#expanding the flock fic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

raccoonspooky · 1 year

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Looking back, I should've been on my knees

RATED E! 6k Words. Father Paul x Fem Reader sort of? Or hallucination of "God?" Umm Father Paul x Faceless third person entity he's fantasizing about. Solo masturbation.

TW for mental instability, delusional behavior and blood drinking. Dude's jerking off with a corpse in the room. Full list of tags on ao3 Y/N device is not used in this fic.

Tags of note under the cut

Tags of note: Religious Imagery and Symbolism, Sacrilege, Guilt, Horny Delirium, Masturbation as a form of worship/prayer.

Salt dry, ocean wind glides through the empty church with a prayer on its breath. The litany is hollow, the words are rehearsed. Maybe the sentiment is echoed from this morning as if the word of god traveled out to sea but the wind pushed it back to the church… or maybe it’s something the ocean came up with all on its own.

Besides such empty delivery, the air is alive with the wind’s echoed praise.

The Monsignor knows the words, they've become a part of him over the years; and after a handful of new developments, he’s begun to associate taste with memory and comprehension. The world is bright and it flares brighter as the wind settles against worn pews to flutter ragged hymnals barely holding onto their cracked spines. With the wind’s closing Amen, it parts way for an older presence that begins to make its way through the church.

It ambles along slowly, taking its time to spread throughout every board and nail. Its sense of divinity turns chipped paint into a hallowed thing. Father Pruitt can feel His proximity before his attention directs toward himself.

In his office, oxygen seems to pull into itself until it cuts out entirely. His nearness is welcomed but the old building seems unable to compensate for the reverence it wants to give. Father Pruitt respectfully drops to his knees and angles toward the emanating warmth. He tilts his head up and his hands come together, tied together by hopeful adoration. Each inhale burns from the lack of oxygen in the room but faith comes with ache. Pain is an essential component of life, a blessing disguised as penance. Iron coats his tongue, it’s long since become paste at the corners of his lips. Somewhere beyond himself, he’s aware that someone lays still behind him, it’s only been a few moments since they took their last breath. They still linger, waiting and Father Pruitt is honored to be here for their transition. God wouldn't leave the faithful cold. He arrived with something incomprehensible, something winged and beautiful.

The Monsignor’s vestments are heavy at the edges, weighed down by bloodied sacrament. The Lord himself told Father Pruitt that he was ready to greet one of his chosen and thus he enacted His will. Their atonement was burdened thick with tar but he freed them of such weight. He consumed their guilt, drank their regret… and now, one of his flock walks without sin alongside God and his son. There’s salt rimming his eyes and his lashes soak up unfallen tears. A rod of iron expands in his throat and like in revelation, he will wield the scepter to show the world the power of an almighty god.

Some of his strength lingers here, it curls around his collar, reminding him of his place. The touch isn’t ungentle but it further steals his breath. He’s done well. The Lord rewards him with sparks of twinkling gold that erupts behind his eyes. The blood he swallowed meets his own and he’s made stronger for it, God’s light reaches inside of him and his body is made clean in his shadow. As a servant of God, he fights the pleasure that comes with subservience. The only pleasure he should want should come from devotion alone. This closeness, this sense of love, this is his reward. The Lord assigned him an angel to rescue him from the stray path he previously wandered and since then he’s been blessed with clarity.

Reborn and given purpose, Father Pruitt has never felt so alive. He has never felt so close. A lifetime of prayers left unanswered and now his God shares this very room. Spidery doubt and hidden cowardice were burned out of him when the Angel showed him His glory. He remembers laying on the ground, feeling dirt in his lungs. God was far from him then. Sure that he was to die, the Monsignor came close to renouncing all that he knew… and then the Angel cauterized his wound before it could fester.

With his head full of twisted, rambling thoughts and an old man’s regret, Father Pruitt wasn’t aware of how much of his light was lost to blind faith until the Angel taught him how to see. He stood on two legs out of reflex and memory. Much of this form of faith is cemented in ritual and Father Pruitt had long since forgotten who the ritual was for. He’d forgotten whose halls he was sheltered by. God was an abstract thing to the old man. God was made real by hope alone.

He was wrong of course. God is as real as he is. He’s here in this room and his presence expands into the Monsignor. It’s… exhausting, but too holy, too pure to look away from. His love is vast and unending and the Father will take the pain that comes with it because God has faith in him to endure.

“Feed.” The presence insists, looking down at him with grace.

In half a breath, Father Pruitt becomes a flurry of movement. Robes flutter heavily and his fingernails scrape against the wooden floor as he frantically scoops darkened blood into his hands. He licks his palms and messily sucks his fingers into his mouth but it’s not enough. His nose crushes against the ground and behind the taste of iron and God's watchful gaze is the bitter taste of dirt and earth.

On his knees, he drags himself through the rust and clumsily reaches for the lamb’s cold wrist. They’re not yet stiff, and he punctures their flesh with a garbled thanks. He didn’t dare to further mutilate one of God’s children without His approval. The flesh is satisfyingly weighty between his teeth, it promises nourishment but the Lord has not yet instructed him to bite and swallow. The lamb’s blood is too bitter, too coagulated in their veins. It’s gummy in his mouth and his throat protests swallowing. He nearly gags in discomfort and his tongue trembles as it drags over one of the lamb’s wounds, a weak hint of fresh blood keeps him from disobeying God’s insistence. Father Pruitt groans against their flesh, unsatisfied but aware. He is to taste his sin. He is to give his thanks and understand that sacrifice is necessary and never asked for lightly.

Shame is held at an arm’s distance only because of the presence in the room. He’s alive with purpose, able-bodied, and here to enact greatness. He’s sound of mind and his thoughts no longer weave around and through each other until he’s unsure of where he started. The Lord’s angel faithfully tells him God’s will, and he’s never felt so loved. It took a lifetime, but his prayers were heard. God showed himself and recalling the memory is too much to comprehend.

With his pupils blown wide and his mind buried in thanks, his body distances itself from his waking thoughts. His flesh awakes under the watchful eye of God, reminding him that despite his sensitivity toward the divine, he is still only a man. Blessedly mortal as any other. Time is an unforgiving concept. He’s spent so long unaware of how far he’d fallen. He’s a shepherd once more and his little church is attuned to so much beyond its old walls. His blood thrums with promise, the true word of god was made clear to him and he smears his index finger through the blood beneath him, smiling in awe to the above as he makes a cross over his heart. Pledging himself again and again.

Father Pruitt’s head bows and he recites the lord's prayer as a reflex. The shape of the words is branded into his very being, they slot into worn groves beneath his skin. He uses them to center himself toward a place of rest and the word Amen lingers in the air, made alive by the promise in his prayer. His hands separate from each other and he reaches to squeeze his throat. He swallows dryly, shaken by everything he just felt. He uses his wrist to wipe his mouth but all he does is smear blood across his cheek.

Coherence is blessedly kept out of reach as if the Lord wants him to take a moment just to feel. With a slow exhale, he listens to his alarmingly rapid heartbeat. His back hurts but only because he woke in a wound up ball of contorted limbs. Old ache ghosts over his limbs but it's phantom pain. For years, he became so used to suffering that now he finds it difficult to focus on anything besides the pain he once used to keep his head on straight.

Something itchy and raw wakes in his chest. Without the presence of divinity and the lead weight it blankets him with, he’s left to venerate the hunger that’s newly lodged within him. Without God’s presence, he is left wanting, left waiting for His next command. It’s not a burden, if anything it’s a reminder of his second chance with this all. Still, idle hands are twitchy and his emotions slip and slide all over the place while he’s too nervous to shelve them back to where they belong. He’s kept on edge, eager to serve but frustrated that sometimes it takes time for His will to flourish.

It’s difficult to keep everything contained. He feels so much bigger than his body. He wants to show everyone the same light he saw. If everyone could just open their eyes, they’d find salvation and love unending. He’s made progress with some of the wary, he’s welcomed new members to the church… but he could do this all so much faster. Now that he knows God's love directly, he’ll do anything for more. He doubts nothing, questions nothing. Today, the Lord sensed his dry throat, and then a new face knocked on his office door. He freed them of their burden as the Lord instructed and Father Pruitt was nourished by their sacrifice. He felt their soul as it loosened from their flesh… and he was too weak to find no pleasure in it. To consume someone’s faith and take it into your own is indescribable. Its sanctity is meant for God alone, but as his servant, he’s allowed just a taste… just a tiny mouthful of something honest.

To the Monsignor, it proves that he’s doing something right. Honesty is the first virtue that has any meaning to it. Without honesty, there’s no goodness, no belief, or love. The lamb was startled at first, they struggled as he held them down. The taste of fear and pain burst across his tongue with his first bite but it was cleansed immediately with the incoming rush of delirium and then the closing sermon of bright, biting joy. Release. Weightlessness. After a lifetime of blind devotion, being able to taste the concept has Father Pruitt near feral for another hit. The mouth is a sacred part of one’s self, we use it to take communion and to speak with god. We consume his son’s blood and flesh. We are made sentimental creatures for the inherent desire to consume something beloved. Love twists into a set of teeth just as we shape words into worship with our tongues.

Regarding faith, Father Pruitt has never aligned with the idea that we as people are put onto this earth to suffer. He thinks perhaps that the pleasure he finds in servitude to God is something for him alone. It’s a sign that he’s using His gift for good. The body in the room isn’t pretty but God still came for them. His tongue still salivates, he wishes that he took things slower but he didn’t want the sacrifice to suffer. Their blood was complex, when he swallowed it trailed down his throat with legs like fine wine. He could’ve fed on them for hours, taking the time to pick apart the individual components of personality that flavored them in such a way… but he was a man of god. A man of faith. He wouldn’t take what wasn’t offered. The lamb deserved something quick in exchange for their sacrifice that God so wanted.

God asks us to listen. God asks us to obey and follow in his footsteps. He gave the world his son so the faithful could understand we can only do so much in our earthly vessels. We can love one another, and do good as we are able to— God only asks for what we are able to give. We aren't given bodies to be ashamed of them and push them past their mortal capabilities. God made man in his image, he did not give us the ability to think and feel as a punishment. What we do with our bodies is another thing entirely.

As to answer his thoughts, one of the Monsignor’s twitching hands finds his belt after awkwardly runching up his robes. This isn’t sin. This is worship. God gave him this body with all of its functions and he was awarded a glimpse of all that is good for a reason. His mind translates enlightenment in the only way he can understand. It turns something holy, something sacred into sensation rather than comprehension. Sin is not one thing or the other. It’s a fluid concept. The church is old and lost in its ways just like he was not so long ago.

Perhaps he’s a heretic, and such thoughts might've once sequestered him into a panicked, praying stupor… but he’s promised his very soul in exchange for the truth. No such heresy comes from worship. No such shame should come from pleasure found in servitude. Uneasy but determined, Father Pruitt decides that his faith has yet to wrong him. Wouldn’t he be distrusting God by questioning the morality of the way his body reacts to His word?

The noise of his belt buckle clinking against itself cuts through the heavy silence in the room. Some spell laid over him lifts with a promise to return and Father Pruitt thanks it for its mercy. He’s airy now, eager to offer himself in this way. This may as well be liturgical practice, this is… right. This is physical devotion and the same as self-appointed lashing or any other physical offering. Father Pruitt’s breaths are slow but heavy, he swallows dryly, and as soon as he’s fumbled his zipper somewhat undone, he shoves a blood-sticky, prayer-warmed hand into his waistband with a haggard breath of thanks. His cock is half hard, twitching to life and he can feel its pulse more than he’s attuned to his heartbeat. The first graze of touch has him gnashing his teeth.

At the edge of coherence, he’s aware that the blood is staining not just his soul. His vestment robes are soaked through, he’s yet to perfect the ritual but he’s sure that he’ll eventually get the hang of it. Blood has since streaked across the floor. Some drips steadily from the pool atop his desk and Father Pruitt resists cleaning the mess with his tongue. Kneeling in the worst of it, he’s sure that soaked denim is soon to cut into his skin. His hand was far from clean but he didn’t think twice about wrapping it around his cock. It swells as if to meet the blood on his hand and it only takes a few shy strokes until he’s fully hard, each awkward pump of his fist has his eyes nearly rolling back in his head. He’s unpracticed, unsure of what he likes, and in a lifetime before, he was beleaguered with too much shame to ever think of doing something like this.

A chuckle leaves him while he ponders whether or not someone a few hundred years ago assumed people would spend all day touching themselves if such pleasure wasn’t branded as a sin. Something so effortlessly taken, so effortlessly given could easily become wrong if one was to lose themself in unearned pleasure. But his body is a vessel of the Lord’s, he is nothing but a servant. He acts only by his Lord’s will. Even now, he mumbles thanks and prayer while his hand rapidly follows his words. Although they are patched together gracelessly, the sentiment is there. Father Pruitt hunches over, gulping down a breath as he works his cock with frantic, overeager strokes.

He thanks God for his grace, thanks God for his mercy. He asks that God may bring peace to those in need. He asks God for his congregation’s health and happiness.

So much of what he once knew as truth is now muddled with new realities. Stubbornly, he wonders if this is wrong. His hand slows and he forces himself to a stop even as his needy prick throbs with angry discomfort. He shouldn’t want anything besides what’s best for his flock, he shouldn’t feel so high-strung and on edge. Shouldn't this feel like worship? He wonders if he should feel calm, he wonders if he should slow down and perhaps acclimate to the sensation so he’s not panting like a dog… but all he can do is think of the first gush of wet blood that spilled into his mouth. Recalling the first swallow and the way the blood immediately awoke all of his senses to new heights forces a whimper from his throat and it clings to his bottom lip, making it tremble.

He decides that the same pleasure found in servitude to God is no different from the consuming want that emanates through him now. Father Pruitt sucks in a wet sounding breath and he shifts on his knees so he can better angle his hips. He fucks into his fist and the room balances on the closing note of a song. It hums with the same low note that lingers in the aftermath of an Amen. This is not selfish. This is not wrong. This is for Him. The Lord wants him to understand his miracle, this body is a gift… it is meant to be cherished.

The original sin was a gift. God allowed his first creations to ask questions, he made Eve a curious soul because she was a needed balance to Adam’s instinct to listen and obey.

Men were created to listen. Men were created to serve. Even with free will, Adam still chose to submit.

Everything is new and wonderful. Behind closed eyes, Father Pruitt sees only stars. An involuntary shudder builds in his ribcage and it escapes down his spine to find uneasy purchase atop his nerves. His hips cant upward, chasing his retreating fist and by now his breath has turned ragged, and his limbs feel loosely tacked on.

Buried memories awaken amongst the rapture and the crumbling relics speak long lost invocations in the language of heaven. He can’t understand them, but to hear something so ancient and otherworldly brings new wetness to his eyes. Like this he’s only a vessel of worship, he cannot speak or think clearly, he’s mindless and obedient to pleasure, seeking more to honor his Almighty. Mindlessly pumping his fist, Father Pruitt looks up and groans a pitched whimper.

“Yes, God.” He thinks. “I am yours, I am yours.”

His tongue feels oily, it can’t find its place in his mouth. He wants to give his thanks but the noise that pushes past his teeth is tangled up in its afterbirth and it struggles to make itself known. His soul swells with love, he’s made pure by this bloodied baptism. He understands it now. This hunger. He’s a newborn babe, brought screaming into the world. A lifetime of devotion made him pure once again. He’s without sin. He should be without guilt. Unashamed, Father Pruitt easily falls headfirst into a memory that he once kept secret from the lord. The memory is wet and tight, his breaths are shared with another’s and her lips feel so right against his.

Maybe this love wasn’t his to take, but he’s never regretted it. He’s never regretted her. Even now, the memory is only a wisp of what once was, but being able to recall anything of it is more than he could wish for. His knuckles scrape against denim and his movements pick up speed. Caught in a mess of prayer and thanks, the Monsignor hiccups while half swallowing a moan.

The presence inside of him blends the memory of her with the tinge of iron and fear. He remembers being so afraid of what he’d done, but not afraid enough to stop. She was everything in that instance of broken resolve. She was the universe itself. She was God and all things holy. She trembled around him, crying out to God and he selfishly commanded her to say his name instead. The command was strong only because it was backed by regret. He knew that this was unforgivable, he knew that no penance or no amount of hail Mary’s could amount to the weight of what he’d already done.

You cannot commit half a sin.

Close as they were, he wished to be closer. He wanted to shed her of her modesty and hide beneath her skin. He wanted to take her flesh for his own, anoint it in oils and make her holy so he had some excuse for the way he felt. He wanted to become some permanent piece of her because he was unable to rid himself of his devotion to God. She’d never push his faith, she would never have been able to claim him as he claimed her and the unfair trade burned him like a hot iron. Couldn’t he offer her just a piece of himself? After years of unshaken faith, couldn’t he give her something worth keeping? As the church is one with the body of Christ, partaking in his flesh and blood —couldn’t he offer her some minuscule, unimportant piece of himself?

From that first sin and all the subsequent moments of stolen love, John —Not the priest. Not Father Pruitt, Not God’s devoted parishioner—, wanted to see her soul. He wanted to see the thing he’d given everything for.

He found love in a sense of shame. He had no right to fuck his guilt into a woman chosen for him by God. He should’ve listened. His love was a desperate, aborted thing. Barely alive and stolen from his Lord, he gave handfuls of both to each party when neither wanted anything to do with his sickly worship.

You cannot worship out of fear. You cannot form shame into love.

Christened again, he understands with an old man’s regret that it’s natural to be afraid. He was blind to the gift he was given back then, he rejected a woman who loved him and rejected the God he so loved because of self-appointed shame. He lived the rest of his life a broken old fool, but he’s seen the light now. He can lead his congregation to salvation, just like the Angel who gave him a second chance at life. He’ll take their burden. He’ll take their guilt and their shame. He can handle it. Even now, there’s an ache inside of him that demands it. Even now, he’s hungry.

Rather than recoil, he chases the feeling. Acceptance is all it wants. It wants to be heard. It wants to be known.

This want, this hunger— It’s all part of His plan.

In shameful instances of the past, there were moments of resentment. God blessed him not only with forgiveness but also with the inability to harbor the concept of resentment any longer. He’s never known a love so unending. He’s never known something so bright, so vast. He feels it in his veins, the blood circulating through him is the same as liquid gold.

Faith tells him when to sleep and what to dream. It forces his lips as he speaks his sermons. Inside of him is something ancient and divine and he is so honored to hold such privilege. He doesn’t mind the ache of constant hunger. God tells him to consume mortal sin and feel it burn as it goes down his throat. It won’t corrupt him. His conviction is imbued into his bones, into his soul. When he is hungry, the Lord will provide. The sky is cracked open and he can see everything there ever was. It’s simple in its complexity. Everything is one centered breath, time itself exists in the span of a single heartbeat.

We exist out of love. God sees us wholly and without sin. He sees the perfect version of who we are meant to be because we came out of His imperfection. In the end, we are memory and devotion in its purest form. To love and be loved is our only purpose in life and Father Pruitt has been afraid for so long that he held a finite source. He held an unfair reserve over his heart, offering only part of himself to the woman he loved and the Lord who blessed him with such a feeling.

Containing multitudes, he understands that God wants him whole. He’s not a fractured mess of a man who once was. The air around him is perfectly, succinctly still. Each exhale feels almost rude. The room is severe, he looks up and waits for a sign. He wants to beg for direction.

“Please,” he begs the empty air and his voice weakens upon the crest of a gasp. He swallows and manages a firmer plea, but the air remains still. Looking up doesn’t seem to offer him anything, so Father Pruitt shuts his eyes. His hand acts on its own accord and his fist loosely settles around his stubbornly devoted cock. Blood lingers on his taste buds though he’s sure that the taste is long gone. He wonders if it’s a reminder or if it’s a promise of more.

In his mind, real as anything else— his hand slowly skims up someone’s bare calf. His touch is reverent, his head is bowed. He wants to look up at her, but he doesn’t need to look to know who she is. He hasn’t seen her face as it was in so long. His eyes are adjusted to the dark and looking up seems wrong, she didn’t ask him to look. He has a duty to perform, he can’t blind himself now. She’s naked in all of her glory and the universe narrows down until all he can see is her parting legs.

He waits for no direction, with her spread like an offering he understands his place. He is to bow before her holiness and he is to worship as God commands him to. This isn’t a test, this isn’t a cruel memory. He can smell her blood as it circulates beneath her skin. She’s real and she’s here. She reaches between her thighs to spread her lips— showing him everything he never deserved— and he stumbles forward to bury his tongue in her folds.

Unsure if she’s an embodiment of the Lord, one of his angels, or one of his memories given life once more… The Monsignor decides that they’re all the same. He decides he doesn’t care and he’ll take what he is given. His head is bowed as if in prayer, one hand holds her calf while the other words his cock. His tongue strokes through her folds and she’s decadent. She’s his as he is the Lord’s. Her skin is so soft in his hands, she’s otherworldly and the world itself. He has no purpose but to serve, to taste, and feed. God asks so little of his children. He gives and he gives and the Father is fed and loved for it. He could stay here forever, he could kneel and rot to nothing happily like this.

Was this… a reward? Was this God’s favor? He struggles for an answer but the closer he gets to the truth, the further he strays from the task at hand.

“Stay with me.” She commands, voice soft but words piercing. Fingers tighten in his hair and his previous curiosity mutates into his instinct to serve. She’s given him so much and the worship she asks for is so easy to give. So close to divinity, he’s barely able to breathe while refusing to part from her body. Devoted to his worship, his nose slots beside her clit as he curls his tongue between her lips. He’s so full of love but she urges him to take another mouthful.

Her pleasure drips wetly down his chin. Wet and warm like blood. Sweeter though. There’s no struggle, no initial fear. She tastes of heaven itself and Father Pruitt holds her hips still, tracing his thanks with his tongue as she writhes against his assault. She twists on her altar, back contorting as he sucks on her clit and Father Pruitt wonders if she’s to be prayed to or to be prayed for. She’s all movement, difficult to hold onto, and difficult to comprehend.

His cock leaks into his palm and each pump of his fist is slick. He is only a parishioner right now, his throat is bare, clerical collar forgotten somewhere beyond this place. The sin of his making whispers that he wants more. Behind the curtain of humility and faith… he wants to bury himself inside of her so deeply that her body will mold to his. He wants to lay her before God himself so as to show his Lord what devotion he’s willing to give. He wants no separation between their bodies, he wants no separation from his Lord. If God would give him this for just an instance, he would linger on this earth for the rest of eternity guiding all who wander toward the Almighty's light. He’d be kept alive only by the memory of something perfect.

The Angel who commands his heart promises that he is worthy of such love. He’s submitted, he’s given everything he is and more. He could take what he wants, nothing would punish him for it. Her pussy drips that much wetter, she grinds against his face, begging so sweetly. She only wants his worship, she already owns his soul…

Abruptly, she comes apart, unravels beneath his tongue and Father Pruitt groans along with her. He pulls away from her cunt only to look at what she’s become. This gift is his strength. This gift is his weapon. Take His body and drink His blood. This gift is the broken love he once gave to her and his Lord and it is returned to him in abundance, kept fat and happy by God who thrums with awareness beneath his skin. The ache of being begins to burn. Father Pruitt hisses behind his teeth as a ray of sunlight streaks across his back from a high window.

It ties him to his body and he’s thankful for the pain. He would’ve stayed wherever he was, licking her cunt for all of eternity if not for the earthly reminder of his flesh. Clarity pulls him from the depth of worship and he’s not allowed a moment to mourn the loss of his vision. She retreats with grace, her footsteps fade toward the sacred place she calls home inside of him. He’s taken his fill. He’s served righteously and he won’t ask for more. A younger version of him might’ve begged, but Father Pruitt knows better than to question God’s will. The Lord washed his palette clean.

The church’s next service will serve his blessed blood as communion and they will be made stronger because of his worship.

This is His will.

“You’ve done well, Father.” God’s voice is feminine and kept soft.

Father Pruitt takes her praise with all the grace he can summon. He wants to snatch it from the air and stuff it down his throat, he wants to bury his face in it and fuck it into a wet mess. All he’s ever wanted to be is worthy. All he’s ever wanted to be was seen.

An ethereal touch forces his eyes open. She crooks her finger beneath his chin as if to lift his gaze toward her unseen face and ghostly fingers settle on the side of his face. She’s so real. He can sense her somewhere. Whoever she is, a memory or some asset of God…he doesn’t care. Her touch is so soft, so divine, and otherworldly that it pulls an unbridled moan from his chest. Burdened by earthly gravity, it spills to the floor like incense smoke, curling at the edges and cleansing the curdled and blackened mess he kneels in.

His soul was never his to begin with. She doesn’t ask him for worship, nor does she ask him for bloody sacrifice. Her guidance is freely given, so gently laid that he feels as if he’s shrouded by sheer feathers. Her form isn’t here, not in this room in a physical sense, and yet somehow she is. She’s with him. Inside of him. A part of him. His belief has never been based on physical senses and he’s lived long enough to know that there is so much more beyond what he can see. He can almost hear the musical tone of her laughter, of her happiness found in his belief. Her wings constrict, holding him close and shielding him from the world. She asks him to let go. She asks him to breathe. Fingers tighten at his throat, and he’s reminded of who he breathes for.

He is owned as he is loved.

The sense of ownership builds until it finds the ends of his mortal body. It stretches thin after that, pulling beyond until it has nowhere else to go. The whisper comes again and she tells him to let go. He doesn’t need to hold on so tight. Wherever he begins and ends doesn’t matter to her. Father Pruitt inches toward embarrassment, feeling stupid for worrying over such a concept for so long and the presence only holds him closer in response.

There’s no slamming edge to his orgasm, the presence he feels it’s expansive and somewhere beyond himself. Torn from his body, he’s unaware of the pitched moans he whines into his empty office, he’s unaware of the way he bites the side of his thumb to keep quiet. His cock surges and holy light fills him up from the inside as thick white dribble arcs against the inside of his robes. He lurches forward and he’s forced to catch himself with his free hand. Startled, he yelps when his palm slaps against slimy wet sludge. The texture is so similar to his cum that he recoils, he’s pulled back into his body with an abrupt shove and Father Pruitt nearly falls face forward once again with the sudden shock of coherence.

With wild eyes, he whips his head around, looking for her even though he can feel the emptiness of her unsaid goodbye. The air in his lungs is too thin, his heart is too fast. His dick feels rubbed raw and he wipes his palms on his thighs, groaning with discomfort as he puts himself back together.

John can still feel her on his skin. He can taste her on his tongue. He knows exactly where her presence left and he accepts her loss just like any other day. She’s needed elsewhere and he knows to let her go. Others are in need, others love her just as he does.

His mind and body are that of his Lord’s and he has work to do. With an awkward stretch, Father Paul manages to force his legs into working order and he stands with pins and needles swarming his calves and feet. His back aches, and he leans backward in an attempt to pop a stiff joint. His eyes meet the still gaze of the vacant body pushed into a corner and he sees no recognition upon their face. They’re beyond him now. With her. With God and his angels. Safe in transport toward the kingdom of heaven. He wonders if they saw her too, he wonders if they felt just a smidgen of what he felt beneath her touch.

Did they see her face? Did she smile as she held them in her arms to absolve them of sin?

Gently, he removes his vestment robes, and as respectfully as possible, he covers the body as if swaddling an infant. He closes their eyes with an accompanying prayer. He tells them that they’re beautiful, he tells them that they’re loved. He prays for God to soon wash their soul clean so that they may leave this world holy and pure as Mary’s blessed son.

Father Paul doesn’t tell them that their blood was sweet with sin. He doesn’t tell them that he no longer can tell the difference between all that is Holy and that he’s beginning to rethink the reality of heaven.

Thanks for reading! Woof this dude is going through it.

I wanted to write something "Short" for my boo @ventiswampwater but idk how to write short i guess haha.

Let me know your thoughts!!

#poki writing #I forgot i didnt tell tumblr anything abt this fic #midnight mass #midnight mass fanfic #monsignor pruitt #father paul #father paul x reader #father pruitt x reader

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hannibal-confessions-nbc · 8 months

Note

anon that was surprised by Hannibal Is Not A Cannibal fic updating on said experience: I RETRACT my statement. My palette was NOT expanded, I developed an allergy. Hannibal wasn't even a killer in the fic. Forget the lamb sauce, there was NOTHING on the plate...! Nothing.

No hate to fic writers and enjoyers of these tags. It is good for different flocks to graze on different pastures.

#hannibal confessions #nbc hannibal #hannibal #hannibal lecter #hi welcome back

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mryaksalot · 2 months

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Plans for the rest of 2024 and beyond.

2024 has been a turbulent year for me, to say the least. I went into this year with an entire agenda as for what I wanted to accomplish in terms of writing. Little did I know how differently things would turn out for me.

My mental health back in March/April was not great if I’m being honest. I found myself not having nearly as much motivation to write as I did before. I decided to take a break from social media, fic-writing included, in order to work on my mental health. I’m happy to report that I’m doing a lot better now, and my motivation to write fics has increased significantly since June.

During my time away from the internet, I had time to reconsider what my intentions were when it came to my writing. I always enjoyed writing for the fun of it, but I also wanted my stories to stand out from the rest. I wanted to create something that was entirely unique, something that I can look at and be proud of.

The following is a list of all of the things I want to accomplish for the rest of 2024 and beyond, highlighting future stories as well as major changes in regards to my writing.

Backstory AU/The Road To Success

I’ve always viewed The Road To Success as my flagship story. I created this AU all the way back at the beginning of 2021. Hours upon hours have been put into fleshing out this AU into the multi-chapter saga. So many changes had to be made along the way(including starting the whole story over from scratch back in 2022). The story is now over 140k+ words, and it’s nowhere near finished.

Admittedly, I went a little overboard with how much thought and ideas went into this AU. I was not aware that this project would take so many months, even years, to put together. I don’t have an editor – I write, edit, proofread, and publish every one of my stories by myself. That takes a while to do.

Back in January 2023, The Road To Success went viral. This was around the time the 3rd and final season of the reboot came out, and AO3 was flocked with fans eager to catch the hype train. For a good few months, my story was gaining an immense amount of readership, which encouraged me to pump out as many chapters as possible in a short time frame.

But, like all hype trains, the excitement from the new season release cooled down. By the fall, the only fans left were diehards like myself. I was also experiencing some major burnout from pushing myself so hard. I had other responsibilities outside of social media like work, school etc. This burnout led to several delays of new chapter uploads.

During my break, I had time to rethink several components of my Backstory AU. I made a handful of changes to The Road To Success. The most prominent one was making the story much more Yakko-centric. I wanted to make a story showing how hard work and dedication to your craft can get you to places in life you’d never imagine. Yakko is the perfect character to convey that sort of message.

Initially, I wanted to include more character perspectives beside Yakko, but I ultimately decided to size it down. We’ll still see some of their perspectives (Wakko will get his own chapter at some point), but for the most part, the spotlight will remain on Yakko. This is his story, after all. Because of this, the current version of TRTS is much shorter than I originally drafted 2 years ago.

I have thought about expanding the universe even more with additional stories, but I have decided to hold off on that until I reach a certain number of chapters (you’ll understand when the time comes). I’m currently working on a 2-parter, chapters 17 and 18, which will take priority for the time being. I will save an announcement about bonus content for another day.

The Backstory AU has really become a passion project of mine. You can say it’s my magnum opus. I intend to take my time with future updates going forward. I used to pump chapters out as fast as I can, but I don’t really feel like I need to do that anymore. I feel like my content is better when I take my time to make sure everything is right. I want this AU to be executed to its full potential. Rome wasn’t built in a day, as the saying goes.

Oneshots/Additional projects

I have always been open to doing external projects on top of working on the Backstory AU and The Road To Success. Though recently, I have cut back on the amount of oneshots that I put out. There are two reasons for this:

1. The time I spend on these oneshots takes away time that I could be spending to write up the next chapter of The Road To Success. That story is a much higher priority to me, so I would like to put my time and effort into that before I decide to work on something else.

2. There really isn’t much demand for me to pump out as many oneshots now than there was 2 years ago. As I said in the hype train analogy, when a show gets new seasons/episodes, it draws fans to social media – it gives fic writers the motivation they need to push out new content. But now that the Animaniacs reboot has ended, a majority of the casual fanbase who had jumped onto that hype train had left to other fandoms.

But while the Animaniacs fanbase is much smaller now than it used to be, it allows me to focus less on the demand and more on the product itself – that product is the Backstory AU. I feel like I can take my time on new chapters knowing the diehard fan base will still be there. As long as there is an audience, I will write for as long as I still feel value in my work.

With that being said, I am going to be putting most of my focus on the AU going forward, rather than adding onto the load. I feel less anxious that way, knowing that I have a clear path in getting a fic done with little delay.

However, I am still open to doing oneshots in the not so distant future; I’m just putting priority on a bigger project at the moment. That might offset some readers who enjoy shorter content, but do know that all of my oneshots currently posted will remain on the platform for anyone to enjoy. Not to mention all the other great content getting posted on AO3. We’re a small, dedicated community, working together to make content for our own enjoyment.

But while I’m cutting back on individual oneshots going forward, I have something that you might enjoy.

Splats Of Ink/The Drabble Collection

Back in January, I decided to try my hand at a drabble collection. I saw that a couple of my fellow Animaniacs writers were doing it, so I thought “Why the heck not?” So far, I have written 6 entries to the collection, all of which have received decent feedback from readers.

I’m really enjoying doing the collection so far, because it gives me the chance to write out those strands of ideas floating around in my head. None of the drabbles in the collection are directly related to anything major, but that was the intention. The drabble collection is like my own personal sandbox – a place where I can figure out what works and what doesn't.

I won’t say yet what you can expect for future ideas for the collection; the collection itself is sporadic for the most part. But I would like to write out some deleted/extra scenes from The Road To Success which didn’t make it into the story. There is a lot of cut content from that story which I feel is still worth sharing. Other entries will include character study, and characters which I feel aren’t shined upon that often.

These drabbles will take the place of oneshots, and will typically be released during a wait period(when I’m in the midst of working on the next chapter of TRTS). As I said previously, I will still do oneshots on occasion, if I am able to come up with an idea that I can expand upon. For the most part, however, expect much more of the drabble collection in the near future.

Conclusion

If you made it all the way to the end, I just want to express how thankful I am to everyone who has supported me and my fics after all this time. I’ve been at this for 3 years now. I have made several new friends during my time here, and I’ve seen the talent of so many people in this community.

With that being said, I will be taking my time with my fics going forward. That doesn't mean I’m gonna quit necessarily, but I will be taking my time with my fics to ensure that they can hold up to their full potential. As long as there is still engagement in the fanbase, I will continue to write fic for as long as I still hold value to my craft.

If you have any questions about any of the information above, do not hesitate to ask. I will answer any questions you have, whether it’s about the Backstory AU or another project of mine. I want to be as transparent to you guys as I can.

Cheers.

#yaksalot yaks #long post #update #yaksalot fanfics #animaniacs fanfiction #Backstory AU #animaniacs

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officialchristiancagebbgirlblog · 3 months

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The Feeding

Brood! Christian x f/reader (filler name of Jen)

Fic type: smut

Warnings: mention of blood and periods (yes related)

Word count: 1898

Link to masterlist

🩸Happy reading 🦷

Living with three male vampires posed its challenges. Jen was certainly lucky that, for the most part, everybody got on with each other and there weren't any attempted ‘love triangles’ or any drama related to being the only girl in the house. She was sure her partner, Christian, would have something to say if that were the case.

He was somewhere in their shared home, probably downstairs talking with his fellow vampires about…whatever it was they talked about. Jen tried not to get involved in their business as it wasn’t anything for her to know about. They had their business, she had hers. And that’s all that mattered. She was thankful that there was mutual respect for that aspect.

She lay in the middle of their shared bed, clutching a hot water bottle to her lower stomach. Unfortunately, it was that time of the month for her. And it had decided to read its head at the worst possible time as she was without any sanitary products. Well, almost. There was one lonely pad she found in the depths of the bathroom cabinet. Not wanting to go downstairs and face all three men to announce she needed one of them to haul themselves to the nearby store for her, she waited upstairs for Christian to make his way back up to her. Although Christian was the only one who fed off her, there was no telling what could happen if they figured out that she was a feeding source that didn’t require access via fangs. The last time she was on her period, it was almost a nightmare as the other two were having trouble sourcing food to eat but her partner refused to share with the other two. She wouldn’t have minded helping out (provided there was a way she was able to use an item for ‘collection’ so to speak to avoid that physical contact with anyone but Christian) but…well let’s just say this was a rare treat that he refused to be generous with. Something about these types of feeding just made him so much more protective, ravenous, and desperate.

Being so distracted by the twisting cramps, she didn’t even hear Christian enter the room. And where she didn’t notice him, he initially didn’t notice the gorgeous smell emanating from her body. His focus was only on the concern he held for her upon discovering that she was visually in pain.

“Oh you poor thing,” he cooed with a gentle voice, “are you okay? Because you certainly don’t look that way.”

Even though he had been turned into a vampire years ago by Gangrel, he still hadn’t lost the slight lisp that came with trying to pronounce his ‘S’s or ‘C’s. It certainly wasn’t as prominent nowadays but if you listened to him long enough, it was obvious. Unfortunately, not a lot of people did listen to him for that long to find out this interesting little fact about him. Most people who got close to The Brood would flock to Edge, being the tallest and most conventionally attractive out of the three. Jen, although she couldn’t deny the beauty of Edge or the kindness of Gangrel, found herself preferring the company of one Christian. Naturally he became quickly attached to her, like a lost puppy in desperate need of attention and affection.

Jumping slightly at the sudden sound of his gentle voice, she turned to look at him through half lidded eyes. She didn’t even have to say anything before he gave her a sympathetic smile and sat on the edge of the bed to properly check up on her. Just as he leant in closer, the smell of her predicament hit his nose. His pupils expanded as his expression changed, mouth beginning to water. He even noticed that his fangs felt that little bit sharper at the excitement of that realisation.

“You know, it’s been a little while since I last had something to eat…” his voice trailed off back into quiet as his soft hand travelled down her aching stomach to her right thigh, gently resting on top of her leggings.

“Wait, before you go any further I need you to do something for me!” She interrupted abruptly, slipping her hand under his. Doing so almost fully broke his trance of excitement. He hummed in question, meeting her face with a soft look in his eyes and a slight smile on his face.

“Can you go out and just grab me some…uh products for me please?” She asked, still finding herself getting shy at asking him to do the thing he’d been happily doing for her since they met. Chuckling slightly, he leant over to plant a quick kiss on her cheek before mumbling “I won't be long, then” and leaving the room with haste. He was clearly hungry but was willing to put that need aside to help his beloved. And with that, she was left alone.

One thing that was interesting was that each vampire had a special gift beyond morphing into bats and inhuman speed: Gangrel had his strength, Edge had his healing, and Christian? Beyond his fantastic ability to be the world’s most annoying vampire, he had this incredible ability to be very compelling, almost borderline manipulative if the situation called for it. Though he couldn’t show this off as much because, as mentioned before, no one really paid that much attention to him beyond the people he lived with. Nonetheless, it was a power of his. Hidden, but existing. Before he had realised Jen was the one for him, he was the main ‘Hunter’ so to speak as he could attract anyone and everyone. Suffice to say, they had a lot of skeletons in their closet. Literally. As much as she loved Christian, she sometimes wondered what compelled her to fall in love with him so quickly. She was glad she did for a variety of reasons but it was still a question that she found floating around in her head years later.

Once again, she was so distracted that she hadn’t heard him re-enter their room holding a plastic bag full of goodies for her. Well, goodies with the addition of pads and tampons.

“I got you some extra bits which I figured you’d probably need!” He said, with a smile in his voice. Jen took the bag off him, returning that smile as he kneeled on the bed in front of her.

“Thank you, I appreciate that,” she groaned as another wave of cramps passed over her body, “I’m gonna put it away quick so I can lay down and-“

“Pass it here, I’ll do it!”

He wasn’t usually this eager to do a chore but she reckoned it was his way of trying to make the inevitable feeding a bit nicer. He couldn’t make the pain go away and this way of feeding was so messy that it always made Jen feel a little uncomfortable. But seeing how happy and satisfied he was afterwards helped her get through it.

He had taken the bag from her hands, practically throwing things in the hopes he could get them to their homes quicker so he could get on with his meal. Grabbing a large black towel, baby wipes, and tissue paper, he jumped back on the bed.

“Let’s get these off…” he mumbled, pulling on her trousers and underwear until he was able to just fling them off her legs. Tucking the folded towel under her bum, he opened her legs. She watched him take a deep breath in through his nose, closing his eyes as he enjoyed the smell. When his eyes flicked back open she noticed that they were darker, full of both lust and hunger. But as clearly desperate and excited he was for this, he didn’t rush into it. Instead he took his time kissing up her thighs.

For a vampire, he had very warm lips. The rest of his body was cold and pale yet his lips were light pink, plump, and warm to the touch. It still shocked her to feel the difference in temperature when she felt his chin or nose graze over her skin.

The softness of his kisses as they travelled slowly upwards sent tingles down her body to meet his lips in the middle. It felt incredible when he took his time with her, but she could tell he was becoming impatient. As much as Jen wanted him to keep planting his lips on her legs, she inched her way down to signal that she wanted him to attend to his needs. And he obliged with glee.

As he licked one long stripe between her lips, she gasped at the contact. He groaned in return as the taste of blood sunk into his taste buds. Normally he would spend a moment or two savouring the taste, enjoying the feeling of his favourite meal! But he was so hungry, he just couldn’t take it. Taking a hold of her legs to pry them further open, he delved in between her thighs. At this point in time, it felt incredible. Getting simultaneously eaten out and cleaned up felt so good! Christian did his best not to instinctively bite down as he licked and swallowed each droplet of blood that came freely from her body. It was such an intense flavour that he did gently nibble once or twice.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, “that feels so nice…”

Again he hummed in response, flicking his tongue up against her clit to give her some more pleasure. It earned him a whine to which he smirked, spending some time in that precise area. Considering his experience it was no wonder that he knew exactly where her clit was. One of the many pluses in their relationship.

As time went on, his mouth was beginning to ache and tire. Although he was still hungry for more, his jaw was certainly on its way out to exhaustion. Still, he pushed on. To give his jaw a short break, however, he dipped his long, slender fingers deep inside her to lick up the blood that way. As he lifted his head to suck on his fingers, she noticed what looked like a long string of blood attached to his bottom lip, still connected to her. Seeing that made her feel strangely aroused and she couldn’t think why. Perhaps it was the idea that he was so engrossed in what he was doing he didn’t care about it as much as he normally would? Or maybe it was the idea that he was enjoying himself so much, he made a complete mess of the two of them? Either way, it was hot.

Christian continued this for another few minutes before he finally reached over for the bag, grabbing a tampon to use on her so she didn’t have to, and using the towel and nearby wet wipes to clean her up. He’d normally clean her up with his tongue but he had been down there for so long that his tongue needed a moment to rest.

“I’ll probably be coming back for some more,” he chuckled, kissing her shoulder before laying next to her briefly, “but I’ll let you rest and get yourself in comfy clothes, and then we’ll have a cuddle. I think we both could do with a little rest after that.”

#christian cage #christian #captain charisma #christian wwe #instant classic #the brood #christian cage x reader #christian cage fanfic #christian cage imagine

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bakuliwrites · 10 months

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A Distant Past- Gortash x My Tav

Rating: Mature Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Pairing: Enver Gortash x OC Tags: Slightly suggestive, a bit of angst, Gortash spoilers, BG3 spoilers, pre-events of Baldur's Gate 3, Gortash backstory, OC backstory A/N: I have no idea when I'm going to get around to writing my fic about my Tav, Orlando, but I'm coming up with all sorts of content for it. It's just completely out of order. So, here's a little mini-fic which will be featured in my eventual fanfic. For context, this occurs after Gortash and my Tav have escaped the House of Hope, but years before the events of Baldur's Gate 3 :) Want to know more about my Tav? Check her out here

Lifting his head from his cluttered desk, Enver pinches the bridge of his nose, willing the pressure of a nascent migraine to dissipate. He’s been working for hours, maybe even days, with little to show for it. Unfinished, half-baked ideas litter his workspace and he’s certain his five o’clock shadow has progressed into full beard territory. His dark eyes flick over to where Orlando is scratching away at some parchment, the grip on her quill irontight. The Tiefling’s forehead is crinkled in concentration, as she is no doubt absorbed in formulating some new potion derived from her luminescent tears. Recently, she made a bit of money selling a vial to a scientist of middling renown, who hopes to turn them into a viable light source. But that one sale hasn’t been much in the way of funds, hence her dedication to expanding her little business.

Enver listens to the harsh scratch of her pen on parchment and smiles to himself. Orlando’s patience is endless. How long has it been since they slipped through Raphael’s claws? A decade, at least. And how long has Enver been promising her safety, security, stability? Even longer.

Thus far, he’s been able to provide exactly nothing for her. He’s resorted to thievery and scrounging around for whatever food and living accommodations he can find. It was Orlando that managed to secure the two of them a temporary home, albeit water damaged and reeking of brine. A hut on the beach in Baldur’s Gate isn’t exactly prime real estate, but it serves its purpose for now. Shelter and somewhere to work is all Enver really needs. He is a man of unwavering perseverance, more so than he even realizes, yet, in his late twenties.

Even in this dingy shack they’ve commandeered as a workspace, Enver sees promise. He sees potential, if he can get any of his damn machines to actually work. Miniature prototypes of devices he’s given the temporary titles of, “Steel Soldiers,” (a name he plans to change one day) lay disassembled around his workspace. Blueprints for better designs, newer designs, cover his desk and spill onto the floor. Meanwhile, Orlando has laid claim to a small desk in the corner, comfortable in the dark and claustrophobic den she’s built for herself. She’s always been more productive in small, shadowy spaces. She glances up for a moment, webbed ears perking up when she hears Enver sigh. She meets his gaze and beams gently.

Part of Enver wishes he could give Orlando the life she’s always imagined, the one she wrote to him about in the secretive notes they used to pass back and forth in the House of Hope. Were she to stay with him, perhaps he could give her some semblance of that life, though it certainly wouldn’t be the saccharine fantasy she’d cooked up all those years ago. A fantasy she also appears to have abandoned. Years of struggling to make ends meet seem to have dashed any hopes she had for a cottage in the woods with a gaggle of children and flocks of sheep (or was it chickens? He can’t recall).

Enver is certain he can give Orlando a life better than the simple one she imagined as a child. He is meant for greater, grander things, and so is she. Orlando is more lethal than she realizes. Were she to unlock her potential, were Enver’s potential to be recognized- by the gods, they’d be unstoppable. Bane would no doubt be pleased. And whatever eldritch patron Orlando is bound to- well, it’s safe to say they’d benefit from a union as powerful as his and hers.

Enver lets his mind wander for a moment. In another life, he stands at the grand window in a magnificent office. His magnificent office, one with mahogany shelves from floor to ceiling and space for him to fiddle with his machines. The deep blue waters of the Sword Coast shimmer brightly in his view, and Enver knows he’s made it. He’s the top of the top, the cream of the crop. In this dream, in this life, he is beloved, feared, and standing victoriously on the pinnacle of the world. A portrait of him, powerful and commanding, hangs above the mantelpiece, with Orlando sitting elegant and proud at his side. Triumphant, he swivels back to the window, gloating over the city that failed him so spectacularly as a child. However, the dream suddenly shifts. Night descends on Baldur’s Gate and the stars twinkle softly in their heavenly bezels.

Enver still stands at his office window, a newborn son swaddled in his arms. The boy’s chubby cheeks are softer than velvet, his teeny, pink lips slightly parted in peaceful slumber. He looks like his mother, right down to the little horns sprouting from his head and the bioluminescent spots on his delicately webbed ears. But he has his father’s eyes (and possibly his nose, though it’s still a bit early to tell). He is the picture of innocence, cherubic and new. The world is a marvel to him still, the mysteries of which his parents will help him unravel in time. Mysteries Enver had to unravel for himself when he was a boy.

A surge of contempt wells in Enver’s chest. Looking down at the sweet face of his little one, he cannot fathom how a parent could sell their child. He simply cannot comprehend letting anyone wrench his precious babe from his arms in exchange for a petty amount of gold. His son- Mirak or Nikhil, he decides (he recalls Orlando daydreaming about naming a son one of these names)- stirs, wriggling restlessly in his blanket. When the boy yawns, the slightest squeak escapes his throat, and Enver feels his heart swell. Who could be so cruel as to assign value to that which is priceless?

In this other life, he feels Orlando’s arms snake around his waist and pull him close. She rests her head against his broad shoulders and when she leans up to press a lingering kiss to Enver’s neck, he smells her sweet jasmine and musk perfume, and for a moment, Enver could convince himself this life is real.

“My handsome men,” she affectionately hums, squeezing him tight. Enver shifts the baby to one arm, wrapping his other around his wife and drawing her near. The feeling that surges through him in this moment is foreign, utterly unknown to him. Is this what it’s like to feel unconditional love? Love without expectation? Love not as a commodity or something to earn, but something entirely inherent and guaranteed? Here they stand, a family of three. United, as they should be. As families ought to be.

But this life will never be. Enver’s trajectory has not allowed room for the comforts of settling down. This other life is a fantasy in every sense of the word. A ridiculous notion Orlando planted in his head over years of pining after a life that will always be out of reach. He must carry on, determined as ever. If life will not give him what he wants, then he must take it for himself.

A gentle touch draws Enver from his thoughts, ink-stained fingers carding softly through his jet black locks. Velvet lips press tender kisses to his cheekbones, scratching against his stubble and smiling softly against his skin.

“Come to bed?” Orlando tempts, her voice a drawl as her hands smooth along his shoulders. Meeting her eyes, Enver knows in his heart that they are on the cusp of something brilliant. Something life changing. He will stop at nothing to ensure a safe future for himself, for Orlando.

Enver grasps Orlando’s hand, pulling her into him, letting her settle on the desk in front of him. Her startled gasp turns to a giggle, which is swiftly hushed when his lips crash hungrily into hers. Orlando returns his kiss with equal fervor. Enver doesn’t have time for sleep, not if he wants to build the life he’s promised her for so long. But Enver won’t say no to blowing off some steam, refreshing his thoughts and losing himself in his cherished one for a while.

A/N: I don't intend for this fic to have any redemption arcs for Gortash. I want it to purely be a dual route fic: one ending with a corruption arc for my Tav and one ending where she will have to face off with Gortash. But I can't resist writing about what could have been in another life, if things had gone differently for them. Thank you for reading :) More to come.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #enver gortash #bg3 gortash #gortash x tav #gortash x oc #slightly suggestive #bg3 fanfiction #my fanfiction #dani writes #gortash spoilers

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lunarsands · 1 year

Text

Empires SMP S1 Champions AU: A Small Introduction to The Children of Mythland

With side stories and artwork popping up while the main story is currently being worked on, I wanted to do some short profiles for the children adopted by Sausage and Scott! All pictures used are from this holiday special by @cynthrey!

Click the read more for more details about this wonderful little flock of kids who have an adventurous future ahead of them!

Name: Azahar Race: elf Eyes: amber Hair: orange Pronouns: he/him Age at adoption: 11 Bio: A kind-hearted child, Azahar always helped the other children at the orphanage whether it be with learning school lessons or playing. When Elowen arrived, Azahar helped him to overcome some of his shyness and they became best friends.

Name: Elowen Race: elf Eyes: light blue Hair: dark green Pronouns: he/him Age at adoption: 9 Bio: Depending on the situation Elowen can still be withdrawn, but has become more outgoing after settling in with his new family. By chance he happened to have some proficiency with ice magic and Scott is more than happy to help him learn to further those powers.

Name: Liana Race: elf Eyes: indigo Hair: sapphire blue Pronouns: she/her Age at adoption: 6 (and a half) Bio: Curious, fearless, and gregarious, Liana will speak her mind and there’s not much you can do to stop her. In her own way she is very supportive of all of her siblings, beginning with her new elven brothers and then later expanding to accept the human ones into the flock.

Name: Ilan Race: human Eyes: green Hair: brown Pronouns: they/them Age at adoption: 8 Bio: Ilan has their reasons for concealing things about their identity, but they’ve at least come to be reassured that they and their two younger sisters have found a wonderful new home. Much like Elowen, they turn out to have an affinity for magic, too, although more the general type than a specific kind.

Name: Rayen Race: human Eyes: brown Hair: blond Pronouns: she/her Age at adoption: 4 Bio: The feistier of the twins, Rayen will fight anything that moves. Prepare your kneecaps! Very likely to grow up to be a true warrior princess.

Name: Seren Race: human Eyes: brown Hair: blond Pronouns: she/her Age at adoption: 4 Bio: Slightly less wild than Rayen but still as energetic as children their age tend to be, Seren is more of a visual arts type than martial arts. Inkpots and blank paper (or walls) are not safe from her growing penchant for doodling.

Name: Mariposa Race: human (As far as anyone knows) Eyes: turquoise Hair: white-blond Pronouns: she/her Age at adoption: Baby Bio: Is baby!

*ahem* A foundling left at the Church of the Blood Sheep, she was brought to the royal family and, well, for some reason they realized they just couldn’t say no.

--- You can find the fics set in this universe listed in my Fanfic Archive Masterpost! :)

#empires smp #empires smp s1 #empires smp ocs #empires smp fanfic #champions au: garden path #scosage #champion of exor au

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justabooknerdposts · 1 year

Note

just an idea but awkwardly timed IMs lol, those fics always make me laugh and you are very good at capturing humor

*NOTE: I’m still closed to prompts for now, probably until at least the end of the year, as life is quite busy at the moment. But I’m trying to catch up on some backlogged requests that have been sitting there for a few months since before I closed. So, I’ll have a few up over the next couple of weeks—my goal is to have them all posted before Chalice of the Gods comes along and expands canon again, ha. Again, not accepting any new prompt requests at this time—I’ll see how my schedule looks in January and revisit the idea then 😊 In the meantime, enjoy the four or five coming up.

Oh, also, chapters 2 through 4 of my AHS senior year Percy and Annabeth story have also been posted. This story is written under my TraitorousHearts8 pseud, so it’s a little more YA than middle-grade, but it’s available to read on Fanfiction and AO3 if you’re interested! The last two chapters should be up over the next week or two.

Alright, back to the prompt response!*

Okay, I kind of loved this one and it was fun to do some semi-awkward IMs. Hope you enjoy!

PERCY: The Greek gods have terrible timing. For example, one once interrupted me in the shower. Long story. I’m not discussing it right now. Demigods do a little better. But sometimes, they have bad timing, too. For example, during my freshman year of high school, I was in the bathroom at my mom’s apartment, going…well, doing what you do in the bathroom, when, suddenly, the air in front of me shimmered. Charles Beckendorf’s face appeared a moment later. “Hey, Percy, got a question for—” he said before his eyes widened.

I yelped and swiped through the I-M.

Once I was out of the bathroom and standing near the kitchen sink, using its water to make a misty rainbow, I messaged him back.

“Uh, hey, dude,” Beckendorf said sheepishly. “My bad.”

“It’s okay,” I said, even though I still kind of wanted to curl up and die from embarrassment. “You didn’t know. But, uh, let’s not mention it again. Ever.”

He nodded gravely. “Anyway, the reason I was calling…” and he launched into a Titan War-related question about an explosive device he was working on that could be added to the tour bus of monsters we’d received reports on.

Later, I learned that he’d rigged this device in the bus’s toilet. I tried not to take that too personally. And I definitely did not ask him what had inspired the idea.

ANNABETH: Usually, I have way better luck than Percy. Which isn’t actually saying much because he has absolutely terrible luck. Which probably explains why this happened. It was during the fall of my freshman year of high school, during the Titan War. I was at my dad’s in San Francisco, and Percy and I hadn’t caught up for a few weeks. Things had been weird between us ever since our quest in the Labyrinth that summer. But we were trying. Unfortunately, Percy chose to reach out via Iris-message…while I was in the shower.

I was washing my hair when suddenly, from behind me, I heard, “Hey, Annabeth—aagh!” I turned, hands already up over my chest, to see Percy, bright strawberry red, covering his eyes and swiping through an I-M.

I called him back ten minutes later from my bedroom, fully dressed, though my hair was still wet and tangled.

As soon as his face appeared, Percy sputtered, “Annabeth, I am so sorry—”

I held up a hand. “We will never speak of this again.”

“Agreed.”

***

A couple years later, on the Argo II, Hazel was talking about I-Ms.

“They’re great,” she said. “But it seems a little risky. I mean, we surprised Reyna in the baths.”

The corner of Percy’s mouth quirked up. “Yeah, this one time, I called Annabeth and—”

“I thought we were never speaking of it?”

“Oh yeah. So, anyway, is that a flock of harpies closing in again? I’d better go check.”

After he ran off, Hazel raised her eyebrows at me. I sighed. “He called me once while I was in the shower.”

“Oh.” She fanned herself, an old-fashioned gesture that somehow seemed natural on her. “See? Risky.”

I nodded. “For sure. Oh crap, those actually are harpies. We’d better go help him.”

And that was the end of that conversation.

#pjo #fanfic #fanfiction #ff #writing #stories #request #percy jackson #pjo fanfiction

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just-jordie-things · 1 year

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your writing is so so good do u have any tips? hope u have a great day! ^^

i’ve never been asked this before! i had to think about it!

a biggie take your time finding your style- as you can see on my masterlist i have a looot of shit on there from years of writing fanfic and experimenting. getting out of my comfort zone can be kinda hard for me personally, but with writing it was so worth it bc you can really see a metamorphosis there of when i was writing just to write and when i was writing with a drive.

don’t be afraid to ignore the rules of grammar. run on sentences are beautiful. i’ve found that especially so when the plot is driven by someone’s stream of consciousness as though they’re narrating it. thoughts are messy, they’re long and sometimes awkward and there’s no such thing as grammar in your mind !! of course spelling and punctuation are important and i’d recommend editing tho (idk her 😳) but get creative with it!!

thesaurus.com is my bestie 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 i often find myself using a lot of the same words and i don’t want to bore readers with repetitiveness! and also it’s just an easy way to expand my vocabulary too. (in person i stammer and have the reach of a fourth grader lmfao so i always want my writing to be concise and make the reader feel exactly what i want them to with my language)

also something i’ve started doing recently !! when i’m away from my wip and daydream about it, i write it down right away! in my notes app or on sticky notes or even my hand hehe. sure if it’s a significant enough plot point i’ll probably remember… but there’s no time like the present!! i want A to look at B a little differently in that one quick scene? i want to make them eat something different for foreshadowing? little details like that can be huge in your writing !! something a reader might gloss over but then realize later it was all a part of a greater scheme?? yes. so take note of those thoughts and daydreams you have !! even if you don’t end up adding it to your work, it’s better than having a profound, fic changing idea that you forget before you get the chance to write it!

this one is simple but a biggie- think about what you would want to read. i’ve been trying to keep this in mind as of late, especially when writing longer pieces where i want to make y’all suffer. find new ways to build the tension in your plot. give us different points of view, give us an untrustworthy narrator that thinks they’ve got it all figured out. throw in extra conflict. fanfiction is the melting pot of whatever the fuck you want !! so go stupid go crazy and make it something you love, and you should be good to go!! not to be cheesy but as long as you love it then you’re solid. doing something you love over and over will naturally lead you through growth and finding your style. don’t be wrapped up in notes right away (yes it can be a bit of an issue on this app- but none of has have control over how people enjoy your work- so you might as well focus on enjoying it for yourself) because as long as you’re doing something you’re passionate about and sharing it with us, more people will soon flock to enjoy it with you <3

lastly i just enjoy making mini playlists for whatever i’m currently working on. they don’t have to correlate completely with your plot. sometimes the sound of a beat is good enough for me to throw it on. if it gets me excited and planning out scenes i haven’t gotten to yet then it’s good enough for me!! i will listen to the same song on repeat in the name of ✨vibes✨ even if the words themselves have nothing to do with the plot i’m writing. that’s probably lazy basic advice but it works well for me and i love listening to music so !!

i hope this helps, and i wish you all kinds of luck as you explore this hobby for yourself !! it can be so freeing to get lost in your own work, and tbh sometimes i feel a little cringe about writing fanfiction but… i just adore it. it’s my favorite thing to do and when i think like that i stomp it down bc i’m proud of my work! i’m proud of how far i’ve come and i’m eager to see what i can push myself towards next!!!

happy writing, happy reading, and if you ever need more help i’m happy to do the best i can for ya! this goes for anyone, please always feel free to reach out even if you just want to talk brainrot. making friends thru this hobby is amazing bc like-interests are 💞🩷

xoxo ~ jordie

#jordie says stuff #also tysm for your support #it brightens my day to hear people like my stuff as much as i like writing it!!!#writing can be so rewarding if you give it a chance!!!

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catsauceeartofficial · 2 years

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hello! I wanted to ask if you plan to incorporate Bernard into your time dragon rider/trainer au? it's cool if you aren't I just really liked the art you drew of them!

how would Tim's dragon react to the Bats and core4?

like would he get along with conner considering just how close they are? Would he dislike Damian and Jason bc of their actions toward Tim? would Redbird have to get to know the bat fam before he considers them part of the pack, does he even consider anyone aside from Tim part of the said pack?

if he does consider the bats part of his pack would there be a boss in the pack? How do Redbird’s species pack work, are there dynamics, etc.?

sorry for the word vomit. you can ignore this if you would like, I just have a lot of curiosities about the dragons and overall, Redbird themself. thank you for taking the time to read this word vomit about this wonderful piece of art that is your story.

I definitely plan to add Bernard into the AU! I have like, plenty of Tim The Dragon Au fics I want to write, and are being written now. There's even a fic I'm coming up with including the core four!

Most of the fics are just to expand on the lore of the dragons and the world, and follows Tim as he tries to get the dragons and humans to get along.

I feel like Redbird would find Kon interesting, since Kon is made of half clay and blood of human, he definitely smells funny. If Redbird were to interact with Jason and Damian during Bruce's disappearance, I don't think he might have taken them very well. But as of now, I think he'll be fine.

Redbird so far hasn't considered other dragons part of the pack. He always sees them as "other dragons" and none of them desire a relationship like Redbird with Tim. I think Redbird and Tim are similar in those aspects, where they are so close with each other that seeking out others is hard for them sometimes.

I based Redbird off of birds, and I would think the dynamics of his species would work like birds as well. They look after each other, have disagreements and can kick others out of the flock if they are undesirable to the overall flock. Just that the flocks tend to have a dragon they follow, simply if they are smarter or stronger.

And don't worry! I get ridiculously happy when people are invested in my world building. Dragons always have an interesting dynamic with humans and the world they live in, and it's always fun to figure out how they slot in.

#op talks #tim the dragon tamer au #dc #dcu #dc au #alternate universe #tim drake #ask

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angelofthepage · 2 years

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Some of you might know that I have a Bendy fanfic called Searching the Depths: The Heart of the Studio. (Which by the way has two new chapters coming that just need a little more tweaking.) It's very near and dear to my heart, and I've had at least a version of it going since the first year I was in the fandom. I have a pretty good idea of what I want to do with it, even though it's always evolving and changing, but lately, I can't get my mind off of what would happen if I changed this story to fit with BATDR. So I'm gonna talk about it. Warning, spoilers for BATDR and this fic ahead.

Searching the Depths is one of those stories that has branching paths and multiple perspectives. It doesn't focus on any one character, as I like to get into everyone's heads. It has a little bit of everything, but the big appeal is something I haven't gotten to writing yet, and I wish I could just skip to it, but the context needs to be there for it to work: the trio of Sammy Lawrence, Jack Fain, and Bella Ewe. I tried to deny it for a long time, but Bella is a core part of this story, and you know what? That's okay. My fic doesn't have to have universal appeal, I can have a main character that's an oc, this isn't the worst thing I've done.

Originally, I had the ending of Depths as this big fight against Joey to take him down, have the world crumble around them, and get everyone out and back to the real world (at the cost of his life and all of them still being made of ink but altered to look human). It had a lot of vibes of found family and starting over, and the character arcs explored had a rewarding aftermath. But since BATDR, I've contemplated another path: one where they fail.

They try to fight Joey, but Joey has gotten a character arc of realizing that yeah, he messed up, after spending some time with people he didn't expect to care about. And nothing he will do is ever going to fix his mistakes, but he's Joey Drew, an incredibly insistent guy, so he's going to try. So he manages to escape, locking everyone else inside tighter than ever, but he's not done messing with the ink machine. He knows full well that he can't set the people inside free, not until he's found a solution to them looking like monsters. He has to "fix" them, so they can come home. And this is the motivation for making Audrey, she's one of many experiments to try and get an ink creature to be indistinguishable from a human. And Joey grows attached, for the first time in a long time, he's got someone to love. But it's not meant to last, he's old and decaying, struggling to keep going, and he dies before he can correct his mistakes. Audrey is left in the care of a demon (unbeknownst to her), Belphene, who tries her best to take care of her, but there's only so much she can do.

The cycle has continued since Joey's pet project. The citizens inside have been rebelling, doing everything they can to break it, but it's hopeless. Bella has finally grown into a far more confident version of herself, now a cycle veteran rather than a scared newcomer, and she's gotten a much better handle on her depths diving abilities too. She spends a lot more time comforting souls, both to expand their army of lost ones and to ease the pains of those that are squashed into oblivion. She finally feels worthy of being called one of Sammy's flock, with her and Jack serving as both of his hands. Even though the landscape is hellish, she's found a family for herself, a place to call home, and that means everything to her.

But it's not meant to last. Wilson gets his hands on the machine eventually, and when exploring its many secrets, the people inside beg him to help them get out. It's been so long, they just want to go home. And Wilson, cruel as he is, denies them, traps them even more, messes with the narrative to weaken them, and stops them from fighting back. Sammy is hit with a character rewrite, memory loss that has him back in his old ways, no longer remembering what his relationships are, and removing his crucial link with the demon. Bella and Jack are devastated. Bella has sworn revenge against Wilson for this, how dare he take away someone so important to her.

When Wilson drags Audrey into the studio, Bella suspects that she's a creation of Wilson's and takes an immediate dislike to her. Her heart is hardened by the loss of her friend, and she doesn't hesitate to fight Audrey. If Wilson says she can't have Sammy, then Wilson can't have his little pet. But eventually they do come to an understanding, when Audrey reveals that she's working with Allison and Sammy (separately), and Bella regrets being so harsh. She agrees to work with her and starts getting into why the studio is such a mess, explaining the conundrum as well as sharing her power. Bella's dive is another golden ink ability, and with it, Audrey has a better chance of getting through this.

Bella sees a lot of herself in Audrey. She too was a daughter figure to Joey once (and later, a daughter figure to Sammy and Jack), taken under his wing and manipulated to do his bidding. She too was thrown in here against her will and made to suffer. She too worked on the Bendy property and was pushed too hard. But unlike Audrey, she had help to start. Sammy was responsible for why she turned to ink, but he ultimately took care of her and had her back. Audrey doesn't have that, Audrey is alone. Allison didn't stick around to help, and Sammy is too scrambled to help, so it falls on her now. She doesn't want Audrey to face what she had to go through, and maybe, just maybe, they can fix this together.

And this is where we get into what I was trying to achieve with Depths in the first place: BATDR beat me to my own game. The story I want to tell has a lot of similarities to it, and in some ways, seeing that validated a lot of what I wanted to do. I don't need permission to create what I want, but there's no denying that there's something comforting in knowing I'm not the only one with my vision. If the dev team can go and write the daughter of Joey Drew as a main character and have her have badass powers and kick butt, then I think I'm okay to have my OC travelling with my favorite characters. And because I waited so long, there are things from BATDR that I can implement far earlier into my storyline, like Memory Joey being an avatar for Joey that works on things behind the scenes in the loop, or Porter and Heidi existing far sooner than when we meet them, or figuring out what the origin of the Keepers are.

Or, most importantly of all: rewriting the cycle. This is the biggest thing that's kept me from continuing Depths (other than time and energy). I wrote myself into a corner with making the loop the same each time, it's gotten boring to write. Wilson changing the cycle, in some ways, gave me some agency to play with it for myself.

In Depths, we already know that the story of the studio is a story Joey tells to Eliza Stein, Henry's daughter, as a tale about her dad braving the afterlife since his death (yes Joey sucks for this, especially since he's the one responsible for said death, oh he's so bad). When Bella finally hears this story, it's because Joey wants her to animate it, as a "tribute" to the old studio to relaunch the Bendy brand in time for a big anniversary (in truth it's a part of his ritual to finally lock them all in there for good so they can't ever escape, once he gets his last employee back). Bella is, frankly, appalled by this story and thinks it's poorly done, and because she's a young woman who thinks she knows better, she goes about secretly rewriting Joey's story behind his back, which, unbeknownst to her, affects everyone inside the machine. When Joey finally gets his last employee, Wally Franks, to come back to stuff him inside, it ends with an interruption that puts Wally, himself, Bella, and Eliza inside the machine at different points in the story, so they travel with different parties. Bella has Sammy and Jack, Eliza has Malice, the Butcher Gang, and the Projectionist, Wally has Henry and Buddy, and Joey is in his office at the very end, but I'm contemplating who's gonna teach him a lesson. Might be interesting to stick him with Allison and Tom and have him mistaken for someone that can help ala the BATDR line of thinking with Allison.

Bella takes a bit to figure out that she's being forced to play the role she set out for Henry in the music department, which ultimately leads to her getting sacrificed and ending up as a searcher, because she wasn't the character this was supposed to happen to and her spirits are utterly crushed. Originally when I came up with this, I wrote it as new people being in the loop unlocked alternate pathways that Joey hadn't fully conceived, but I like this a lot better. Bella being forced to recognize the consequences of her actions really hits me where it hurts, and all of these characters getting to play protagonists for a bit and feel some of Henry's pain is a really nice touch. This also hurts even more when Wilson comes into the picture and makes the same mistakes she did, rewriting the story with no regard for those it would hurt. Though in fairness, she didn't know the characters and world she changed were real, he did and decided to do it anyway. She lives with that regret and is trying so hard to make up for her mistakes. I think Audrey would probably need to convince her not to be so hard on herself for it.

Not to mention, I haven't even begun to figure out how this would affect Eliza, Henry's daughter. I have an idea of what I want with her, but it needs more time to marinate. And Cyclebreaker Henry, oh man, playing with him is fun. So in Depths, I don't subscribe to the idea of anyone being fake, they're all real people that got sacrificed. But Henry has an interesting mechanic. He's a ghost that writes golden messages on the wall, something Joey did to take away any agency he had in the story. His body moves separately from him, an empty husk that is forced to go through the motions of the story. I'm rather tempted to have this husk, this shell of Henry, start to become a character of his own, with thoughts, questions, feelings, to fill a similar role to our Cyclebreaker Henry. This would especially work in my favor given some of what I want to do with golden ghost Henry, and it would hit really hard for Audrey to eventually find the seeing tool and get spooked by him. Not to mention all the feelings he'd have about having a false version of himself in there.

Yeah, needless to say, I have a LOT to think about in the way of Depths. I want to get back to playing with it, I just haven't quite been there. But hopefully we can do that soon. I just need to get through the part in reality for a bit so we can get to the studio full-time first. X'''D Curse my overly ambitious visions.

#batdr spoilers #batdr #bendy and the ink machine #batim #bendy #bendy and the dark revival #bendy and the dark revival spoilers #searching the depths

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fabrowrites · 2 years

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@stars-brownies-n-metaphors tagged me to list five things you can generally find in any story of mine and then to tag five other writers to answer it too! Thank you sm!!!!

emotional climaxes! Even if there is an action sequence afterwards, I like to make the emotional aspect of a fic the climax and have the action follow up almost as the resolution. Ex: Sun Rises, Bloom, connected yet unseen

magic/additional magic lmao call me basic but I'm a huge fan of characters with superpowers and I like to either pay good attention to or else expand on powers they do have! Ex: Skyward, connected yet unseen, the wild things universe

references to music I like sometimes it's just fic title (Bloom, back into tune, moon magic marvel) but other times there's actual lyrics in the fic itself! The biggest examples are fast/slow, which has Epiphany lyrics at the top of each chapter, and ofc Sun Rises has a couple lyrics in chap 3 mixed in!

gen/family focus. this is probably the biggest one lol whether it's the pack of Skyward, the flock of the Colors universe, or the friend group forming in the wild things au, there's something that brings these characters together tightly. I really have enjoyed working on wild things specifically bc that series doesn't have the same background paved as the other ones!

weird themes of acceptance???? like lol as I'm going through my stuff to answer this yeah it's kinda everywhere XD Ex: fast/slow, Green, wild things ofc, any movie!verse fic lol but that one's obvious

tagging @only-lonely-stars @rosiehunterwolf @master-of-cosmos @starlightaxolotl @kingtysonsworld

#tag game #stars-brownies-n-metaphors #thanks again!!!#this was fun <3

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oveliagirlhaditright · 3 years

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I need to write more Buffy characters aside from Buffy, Angel, and Dawn (well, I guess I’ve posted one fic with Spike).

And in the fic I wrote for NaNoWriMo, I was writing for everyone--well, everyone who’s still alive after season twelve--but no one has seen that.

Though I am glad that I’ve written for Dawn. Don’t get me wrong. Before tonight, I’d only written one fic with her (that’s seen the light of day). So I’m glad I posted fic number two tonight.

I guess I’ve also now written Harth.

And there are also other characters in the fic I wrote tonight, even if they’re not the main focus and there that much.

#actually my other dawn fic didn't have her in it even though she was a main focus within it. shh #but it's good to expand your writing wings. even though i feel like no matter what you'll always have fan favorites you flock back to #-looks at my plethora of sora and kairi-#but i should get back to my buffy nano story. i've tried to tell myself i'm actually going to polish it up finish it and post it #also... i feel like i'm weirdly better at writing dawn than i am buffy or angel. especially buffy maybe? i feel like i'm not good at her #quips or voice yet. i feel like she has a certain tone and way of doing it. but i might be crazy #maybe it's just me. a little sister. feeling like i can relate to the little sister

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warabidakihime · 2 years

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Rules and Roses (Prologue)

characters: human!kibutsuji muzan x reader, angst, fluff, nsfw, modern au, lowkey a political fiction but not really.

plot summary: Kibutsuji Muzan has finally decided to expand his empire, and the way he intends to do so is by running for the highest political position. With you, his darling wife, at his side, he believes he can achieve and have everything the world has to offer. He is, after all, the Phoenix of Phario.

content warning: nsfw, can be psychologically triggering *you have been warned, this is muzan so- you know what you're getting into. as always, MINORS DNI!

writer's notes: so! this is one of the fics i'd like to share with you all. i decided to share the prologue now, but i won't likely update till i finish invisible strings. Rules and Roses will take place in a modern setting and in a modern civilization. I've always wanted to write a fanfic dedicated to Muzan because I always find his character intriguing and I want to see my take on his character. Bear in mind that I will stray slightly away from his usual demeanor from the canon story, but don't worry, his main points will still be there. I have a specific route in mind for this story, so kindly bear with me. Do share your comments and feedback too. I would love to see your inputs. They will surely motivate me to write more. Enjoy reading! <3

Classical, soothing music continued to play in the room as you sat prettily in your high chair and your stylist continued to style you up for today's grand occasion. After dodging the million dollar question so many times, Kibutsuji Muzan has finally decided to formally announce his presidential candidacy for the upcoming presidential elections.

Hoards of people with big cameras, as well as ordinary citizens of Phario, have continued to flock to the main entrance of the Obelisk Kibutsuji as they wait for the CEO of the most prestigious corporation in Areswood to take his place at the podium.

People generally dislike people who have no expertise or any semblance of political history but dare to run for any office because they believe such people are usually up to no good.

Muzan, on the other hand, was able to win the hearts of his compatriots. Everyone was in awe of the man's ability to rise from the ashes since he came from scraps and eventually made his way to the top.

They sincerely believe that a man like Muzan would be an excellent leader because he knows the heart and wishes of the people better than anyone else. Having you as his wife, Phario's most renowned ice skater and ballerina, who has made her nation proud by bringing gold after gold every time you compete in the Olympics, is just a bonus.

One that is extremely valuable.

You are, without a doubt, one of your country's greatest treasures.

Then again, you're the daughter of two legendary athletes, so it's only natural that you're good at what you do.

The fruit truly doesn't fall far from the tree, no?

Regardless of the fact that today is a special day for you two, Muzan is currently meeting with some of his overseas investors. He arrived at the arena much earlier than you, allowing him to get his hair and makeup done. He insisted on you taking your time because you were exhausted from yesterday's schedule. You've just returned from a charity expedition in the countryside.

Another quality that everyone in Phario reveres about you is that you are not just an exceptional athlete but also a philanthropist. Because of your parents, you have been exposed to social work since you were a child, and as you have grown older, you have developed an interest in helping others. It's in your nature to be so compassionate and caring.

Despite his desire to concentrate entirely on today's event, he had already promised to give them the time of day and speak with them.

That's exactly the type of man Muzan is. He is headstrong, incredibly intelligent, unfailingly truthful, and always honors his commitments. He might be impatient and hot-headed at times, but he's a wonderful person overall.

Unbeknownst to the general public, you two have known each other since high school. When you first met, he was a year older than you, so he was a senior and you were a junior.

You met him during a school event wherein you performed in front of the whole student body. Muzan fell in love with you the moment he saw you dance so gracefully on stage, but it took him a while to approach you. Because you come from a renowned family, he assumed you wouldn't dare to give a commoner like him the time of day.

He was adamant about that until you approached him.

It didn't happen on a special day or anything; it just happened on a rainy Thursday. It was after school hours and he was about to go home when you sheepishly asked him if you could share umbrellas because you'd forgotten your own.

That was the beginning of your friendship.

Muzan was pleasantly delighted to learn that, despite your illustrious background, you were really modest and so lovely. He was smitten every time you looked at him, and luckily for him, the feeling was mutual. You admire his enthusiasm and tenacity.

Every time he would share his dreams with you, his ruby eyes would twinkle, and you found yourself falling deeper and faster for him. It doesn't help that every time you two meet at the school grounds, he looks dashingly handsome.

As you were making a name for yourselves, it didn't take long for the public to fall in love with you two.

Everyone adored you to the point that you two have been branded as the embodiment of regality. Adults would wish their children to grow up like you two, while youngsters would desire to meet somebody like you or Muzan.

Admiring someone to the point of idolatry isn't exactly your thing, but you can't help but feel flattered from time to time. Who wouldn't want to be seen as a role model for young girls? In today's society, you're like a contemporary queen who is adorned by her subjects.

A few moments passed, and the stylist was finally done with your hair and make up, and you looked absolutely gorgeous.

You thanked her and motioned for her to have lunch as she had been working for three hours straight, and while you were admiring your stylist's work, an arm wrapped around your waist, making you jump a little.

When you looked at Muzan with wide eyes, he chuckled lovingly.

"You scared me!"

"I'm sorry, my love. You look beautiful though."

"Really?" you said, your face flushed.

He was about to agree when he abruptly stopped mid sentence and said, "Wait," then went for your earrings and took them off, leaving you perplexed.

"Dear, what are you doing?"

He didn't say anything and instead grabbed for the pearl earrings, which he neatly placed in your ear, saying, "There. Much better."

“You didn't like the diamond earrings? That's the one you gave me on our fifth wedding anniversary."

"I do, but pearl earrings befit a president's first lady more, don't you think?" Muzan said as he shook his head. He then smiled at you and kissed you sweetly on your forehead.

You smiled cheekily at him, "Already confident you'll win?"

"Of course. I have you as my lucky charm."

"Well, aren't you sweet? Come here..." You were about to pull him down for a kiss on the lips when Kokushibo entered the room and tapped on the door.

"It's time, Sir Muzan," he remarked curtly.

"We'll be there in a minute," Muzan said, turning to face him.

Before leaving the room, Kokushibo bowed graciously.

You saw your spouse take a big breath before turning to you and asking, "Are you ready?"

"I'm ready," you said warmly.

Muzan held your hand in his and you two proceeded towards the door, and when you were finally visible to the audience, the screaming became even louder.

Everyone was evidently delighted to see you.

You gently squeezed Muzan's hand before escorting him to the platform.

You and Akaza, your personal bodyguard, listened to Muzan's speech from the rear, while Kokushibo stood by your spouse as he addressed the people.

Akaza took a step closer to you, but not enough to raise suspicions. He stealthily hooked his pinky with yours, making you blush, and then you felt your insides churn when he spoke to you in that sultry voice of his.

"You should have worn the earrings I got you, Madam."

Next Chapter: Chapter 1

TAGLIST: @babygirl-panda19 @hypnocountrymusicfunnyfan @exodarkwolf16 @qdreamueen @vesta-ro

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