from spending so much time together, and they both had the same annoying habit of placing things to close to the edge of counters. if you closed your eyes it was almost like sohee was with you again. 

“did you hear what i said?” anton asked.

you could see him look for your face in the darkness, not finding you until you spoke.

“no. what’d you say?” you asked quietly.

“sohee’s mom wanted me to get his sheet music.” you could see the outline of anton’s arm go to scratch the back of his head. “they asked me to cover his parts temporarily.” anton said.

you could tell that anton was half expecting you to decline. you almost did, you had developed the nasty habit of hoarding anything of sohee’s you could get your hands on. the last sane part of your mind knew it was evil to withhold something from his parents, and they were already so nice to let you steal their sons clothes and keep them for yourself. so you silently walked in front of sohee—anton—to go into your room.

you actually preferred for anton to be in your bedroom. it was the only part of your apartment you bothered to keep clean. you saved all the takeout bags and trash for your kitchen, letting it rest on your counters. you dug around your room in the darkness, trying to remember where you put them. anton stood by the door, not moving until you found the folder.

“here it is.” you said. 

anton moved to you, standing by your bed as he held the folder in his hands. the two of you were silent, looking at one of the last things sohee ever touched.

“do you mind?” anton asked.

when you saw that he had looked up from the folder to look at your drawn curtain, you shook your head. you didn’t have the words to explain yourself, instead you just got on your bed to unplug your phone. anton followed you, sitting on the edge of your bed as you turned on the flashlight. both you and anton lingered on the lockscreen of your phone, a picture of sohee smiling big in his choir uniform. you saw anton next to him, unaware that you were taking a photo. before you could stay on it for too long you turned your phone off, using the flashlight to illuminate the front of the folder.

anton ran his fingers over sohee’s name written on the bottom and the little doodles beside it. he flipped through the pages, seeing sohee’s annotations and little things he scribbled off to the side. you had never seen the pages, sohee kept them close to his person during service. you remember seeing him up late at night, headphones over his ears as he made his own changes to the hymns. you thought it would only be about music, but as anton thumbed through the pages you saw little sketches of you in the corners, your initials written in heart shapes and your erased name. anton was surprised too, a tiny laugh escaping his lips as he saw everything.

“so that’s what he was doing during service.” anton said.

you knew that you should’ve found joy in sohee’s scribbles. he was thinking about you as much as you were thinking about him. you wondered if he was thinking about you while singing, when he should’ve been thinking about god. your mind started thinking about punishment when your tears started dotting the sheets of music. anton closer the folder immediately, turning to you. he said nothing, only bringing you in for a hug as you sniffled into his shoulder. 

“i’m sorry. i thought seeing that would make you feel better.” anton whispered into your shoulder.

you shook your head, finally letting your hands wrap around anton’s waist. you gripped his white button up tightly, letting the tears you didn’t know you had wet his shirt.

“it’s not fair.” your words were muffled into anton’s shirt. you felt him nod against your head, patting your back soothingly.

“he’s watching over us.” anton said unsurely.

you shook your head, going further into the comfort of the mans arms. your phone’s flashlight was pointed upwards, illuminating the space between your bodies. when you pulled away you could make out the shadow of anton’s face, and your line of sight was bracketed with tears. 

“if he’s here, why do i feel so alone?” you ask. 

in the dark of your room, you swear you could hear sohee’s voice in front of you. he became so familiar to you that you could place him anywhere, even if you haven’t seen him in so long. so when you press your thigh against the person next to you, you swear on your life it’s sohee’s thigh that touches you back. when you flipped your phone around, it was sohee’s hands that stayed on your shoulders. when you heard the person next to you speak, it was sohee’s voice that talked to you.

“you’re not alone.” 

it felt like you were taken back to the first time sohee spent the night in your apartment. it was the first time the two of you had been left completely alone, your parents didn’t bother you once you fled the nest and sohee’s parents thought he was with anton. that was the night you were the most nervous, only settled by sohee’s comforting words. he whispered them against the shell of your ear, then huffed them into your neck as you wrapped your legs around his waist. the familiarity of it all crept up on you, and if you closed your eyes you could hear the same bated breath sohee had before he first leaned in to kiss you deeply. you felt sohee’s hands go from your shoulders as they traveled down to your elbows.

you screwed your eyes shut when you held sohee in front of you the same way. he never wore button ups, but if you didn’t think too hard about it your mind filled in the blanks. you ignored how hesitant his dry cracked lips were at first, instead remembering how you were always kissed with such soft devotion. you remembered his soft plush lips, how slowly you were able to kiss eachother when you weren’t under a time constraint or watchful eyes. your imagination made you take the lead, hoping your muscle memory would mold the pair of lips to the ones you were familiar with. but when you shamelessly ran your tongue over his top lip you weren’t fighting for dominance against a guiding hand on the nape of your neck. when you fisted his shirt you weren’t pulled in by the small of your back. you only felt an uneasy hand go to your face, stroking the fresh tear tracks on the apples of your cheeks timidly. 

regardless, for a moment your mind and the pair of lips humored you. they humored you into delusion, to the point that you pulled away for a second. maybe it was the last fleeting smell of sohee embedded into his hoodie, maybe he still rested on the pages of his sheet music. but when you pulled away you swear on god’s life that you saw sohee beside you, breathless with his lips parted as he touched your cheeks.

“sohee?” you said breathlessly.

at the same time, your phone fell from your lap face down, lighting anton’s horrified face in front of you. the hand that was on your cheeks went to your shoulder, pushing you back slightly. anton shot up from your bed, his head hanging in shame as his hand wiped you away from his lips.

“i’m sorry. i can’t.” anton backed towards your bedroom door, head still hanging low. “text me when you finish the food. i’m sorry.” he said.

the front door closed before you could say anything. you stayed on the bed, looking down at the shining white light on the back of your phone. you had nothing to say anymore, you had no tears anymore. you eventually made you way back to the kitchen and eyed the dish sitting on the edge of your countertop. you looked at the envelope that sat on top, your name written in tiny neat letters. you pushed the glass dish to the edge of your countertop a little more, until it was threatening to fall. you went back to bed and laid down, looking through the scribbles of sohee’s sheet music over and over again.

that was the same night you had your first dream about sohee. he came to you while you laid in bed, curling next to you and kissing your head through your hair. it was warm and comforting, you could feel his heat wrap around your body completely. sohee came close to your ear and apologized that it would be awhile until you saw eachother again. you shot up in bed when your phone buzzed out of do not disturb. you reached for the empty space beside you, panting into the darkness as you looked around your dark and empty room. 

after you yelled at the person who woke you up, calls stopped coming in. there were occasional texts that you couldn’t process and words that dripped in pity. anton friend sent you a text that night about how sorry he was. you were almost able to delude yourself into thinking it was sohee until the word “grief” pulled your from fantasy. you kept your ringer off now, only going to your phone to look at your lockscreen and ignore the digital clock that told you the earth was still spinning.

your room was the only thing you bothered to keep clean, because that’s where sohee would always visit you in your dreams. it had gotten to the point that all your trash was waiting for you on the other side, littering your living room and unfolded clothes occupied your couch. wrappers from candy bars and empty paper bags on the occasion you’d eat littered your kitchen countertops. the food in the dish was long spoiled and your bathroom was virtually unused except for the toilet and sink. your dry soap bar and washcloth became a looming presence and you made the excuse of whispering to yourself i’ll do it tomorrow each time you walked by. 

i’ll do it tomorrow had become your new motto. you said it every time you added to the pile of dishes in your sink, stacked so high it almost touched the faucet. you said it when you heard knocks on your door or your phone went off from receiving a text message. several notes cards were crammed underneath your door, things you told yourself you’d read later. if it wasn’t sohee, it wasn’t a priority. the only thing that mattered was keeping the curtains drawn and sleeping to see him again. 

[nrdmssgs]

König x tattoo artist reader

Masterlist

This started as a headcannon, but has grown into a brief scenario. There is a bit a of pet play happening down there, but i've tried to keep it light

Once he found out about your job, there is no way back. Man practically begs you to show him any new thing, you're working on. Congratulations, you've got your biggest fan from now on.

In Königs` opinion, not only was he lucky enough to get the best person out there, he was the luckiest one to see how your ideas are born! And he LIVES for that moments.

He sees your projects as something, that should be displayed in a museum.

Yes, Louvre, he is looking at you. It's high time you open new rooms for his Schatzs`* works to be displayed in!

"König, I thought, I threw out that sketch. C`mon, man, it's garbage, nobody needs it!"

"Nein! I'm keeping it! It's mine from now on!"

Secretly keeps a whole pile of scraps of paper, crumpled sheets, napkins you threw away while sketching.

He is interested in your entire creative process: from the first sketches to photo sessions with healed works. Bombards you with questions. "Is there any differences in a result if you draw two same sketches with a pencil and a thin brush?", "What do you like to tattoo the most?", "Where do you draw inspiration from?".

He brings albums with views of the nearest cities and just books with beautiful photographs and reproductions from every airport and train station when he travels (which is really often).

If you had not a huge library of inspirational sources before meeting him... you better buy a few new bookcases.

He never considered getting inked, especially not by you, no... To put your masterpiece on his calloused and scarred skin would be a sacrilegious act. No, he can't even dare to think of it...

Until one day, when he is sitting at your tattoo studio, minding his own business waiting for the end of your working day, like a good boy, when an old customer of yours arrives. You greet them warmly, give them a hug. And you say this one phrase, which is an old and silly joke between you and that customer...

"C`mon, lets get you marked." You say and take the customer to your room.

At this moment, something clicks in Koenig's head.

He tries not to think about it for the next few weeks, but fails. Because when you put it that way... To be marked as yours by your divine art, to wear that traces of your touch for eternity... His heart flips every time this idea reappears in his head.

You notice that lately he is often lost in his thoughts, and a light blush touches his cheeks.

So one of these times, you're having breakfast and can't help but notice that look on his face. "Koenig, are you alright? You look... lost."

"Oh?", he shudders. "No-no, I'm fine, just thinking..."

After some persuasion, you manage to draw out an indistinct "How much do you think it will cost ... to get a tattoo at your place?" out of him.

"It depends on which artist you have in mind... but you know, there are some perks in dating one." And before he is able to process that, you add, "I'm not taking your money, love. Tell me, what was on your mind, what you wanted to see on you?"

His answer was ready long ago. "Anything! As long as it's yours. Anything you could leave on me."

You try to get anything more specific, but he is really happy for any piece, that will remind him constantly, that you are not a figment of his imagination, that you exist, and you want him by your side.

You decide to start with something small, so that he can always cover that, if he feels like it.

Later that week you flip the pages of your album, that you are using just for ideas for his body (as the professional you would never try to convince him to get inked, the decision must be fully his, but nobody can stop you from fantasizing, how could you decorate that gorgeous body of his) in your studio, as he comes.

"Hi there, love. Haven't changed your mind?" you greet and embrace him. He is so excited, he almost shakes. "Nein, Schatz! I would never." he answers, pulling you in a tighter embrace.

So far he is your most trusting and content client. You barely make him look at the sketch after you made its copy on his arm. He wanted the reveal to be a surprise for him after you finish the whole tattoo, but you refused to proceed with the main process without obtaining his consent to this particular idea.

But when he sees the sketch on his skin, the man is speechless. Yes, you were always so very gifted in his eyes, but this... So simple, yet this idea is exactly, what he's been dreaming of. Two words superimposed on each other. Curves of letters, merging into the most intimate sounds that have ever flown from your lips ...

Good thing, he isn't afraid of blood, and has a pretty high pain threshold. So he sits there absolutely still, admiring every second of you working on him.

He is almost afraid to move, he desperately tries to calm his rushing heart down. What you do to him right now is sacred and divine to König. You are leaving your mark and you are not to be interrupted in any way.

So even when a little sweat drop slides down his temple, he doesn't flinch.

You notice it and decide to give the man a break. You give him a towel, pour a glass of water and ask him if it hurts. He tries to answer, but his voice is raspy because of dry throat.

"I-I... khhhmm, I'm fine. Go on, please!"

It's when your gaze slips down his body and you notice it. He enjoys it, he painfully enjoys it.

That's when you put your machine away and lean closer to him.

"I see, someone is having a good time...", you whisper, putting your hand oh sooo close to his hardness. "Looks like a pet just wants to be branded so badly."

Königs face grows bright red. He tries to mask the fever burning under his skin, to not disturb your work, but it is impossible, when you are so close, and you have him completely at your mercy. Your hand is almost touching him. Almost, but not yet. He looks away, embarrassed, aroused, panting. Silently praying for your mercy.

You grin. Poor thing is desperate for your touch in any way. "Now you be good and let me finish this work, ok?"

König nods quickly and covers his erection with the free arm.

"Did I let you hide yourself, pet?" you seem to look in the other direction, but notice his notion and correct him in a flash.

"You will sit here still as I work, you will look at me, and you won't cover yourself unless you're said so", you purr as you continue working.

When you are done, the man is a mess. He is breathless, he can only mumble and curse under his breath. You wipe off blood trails from a fresh tattoo on his arm and lean away to appreciate the result.

It's nothing really fancy, but it is a good start, if he ever decides, he wants more ink (he already has, believe me).

"You like it, love?"

Königs eyes are completely transfixed on your work. He slowly looks up at you. "Schatz... am I dreaming? This is ideal. H-how can I?"

You cut him off: "You'll thank me by caring right for it. No rubbing, no swimming, no touching the bandage till I let you... and no extensive physical activity for you for today. I'll bring you the lotion this evening, so be good and wait for me at home."

He looks at you with the most obedient eyes and just silently nods.

"One last thing." You go behind him, he is still sitting in the chair. You lean towards his ear and whisper, "Don't you dare touch yourself without me. Furthermore, you sit and wait for me." Your hand slides down his torso and his breath hitches. "This is all mine, pet. And now you have a constant reminder of that." 

*Schatz - treasure

[honeyandsaltonao3]

I guess I’m making art of my own fanfiction now?

A little doodle of a scene from chapter 11 of the fic in which there is a flashback to a young Alicent meeting Syrax for the first time.

———

“Dragons are incredibly empathetic creatures. They often will share the same feelings as their rider.”

“Oh.”

Alicent felt herself flush a little. Rhaenyra was watching her.

“Do you want to try touching her?”

Alicent looked at her incredulously.

“What? No! Isn’t it considered sacrilegious for common folk to touch a dragon?”

Rhaenyra shook her head, rolling her eyes a little.

“That’s just a rule someone made up to keep fools from getting their arms bitten off.”

“I don’t want to get my arm bitten off, Rhaenyra!” Alicent hissed. Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow.

“Well you aren’t a fool, are you?”

“What if I am? How could I know—,”

“Alicent,” Rhaenyra said, stopping her anxious rambling. “I’ll be with you the whole time. It’ll be okay, I promise.”

Alicent might have kept arguing but she was distracted from that when Rhaenyra stepped behind her, close, so close they were pressed against each other. She wrapped an arm Alicent’s waist. With her other hand, she laced her fingers through Alicent’s.

“Ynot, Syrax! Demas! Lykiri!” [Come to me, Syrax. Sit. Be calm]. “Be calm,” she said again, this time for Alicent, who let out a shaky breath.

Carefully, Rhaenyra guided Alicent’s hand to touch Syrax’s forehead. Alicent squeezed her eyes shut. Her breath hitched.

———

Here’s a link to the fic^

[fellow-fandom-fruitifier]

You should read my LMK fanfic

“So, knowing all of that, Macaque maybe should’ve known something not-so-great would happen; and he did! Somewhat. He just didn’t expect it to be him losing his last few marbles and flipping the actual fuck out over Wukong holding his staff.

Holding. His. Own. Fucking. Staff. That’s it, that’s the sacrilegious final straw that broke the monkeys back. Are you fucki-

It all started on a weekend.

Or: Macaque has a panic attack, shenanigans ensue.”

Idk if this counts as spoilers for the fic, but I picked out my favorite lines that wouldn’t really spoil anything and quickly drew them. So yeah❤️ (ALSO IM NOT V GOOD @ WRITING YET, SO IM SRRY IF THEY’RE OOC OR SUM SEEMS INCONSISTENT)

[sacrivn]

updated the reference sheet for sacrilegious and amatory sacrilege!! gonna release them as they finish, for now imma drop the template :3

[skeietonwhore]

I wrote a gojo fic. It’s a 3 parter and I’m working on the final part rn but tw: it contains like sacrilegious material. The last part should be done soon I’ve been working on what direction I end on but enjoy :3

[ao3sbatfamily]

Hi idk if you remember me but hi hello :) I disappeared for a while bc I got hit with a depressive episode and then got my first job (I’m stressed out of my MIND)

Wanted to see if you had any Tim and Damian bonding oneshots?

And idk if self promotion is allowed or not (I totally get if it isn’t) but I wrote a thing about a week ago:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54799255

I knew you'd be back! The blogs gotten bigger, so it might take longer for me to reply. Anyways, I woke up today needing fluff and your fic gave it to me. Thank you.

'Middle Child Problems' by HoneyDewed_LemonDrops

Author: @honeydewedlemons

“You’re a middle child, dipshit,” Jason says when Tim brings it up. Tim just blinks slowly, the way he always does when things take too long to process. “You went from only child, to youngest child, to middle child. And now you don’t know what the fuck to do.”

Jason had never been particularly… genius-y in the sense that most people would know. But, but. He never would’ve made it if he didn’t know people in a way that people didn’t even know themselves. Tim and Bruce, the detectives, could never really do that. Bruce was better at it, somewhat. He could read a case file and build a list of the most probable aspects of personality, but he could never quite understand the way that Jason could.

“Oh my God. You’re fuckin’ jealous,” Jason says, breaking Tim out of his momentary reverie. He waved his form around in Tim’s general direction, and Tim rolled his eyes.

“I’m not jealous,” He insists, but God. “I just- have you seen the way they interact? Neither of us ever got that chance with Dick. It’s not his fault, obviously, but—,” he cuts himself off because. Yeah. He is.

(Restricted) Damian's Duckling by sElkieNight60

Author: @selkienight60

“It seems almost sacrilegious to call you anything other than ‘Timothy,’ Damian mutters to the bird, amused.

Timothy, fluffy and gorgeous, was trapped in a drain when Damian found him outside Gotham Academy on an overcast afternoon. Though he had hunted for the baby duck’s parents for a good thirty minutes, running himself late for Alfred, he had eventually concluded that the parents had left the poor thing behind.

Newly dubbed ‘Timothy’ ignores him, preferring the moistened mixture of food and water Damian has provided.

“Perhaps,” Damian continues, unfurling his legs until they lay prone with the carpet, his back pressed up against the solid bed frame. “That is a secret we can keep between just the two of us, hm?”

Gingerly, he reaches out a finger and begins to stroke the bird. When Timothy doesn’t protest Damian tries with his whole hand. It melts his heart how trusting the duckling is, leaning into the warmth of his palm.

“You are not very much like your namesake,” he comments aloud, running a thumb over soft feathers. “Although, I made… mistakes when I first met Drake, if I am to be honest with you.”

Cupping the bird in one hand and drawing him out of the box, Damian brings him close to his chest.

[gaynglican]

I think we (Queer Christians) should bring back the Feast of Fools! Here's my pitch:

Medieval Christians celebrated the days following Christmas with societal inversion. If God became a vulnerable child born into poverty, then the best celebration should invert the social order: master and servant, clergy and laity, man and woman. The Feast of Fools–held on January 1st–was the most notable celebration of cosmic inversion. Developed in the late 12th and early 13th centuries, the tradition of the feasts continued until the 16th century. (1)

The festival is popularly misunderstood as a celebration of sacrilege, a result of its apparent burlesque of religion. Yet, the festival’s role reversals were prescribed by clergy, and the "fools" represented those chosen by God for their lowly status. From surviving 13th century manuscripts–notably, the Play of Daniel from Beauvais Cathedral and the Office of Joseph from Laon Cathedral–it is clear that some Catholic Churches in France sanctioned cross-dressing for liturgical purposes. (2) In fact, the Feast of Fools is remarkable for being sanctified rather than sacrilegious.

Many anthropologists of religion have argued that “sacred play,” or “ludic ritual,” is central to how religious behaviors function. (3) Although play may seem counterintuitive to religion, absurdity and holiness often go together, especially considering the role reversals and revelry of the Feast of Fools.

Literary critic Mikhail Bakhtin made a similar argument about the “carnivalesque.” (4) When absurdity is celebrated in religion–when a society’s usual rules are suspended–observant revelers can stretch the boundaries of their identities or reverse their social roles. Men become women; laity become clergy; God becomes a helpless infant; death becomes life. It is on the strength of the absurd that religions delve into hope and new ways of becoming. (5) “Sacred play” is reality altering work, a cornerstone of religious enlightenment and religious embodiment.

In 1969, theologian Harvey Cox proposed that an imitation of the medieval Feast of Fools could rejuvenate modern Christian spirituality, lamenting that the tradition has forgotten sacred play. (6)

As found in the Medieval Feast of Fools, the joy of inversion and freedom of death were, at one point, celebrated in Christian tradition through cross-dressing. Drag exists in Christian tradition as an artform that is capable of embodying the Divine. Sharing in Christ’s martyrdom is only part of Christian embodiment, and redemption and resurrection are essential to any imitation of Christ. Through embodying Christ, religious drag can become a project of resurrection.

(Taken from my Master's Thesis in Art History, "Crucifixion Can Happen To Anyone: Embodying Christ Through The Queer Artist")

1: “Feast of Fools.” n.d. Encyclopædia Britannica.

2: Harris, Max. 2011. Sacred Folly: A New History of the Feast of Fools. Cornell University Press. 113-127.

3: Turner, Victor. “Liminal to Liminoid, in Play, Flow, and Ritual: An Essay in Comparative Symbology.” Revista Mediações, vol. 17, no. 2 (2012): 214–57.

4: “Carnivalesque.” n.d. Oxford Reference. Accessed 12 July 2023.

5: Kierkegaard, Søren. “Fear and Trembling.” From Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard. University of Texas, Austin, Texas, 1912.

6: Cox, Harvey. 1969. The Feast of Fools; a Theological Essay on Festivity and Fantasy. Harvard University Press

[theseshipsshallsail]

Summary:

The unapologetic scrutiny sees Oliver shivering right down to his toes; the risqué thrill leaving him desperate for more as he pictures the sight they must make from the rooftop garden opposite. His ruminations don’t last long, however, and the sudden emptiness at his core incites a flustered whine, even as the low rasp of Elio’s zipper proves a slow-motion herald of what’s to come.

THE PROOF OF THE PUDDING (IS IN THE EATING)

With its three spindly legs and sleek, curving edges, the reconditioned baby grand is a great deal sturdier than Oliver first assumed, watching the fastidious moving team guide it up three flights of steps to their East Village brownstone apartment. It’d earned him a smirk: that absent-minded observation. Unsuccessfully hidden behind the blue, Columbia Lions mug Elio’s long-since claimed for his own. Yet seeing is believing - as his much-missed bubbe liked to say - and if the past four years have taught him anything, it’s that in order to trust in the improbable, one must first be prepared to embrace the absurd.

Hence the reason he finds himself bare-assed naked on the stately instrument’s cool, mahogany lid.

Grey tracksuit bottoms hobbling his sockless ankles.

Hitching gasps misting the lacquered surface as Elio’s nimble digits scissor his spit-slick rim.

The splayed-wide pads of Oliver’s fingertips are smeared with sweat: the tense muscles of his torso even more so. Gaining leverage is nigh-on impossible, and when Elio strums a ruthless staccato against his screaming prostate, the incoherent plea that spills from his throat has the other man chuckling exaltedly; eyes mischief-bright where he hooks his chin over his straining shoulder.

“You’re doing so well…” he murmurs into the riotous clatter of his pulse. “Uno spettacolo così bello. Tell me: how does it feel?” 

Oliver groans at the unexpected bite to his earlobe. “Sacrilegious,” he pants, all thoughts of structural integrity forgotten as a soothing hand cards his bedraggled hair. “Whatever would Bach have to say?”

Elio flashes a thousand-watt grin. “Oh… the Old Wig was pretty creative,” he answers sagely, angling his face for a clumsy kiss. One that tastes of Yakisoba chicken from the Japanese shokudo on the corner, yet dissolves like powdered sugar upon his tongue. “He’d probably suggest we try it andante.” A beat. “Or maybe a lively allegro,” he adds, skimming the jutting vertebrae of Oliver’s spine. “With a brisk vivace to finish.”

Oliver sniggers. “You’re a menace, Perlman…”

“Always,” he allows, mapping the field of goosebumps that adorn his flank. “But presented like this?” The floorboards creak as a jean-clad thigh urges his trembling knees apart. “All stretched and pink? Taking my fingers so nicely…” 

“Sweetheart, please…”

Elio tugs him impossibly closer. “You’ll take my cock too,” he says then, a simple statement of fact, then proceeds to squeeze his buttock once, twice, three times firmly; opening him further with his thumb. “You’re beautiful, mon amour.” 

The unapologetic scrutiny sees Oliver shivering right down to his toes; the risqué thrill leaving him desperate for more as he pictures the sight they must make from the rooftop garden opposite. His ruminations don’t last long, however, and the sudden emptiness at his core incites a flustered whine, even as the low rasp of Elio’s zipper proves a slow-motion herald of what’s to come.

“Siete pronti?” he asks, painting the sticky pearls of arousal around his greedy hole.

“I’ve been ready,” Oliver protests, the gentle nudge of his glans making him clench in vain.

Chapped lips return to the hinge of his jaw.

Sharp teeth worry the mottled bruise at his collar.

“Elio…” he hears, a blatant provocation before he’s breached properly, and Oliver grunts, choking expletives into the crook of his elbow as his tormentor huffs a bubbling laugh. “Elio… Elio… Elio…” 

His hamstrings are taut where he’s held spread-eagle. His scrotum growing ever tighter at the sense of utter fullness. Over and over, his lover thrusts within him. Over and over, Oliver chants the words in concert: hiccuping the other man’s name until the syllables blend together. Until he’s shuddering - splintering - his brain damn-near convulsing as Elio reaches to stroke his leaking shaft. 

“I’ve got you, mon chéri,” he whispers, circling the spongy tip through each rolling wave, and when Elio buries himself balls-deep - collapsing like a rag doll as he climaxes thereafter - the erratic thrum of Oliver’s racing heart beats a perfect accompaniment to the breathless I love yous peppered between them. 

[daemon-in-my-head]

We all know that Gortash would've had a fun time if he had been dragged to a Bhaalist ritual or service, Just the local tyrant surrounded by murder hobo gremlins while also staring in awe at the beautiful Bhaalspawn covered in blood, head to toe. Truly the most twisted of experiences.

But what would've happened if he had dragged the Bhaalspawn to a banite service? Dress them up and sneak them into a hidden dark corner, making Bhaals favourite little princess a banite for just a day?

I wrote about it. It's explicit and horny and bloody and as sacrilegious as it gets. And kinda subby Gortash because apparently this whole bit started way before I realised it.