all-minds-matter

[huh-enheim]

I'm no medievalist so most of the anachronistic fashion fantasyisms fly straight over my head but it does amuse me that chilchuck owns a shirt with a fully modern attached soft collar. pretty much just a normal ass dress shirt

[sukunasweetheart]

JJK LEAKS////

I aint ready to send him off yet.. lord someone help me (BUT NOBARA COME BACK OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH MY GODDDDDD 🥹🥹🥹🥺🥺🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹)

Ngl tho he looks so fawking scruptious here.... im. gRRRAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH THERE AINT NOBODY OUT THERE WHO COHLD LOOK HOTTER THAN SUKUNA ON THEIR DEATHBED???!&@&!

[ruinreads]

the cause talking about the effect im screaming and pulsating

[whichwoods]

Going crazy manifesting an update for like the stars that shine! Is there anything you can tell us about the next update?

i'm manifesting an update too 😭 here's a snippet of chap 3:

Luke swipes at his eyes as he walks up the winding, rocky path toward MAC’s dragonpit. He tries to take steadying breaths, but the sulfuric air does little to calm his nerves. 

He grimaces, pausing to spit some wretched combination of saliva and bile onto the ground. Luke has been feeling ill all week, some early-morning nausea he allowed himself to think was just related to nerves haunting him for the past week or so. Maybe the thought of returning to school was stressful, he’d foolishly thought, though that didn’t feel right even at the time. 

“Luke!” a familiar voice calls from ahead on the path. “Morning!”

He quickly rights his posture,  discreetly wiping his mouth with his sleeve. Nettles Waters is the first person Luke is seeing since returning to Dragonstone, and he doesn’t exactly want her to catch him puking. Nettles is a nice girl and probably one of his favorite classmates, but still, people talk on this campus. “Hey,” he croaks, quickly clearing his throat. 

“You off to see Arrax?” she asks with a smile, looking perfect even for just coming back from riding Sheepstealer in the wee hours in the morning, already on her way back down the hill. Luke barely managed to throw on riding pants and a sweatshirt. 

“Yep.” He keeps walking as he speaks to her, looking over his shoulder as he passes her. “Got to go give him lots of love.” 

“You alright?” she asks after him, after catching a sniffle. Luke quickens his pace. 

“Just fine! Probably caught something in King’s Landing, that cesspit. Wouldn’t want you to catch it. See you!”

He thinks he distantly hears her say goodbye, but he’s too far away to properly make it out by the time she says it. Luke makes the rest of his way up the path as quick as he can, with a burst of power he didn’t think himself capable of. It’s been an awful morning; he wants to see his dragon. 

MAC’s dragonpit is carved into the side of a cliff overhanging the rest of the campus. The flat that the mouth rests on is vast and rocky, intercut with grassy patches of tough, mountain plants here and there. When Luke reaches it, he sees that a few dragons are taking advantage of the winter sun, milling about outside without their riders. 

The area around the pit still looks tremendously empty without the massive form of Vhagar, Luke can’t help but think, even though she hasn’t stayed here since his sophomore year of undergrad. The east corner of the flat she usually laid on, littered with rough rocks she liked to scratch her hide on, sat empty for years after Aemond graduated. Now, a few of the yearlings like to sunbathe there. Luke watches two twist and chase each other low in the sky above it, a bittersweet smile crossing his face as he takes in their blue and red scales glinting in the sun. Their high-pitched shrieks and growls echo against the rock walls of the cliffs.

He spots Arrax laying in one of the grass patches by the west end of the field, pale scales looking pearl-like in the early sunlight. He raises his head as Luke approaches, great red spikes quivering in excitement as he spots his rider. Luke waves his arms around in greeting, genuine grin cracking through his foul mood, the emotions of his dragon contagious through their bond. He yells out a quick greeting in High Valyrian.

Arrax gets up on all fours, and Luke swears he feels the ground shake with it — Arrax isn’t a small beast anymore, quickly approaching the size of Daemon’s Caraxes. Still, the expression Luke has come to consider a fang-ridden smile is the same as it was when he was a hatchling, as he charges toward Luke. 

It’s a familiar song and dance. Normally, Arrax would dart toward him and throw Luke up in the air by his snout, and Luke would gleefully let him. Mindful of his new condition, he plans to call Arrax off at the last moment, tell him to settle and approach gently. However, before he opens his mouth, he sees Arrax skid to a stop himself, great talons digging into the earth to halt himself. 

“Arrax?” Luke calls, voice soft, as he walks toward him. 

His dragon still approaches him, though now he moves slowly, walking with a carefulness Luke rarely sees from the beast. He’s making inquisitive, trilling noises that have Luke frowning in confusion, as he slightly moves his great head from side to side. 

“What is it, my love?” Luke asks, at an odd humming noise Arrax makes.

Very gently, once he’s close enough, Arrax noses at his abdomen, sniffing him. Luke scratches at the scales on his dragon’s snout — by the eyes, the way he knows he likes — making his dragon trill happily. Still, knowing all too well what those behaviors mean from his dragon and what they confirm, Luke can’t help but start to sob. 

[sparklingchim]

How many chapters until YLM jk oc separation ?

dunno !! m not sure how many chapters it'll take me to get to that point since m still trying to figure out how long i want the chapters to be !!

[keclan]

fic is 18k now. still like five and a half chapters left to write.

[bridgeportbritt]

Willington Palace | Sage, SimDonia

Doctor voice echos: Your blood pressure results came back and they are still in the high range.

Margaret: We won’t talk about this now.

Doctor: But, Your Royal Highness, His Majesty’s blood pressure is very high and it’s likely caused by- 

Margaret: You may stay and monitor him, but we’re not discussing this right now.

Doctor: Yes, Your Royal Highness.

Diana cries softly

Margaret: Parker, dear. Your darling Diana is here. She traveled all this way from university to see you.

Parker: ...

Margaret: Diana, why don’t you come say hello to your father?

Diana hesitant: ... H-Hi, Dad.

Parker: ...

Margaret: He can hear you, honey. He’s just resting.

Diana: Is he... is he going to be okay?

Margaret: Parker, weren’t we just talking about how proud we are of Diana? One more year and she’ll be a college graduate. So smart, like her father.

Diana: ... I am at the top of my class, Dad. They are considering me as valedictorian. 

Margaret: That’s wonderful, Diana. Of course, you are.

Diana: Dad? I hope you’re going to get better. I just... want to give you a big hug right after I walk across that stage and get my diploma.

Parker:...

Diana’s Voice Echos: Dad?

Butler: Your Majesty? Is something wrong with your meal?

Diana: Huh? Oh, no. Thank you.

[causticsunshine]

me: has several fic wips to finish from last year, two fest fics due in march and april, several art pieces left half completed, a full time job complete with an exhaustive schedule and manual labor

also me: yeah yeah okay BUT hear me out. what about a juno au.

[bumblebeehug]

people who write more chaptered fics than one shots… they would survive the apocalypse

[weirdcat1213]

I fucking hate trimax man

[avemstella]

the chapter I'm currently writing for smfwtwd is so fucking gay its such a hilarious coincidence it will hopefully be released in pride month

[crunchycrystals]

figured out this new google docs tabs feature so heres my new outline. this story is still far from publishable but whenever it does happen know that i have the outline of release figured out

[kazumahashimoto]

oh my god why do they make peppermint chapstick

[starlightoru-gojo]

I remembered that Satoru fanart. He wore exactly like this. Wth Gege 😭😭😭🤣 He tryna bring back the comedy in JJK wtf

[fear-is-truth]

❝ 𝐒𝐀𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋, 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐒𝐋𝐕𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐒. ❞

— charlie mayhew x f!reader

summary: you’re a college student who haven’t confessed in ages. tags: mature content・mdni・blasphemy・unprotected p in v・fem!reader・not proofread

♱ a/n◞ english is not my first language

it’s been far too long since you last stepped into the confessional. guilt weighs heavily on your soul, gnawing at the edges of your conscience like a relentless rat. father charlie mayhew sits in the adjoining room, just beyond the closed door. you feel like a convict marching to the gallows or a witch being led to the stake. the air is thick with the scent of incense and remorse as you push open the wooden door and step inside, taking a deep breath,

“forgive me, father, for i have sinned.”

“how long has it been since your last confession?” you pause, fingers twisting in your lap. seven months? eight?

“…too long.” you finally settle for that answer. he hums softly in response, encouraging you to elaborate further.

“i’ve been… neglecting my prayers,” you blurt out, the words tumbling out like a spew of vomit. “i’ve been lazy with my duties, with my work.” a flashback to your half-finished papers, ignored for days, weeks. the familiar frustration and self-loathing settle in again.

“sloth,” the priest says softly, but not unkindly. you nod, even though he can’t see you. “and… wrath,” you continue. “jealousy, really. i’ve been… envious of others. their success, their accomplishments, while i’ve just been… stagnant.” there’s a faint rustling from the other side of the partition. “envy can eat away at the soul,” he says quickly. “but it’s the admission that brings healing.”

“and lust,” the word slips past your lips like a dirty secret. “mastur- sorry, i mean. self pleasuring. and there were… party hook-ups. frat boys. things i shouldn’t have done, things i knew were wrong.” you can feel father charlie’s attention on you, even though you can’t see him. he pauses, and you hear the soft rustle of cloth and creak of wood again. “lust,” he repeats in a gravelly, conspiratorial tone. “is a sin we are all vulnerable to.”

“even you, father?” the question slips out before you can think better of it. the silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating like a poisonous fog.

there’s a soft sigh, and you hear the faint rustling of fabric again. “oh yes,” he admits, but he doesn’t sound as ashamed as you’ve imagined a priest should be. there almost seems to be an air of self congratulation.

“especially that.”

your fingers curl tighter around the edges of your skirt. a single beat of silence. then—

“sins like these require penance. penance,” he repeats, slowly, savouring the word on his tongue, “is meant to cleanse the soul. to discipline the flesh.” another rustle of cloth—and you wonder what the hell he’s doing behind the wooden barrier.

“are you prepared to accept the form of penance i offer you?” the way he phrases it, like a double entendre you can’t quite place your finger on.

and yet, something possesses you to reply:

“yes, father.”

“good. now step out here.”

your heart pounds as you obey, stepping out of your side of the confessional. when you turn to face him, your breath catches in your throat.

father charlie is not dressed as a priest should be. gone is the cassock, the traditional garb of a man of the cloth. instead, he’s wearing a white translucent smock, the fabric so sheer you can see the hard planes of his chest, every muscle defined. his tan skin gleams in the low light, and your eyes drift downward, catching the black leather chaps and, beneath them, a jockstrap that leaves little to the imagination.

you simply can’t tear your eyes away from him.

the cocky bastard must be fully aware of his effect on you, the way his eyes gleam as he takes another step toward you, the leather of his chaps creaking softly in the quiet room. the smirk on his lips deepens, and he raises a hand, resting it lightly on your shoulder.

“recite the act of contrition.”

your throat tightens, pulse quickening at the contact. he’s standing so close now that the scent of incense and something distinctly masculine fills your senses, clouding your thoughts. taking a shaky breath, you start, voice trembling slightly,

“o my god, i am heartily sorry for having offended you…”

his fingers graze your arm now, trailing lightly down to your wrist, but you don’t stop. you can’t. his presence demands obedience.

“…and i detest all my sins because of your just punishments,” you continue. he hums softly, a sound of approval, thumb rubbing slow circles against the inside of your wrist.

“…but most of all, because they offend you, my god,” you falter for a moment as his hand moves down, skimming the curve of your hip, lingering at your waist, “who are all-good and deserving of all my love. i firmly resolve,” you choke out, forcing yourself to finish the prayer, “with the help of your grace, to sin no more and to avoid the near occasion of sin.”

a pause, thick with ominous tension. you look up at him, unsure of what comes next, warm, honeyed lust dripping through your loins betraying the pious words you’ve just spoken. fingers still at your waist, he leans in.

“beautifully done, beautiful.

the priest whispers, and there’s something unexpected in his voice. emotion. when you look back up at him, there are tears in his eyes, like the words had truly moved him. for a split second, you wonder if he’s going to say something, maybe pull back, remind you both of your places.

but then his hand slides into your hair, fingers tangling gently at the nape of your neck, and before you can catch your breath, he’s guiding you with firm, practiced ease into the tight space of the confessional’s compartment. his grip is strong, sure, as his hands settle on your waist, pulling you flush against him. your back hits the wooden wall with a soft thud, the creak of old wood reverberating through the silence, amplifying the intimacy between you.

he leans in closer, his body pressing into yours, the booth feeling impossibly small now. his lips find yours in a slow, deliberate kiss, soft at first, then deepening with intention. his tongue slips past your parted lips, exploring the inside of your mouth, grazing your teeth before sweeping across your hard palate in a way that makes you shiver.

a moan escapes you when you feel his erection rubs against your thigh.

•••

god, you’re going straight to hell.

you moan in unison as he pushes the tip inside you in one, smooth motion. pleasure riddled with agony shoots up from your aching quim to your entire body, the sheer girth of him straining at your velvety walls; filling you up in a way that nobody else has ever done before.

“mghmm— oh fuck… you feel so good,”

charlie grains into your shoulder as he bottoms out, features twisting in sordid rapture when you clench around him involuntarily. your insides are so sensitive and raw that you can feel every ridge and vein of his cock pulsating against your walls as you struggle to accommodate him. he pauses, giving you a second to recover before rearing back his hips slowly, almost pulling out but then to slam back into you completely. the wooden wall of the confessional box creaks, but all you can focus on is the tip of his cockhead kissing— no, fucking your cervix. stretching your cunt in a way so sinfully good that you’re certain that even though you’ve booked a one-way ticket to the second circle of hell, it’s fucking worth it.

it’s not long before the hot coil finally snaps, and squeezing your eyes shut, you dig your fingernails into his shoulder, leaving crescent indents as your orgasm crashes over you.

waves of white-hot pleasure ripple through your veins, and you throw head back to scream out his name. through your post-orgasm haze, you watch as charlie continues to pound into you. a raw moan rips from his throat, accompanied by a final, deep thrust. burying himself to the hilt, he comes inside of you, thick, hot spurts of come filling your womb as a string of indiscernible curses tumble past his lips.

he doesn’t pull out immediately, his cock twitching with residual spams as he continues to thrust his hips lazily, grinding his seed inside you as deep as it can go.

father charlie pulls back slightly, chest still heaving as he gazes at you with that same smug, satisfied smile. he brushes a thumb over your swollen bottom lip, his touch lingering, almost tender.

“well,” he muses, “i think that’ll do for your penance… for now.” his eyes gleam with something darker, something that promises this isn’t over. “though, if you feel the need to… atone further, you know where to find me.”

“same time next week?” you nod in response, eyelids fluttering shut as he threads his fingers through your hair, before pressing a tender kiss to your temple.

m.list

 fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.