#for context this is just after Out happens

[draculora]

i don’t wanna talk too much about the kendrick vs. drake beef on here bc i’m not black and i don’t have anything to say about it that black rap listeners haven’t already said with way more context but i will say this as a victim of SA after listening to the heart pt. 6 which was just really cheap and gross

kendrick is using his influence to bring MASSIVE AMOUNTS of attention to something that women have been saying about drake for a LONG time but drake never had to address bc it didn’t come from anybody who “mattered” (in drake’s eyes) and also it wasn’t said to him DIRECTLY in a format in which he was expected to respond, and quickly. he was never going to address it!

and i think kendrick doing this falls directly in line with the type of topics he’s always covered in his albums, specifically mr. morale was about breaking the cycle of generational trauma (physical and sexual abuse specifically) and ALSO kendrick has ALWAYS called HIMSELF out in his music for the way he has contributed to these cycles and reflected on WHY and how to change moving forward

i think people are wanting kendrick to be free of any controversy in order to go after drake and my thing is if we keep waiting for the Perfect Person who has Done No Wrong to take drake down, it is never going to happen! it doesn’t surprise me at all that it took another MAN bringing it up for drake to deign to say anything at all, even if the route he took was deny, deny, deny. a black tiktok creator who has been posting about all of this (angelfromthebloc) said “we don’t need the perfect shooter. the shots were fired and what matters is what the bullets said” and that makes a lot of sense to me

[moonsaver]

Context before getting into the actual idea: I recently saw some fanart based on concept art for Dr Ratio where he has slightly longer, messier hair and the fanart interpreted this as him having a bit of a rebellious phase when he was younger.

So now I’m just thinking about Reader going to school with him when he was going through this phase. He had a bit of a crush on her but didn’t know how to express it so he just messed with her constantly.

And now they meet again when he’s changed and he hasn’t gotten over her she’s just getting massive amounts of whiplash from how wildly different he is. Could be yandere 👀

Anon. I am GRIPPINT YOU BY THE SHOULDERS. Listen. Unfortunately i doubt i did this justice but i tried my best PLEASE okay

A bit long, under the cut!

Its not exactly easy to imagine Dr. Ratio of all people being rebellious, but that just makes it even more possibly believeable in my opinion. I am deeply convinced he has had his crazy scientist, jerkward asshole phase at least once and was soo deeply embarassed the moment he left it.

But listen. His professors all probably HATED him because he would probably constantly correct them, be so disgustingly overeducated to the point they'd send him to the library or tell him to get lost just so he wouldn't disrupt class. He's the infamous asshole who sits wherever he wants, and hoardes an entire table to himself if he's at the library or at the cafeteria. Any student who needs a pen or eraser or a pencil knows he's NOT the one to ask, even if it was in the middle of an exam worth half their grade and he was the only person beside them. He does literally anything he wants and no one can stop him except probably by force, and if they do, something worse ends up happening to them instead.

Anyways, here comes in reader. Probably already knows his sour reputation. Regardless, maybe you're the poor soul who's his seatmate. If the crush is already established, he's constantly bothering you. Asking for stationaries like the entirety of his desk isn't covered by it already (he likes the miniscule interaction), taking your notebooks without your knowledge and sometimes even scribbling inside of them (its his horrid handwriting, he's just trying to help you with detailed notes), he comments on how "lame" your outfit is, asking about your social life, rolling his eyes when your response isn't exactly.. pleasing (he's actually a bit content with it. Perhaps you'll hang out with him more, instead?). You note the smell of alcohol trailing him a bit everytime you interact with him.

It's not easy for him, especially when you can't seem to keep up and look so queasy around him. Aeons, his heart is so twisted up and squeezed everytime he seems to be getting more distant from you, but he just has no idea how to convey his feelings. Not when he didn't even account for the fact he'll have a crush on anyone in the first place.

Anyways, timeskip!

You're probably a researcher of some sort, maybe not so well known. Let's just say for the sake of simplicity you're a researcher on Herta's space station. It's not too soon before he runs into you, probably after the whole mess at the station's been "cleaned up" regarding the curio and whatever. Maybe he doesn't leave right after that interaction with Screwellum, and he decides to, by his curiosity, take a look around once again before he leaves (certainly not because he's heard a familiar name thrown around a few times).

And there you are. In your little research-getup, professional vernacular, hair all neat. He's probably right behind you in an instant, and you turn around to look as the colleague you were talking to suddenly starts stuttering and becoming squeamish while looking behind you. There he is, in all his (cruel?) Glory. The infamous asshole who was your classmate.

But.. it's surprising how much more mellow he's become (at least towards you?). His hair are neatly tamed, his build is taller and more muscular than it was back then, but his attire is also quite tame (if not a little.. fancy?), compared to his brash taste back then. His eyes still seem to hold contempt, but more distantly so.

Veritas figures your mouth is agape and you're speechless considering the change in his countenance as of recent. He's also not yet come to terms with the fact that his heart still twists and squeezes whenever he sees that unsure look on your face. If you were made of clay, and if he could, he'd meld the most beautiful smile on your face with his craftful fingers. Alas, he resorts to tamer methods. At least he supposes he's a wiser man, now. He's more aware of different courting methods.

He asks about your station, your current life, family, friends, etc .. in a seemingly disinterested tone. There's a bit of resignation but hidden constrain in his voice, everytime you mention a "close friend" of yours or a colleague you worked with "closely". But he hasn't been berating you the way he would have back then. His fingers slightly constantly strain, folded behind his back, trying desperately not to taper towards you – there's stray strands of hair on your face. Your headpiece is off centre. Your pen is slanting in your pocket. Your shoulders are too tense. Your eyebrows are furrowed. your eyes look tired. Have your lips always been chapped? They were fine back then.. hold on.

While you stutter out useless formalities and pleasantries, Veritas' eyes scan you over. Time has weathered you well, in his opinion. The thin line of his pressed lips dont quite indicate that. He sighs almost grimly, shutting you up in an instant. He offers you to accompany him and possibly consider joining the Intelligentsia Guild (is it not worth a shot trying? It may be foolish, but he's a tad too desperate when it comes to you). You timidly mumble out a refusal, the words barely leaving your mouth. He nods.

Catching up makes his heart squeeze and rush all over the place. Topics he once tried to teach you back then (by.. VERY unsuccessful methods,) seem to be elementary knowledge to you now. You work more efficiently, hold yourself in a better, more confident way, and you seem to be smoothsailing in your life. Granted, it's technically the bare minimum, but its been so long since he talked to you. The chirp in your voice, the chuckle you let out every now and then despite your nervousness around him, has his heart in his throat. He can't bring himself to try and even "set you straight" by giving you (unwarranted) advice or piddling your achievements, there's a soft smile he's duly hiding behind his scorning face.

He offers you again, if you are unsure about joining the Guild, and discreetly mentions it being filled with imbeciles regardless when you deny again, pulling another string of laughter out of you. Hmph, you weren't so joyful when he made those statements back in high school.

Granted,you're obviously still not quite sure about Veritas' new look. He's still got his infamous reputation as an extremely strict teacher, the oddball with an alabastor head and having worked with the IPC, it's not a pleasant image per se, but it's heaps better than his reputation back at school. You politely make a joke about it, and he groans, earning another cautious, light chuckle from you. He has become different. You prattle on about the length of his hair, his refinement of speech, the difference in how he holds himself now.. it does leave him melting a tad bit inside. You noticed it? Hm. Clever little thing.

Of course, goodbyes are seldom sweet. He does manage to pry out your contact information once again, before. If you don't budge,he finds another way regardless. Your network of colleagues aren't exactly as strong as you might have thought. He remembers this information carefully.

Like the old days, maybe he'll manage to keep slipping notes into your reports and files. Perhaps pull a few strings back in the old days to keep you in his class, he'll slowly knot and twist a few strings to bring and budge you over to his little workplace. Sooner or later, you'll end up in his home. He's sure of it.

And just like the old days, his little seatmate is by his side once again. Care to put up with him for a bit longer? Probably forever, in this case.

[yuebinnie]

Proverbs 5:19

☾ Pairing : Human Alastor (Hazbin Hotel) x f!reader

☆ Warnings : mdni. Priest!Alastor, implied chubby!reader, noncanon Alastor, dubcon, coercion, blasphemy, abuse of authority, blood kink, blood drinking, squirting, multiple orgasms, fingering (f receiving), cunnulingus, catholic prayers used in a sexual context, scriptures used to coerce, cum eating, size kink, loss of virginity (implied, not talked about), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie

☾ WC : 9.8k

☆ A/N : Taking a break from Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea to write Alastor smut ^^ This contains heavy Christian imagery, so if it's something you are uncomfortable with, this fic might not be for you! I really enjoyed writing this; it's my first time writing smut for Alastor, so hopefully I do not disappoint you all. I also posted the fic on AO3, if you'd prefer reading there. Have fun!

There was something about going to church that felt incredibly soothing. The deafening silence every time you walked in during the early hours of the day, steps echoing against the painted ceiling and colourful rose window, the shadows dancing behind the burning wicks of the candles set on each side of the main aisle, the smell of dust dancing in the air like a reminder of how desolate the people who came to visit truly were. You had not always been religious, but you had found peace in believing that there was a divine truth, that being good in this life would give you eternal bliss.

The church was a small one, and an old one; how it was still standing you had no idea. It was annexed to a small decrepit churchyard with moss-covered headstones that dated from at least two centuries ago. To any passersby, it'd be believed to be abandoned, as the outside of the building was quite literally falling apart, the bricks slowly eroding and the tiles covering the roof covered with the same moss as the headstones. The exterior appearance did not matter however, only the inside did; that's where God resided after all.

Despite its age, the inside and of the church was well kept. Yes, the rose window was cracked, and, as an attempt to keep the place as pure as possible, electricity had never been installed. The candles did the job of keeping the inside lit, and as for the temperature, well, dressing warmly was mandatory during the colder months of the year. The benches were old and the varnish that had once covered them was long gone; dents and chips could be found here and there, but they were still sturdy. The altar was small and simple, a wooden thing settled on a small stage that hovered only a few inches above the floor. Near the entrance sat a confessional which reeked of mould, but in the absolute presence of God, the smell was easily forgotten.

You had a habit of going to pray most days when you were not bedridden from the exhaustion of spending the night reading your favourite verses. 5 AM; the perfect time to pray, just as the world welcomed the sun's warmth and light. Very rarely did you meet anyone else; it had happened a few times, mostly old people nearing death coming to ask for absolution for their sins. Otherwise, the only person you had seen was the priest, whom you only had spoken to once or twice. He would look at you while you kneeled and mumbled prayers and verses, a smile plastered on his face.

It was the only downside of it all, that unsettling presence. The priest, a handsome man you had apologized to God for finding attractive, was always smiling. It was a bone-chilling sight; it made you feel as though he could see right through you, like he had access to every single thought that cluttered the inside of your mind. He had asked for your name once and had told you to have a 'delightful rest of the day'. That day had turned out to be horrible, as you had learned your grandmother was diagnosed with stage four cancer and only had a few months left. You had prayed for her, but God had decided to take her, nonetheless. Your subconscious had linked the priest's words as a direct cause of your grandmother's tragic diagnosis, and you had tried your best to avoid talking to him ever since.

When you woke up that morning, sweaty and feeling stickiness between your thighs, you felt sick to your stomach remembering the dreams that had plagued your mind in your slumber. A faceless man, dragging his lips down your stomach, his fingers touching your body in a way that was so sinful; the only logical explanation was that you had been visited by an incubus, an agent of evil. God was testing you, letting evil reach you to see if you'd be as faithful as Job or if you'd succumb to sin like Eve had. You cleaned yourself and changed your nightgown to proper clothes, putting a slightly warm coat on before leaving your house.

The sun had not yet started to show itself, and a thick fog floated above the quiet streets. The sky was covered with grey clouds that seemed to hang low, you wondered if you could touch them if you reached up, but your mind was too preoccupied with your predicament to try and touch something so close to Heaven. Mind running faster than a hare trying to escape a wolf, you tried to convince yourself simple prayers would do, but a loud voice kept coming back, telling you this could only be forgiven by confessing. The thought of having to talk to the priest whom you had convinced yourself was the catalyst of your grandmother's death made you want to cry, but the thought of failing God and disappointing Him was far more upsetting. You reached the church as the first rays of light made the dew covering the Earth glisten, taking a deep breath before pushing the door open.

Your eyes fell upon the priest, who was bent down in the middle of the aisle, a long match in his hand as he lit the candles up. You froze, your eyes running across his shoulders and back. The door closed loudly behind you, and you jumped; the man's head snapped in your direction, his smile growing when he saw who had just walked in.

"You are quite early today, my dear," the priest stated simply, his focus going back to the unlit candles that still begged to melt under the burning flames. "Luckily enough, our Creator does not sleep; we're under scrutiny every second of our time on this earth."

You gulped at the words, the implications they held. You crept closer to the man, fidgeting as you thought of what to say. You let out a small quiet sigh, biting down your bottom lip as you stopped and stood a few feet away from him. The man straightened up and turned in your direction, his head tilted to the left as his gaze travelled across your face, "Oh my, whatever has you this upset?"

Your cheeks flushed as your eyes shifted from his eyes to the floor, the shame of what you had yet to confess weighing down your shoulders like the cross your Saviour had carried through heat and pain. You felt tiny, the priest towering over you; he had to be close to two feet taller than you. Had this been how Lucifer felt when he was at last pushed to meet his fate in the depths, a force greater than all administrating the final judgment? Sinfully powerless, a mere weak being? Tears gathered at your lower lash lines as you spoke, oh so quietly, your voice like the echo of an echo, "Father, I have sinned."

Seconds passed, silent ones, before the man hummed and walked past you, making his way to the front of the church. You twirled around, your eyes landing on where the priest now stood, in front of the old rotting confessional. You gulped, nodding to no one in particular before slowly making your way to the man who was stepping into the booth, the door closing behind him. You did the same, slowly closing the door after giving the empty church one last look, your eyes lingering a few seconds on the nailed Christ resting behind the altar, seemingly judging you.

You sat down, cringing at the creaking of the wood beneath your weight. The grille was pulled up, the silhouette of the man on the other side vaguely distinguishable. You took a deep breath, then spoke softly as you brought your right hand to your forehead, the gesture almost instinctual, "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen." You put your hand on your thigh, staring at the unmoving priest, "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It is.... too much time, since my last confession. I am a university student, in my last year to obtain a bachelor's degree." A low hum was heard, and you shifted in your seat, trying to find the exact words for your confession.

"Father, something terrible happened last night. In my weakened sleeping state, evil befell me. I was plagued with sinful dreams. You must understand, I am thoroughly devoted to Christ and our Lord, never have I let a man, or anyone, disgrace the body I was given; never have I had thoughts or dreams of this kind. I fear my will is not strong enough, that this evil shall come back and torment me. I fear I will fall into sin, just as our first predecessors did. I am nothing but willing, Father, so please, do help me. I am sorry for all these sins, and the sins of my past life."

You sniffled, wiping away the tears that had fallen down your rosy cheeks, your eyes glued on the silhouette of the man beyond the grille. His silence made you want to cry even more; were you a lost case? Had your fate already been sealed, your soul now tainted because of the touch of evil in such sacred places? You tugged your bottom lip between your teeth as you waited, seconds becoming minutes.

"This evil you speak of, what exactly has it done to you?" His voice seemed to have dropped lower, the sound a bit raspier. You furrowed your brow slightly at the question; you had been clear about the incident. As if feeling your hesitation, the priest continued, "Ma chère, only by knowing exactly what this evil put you through can I give you absolution."

You felt a blush creep up your neck, and flinched as the crack of thunder was heard beyond the church walls; your heartbeat quickened, was this Him telling you to obey?

You let out a small breath, before speaking up, the words shaky, "As I slept, this evil... Entered my dreams. It took advantage of my defenselessness. It disgraced my soul and my body. Upon waking up, there was... Remains of the sinful things it had my body do." You could feel the man's stare on you despite the grille separating you, causing yours to drop to your knees, feeling vulnerable.

"What sinful things did it inflict upon you?" Rain had started falling, as if the sky itself cried for you; the sound of it hammered against the roof, a continuous wail of grief for your poor soul.

"Father, I don't understand how this is necessa-"

"Do you not want absolution? Do you desire to be locked out of His kingdom? The choice is yours," his tone was harsher, demanding, even. You gulped and shook your head; no, that was not what you wanted. It was the furthest thing from it.

"I apologize for questioning your words, Father," you began, fidgeting with the hem of your coat, "From what I can remember... This evil took the shape of a man. A faceless man. I was in bed, and it joined me, and... We, uh, we kissed. It took my nightgown off." Your hands felt clammy, and you couldn't help but press your thighs together as you recollected the events of your dreams. "It kissed my breasts, then my stomach. It went... Down there, and stayed there until my whole body tensed up. Afterwards, it pushed itself inside me, it thoroughly disgraced my body. When I woke up, my body showed signs that it had reacted to the defiling. Father, please, believe me when I tell you that I was coerced by evil."

Thunder was heard again, breaking the silence that had settled between you and the priest. As the minutes passed, you became uneasy; was the man disgusted with you? Could he sense the sins radiating from your being? He cleared his throat, breaking your train of thought. Your eyes went back to his silhouette, waiting for him to speak up.

"I fear this is beyond the power bestowed upon me, dear," his voice was silky, it made warmth spread inside your chest, as if the vibrations it had created affected your very cells.

Your eyes widened; that was impossible. You had confessed and explained the evil that had haunted you. You had done exactly what He told His followers to do, confessed and asked for forgiveness. You shuffled closer to the grille, tearing up as you begged, "Father, please, there must be a way. I will do anything; I will suffer just like our Saviour has if it's what it takes. I'm supplying you, help me get rid of this evil."

“Very well,” the man said. You watched as his silhouette stood up and opened the door of the booth before it disappeared. The door of your little chamber opened, and you turned your head to look at the tall priest, who adjusted his glasses as he stared down at you. You took a few seconds to really look at him. Despite his smile that made shivers run down your spine, the man was handsome. His skin was tan, his hair dark and styled in an old-fashioned way. His features were sharp, intimidating, almost. Towering over you, his shoulders were wider than some quarterbacks’, and his waist was ridiculously small compared to them. His hands seemed to be twice the size of yours, and you found yourself wondering how he managed to button up his shirts with such big hands.

You looked back at his face as you blushed, realizing the man before you knew of your body in such intimate ways. You slowly stood up as you held his gaze, unsure of what to say next. He took a step aside and gestured for you to step out of the confessional, before closing the door behind you. The priest smiled down at you, “Follow me, dear.”

He started walking down the aisle, the flames of the candles on each side of it dancing as he passed by. You hesitantly followed him, looking out one of the small windows to see the rain pouring onto the world as lightning illuminated the sky. He stopped at the altar and turned to you, his smile ever present. You stopped in front of the stage; sinners did not belong anywhere close to that sacred place. The man stayed silent and with a gesture of his hand, permitted you to step up. You gulped and got on the stage, feeling extremely out of place.

“There is one way for you to repent,” he began, his stare fixed on you, “Though it is a bit unorthodox. The choice is yours, but you must remember that there is no place for sinners in Heaven.” He watched as you nodded quickly; you were eager to be forgiven, to go back to being free of sin. The corner of his lips twitched before he uttered one word, “Strip.”

Your eyes widened as your face turned a deeper shade of crimson. Stripping? You searched his face for hints of dishonesty, hoping he was playing a sick joke on you, but to your dismay, he was serious. Your body was frozen as you looked at him, not even the booming thunder making you flinch.

You opened your mouth to ask why, but the man beat you to it, answering your question before you even uttered a word, “Only by showing Him precisely how this evil tainted you can you be absolved. There is no need to be shy, ma chérie; isn’t He all-knowing? All-seeing? Wasn’t the shame of nudity created by His first creations’ sin? There is no purer form of devotion than to go beyond the embarrassment and bare yourself to Him; than to accept the vulnerable nature of your existence.”

He brought his right hand up to lay it flat against the wooden altar, observing you as you fought an inner battle with your dignity. His words were true, the wisdom of a man devoted to God, of someone who knew scriptures and their meaning. As if feeling your unmoving incertitude, he spoke up once again, “Proverbs 28:13.”

You blinked up at him, mind searching for the verse you had read many times before. You licked your bottom lip with your tongue before reciting softly, “He who covers his sins will not prosper, but whoever confesses and forsakes them will have mercy.” The priest hummed, and you raised your gaze to the crucifix hung on the wall behind the altar, feeling as if He was patiently waiting for you to submit to His will. You puffed out a small breath as you nodded to yourself, a hand coming up to the zipper of your coat, slowly bringing it down to then shrug off the piece of clothing and letting it fall on the floor.

You could already feel the wet cold seep through your thin sweater, but you ignored the feeling as you grabbed the bottom of it and lifted it up until it was completely off you; it dropped, finding its place next to your coat at your feet. Your eyes were unfocused, staring into thin air as you slipped your thumbs under the elastic band of your skirt, pushing it down so it pooled at your ankles. You stepped out of it, getting slightly closer to the priest whose gaze was burning your skin despite the goosebumps covering it. You brought a hand to your back, unclasping your bra before slowly taking it off, baring your breasts to the man. Your nipples hardened as the freezing air licked them and you bit hard down your bottom lip as you slid your underwear down your legs, then stepped out of your shoes, leaving you only wearing your lace-arbored anklets.

The man lifted a hand in your direction, a silent request for you to grab it. You did so all while avoiding looking up at him and followed him as he made his way behind the altar, his fingers squeezing yours slightly, “Our Lord blessed you with rare beauty, dear one, what a shame it led evil to you.” You gasped softly as his other hand wrapped around your waist, your eyes shooting up to look at him. He was still smiling, though his eyes seemed clouded with something you could not put your finger on.

He let go of your hand and grabbed the other side of your waist before effortlessly hoisting you up on the altar, the skin of your ass stinging from the cold of the wooden surface. Your gaze was questioning, and the man recited, his voice low and quieter than it had previously been, “I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that you present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable to God, which is your reasonable service.” You gaped at him; a true man of God, that’s what he was. “Offer your body to Him, and you shall be absolved. Show Him what evil has done to you, so He can forgive and make you pure again,” he held your stare, his pupils slightly dilated. You nodded once, and the priest stepped aside, leaving you to face your Saviour in your naked glory.

You slowly leaned back, using your left elbow to not completely lie down on the wood. You brought your trembling right hand to your lips, the tip of your index finger stroking the pink flesh as you recalled where the lips of the faceless man had touched you. They lingered there for a few seconds before dipping to your neck, dancing around the column of your throat as your eyes fluttered shut; if goosebumps had not already been covering your body fault of the moist cold, they would have appeared, the feeling titillating. Your chest rose and fell in a timely rhythm as you dragged your touch to your breasts where your finger gently caressed your right nipple. Your lips parted, small breaths making their way out as you gathered with your small hand the heavy fat of your breast, squeezing. You could feel the stare of the priest on you, but you attempted to ignore it as you kept going.

Your fingers went down your stomach, using your nails to slightly scratch the skin, and they stopped a few inches below your belly button. You opened your eyes and looked at the crucifix; His peaceful expression, despite being nailed and in pain, gave you courage and you spread your legs, giving your Saviour the perfect view of your most intimate era. You nibbled on your bottom lip as you slowly brought your fingers down, choking on a soft moan when they made contact with your clit. The simple touch made your composure fall a little, your lips parted as your face reddened, feeling more exposed than you had ever felt before. You gently pushed against the bundle of nerves, gasping as your fingers started to move, following a small eight-pattern.

You could feel your heartbeat thundering against your ribcage, matching the loud striking of the heavenly fire against the earth beyond the safety of the church walls. Soft pants left your mouth as you started working on yourself, closing your eyes to focus on the memories of the previous night. Every touch and stroke were vividly drawn in your mind, your fingers moving in an almost instinctual way, leaving you a whimpering mess. You moved your elbow that was holding your weight, slowly leaning your back against the cold wood, before bringing the now free hand to your face, covering your mouth with it as your thighs trembled. Your body was thrumming, humming with new sensations, your mind as foggy as the early morning that had welcomed you when you had stepped out of your home.

Lost in pleasure, you jumped, your eyes shooting open as you felt long fingers wrap around your wrist, the priest looking down at you, his own eyes sharper and darker than they had been earlier. Your fingers nestled between your thighs stopped moving as you stared at him, but he tsked, “My dear, you must not hide anything from Him. These lovely, sinful sounds you make, are not to be repressed. Let them be; let Him hear what evil inflicted upon you,” his voice sent a chill down your spine, your back arching slightly. You watched as the corner of his lips twitched and let him pull your hand away from your mouth, gulping as you nodded weakly. “Good girl.”

Your breath hitched at the praise, eyes not leaving his’ as your fingers started to move once again, bringing your legs up to rest your heels against the altar, spreading your legs a bit more. As if in a trance, your gaze fixed on the priest as you moaned and gasped, your hips twitching as you rubbed your clit. You saw his Adam’s apple bob, his eyes narrowing as you used your free hand to caress the skin of your stomach, slowly inching towards your left breast. Your fingers dipped lower, teasing your entrance, and with a bite on your bottom lip and a pinch of your nipple, you pushed your middle finger all the way to the second knuckle, your eyes widening at the feeling. You let out a throaty whine, pressing your head harder against the wooden surface that supported your weight. The cold was long forgotten, your body covered in a thin layer of sweat, muscles spasming here and there.

You slid your other hand between your thighs, the digits quickly finding your clit and gently stimulating it as you managed to push your finger further inside yourself. The faceless man from your dreams had used three fingers, and you could only wonder how your dream self had taken them, as you were struggling with a lonely, short finger. Despite the uncomfortable feeling, you bit down your lip and pushed your index alongside the finger that was already pressed inside you. Your face scrunched up at the stretch, a silent sob echoing through the dimly lit space. You felt your walls clench around your digits, your free hand still working on your clit as a way to make the dull ache more bearable. You waited a minute, giving your body time to adjust to the feeling, before carefully pulling the fingers out and thrusting them back in, a surprised whimper leaving your lips as a new feeling started to blossom in your lower stomach.

You arched your back and started speeding up the motion of your hands, unable to keep quiet as your body grew warmer and more tense. Your eyes fluttered open to look up at the priest, who was as still as Christ watching you from His cross on the wall. As you exhaled, you pushed a third finger in, welcoming the stretch with a high-pitched whine. Your knees dropped down onto the altar, leaving your womanhood fully exposed; you watched as the man glanced at where your hands were working in tandem to replicate almost exactly what the evil from your dream had done to you. You gathered the little concentration you had left and started muttering through gasps and moans, “Compassionate Father, you are the Lord who rescues His people. When I am overwhelmed with shame, help me find solace in you. You have said that you will help—though my sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are as red as crimson, they shall be like wool. Remind me that I have been purified by you, that the curse of sin and evil is no longer upon me. In your powerful name, Ame-” You were cut off by a large hand wrapping around your lower face, the feeling making your body jolt.

Right, it had to be the same as the dream; you had not uttered a prayer in it, far from it. You closed your eyes, moaning against the palm covering your mouth, as you focused on the growing tension in your core. Every second felt like minutes and every minute felt like hours as you quickly thrust your fingers in and out, all while you rubbed and nudged your clit. The pressure was almost unbearable, your whole body twitching as your hips tried to follow the movements of your digits as if they had a mind of their own. The priest moved his hand away, and you opened your eyes to watch him bring it to his mouth where he licked his palm, which was covered with your drool.

Something snapped inside of you and a loud sob made its way out of your throat as your muscles tensed up, your walls clenching tightly around your fingers as you stilled them, your mind unable to think about anything beyond the blinding pleasure that took over your body. Your eyes rolled back, pitiful sounds leaving your mouth as your back arched from the altar, your thighs squeezing together, trapping your hands between them. This felt so much better than it had felt in your dream. You teared up; the Lord’s love was so strong; evil could not even compare.

After a few seconds, your body relaxed, and you were left panting and sweaty, as if you had just run a marathon. Slowly opening your eyes, your vision became clearer as you blinked, a smile tugging at your lips as you looked at the crucifix, then up to the priest who had not moved. You removed your hands from between your thighs and brought your left one up to wipe the pearls of sweat on your forehead with the back of it. You wrapped your right arm around your chest, trying to hide your breasts as you spoke up, your voice small but hoarse, “Have I done it, Father? Am I free of sin? Has our Lord given me absolution?” Hope lingered; you had done what you were told to do, you had been good, and your Lord was good and forgiving, He had to have seen how faithful you were.

The man’s eyebrows raised before he let out a small chuckle, shaking his head slightly, “My dear, this was only your confession. The truest and purest form of confession.” Your smile dropped. You looked at him as he made his way closer to the wall, where he stopped in front of the crucifix that had observed you as you worked on yourself. His chin tilted up as he looked at it, before his head slowly turned to look at you, “But confession is not enough for this type of sin, sadly; you must also be cleansed.”

You sat up, your brows furrowed, watching as the man stepped closer to you. He stood in front of you, his right hand coming to rest on your thigh, just above your knee. His touch was warm and inviting, but you still wondered what his words meant, so you asked, “Cleansed?”

His thumb stroked your skin as he hummed and brought his other hand up to your shoulder, pushing your hair behind it, “Yes, dearest, cleansed. Your body was defiled by evil, it must be purified. You’ve shown our Lord and Saviour how, and now He shall reclaim your body as His’.” You looked at him, your eyes round and big, trying to make sense of the words that had just been spoken. A small pout appeared on your lips, and the tall priest bent down, his face now closer to yours as he said, his voice slightly louder than a whisper, “You are so easy to read, you know? But to ease your confusion; I shall represent our Lord and make you pure again.”

You froze, the realization of what the man meant hitting you just like David’s stone had hit Goliath. You gaped at him, your mouth opening and closing, searching your brain for the right words to speak, afraid to insult God and the man who stood before you. You gulped and said after taking in a deep breath, “Our Lord… I cannot think of mentions of this procedure in the scriptures,” you blinked, your eyes shining as you looked into his’. “Father, has this procedure been tested before? Where does it come from?”

His long fingers dug into the fat of your thigh as you saw the muscle of his jaw clench, a small whimper leaving your lips at the feeling. He kept squeezing, his creepy smile growing, “Are you implying my authority was not given to me by our Lord? That my will does not stem from His’? That I would go against scriptures, something I have devoted my life to?” You shook your head quickly; you had messed up. You were to never question the words of a priest, for he was much closer to God than you were, and you had done just that. This evil needed to leave; it made you do, think and say things that would only make you unworthy of Heaven.

“Father, do forgive me! This evil, it has taken control of my body and sou-”

“There’s no need for that. I shall make your sins a purest white than Abraham’s sacrificial lamb. You will be reborn a new woman, utterly sinless,” he inched his hand higher on your thigh, “That is what you want, isn’t it? To let your God make you pure again?” You gave him a slow nod and his smile widened as he brought his free hand to his face, removing his glasses and putting them on the altar next to you. He nudged your knees open and settled between them, sliding a hand against the back of your head as he sang praise to you, “What a good girl you are, ma chère.”

His lips smashed against yours and you gasped, your eyes fluttering shut as you tried to follow his lead. The hand resting on your thigh slid to your waist and forced you to get closer to him, his chest pressing against your naked breasts. You moaned into the kiss, pictures of your dream flooding your mind, causing you to wrap your legs around his tiny waist and arms around his neck. You ran your fingers through his hair, letting the man run his tongue along your bottom lip, your mouth opening slightly in response. His kisses travelled down your chin, to your throat, his teeth nipping at your skin as you let your head fall back, giving him better access.

His mouth slid to your chest, and you lowered your chin to look down at him as he wrapped his swollen lips around your left nipple. You grabbed a handful of his hair and pressed him closer to you, arching your back slightly. His eye shot up to look at you, humming against your skin, the vibration leaving you a whimpering mess. He separated from your pink, wet bud with a last lick, smiling as he flicked your other nipple with his thumb, “So eager for absolution, aren’t you?” Your soft pants were interrupted with a small gulp as you nodded once again; there was nothing you wanted more. He ran a hand up and down your thigh before grabbing it and removing it from his waist, doing the same motion with the other one a few seconds later. You silently watched as he kneeled, his face a few inches away from your exposed core. The sight made your heart skip a beat.

Something caught your eyes on the wall, and you looked up, seeing a rainbow light up the crucifix hung on the wall; the rain and thunder had dissipated as suddenly as they had appeared, and sun rays were beaming through the colourful tainted glass of the rose window at the entrance of the church. A small smile tugged at your lips, this had to be a sign you were on the right path. You bit down your bottom lip and gazed down, seeing the priest eyeing your womanhood, a hungry look on his face. Your cheeks reddened as you waited for the man to do something.

He slowly inched closer, and let his nose nudge your puffy clit, causing you to gasp softly at the feeling. You felt something warm run up and down your slit, your grip on his hair tightening as he flattened his tongue against your entrance. Your brows knitted, a small noise leaving your lips as he started to move his wet appendage up and down, moving his head slightly as he did so to get his nose to bump against your clit with each lick. His hands went to your ass, and he brought you even closer to his face; you wondered how he could even breathe.

Your mind started to wander as pleasure slowly took over your limbs; was the man between your legs mistaking you for a wine-filled chalice? The slurping noises his mouth was making against you travelled through your body and rendered you dizzy. You pushed his hair back from his forehead and his eyes shot open to look up at you as his fingers dug into the fat of your ass. His pupils were dilated to the point that you could barely see his iris and there was wetness spreading on his cheeks and nose. Lips parted, you sighed and slightly scratched his scalp with your nails, leaving the man groaning as his stare was still fixed on your face. One of his hands made its way down your thigh and disappeared from your view before it reappeared; a dainty wooden-beaded rosary was dangling from his fingers.

The priest took his mouth away from you, a wide smirk painting his lips as he grabbed your wrist and dropped the prayer beads in your much smaller palm. His other hand came forward and started stroking the skin of your inner thigh as he wrapped his long digits around yours, forcing you to hold the rosary. He licked his bottom lip before speaking up, “You know how this works, don’t you?” His smile grew as he watched you nod, “Perfect. Recite them in your head, except the Five Decades; you must recite those aloud. It’s Thursday, so Luminous Mysteries. Whatever your Lord has planned next and does to you, you must keep going, understood?” You nodded again but he shook his head, “Use your words, dearest.”

“I understand, Father,” you said, your voice small.

The man hummed and let go of your hand, dropping it to your other thigh, massaging the skin there as well. His gaze dropped to where your thumb moved to make the Sign of the Cross on the small crucifix pendant. You closed your eyes as you started reciting the Apostles’ Creed, surrendering your body to the faithful man kneeling before you. His lips pressed against you as you finished the first prayer, your finger moving to the first bead. He fell into a now familiar rhythm, leaving you incapable of staying silent as you breathed out soft moans. Something prodded at your entrance and slowly slipped in as you fell back against the altar with a thud. You arched your back as it kept going, much deeper than you had reached with your fingers. It pumped in and out a few times before the man added a second finger, the pressure and stretch making you whimper.

His tongue kept alternating between sucking on and flicking your clit as you busied yourself with prayers. The priest hummed against you before removing himself; you opened your eyes and lifted your head from the wooden surface, eyes widening when you saw blood on his chin and bottom lip. He removed his fingers from you and showed them to you; they were bloody too. You stared at him silently, uncertain of what to say, but he broke the silence, “See what the evil has left in you? Aren’t you so lucky your Lord is ever so forgiving? That he’s cleaning you up to make you free of sin?” You nodded and bit the inside of your cheek. His eyes were gleaming as his fingers went to your lower stomach, smearing the blood on your skin, which made goosebumps appear.

You studied his face, his sharp, dark hooded eyes were staring at you under his defined eyebrows, his plump lips were stretched in a smile; his tanned cheeks and chin were coated with a sheening coat of your wetness and blood. His hair was now messy—your doing—and his fingers were slowly making their way back to your slit. Without thinking about it, you reached out and cupped his cheek with your free hand, rubbing your thumb against his bottom lip. His tongue darted out to lick your digit as his fingers sank back in you, knocking the breath out of you. Your eyes closed shut as you gasped, your hand falling from his face to rest on your hip. You heard him laugh under his breath before the warmth of his mouth was back on you. Your mind reminded you of the rosary you were holding, and you started reciting the Hail Mary.

As you neared the end of the Glory Be, you felt the man add another finger, the stretch making your eyes tear up as you mewled weakly. The words of the prayer passed in your mind, disappearing as he started to thrust them in and out. Your walls clenched tightly around his digits as your chest rose and fell quickly, panting as your body tried to get adjusted to the burning feeling.

Your fingers landed on the first Decade, and you gathered all your strength to start reciting the prayer, your voice shaky, “Then Jesus came to Galilee to the Jordan to John, to be baptized by him. John would have prevented him, saying ‘I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?’ But Jesus answered him, ‘Let it be so now; for thus it is fitting for us to fulfill all righteousness.’ Then he consented.” You were interrupted by a yelp as you felt the priest’s teeth grazing your clit, your free hand landing in his hair, gripping it. Your hips kept twitching as you kept going, stuttering through the words, “And when Jesus was baptized, he went up immediately from the water, and behold, the heavens were opened and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove, and alighting on him; and lo, a voice from heaven, saying, ‘This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased.’”

The drag of the man’s fingers had turned pleasurable, and you felt your muscles tense up, the feeling in your lower stomach rapidly growing. You pushed on the back of his head, searching for more friction, and you moaned out loudly when he started mumbling against your clit as his fingers kept moving, “Oh my Jesus, forgive me of my sins, save us from the fires of hell; lead all souls to Heaven, especially those who have most need of your mercy.” You could not register the words but the movements of his lips on you made you come undone, your back arching from the altar as your thighs trapped his head in place, your hips lifting to follow his fingers and urge him to press his tongue harder against you. Your every muscle tensed up, crying out as the waves of your orgasm hit you just like the Red Sea had crashed into the Egyptians as He closed its parting. You spasmed around him, your walls trying to push his fingers out, and you felt wetness drip down your ass.

He separated from your clit, kissing it softly as he removed his digits from you, slowly standing up as you cracked your eyes open, your body still jolting randomly as it calmed down from your high. The light coming from the rose window had moved, and from your angle, it looked like a halo surrounding the priest’s head; a breathtaking sight that had you gape in awe. You watched as he tugged at the collar of his shirt, taking his Roman collar off and letting it fall to his feet. Your wetness was dripping from his lips which were harbouring a soft smile, his hands moving unhurriedly to unbutton his cassock. His eyes travelled up and down your spent body, then to the rosary you had forgotten you were still holding; you clenched your fingers around it and moved to a new bead, your lips moving silently as you recited the Hail Mary in your mind.

You kept your eyes on his hands as they reached the last button, the man shrugging off the black piece of clothing, revealing he was wearing a white tank top and black pants underneath it. You gulped at the true size of his shoulders; you had thought his cassock gave the illusion he was large, but even with it off, he looked huge. The smallness of his waist only accentuated how massive the built of the priest was. He had muscles but they were lean; despite it all, he looked strong and exuded a masculine aura that had you squirming in place.

Your observations were interrupted by his voice, “Do you feel like the weight of your sin has lessened, ma chère?” You dipped your chin once; you did feel lighter. The man grinned wider as his hands wrapped around your waist, bringing your torso up effortlessly so you were now sitting. He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, leaning over so his lips pressed against the shell of your ear, whispering, “You did so well, dear, you’re almost as pure as the day you were born. There’s only a step left in this procedure, but it will hurt at first.” He pressed a hand on the back of your head and pushed forward, forcing you to bury your face in the crook of his neck. You inhaled and felt his fingers massage your scalp gently.

He smelled so intoxicating; a mixture of moss, rain, coffee, tobacco and a hint of something floral emitted from his skin. You realized you had pressed your lips against the man’s neck when you felt him tense up, his hand stilling in your hair. You backed away slightly, blushing so brightly you were grateful he could not see your face, muttering an apology. His body relaxed again, and he hummed, “There’s no need for apologies. Bite down my shoulder—don’t be scared to bite hard—it will make you focus on something else.”

You opened your mouth to ask what he meant but pressed your lips together when you heard a zipper, followed by the shuffling of clothes between your bodies. You brought your hands to his chest, the rosary still in your hand, fingers fidgeting with the beads as you felt one of his large and cold hands spread your thighs a little further apart. You felt his fingers run up and down your slit and you gasped at the feeling, your nails slightly digging into the muscles of his chest. A wet sound travelled up to your ears and you closed your eyes, a shiver running down your spine when you felt a hand drop to your hip, kneading the fat there, and his voice, now a low murmur, “Bite down.”

You barely had the time to process the words that you felt pressure against your entrance which ceded, your walls wrapping around something so thick you shrieked before sinking your teeth into the man’s shoulder. It felt like you were being split in half; the thickness slowly forced its way inside you as tears gathered at your lower lash lines before they dripped down your cheeks. You bit down harder and pulled away quickly when you felt iron-tasting warmth coat the inside of your mouth, but the hand still in your hair pushed you against the bleeding bite mark, the priest almost growling, “Bite, and drink. At this moment, I am God; I am Christ. His blood is mine, and my blood is His’. Savour, dear one, and let me cleanse you inside out.” You let out a shaky breath before sinking your teeth back in his flesh, your brows knitting as he pushed his length an inch deeper inside you, “So obedient.”

You let the blood fill your mouth and swallowed, cringing at the taste but unwilling to go against Heavenly orders. Your arms snaked around his waist as he kept slowly pushing himself into you. The pain was unbearable, but your mind went to Christ, and how much he had suffered for the sins of all; the ache between your legs was a pinch compared to what he had endured, so you toughened up and let your tongue lap at the blood. Your brain felt foggy, and you could only take it as a sign that it was your body reacting to being filled with the divine energy pouring out from the priest. His length reached deeper than his fingers had, and you wondered how much of it you had left to take in.

You soon had your answer, the man stilling as his pelvis pressed against yours; he was so deep in you, stretching you so wide. Your mouth detached from his neck, and you pressed your forehead against his skin, panting loudly as you tried your best to relax your walls around him. The hand that was in your hair made its way to your waist, squeezing gently as you felt his lips press against your ear once again, “Your Lord is so pleased with you; you’re taking his cock so well. You’ll be redeemed in no time.” He slowly pulled out, leaving only his tip in, before thrusting in you at a medium speed, leaving you sobbing against his neck. It was overwhelming, the feeling of his length rubbing your inside and the warmth spreading in your chest, God’s love making you burn up. The feeling started to transform from pain to pleasurable pressure, your pained cries turning into needy moans.

You had managed to reach the tenth Hail Mary in your mind, your fingers reaching the second Decade. You whimpered out the beginning of the Second Luminous Mystery, “On the third day there was a marriage at Cana in Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there; Jesus also was invited to the marriage, with his disciples.” The priest started moving faster, his hips meeting yours at a much quicker speed; you whined as his tip hit a certain spot inside you, the rosary dropping on the floor as you dug your nails into the man’s shoulder blades. You could not concentrate on anything other than the drag of his length against your walls, panting and gasping each time he bottomed out.

He slightly pulled away from your body and looked down at you, his hips still moving as he brought a hand to grab your jaw from under, forcing you to look at him. He eyed you before crashing his lips against yours, moaning as he tasted his blood in your mouth. You slid your hands up to his hair, tugging at it and scratching his scalp as your teeth clashed together, tongues dancing. You pressed your chest closer to his’ and sighed as your nipples rubbed against his tank top, the feeling sending electric shocks to your core. You parted away from his lips, catching your breath, and your eyes opened and landed on the crucifix watching you; you smiled softly—oh how good was His clemency. Your gaze went back to the priest who was slightly panting, his lower face covered in blood—just like yours— as he smirked at you, sliding his hand to your cheek, stroking the skin tenderly.

In half a second, he pulled out and manhandled you, so you were now bent over the altar, your breasts pressed against the wooden surface as your feet dangled in the air, his large hands holding you up. His knee nudged your legs open wider and you felt him slip back inside you, the new position bringing a different sensation. His hips met your ass, and he started thrusting into you eagerly, loud smacks echoing through the church. You held yourself up on your elbows, holding your head up as you looked at the front door; if someone were to walk in, they would see the priest cleansing you, a Godsent blessing.

Your elbows started to tremble, and the man noticed; he slid a hand below your stomach and hoisted you up against his chest, your back pressed against him. He held you up, his arms wrapped around you as his pelvis smacked against your ass, your feet dangling one foot above the floor. He slid a hand down, his fingers running down your slit, groaning as he felt where you two were connected. He ran them up again and pushed his middle finger against your puffy clit, gently rubbing it as he kept working himself in and out of you. Your head fell back on his shoulder, and he took the opportunity to attach his lips to your neck, kissing and nibbling at the skin.

You truly never had felt anything like this; if you had been a fool, you’d have thought you were glowing from how fulfilled you felt. The familiar tension grew in your lower stomach, lewd noises leaving your mouth as the man dug the fingers of his other hand into your flesh, holding you closer to him as his movements became erratic. His groans and grunts were sending shivers down your back, only adding to the multitudes of sensations you were currently drowning in. As if he could feel you were close to reaching your orgasm, he mumbled against your neck, “Let go, ma chérie. Let evil leave your body, let God replace it with goodness.”

Your breath hitched and with a few more nudges on your clit, the pressure building inside you snapped. Your vision went white as you came, the feeling different from your previous releases. Even through the waves of pleasure, you could feel something drip down your thighs and could hear squelches as the priest kept thrusting his length in you. Your mouth was open, silent cries leaving your throat as you clenched tightly around the man. You felt his lips move against your neck, but you were too lost in feelings to understand what he was saying.

Your tensed-up muscles slowly relaxed as the remains of your orgasm washed over your body. You whimpered as the man kept moving, your core feeling overstimulated by his length still burying itself inside your sensitive walls. He quickly pushed your front back against the altar, grabbing your hips as he moved both his hips and yours in sync, your nails digging into the wood as your ass smacked against him. His thrusts were harsh and fast, leaving you breathless; tears were streaming down your cheeks at the delightful ache.

His hips stilled, his length buried deep inside you, as he groaned lowly. You felt your inside be flooded with warmth, whining as you dropped your forehead against the wooden surface, the cold of it grounding you. You were panting, the warmth creating a pleasant pressure inside your core as the priest rubbed his thumbs over your Venus dimples. He stayed inside you for a few more seconds, before easing out of you, leaving you feeling empty. He once again manhandled you so you were now sitting facing him, holding your limp body up as he dragged a hand up your moist thigh, grinning, “See this wetness? It was the remains of evil leaving your body.” His hand reached your slit and he gathered a sticky white substance on his fingers, bringing his hand up close to your lips, “And this is goodness. Do remember, my dear, your sins are scarlet and they shall be as white as snow.”

You gaped at him; he truly was a man of God. He pushed his fingers past your lips, and you let him, wrapping them around his digits as your tongue licked at the goodness. The taste was bitter, but as your eyes met his’, all you could think about was how caring and selfless the man standing in front of you was. You had come to him, worrying about your purity, and he had completely cleansed you of sin and given you his own God-gifted goodness, not asking anything in return. He removed his fingers from your mouth and brushed your cheek with the back of his index, his smile not faltering, “What is this look you are giving me?”

You blinked a few times, your cheeks flushing as you realized you had been staring, “Father, I must thank you. My body and soul were barren, and you made them anew again. I do not know how I could ever repay you.” His eyes narrowed at your words, his hand reaching to grab his glasses before he put them on and ran a hand through his hair. It dropped to your thigh and drew shapes on there, his gaze not leaving yours.

“Alastor,” he said simply before stepping away from you and bending down to grab your clothes. Your expression turned to a confused one as you watched him slip your underwear up your legs, your skirt following. You let him dress you, his fingers skilfully clasping your bra behind your back before he motioned you to lift your arms so he could slip your shirt back on. Once dressed he let his hand lay on your thigh again, before he spoke up, “My name is Alastor. Call me by it and your debt is repaid.” He grabbed one of your hands and dropped the rosary in it before grabbing your waist and helping you down the altar, “Keep this, use it whenever you feel evil is near.”

You nodded up at him and smiled, your grin faltering for a second when you saw that the crucifix on the wall had detached and was now hanging upside down. Oddly, you thought nothing of it and you looked back at Alastor, your smile spreading wide, “Thank you, Fa—Alastor.” You squeezed the rosary between your fingers, watching as he bent down once again, but this time to grab his cassock and Roman collar. You stood silently as he buttoned it up and placed the white collar around his neck. He straightened the fabric with his hands, before meeting your eyes.

“You look quite a mess, dearest, you’d better go home and clean yourself.”

Your hand flew up to your face where dried blood was caked on your chin and around your mouth, and you felt a blush creep up your neck at his words; he did not look any better. Despite it, you nodded, shifting on your feet as you thanked him once again, “I cannot express how thankful I am, Alastor, truly. You, uh, you should probably get cleaned up too; people would probably wonder why there’s blood smeared on their priest’s face.” The man chuckled and nodded before bending down to grab your coat, handing it to you once he straightened up. You took it and quickly slipped it on, putting the rosary in one of the pockets.

You clasped your hands together and bit down your bottom lip as the man put a hand against your back and urged you to walk with him. You walked down the main aisle silently, stopping once you had reached the end of it. You turned to him and opened your mouth to speak, but he beat you to it, “Go, now. Enjoy your newly found purity.” You smiled and dipped your chin once; he grinned back, “I will see you tomorrow, though I am hoping you will not walk back in here with that same pitiful expression you had earlier.”

You let out a small laugh as you gestured that you agreed before giving him one last glance and turning around, walking towards the door. You could feel his stare burn holes in your back but ignore the feeling, pushing against the door and stepping outside, the sunlight momentarily blinding you. You sighed loudly, looking around to make sure no one was close; the last thing you wanted was someone seeing you limp, your face bloody. You began to make your way back home, ignoring the way your thighs stuck together from your and Alastor’s bodily fluids. You thought about his words, and strangely, you found yourself disagreeing; you hoped the faceless man would come back. You had tasted true goodness, the powerful and unconditional love and mercy of God, and you wanted more of it.

[narryffdreaming]

HI! HELLO!

RIO GRANDE DO SUL / BRAZIL NEEDS YOUR HELP, PLEASE 🇧🇷

Guys, I know my blog isn't big at all for me to be doing this, but after living some of the most devastating and scary days of my life I feel the need to at least try.

I hope I'm wrong, but I'm pretty sure most of you don't know that the state of Rio Grande do Sul (Brazil) is going through the worst climate catastrophe in its history.

To give you some context, it started raining on Saturday (April 27th), and by Monday (April 29th) cities were already underwater. As days went by, and as rain didn't give us a single moment to catch a break, not only floods were a problem, but also multiple, huge landslides. By Wednesday (May 1st), it was like everything was falling apart around us. Everywhere.

Blackouts. No communication. No water supply. Brigdes collapsing. Roads washed out. Houses floating away. Animals drowning. People dying. Missing. Begging for help...

I mean, it's been a really long and painful week. There are so many videos and pictures that I could show you, and I still wouldn't be able to show and explain what we're going through.

Now, a week later (May 6th), we're still living this nightmare. Water follows the course of the river and it's like floods just move from one place to the other. On top of that, more rain is expected during the week.

So far*, out of 496 cities in the state, 341 cities have been somehow affected by all this. At least 78 people died, over 100 were reported missing, and at least 175 were injured. Also, over 134,000 people were forced to leave their homes behind, and most of them won't be able to return because houses aren't even there anymore.

So whilst we're doing our best here to help our people, volunteering ourselves and just doing whatever we can to try and start all over (cleaning up the streets and houses, making food, donating clothes and furniture, etc) we know there's only so much we can do without financial help. Which is why I'm writing this.

If you can, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE 🙏🏻 consider donating and helping us. Especially if you live outside the country — basically bc your money will be worth even more here, as you can see:

€1 = R$ 5,49 || €5 = R$27,46

US$1 = R$5,10 || US$5 = R$25,51

£1 = R$6,40 || £5 = R$32,00

And if you can't donate, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE 🙏🏻 at least just share and spread the word. You'll be already doing a lot for us!

We already went through something like this seven months ago (September/23) and we really, really need more international help/awareness now.

Official links for donations are listed here:

IF YOU'RE FROM BRAZIL: Link

IF YOU'RE FROM A DIFFERENT COUNTRY: Link

Also, if you want to know more about what's happening, you can start here: governo_rs || abcnews || G1 noticias

JUST PLEASE DON'T IGNORE THIS

—

*I wrote this post on May 6th, at 2am. Now it's May 6th, 11:30am (not even 10 hours later), and numbers have already changed: 345 cities have been somehow affected (+4), 83 people died (+5), 111 were reported missing (+11), 276 were injured (+101), over 141,000 were forced to leave their homes behind (+7k).

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for pushing my partner to get narcan training?

For some context, I work as an ASL interpreter for d/Deaf and hard of hearing students. This means that I'm interpreting lectures as they happen and, because the lectures can be anywhere from 2 - 4 hours long, I usually have a partner and we switch out every so often. This also means that it's the same classes every week so you really get to know the students you work with.

This particular class was one for a student I had worked with before and my partner on this one was new. She was fluent in ASL but at a different level than I was if, if that makes sense. There's often a difference between people that grew up signing and those who didn't, which is sometimes equated to a certain fluidity with the signs. This isn't to say she's bad or anything, just that it's a different level of it.

This course was one for some sort of social work or community building program and during this class, the students were getting free Narcan training and were given a five minute break before it. During the break, the professor approached us and asked if we wanted to learn. We're technically not supposed to participate in the class in any way as we're just there to interpret, we're not students. I am already trained - and unfortunately very experienced - in administering Narcan but my partner wasn't. She was a bit hesitant about participating and was worried about getting in trouble but I encouraged her to go anyways and told her that I would take her turn signing. I don't recall my exact phrasing but it was something along the lines of 'It's a really important skill to have, especially in (Our city). I really think you should do it'.

She ended up doing it and from what I could tell there were no issues with it. I've worked with the student since they started getting their degree three years ago and I felt that they wouldn't be upset or bothered by her participating (And I spoke with them after class to apologize and check in and they were completely okay with it) as they're pretty easy going and prefer my style of signing so they probably wouldnt mind watching me for ten minutes longer than usual. We finished the class as normal and went our separate ways.

This was two weeks ago and about four or five days ago I received an email from my supervisor with a thinly veiled 'reminder' that interpreters should not be participating in class activities and that as the person with seniority, I should not be guilting or pressuring newer employees into breaking rules.

At the time, I didn't think that I was guilting or pressuring her into doing anything but thinking back, it definitely could have come across that way. I really wish I could remember the exact phrasing of what I said, since I think it's pretty important here.

I think I could be the asshole because even if I said it super nicely and wasn't at all pressuring or guilting her, I was still encouraging her to do something I knew we weren't allowed to do and she is much newer at this than I am. On the other hand, I do think this was an important topic to break the rules for but I also had my older sister die from am opioid overdose last autumn so I definitely have a bias here.

[kokonqui]

Walks in, people are really doing the “my white man has done nothing wrong in the narrative ever because he is autistic and autistic people can do nothing wrong actually” with Dungeon meshi

Read down below for my thoughts on people pulling this shit

Before I start, maybe pick up a book from school and practice how to read a narrative and learn content analysis,

it’ll really help because I don’t know what the hell else to say to people who are bad at reading subtext and putting context into practice at this point

I see the sentiment of “Kabru is actually evil because he actively murders people-“ as if the story isn’t actually like super nuanced and complex in its’ dynamics between races

and y’all can only really see a man that has personally gone through nothing but tragedy have a proper reaction to not having that tragedy handled properly and go “because he is a brown man he is inherently violent and therefore bad for my white man because of these story beats” with the type of stupid white person reaction.

The subtext went out the window huh, he gave the viewer ample context and reason as to why it happened he was going to kill the body retriever group, WHO WAS TRYING TO SAY TO HIM THAT THEY WERE GOING TO MUG HIM. AND KILL HIM AND SPLIT THE MONEY THEY MADE FROM GAMING A SYSTEM THEYVE BEEN EXPLOITING, WHICH HE DIDN’T DO.

Dying to monsters is one thing but someone like a retriever artificially upping the amount of people who die in a dungeon while also actively disrespecting the rules that the dungeon has by doing that fits perfectly into Kabru’s moral compass and motivation. Do you think that wouldn’t bother him? Sure, he has learning to do himself in regards to monsters and all, but do people really think he’s a monster actively incapable of change, when he’s stated in text that he believes himself to be a monster due to the things that have happened to him? Do you think he doesn’t blame himself and have survivors guilt from what he went through? Or do we think because Kabru lies and he warps and he cheats only to start realizing that the Kabru we’re shown doesn’t even know where he himself starts or ends. This is not trying to justify his actions. I am explaining his thinking. Of course He’d kill the retrievers.

And I think he would kill the Canaries if he had the chance to. I think the Retrievers were an active stand in for his feelings towards the Canaries.

When you build a life speaking lies after your previous status quo crumbles, how the fuck are you supposed to differentiate your own behaviors from the lies you grow into saying to make sure you don’t get close enough to people to be hurt as badly as he was as a kid. He is a sole survivor of a tragedy, and he reacts accordingly, and you all just want to antagonize him.

Did we forget who we’re talking about in comparison here, or are you guys that focused on justifying a man who clearly was used, exploited, and literally lost his mother because some group who thought themselves to be higher than due to their longer life cycles decided to destroy his whole life because it created a slight inconvenience

god you lot are truly fucking insufferable and can’t let characters be complex without woobifying or flanderizing them to be more digestible.

Let characters be complex.

You don’t have to like them all the time, You don’t have to agree with their actions.

You don’t have to agree with a character all the time for you to like a character’s writing.

[rainbowsky]

This is not a question, but a reflection. With this BF story, I thought a lot. And I think that as French, I don't have the same point of view. I was especially shocked by these words: “he must be educated”. France has a deep colonial past. and I thought: "we must educate these ignorant Chinese? but who are we to think that we are better and superior? we who today have so much hatred for them?" Each country has its point of view depending on his history. no need to respond if you don't want to. And thank you for your always respectful and thoughtful publications.

This is in reference to a previous post.

Bonjour lyndariell, j'espère que tu vas bien. ☺️

This is a perfect example of what I was saying about this being a very complex issue with a lot of different perspectives and angles.

In order to make sense of and come to terms with this issue we each need to find the right balance between upholding our own values and respecting the values of others. That's bound to be a tricky process because we're each coming from a different region, with different backgrounds, experiences and perspectives on the world.

Each of us will have a different degree of empathy and alignment toward one or more of the various stakeholders in the situation as well, based on our own experiences, interests and values.

In other words, it's complicated.

It is true that for some people, hearing so many white Westerners say that a Chinese man half a world away 'needs to be educated' on any topic might legitimately feel distasteful and wrong. There is this Western conceit that our values and way of life are superior and obviously correct, and that other nations are just 'behind us' in heading toward the same goals*.

*Although the same is also true going East to West.

It would be totally understandable if some people were to reject the Westerners' characterization of this issue and say that the choices that led to blackface being used in this film are not our choices to make. After all, the filmmakers are telling a Chinese story to a Chinese audience, and they know best how to go about that.

Fair enough. But...

Speaking of colonialism

While we're on the topic of colonialism shouldn't we also be talking about China and its role as a neocolonial power in Africa? As I said in my previous post, it's not really fair for us to look at things solely from our own perspective and in the context of the cultural environment we are in rather than considering the cultural environment this film was made in.

Have you heard of the Belt and Road Initiative? Actually you don't need to answer that question, because almost every turtle has definitely heard of it. GG sang a beautiful song in celebration of that initiative not that long ago, complete with a video highlighting some of the major projects involved.

I didn't post that video on my blog, but you can watch it here. All the bridges, trains and other infrastructure you can see in the video are projects from the Belt and Road Initiative; China investing across Asia, Africa and other regions to improve transport and trade (and to build on China's power globally).

I'm no @potteresque-ire, so I'm not going to break it all down in a meticulous, intelligent, well-cited masterpiece, but you can learn a bit more about it here. There are also countless online articles, papers, analyses, critiques, accolades, etc. from every possible angle out there if you want to dig deeper.

Some of the core strategy of the initiative involves proposing massive infrastructure projects in poor regions, loaning them the money to make the projects happen (loans in the billions), and stipulating that the contracts must be completed by Chinese companies. Resulting in countries with shiny new railways and hospitals built and paid for by the Chinese government and Chinese corporations, with these countries massively in debt to China for many decades to come and with deep trade ties to China.

Depending on who you ask, Belt and Road is either an exploitative, environmentally disastrous neocolonialist power/resource grab, or it's an innovative unifying effort to improve the lives and trade of its member nations.

I personally feel its a bit of both.

Whichever it is, it does have a very dark side. There have been many stories coming out of these regions, telling about slave-like working conditions and horrific abuse from the Chinese contractors toward their African workers. I made the mistake of researching this and let me just say that what I've seen cannot be unseen. There is a reason people make snide jokes about the "belt" in Belt and Road.

And that's just the Belt and Road Initiative. There are a lot of other Chinese individuals and companies going into regions across Africa to take advantage of the people and resources for their own monetary gain. I posted about one such example the other day.

So in considering imperialistic attitudes it's only fair to reflect on what it might mean for a Chinese person to wear an African ethnicity like a costume, in a country that is frequently racist toward Africans and which is thought by many to be exploiting African nations with a form of neocolonialist debt slavery.

Particularly when said costume leads to a massive increase in the amount of racist posts on Chinese social media, and with a tone of raucous mockery and disdain.

We should consider the impact of this film on Chinese attitudes toward Africa and Africans. Based on what I've seen on Weibo, in various articles and on international social media it seems like there is a strong colonialist 'white savior' narrative coming out of this film; glorifying China as swooping in and saving these helpless Africans.

Taken alongside the horrible racism of Chinese audience reactions to the blackface, I don't think looking at it through 'the other lens' gives us a prettier picture.

If the primary category of people who are not offended by this tends to be audiences who are reacting with racist mockery, then a deeper reflection needs to happen.

All that aside, DD isn't working in a vacuum. He has been actively cultivating an international audience and working closely with international brands. He doesn't have the luxury of ignoring Western values if he wants to continue down that path.

And let's not forget that the culture he's so enamoured of is black American culture. If he loves Western hip hop culture so much it would behoove him to better understand and support the people at the root of that culture. The people who literally made it possible for him to find and enjoy that culture.

DD is a good person at heart. I feel that participation in cultural harm is beneath his dignity, and not something he'd consciously choose to do if he had a better understanding of the impacts.

When it comes to culture clash and differences in values it's also important to remember that while everyone is free to make their own choices about what they say and do, so too is everyone else free to make their own choices about how to respond to what that person says and does.

DD is a massive star, so his behavior and choices go far beyond his own cultural environment. It's inevitable that some people are going to have different takes on it all.

And I don't feel like people are telling DD what to do, so much as they're talking about what he needs to do in order to maintain their support. They're drawing out the boundaries of what they deem acceptable as fans. From there everyone has their own choices to make, including DD.

My own position

Here's the thing: I've come under loud, vehement fire from black fans for not taking a strong enough stand on this issue, while some other fans feel I'm being too hard on DD. Now you're saying I should consider the colonialist angle and reflect on whether it's even appropriate for me to think DD has anything to learn.

I can only ever be myself, and speak and act from my own values. I will always think for myself and take my own positions, no matter how unpopular they are and no matter how harshly people attack me for it (and they have).

I am capable of holding multiple conflicting perspectives in my heart and feeling compassion for them all.

I empathize with black people who ***for fuck's sake!!*** have been so thoroughly fucked over on every level and in every possible way by people around them who just don't get it about racism. Who just don't get how deep and broad and far-reaching it is and about how soul-destroying it is to live in a world where this shit is normalized.

I can't even begin to imagine how hard it must be to be a black fan who loves DD and then see him in blackface, and then watch all the fans try to gloss over it as though it doesn't matter.

I empathize with Chinese fans who are in most cases probably not at all ill-intended, whose reactions came honestly even if they were jarring to Western fans, and who have mostly found this story and its telling both exciting and moving.

I empathize with diaspora fans who are having to deal with a whole bunch of sanctimonious lectures about who DD should be and what he should think, say and do.

I empathize with the filmmakers, who after all were probably just trying to give an accurate retelling of something that actually happened in real life.

I empathize with DD, who was likely doing what was requested of him and probably didn't realize that it would turn out to be so controversial or negatively impact so many people.

Anyone who can say with a straight face that they think DD would ever intentionally or knowingly do something that would be this controversial or that would be hurtful to so many of his fans can KMA. That's not the kind of person DD is at all.

Blackface is a huge deal here in the West, and even people in this region are constantly getting it wrong. How can we expect people in regions where it's not traditionally been a big deal to do better than people here who are steeped in awareness*?

*And before anyone says that cultural relativism is such that only people in the West really think blackface is wrong, why not try talking to some of the African fans who've been deeply upset by this?

This is what it is to live in the world. Life is complex, and people are messy. Like I said before; nothing is black and white. Everything is a million shades and hues. As much as people will try to oversimplify the issue and try to intimidate us into taking 'their side', or try to punish and attack us for not doing so, we can only ever live by our own conscience.

No matter how much pressure I come under to condemn one of the individuals or groups I listed above, I will refuse to do so. My conscience tells me to be compassionate and understanding to all of them, and that everyone is always doing their best.

I hope and believe that our differing opinions can coexist. We can disagree and still be friends, as long as we remain open to accepting one another, and as long as we respect each other's right to our own conscience and values.

Merci pour cet échange d'idées intéressant. 💛.

[v3nusxsky]

Can you please do write dom! Emily finds out that sub!reader gets turned on when Emily gets bossy and Emily's uses it to her advantage to fuck reader senseless in Emily's office.

So bossy…. I like it 18+

*Authors note~ another break from sinful souls to bring you Emily prentiss. I’m not sure how I feel about this one :( I’m going to take this opportunity to wish my lovely girlfriend @just-your-casual-nerd a very happy one year anniversary ♥️criminal minds (and our love for incredibly talented beautiful attractive women such as prentiss JJ and Larissa Weems ) brought us together and I’ve never been more grateful for anything in my life. I love you*

Trigger warnings~ sub r mommy dom! Emily strap warming, praise kink overstimulation for reader, oral on strap em loves Rs boobs more than life office sex, bossy Emily sort of free use reader oral fixation mentions

Prompt~ see ask^^^^

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Your wife becoming the chief of the BAU was certainly an achievement, one you are incredibly proud of her for, but litre did you know, the change in job would do more than add to her pay packet. Being an assistant of Penelope Garcia is how you met your wife, at first you thought Emily Prentiss hated you, but after some time with JJ and Garcia convincing you to join them on girls night, you soon found out that was not the case. She wanted you, too much, and that scared the raven haired profiler. Now her wife, you can look back and laugh at how awkward you both were dancing around the attraction.

The power that woman holds not only as your wife, your dominant but now your boss too, turns out it’s a massive turn on for you. Seeing the way she commands the room had you soaking your panties embarrassingly quickly. It happened so much these days you just always packed a few pairs spare for the work day. It wasn’t your fault, she’s incredibly sexy. But you were growing tired of finding excuses to tell Garcia about why you are always running to the ladies room. But your wife, she had caught on to your extra items in your work bag, the way your pupils would dilate at team meetings and even the slight heat that would cover your cheeks and the tops of your breasts every time she was more stern. Dominance clearly did it for you no matter the context, something she could use to her advantage.

To say you and Em experiment in the bedroom would be putting it lightly, you are both kinky people with needs after all. One of your wife’s kinks happened to be free use, something you turned out to love, this kink being relatively new for you, it hadn’t came into play outside the house. Until today. Being called to her office was a usual occurrence, sometimes genuinely needing your skills, others a lunch date and even on occasions comfort after a rough meeting or case.

“Honey?” You murmured quietly as you entered her office, closing the door behind you. “Lock it” came the first demand, her stern tone sending a wave of arousal straight to your stomach, causing you to jump into action and obey. “Good girl, here now” she demanded in her authoritative tone, loving how you instantly seemed to slip into your submissive state. “Mommy?” You mumbled shyly, avoiding eye contact with her and awaited the next command.

A verbal command never came, she knew you’d safe word If you felt the need to, her strong hand came to push down on your shoulders causing you to kneel in front of the woman. “Under the desk bunny, mommy needs to use that pretty mouth of yours” the raven haired chief murmured to you, a smirk plastering itself on her lips at your enthusiastic gasp. Of course it took some effort to get in the right position, Emily utilising your distracted state to lose her trousers and free a girthy looking six inch dildo that was now strapped to her hips. Where had she hidden that this morning?

“Em” you started only be cut off by your wife, “poor girl, being all turned on at work, good job mommy noticed and can now finally put your skills to use hmm?” It sounded like a question, but you knew it wasn’t, being good for Emily meant waiting for permission to speak. Something you haven’t been given. “Now bunny, you will be my good girl and let mommy fuck your pretty mouth and then maybe I’ll take pitty on you and sort out your messy cunt” the raven haired woman commanded as she settled back in her chair allowing you access to her shaft while remaining hidden from any potential praying eyes.

Aches radiated their way through your cramped body, limbs fallen asleep as you remained pliant for your mommy. God knows how long she’d been lazily fucking your throat but it was starting to become raw with every deep thrust of her hips. Only when Emily decided she was satisfied with how far down into your submissive haze you were did she pull back smirking at your glazed over eyes and a string of spit that attached to the head of her cock and your now swollen mouth. “Oh good girl” she murmured appreciatively as she lent down to rip open your shirt, “god your beautiful baby girl, so good for me. So pretty.”

Her words seemed to muffle as you allowed her to pull you up from the desk shredding your poor excuse for tights and lace underwear exposing your cunt. The heat radiating from your core had your wife moaning happily and you gasping as the cold air hit your sensitive slit. “Mommy” you whined as you subconsciously tried to find the friction your body craved. “Shush sweet girl, I know, mommy knows. Precious bunny, you’re soaked. Warming mommys cock should be no problem right?” Her murmurs seeming to not register as she manipulated your body to the exact position she desired.

Straddling Emily Prentiss’s lap, her faux dick nestled tightly between your sopping walls, head nuzzled into her neck and breasts on full display was definitely not how you expected when you walked in here. Not that you were complaining. No. You were far too down in your subby haze to even care where you are. The only thought on your mind being to please mommy. It doesn’t matter if you cum you just want mommy satisfied. It’s one of the many things Emily adores about you.

Quite truthfully, it was a slow paperwork day in the bureau which allowed for her plan to unfold. Having you on her lap, soaking your thighs as well as hers, desperate to keep your moans quiet and not expose your situation was definitely a way to make the day more pleasant. “Pretty bunny and such a good cock warmer too. Sit up bun, mommy wants to look at these perfect tits” the way her words seem to reek of dominance caused you to whimper as you sat up. “Oh, mommy’s favourite white lace bra today hmm? Gods bunny you’re so perfect for me. Prettiest thing for mommy to use.”

Less than thirty minutes in, you were rocking your hips into hers, lips lazily sucking on the junction between her neck and shoulder. Needy. You’d definitely marked your mommy, not that she minded at all, but getting you off was not the main purpose of this. A slap the tops of your breasts seemed to halt any movement, “behave bunny, mommys working now.” If you were more coherent you wouldn’t protested, but your body is beginning to lose the fight against exhaustion and need. “Please mommy, so sticky! Please help me mommy. I need you to.” You whimpered pathetically causing the other woman to grab your hair into a make shift ponytail before yanking you off the faux cock and throwing you over her desk.

“Just couldn’t behave and wait could you? Never seem to follow mommys orders so I guess you need a lesson. I don’t want to hear a peep out of you unless it’s checking in or safewords. Do you understand little girl” she practically snarled at you while teasing your messy cunt with the soaked strap. A hard smack to the globes of your arse remind you that you hadn’t replied. “I understand” you mumbled guilt soaking the words, you’d failed to make mommy happy, “I’m sorry.”

You couldn’t help the squeak of protest as you felt her enter your red puffy pussy, with how oversensitive your poor abused hole was feeling you knew staying quiet would be extremely difficult. “Shut up and take what mommy gives you. My own personal bunny to fuck whenever I want. However I want.” She grunted in between harsh thrusts of her hips, causing your body to slam into her desk repeatedly. You’d definitely have bruises.

As predicted with her spewing words in between her thrusts you were struggling to keep quiet, frantically searching through bleary eyes for something to put in your mouth. Obviously the profiler part of your wife noticed and ever so kindly lent over your body to shove her fingers into your awaiting mouth. “Pretty girl just needs to suckle on mommys fingers hmm? God I love your pretty pussy baby. Mommy loves you so much baby girl” she groaned as she came again causing you to also come with her. You’d be lying if you said you kept track of how many orgasms she’d given you over the table as well as warming her strap before she finally gentled pulled out and started aftercare.

The strap now hidden in her draw she yanked the blanket off the back of her chair, gently settled you In the chair before unlocking the door and setting you on her lap. Instantly your body turned to snuggle into the older woman, blanket wrapped around you causing you to sigh contentedly. “So good for me sweet girl, rest my love, I’m right here then we will go clean up and head home to have a nice bath hmm?” She whispered before trailing off to hum the same tune she did when your nightmares plagued your sleep. You drifted off to your slumber in the arms of the woman you love, safe and content and throughly satisfied.

Word count~ 1970

[mixelation]

i got yet another comment confused about mutagenicity's itatori so i guess i will write. what are these called. a shipping manifesto???

so first i will disclaim that this ship started as a joke and then proceeded to have me waffle around what i thought the dynamic would be, so some posts probably contradict each other. i was also on the fence about producing shippy content of tori with ANYONE for a while (i have very obviously changed my stance on this lmao)

so first, context. tori and itachi have a long, complicated history with each other. in plasticity, tori makes it clear she has no interest in fucking with itachi's goals, but she's also fully and demonstrably capable of doing just that, even by accident. she is also, by the events of mutagenicity, the only person in the entire world who knows his full backstory. he actively recruits her to konoha both because tori Knowing Things means he needs to keep an eye on her (because who the fuck knows what she will do) but also because he sees her as a valuable ally.

tori spends plasticity both with anxiety that itachi might do something horrible to her, resenting him for the power he holds over her, and then also low key enjoying his company. eventually she will realize he'd probably make her best possible ally.

in mutagenicity, they end up close friends. this is both because they're on the same team and also because they are fucked up adults in tweenaged bodies. who else are they supposed to hang out with? actual children? i don't think either would rank the other as their BEST friend, but they are pretty close. itachi respects tori's skills from day 1 and will defer to her on certain topics, which is not something he will do for most people. tori agrees to high treason to kill danzo for itachi with zero questions, conditions, or asking for anything in return, which does absolute wonders for itachi's affection for her. they end up with a deep, mutual trust for each other, and they enjoy each other's company

the part that started as a joke (and i'm leaving in because i think it's 1) funny, and 2) a great way to spotlight itachi's insane personality) is that itachi decides they should date without telling tori.

the reason for this is basically that his clan duty is to marry and have kids, so around age 16 mikoto starts shoving girls at him. the idea here is: the uchiha are progressive enough that his parents would prefer a love marriage for their son, but the marriage does have to happen, and itachi has yet to show romantic interest in literally everyone. itachi's issue with this is that he..... kind of hates other people. he doesn't want to date random teenage girls, but mikoto is a seasoned social manipulator and he keeps ending up in situations like "alone in the park with some girl and they're both eating ice cream HOW DID THIS HAPPEN." also now suddenly women are interested in him because he's a well-known celebrated genius important clan heir. his life? is hell?

and then he realizes all his problems would be solved if he simply got his own girlfriend. so he sits back and reflects on "women my age that i wouldn't hate spending time with" and the only answer is tori. so he starts inviting her places and obviously she says yes because they are friends and she enjoys spending time with him.

eventually tori figures out he's.... dating her? and she gets mad and breaks up with him because THAT'S AN INSANE THING TO DO, ITACHI. but then after she cools off she decides, actually, this is a great arrangement. she DOES like hanging out with itachi, but he does this annoying thing where he'll disappear for months because he's bad at socializing, and if they're dating she can strong arm him into not doing that. a lot of typical date activities are fun and she likes having an excuse to dress up. she likes making him pay for stuff (tori is also horrible). she likes the trickery/deception angle. she likes the social advantage of having someone she can make go with her to events, the fact that having a boyfriend means sexual harassment goes down, the bragging rights, etc.

so tori goes back to him and proposes they "fake date" for mutual benefit. dw, itachi, tori is also a seasoned manipulator, and this will go SO MUCH BETTER for you if you let her be in charge of it. and itachi is like "she is SO right, what was i thinking, tori loves fucking with people's heads--" and they start dating again!

except they aren't like..... romantic. like, both of them, as people, are not super into romance. they don't give off Dating Vibes to most people, unless you're part of their inner circle, in which case you're just witnessing itachi and tori discovering they have a mutually compatible approach to dating and romance. they're both treating it like some sort of long-term mission because they're both morons in the same direction, but if you're like deidara or shisui or someone, you've just had the horrible realization that they're probably going to marry each other.

itachi and tori think they are in cahoots. it is only a bonus that the cahoots are fun. however yes at some point when you've committed hard enough and are having enough fun, the cahoots are simply a committed relationship

tori: hey, are you ever going to go find a wife? wasn't that the plan?

itachi: (imagines dating literally anyone else) (imagines being less close to tori)

itachi: (don'tlikethat.jpeg)

itachi: .......do you want to marry me

tori: hm

tori: (imagines not being with itachi any more) (doubt.jpeg)

tori: yeah that sounds good

[reverieblondie]

⋆* ⚘ ⋆*⋆ WIP Game ⋆*⋆ ⚘ *⋆

Rules: make a new post and share 1-2 sentences** from your most recent unposted WIP(s) with zero context – Let your followers guess! (I posted Paragraphs instead...)

tagged by @faerunsbest Thank you so much!

No pressure tags ｡.:*･ﾟ♥ @drizztdohurtin @dark-and-kawaii and @lazyjellyfish300

Opting out to stop your horny fantasies you fetch your soap and start washing your skin and hair back to its once fresh state. Lathering the soap against your body and rinsing yourself with the moonlit water. Ever since your team had gotten out of the shadowlands your thoughts keep going back to him, you combed over everywhere, asked everyone, Hells after you defied Ketheric Thorm you relooked over everything to see if he was being held up somewhere…you fear the worst…you don’t want you mind to go to that dark place but it just seemed like he was gone…

With a sigh you crouch down and dunk your head in the water. In the depths of your mind you think of the grove, his armor, his face, his voice… Running out of air you rise up flipping your hair back from your face. As you steady your breaths and run your fingers through the knots of your hair your completely unaware of the eyes taking in the way water cascades over your naked body.

A deep growl can’t help from rumbling deep within his chest. Burst of bright flames surrounds him, Changing him into his cambion form, now towering over Tavs body. Raphael’s large hand cups your face, so soft and delicate making the fantasy feel even more real for him. Leaning down he whispers in Tavs ear, warm hand caressing their skin, Breath hot in their ear, “Tell me what happened, every detail…” 

Haarlep grins and wraps their arms around Raphael's neck, “She was blushing so beautifully. Your little mouse, she wanted to know how your kisses felt, truly so sweet…”

Carefully you reach forward to touch him, tracing the heated ridges of his chest. Rolan's heart beats rapidly as you slowly move your hands over his skin. Sliding down you touch the arching reliefs that cascade over his ribs. Rolan’s hand places itself over yours as it gently guides you over his body. 

“Inherited traits from my…hellish ancestors.” 

Your hands have moved past his abs and now are touching the curves carved into his hips, your eyes watching the glistening arousal leaching out of his red tip fully erect and twitching with every move of your fingers. 

“Beautiful…” you whisper as your eyes go back to his. A nervous chuckle leaves his lips as his hands carefully trace from their spot on your hips to slide slowly up your waist to then one is cupping the back of your head and he tilts you closer, his soft breaths whispering over your lips. “I was going to say the same thing…”

[ravennaortiz]

manny

Summary: You find Manny sulking over his daughters first boyfriend.

As always my stories are 18+!

You frowned as you caught sight of your husband on the porch looking sullen as he sipped his beer. "Everything okay?'" you inquired as he stood and kissed your cheek, taking your work bags from you. Manny nodded before opening the door for you.

"Just a long day" he sighed as he caught sight of your raised brow and frown. You knew him to well, no point in pretending he was fine. You nodded as you made your way to the kitchen to get yourself something to eat. "Its hard having a job and being a parent while holding the house down to huh?" you replied a hint of sarcasm to your voice.

Manny's lips twitched slightly into a smile as he hit you with his signature look that made you weak in the knees. "You know damn well that I didn't mean it like that ma" replied Manny as he smacked you with the dish towel on the door. "Sit your pretty, hard working ass down and I'll get you something to eat."

"Anyone ever tell you that you are super bossy and a bit controlling?" you sassed as you did what he told you.

"Anyone ever told you that you are mouthy and argumentative" replied Manny as he looked through the fridge pulling out the foil covered plate he had set aside for you from earlier.

"Careful" you warned. "I would hate to have to beat up the Yuma Presdiente"

Manny snorted as he shook his head at your statement. "After what happened today I welcome being knocked out cold mami" he added as he put the plate in the microwave and grabbed you a glass of wine.

"A bit dramatic. Can I get some context?" you inquired with a laugh after a couple of minutes while you sipped your drink. Manny nodded as he set your food in front of you before kissing your forehead.

"My baby girl is a married woman and she told me she doesn't need me anymore. Her exact words were -I gots me a new man daddy-. I thought I had more time to prepare for this you know? Maybe get her to think of being a nun or some shit." explained Manny ignoring you choking on your wine as he continued. "I mean boys ain't shit ya know? What's the point of them? Also the audacity of this little asshole to not even talk to me first" finished Manny as you caught your breath and wiped at your eyes from your laughter.

"Manny. Babe they are in first grade its not that deep" you stated as you shook your head. "I'm so glad her first "boy encounter" you are handling well" you stated as he rolled his eyes as he smiled.

"All I'm saying is I got beef with lil Joey and he better hope his pops can fight" replied Manny making you laugh more.

Return to Series List

[yuriskies]

A fun element to Otherside Picnic vol 8 (spoilers ahead after the break, if you're still planning to read it) is an easter egg about the location of Toriko's apartment. Actually, "easter egg" might be underselling it a bit; it has a huge amount of thematic relevance to Toriko's character. So here's the easter egg: if you follow Sorawo's description of her path to Toriko's apartment, you can actually find the building on Google Maps.

The train arrived in Nippori. Pushed by the rush of people, I got off, went down the stairs, and out the gate. I climbed the hill, out of breath, in the unrelenting rain. The wall of a graveyard continued along the left-hand side. Turning onto a side street at the top of the hill, I could see Toriko’s apartment in the middle of a residential area ...the building uses an autolock system... Getting off on the fourth floor, I headed into the hallway. The town I could see over the chest-high wall was misty in the rain.

The fun thing about this is that Sorawo's narration is just specific enough to follow along. In a way, it's an invitation to the reader to imitate Sorawo. Prior to the events of the series, she spent time tracking down the sites of ghost stories from the minor details that leaked into their narration. Tracking down where the weirdness happened placed it in context; stories from the edge of reality seem more reliable when the reality can be charted.

So, let's do it. Sorawo mentions a graveyard wall - this can only be Yanaka Graveyard, located on the west side of Nippori Station. Yanaka is located on the former grounds of the Tenno-ji Buddhist temple, and is one of Tokyo's largest cemetaries by area. It is the resting site of the final Tokugawa Shogun, as well as a who's who of Meiji-era academics, literati, and government officials.

The road along the north edge of Yanaka Graveyard goes up a steep hill, and where it reaches the top, a side road splits off on the left to go into a residential area. Going into street view shows that all of the buildings along this road are only two or three stories tall, except for a building at the very back. It's four stories tall. The building has an auto lock system at the front door, and chest high walls along the hallways to the apartments. Bingo.

The fun part of this is the name of the apartment complex: 山口マンション (Yamaguchi [Mountain Gate] Mansion).

The first part of the thematic relevance here is its relationship to Satsuki's monologue about being brought into the Otherside.

"What happens to the people who don't return?" "Who knows? They probably die, right?" "Life and death aren't the issue. Once you get to that point, that is." My brow furrowed. "What do you think mountains are made of?" Satsuki asked, smiling. "Trees and stuff?" I said without putting much thought into it. When I thought of mountains, the image that came to mind for me was the mountains of my home prefecture, Akita, covered in green. "If trees were sapient, they wouldn't think of themselves as a mountain. Only as a single tree. It's the same concept. People who go into the mountains, regardless of their mental state, are still people. But the wind that blows through the trees. The rocks. The birds. Every speck of rock covering the bedrock. The beasts, hiding in their dens. The ancient mollusks, sleeping in a geologic fold. The morning dew in a spider's web. The bacteria and microorganisms in the soil, breaking down the body. None of these individual constituting elements is the mountain on its own, yet the mountain is made up of them. So it is for those called by the mountain. Living or dead." She raised her hand, pointing all five fingers at herself. "That is how it is for me." Uncurling her fingers, she pointed at me. "That is how it is for you."

This "mountain gate" connection also ties back to Sorawo's previous visit to Toriko's apartment in File 4, where she opened the door to the apartment and encountered the ultrablue void of the Otherside. Thematically, this places Toriko's apartment at the interface between the surface world and the Otherside. The back of the building also abuts Yanaka Graveyard, and so thematically, also forms an interface between life and death.

Sorawo touches on this latter theme in the back half of File 26, when Toriko forces herself on Sorawo in her parents' bedroom. Sorawo becomes profoundly uncomfortable - equally, if not more disturbed by her surroundings than Toriko's behavior. After relocating to Toriko's bedroom, Sorawo realizes the following:

This home was a grave, and Toriko the crypt keeper—that's the image that I was getting. The sudden feeling of resistance I'd felt when we were in the bedroom might have come from that mental association. Even if it weren't the place where her parents had once slept, it was almost like flirting in front of a Buddhist altar. After entering Toriko's room, I finally got it. This room has color. It's the room of a living person.

Toriko's bedroom forms a small bubble of life in an otherwise dead house. The interface between life and death isn't simply close to Toriko's living space, it is actively defined by it. This ties in closely to Toriko's character, given that she's admitted her pushiness to do relationship things in the Otherside is driven by a fear of loss. Her mothers suddenly died, and Satsuki suddenly vanished. All she has left of them is her cherished memories, and she wants to form those memories with Sorawo, just in case.

Another element in play here is Sorawo's relationship to the Otherside. At multiple points in the series, the Otherside seems to suddenly draw closer when Sorawo gets stressed out with her thoughts about her relationship with Toriko. The most obvious example is in the hot springs when the mannequins appear immediately after Sorawo feels backed into a corner with Toriko's "cute boobs" comment, but those fears are also linked to Hasshaku-sama (both times the entity appears as Sorawo contemplates jealousy and the possibility that Toriko will be taken from her), Satsuki's surface world appearance (Kozakura implying Sorawo is manifesting Satsuki through her jealous fixation), the the love hotel girls' party (the lion dancers appear as Sorawo is trying to avoid a romantic bath with Toriko), and Satsuki's appearance in vol 7 (when Sorawo is considering where she would be without Toriko). In a sense, the terrifying aspects of the Otherside to Sorawo are closely related to the terrifying aspects of a defined relationship with Toriko.

One puzzle piece in play is a conversation from vol 7, as Sorawo, Kozakura, and Toriko are figuring out their approach to exorcize Satsuki. They discuss the concept of "atmosphere" and its ability to transmit emotions, particularly fear, and explore ways to change that atmosphere. Toriko mentions that she's mostly heard ghost stories where sex changes the atmosphere. Sorawo then elaborates to a doubtful Kozakura with the following:

No, it's true. There's stories where they were in a real bad situation, but then they started saying all sorts of lewd things and they survived. I don't tend to say that ghosts are this way or that, but sex is the source of life, so that makes it the polar opposite of ghosts, which belong to the world of the dead... At least, there's that sort of reasoning. It's an idea that's been around since ancient times.

Sorawo also goes on to mention that in some situations, the atmosphere can be overwritten, but in others, these attempts only reinforce it more strongly.

The thing about ghost stories is that for all its other indiscretions, it's an elegant genre in strange ways. There's not a lot of bawdy stories in it. Maybe that's because if you're trying to scare someone, and then sexual elements get involved, it hurts the atmosphere. Anyway, I only brought up the sex stuff as an example of how the atmosphere can get changed. It's too weak to be her weakness. There's some real nasty ghost stories with sexual elements, and there are people who've had scary experiences at love hotels.

All of these concepts start to interweave with one another when the two relocate to Toriko's bedroom. Sorawo immediately notices a change in Toriko's demeanor.

Her expression looked uneasy, without composure. She wanted me, but also feared rejection. Despite the way she'd been breathing heavily through her nose as she led me here by the hand, now Toriko was just standing there awkwardly. As if once she'd dragged me into her room she didn't know what to do anymore. Maybe as we entered what remained of the domain of the living inside this house of the dead, Toriko had come back to life.

This scene firmly links Toriko's fear of the Otherside (death) to Sorawo's fear of the Otherside (relationships). In her moms' bedroom, Toriko had been demanding, frustrated, and angry - the malicious emotional states traditionally occupied by spirits in ghost stories! However, she settles down when she enters her own bedroom. For Sorawo, passing through this interface changes Toriko from an unknowable force who inspires fear into a very human entity with whom she can sit down and discuss the uncomfortable topic of sex. In turn, this allows Toriko to an explore an aspect of their relationship that she views as fundamentally life-affirming. After this scene their Othersides are no longer totally different, or inspire mind-numbing terror, but are now operating on a common logic.

The concept of an atmosphere comes up again just after their first try at sex. Toriko has finally found a turn-on for Sorawo, and Sorawo describes the feeling in the same analytical voice she uses for ghost stories.

Until mere moments ago, our nakedness had been no more than that. Just another awkward state of undress, like when we got in the bath. Not anymore. My nudity, and Toriko's, took on entirely new meaning. One little switch inside of me got flipped, and it caused a startlingly dramatic change in my perception. It was mystifying how, as that change occurred, it swallowed up the entire atmosphere of the scene, including Toriko. Stuff like this can happen... I thought in a daze. The room was dominated by my lust which had suddenly materialized. As it overlapped with Toriko's desire, the atmosphere inside the room became something kind of extraordinary.

Prior to their second go at sex, Sorawo and Toriko take a moment to talk over their last remaining fears about sex - using their Otherside-altered body parts on one another. They come to the mutual realization that they have both been afraid of harming one another, but not of being harmed by the other. This last discussion is important, because it totally diffuses their fears around sexuality prior to indulging it. So as they travel into the deepest reaches of the Otherside, they have total trust and intimacy with one another - and an absolute lack of fear relating to what the Otherside represents to them.

The color of the calm world was blue. As we whorled together, intertwining, the ultrablue abyss spread out endlessly beneath us. We didn't fear it. Because this was our place. No one was watching us. No one knew we were here. We were the only ones watching, and the only ones who knew. So the only things Toriko and I have to fear are each other.

"Was it just me who wasn't that scared?" "Nah, it was the same for me. Everything around us was blue, but it wasn't scary." "I wonder why?" "I dunno, maybe because we were on the side that scared people?" Toriko got a mystified look on her face when I said that. "The side that scared people? You mean the Otherside's side?" "We weren't human anymore, were we, Toriko? When we were there." "...Yeah." Toriko suddenly moved closer to me and chomped down on my ear.

So to bring this full circle, this is why I love this particular easter egg, and Otherside Picnic in general. The setting is treated as an important aspect of the story, and it is carefully chosen for its emotional content and thematic relevance. Toriko's apartment isn't just some random place in an upscale neighborhood of Tokyo. It's a fundamental part of who Toriko is as a person. It's a location that lends a huge amount of thematic subtext to Otherside Picnic as a relationship story, and to the reader's interpretation of the Otherside.

Is it a metaphor for death? For queerness? For our ability to truly bridge the gap in understanding between self and non-self? The reader is invited to imitate Sorawo, and in doing so, finds a treasure trove of understanding. The little rush of discovery shows us what keeps Sorawo interested in exploring a totally alien world and trying to understand its workings.

Miyazawa's writing actively rewards readers for engaging with every little bit of the story, and it really tickles the analytical part of my brain.

[dathen]

“The secret’s out. I gather it was a secret. I don’t know what your plans are, but of course I’m anxious to help you.”

I don’t blame Kemp at all for seeking help when he’s being held hostage in his own home, but the context that the entire upcoming conversation is happening after he’s already turned Griffin in—and the extent he plays up being his ally and friend—is just sooo… *waves hands aimlessly*

I find their dynamic so fascinating in the themes of this book of social isolation. Griffin is arrogant and misanthropic, but still has a deeply human drive of grasping for connection after he’s erased himself from society.

In the previous update, he latches onto Kemp as a long-lost friend, but Kemp gives no sign of remembering him. Sure, it’s been ten years, but you’d think “six-foot-tall white-haired genius with red eyes who won a scientific medal before he was 22” would be slightly memorable. This part especially struck me:

“Is there anything more that I can get you?”

“Only bid me good-night,” said Griffin.

“Good-night,” said Kemp, and shook an invisible hand.

With how guarded and hostile the character usually is, it’s almost childlike in its vulnerability, followed by the only moment of non-violent touch. And then the walls go up and along with them the fear and the threats, but it goes far to establish that longing for interacting with fellow humans again, despite all the bravado and self-absorption.

The entire interaction is so off-kilter: Kemp as Griffin’s last desperate grasp to remain connected to humanity, Kemp playing up how helpful and trustworthy he is while having already (understandably) betrayed him.

[thatshadowgastwhore]

Okay okay, soulmate au where once your soulmate is born you get your soul mate mark, it doesn’t really matter what it is, the first thing they say to you, whatever. It appears once you’re both alive. So about half the population are born with it already on them, the other half usually get them within their first fivish years of life.

Someone people never get them, which is sad but not unheard of.

(Disclaimer on timelines, the I’ve read a lot of fan content but very little official content so my knowledge of some things may not line up with canon)

Tim thinks he’s one of those people after he’s passed age seven with no soul mark. His parents think it makes him a freak, the works, because they’re the worst.

And then at like, age fifteen he gets his mark. And he is so ashamed and embarrassed that his soulmate could possibly have just been born that he does not let ANYONE know he has one now, because everyone knew he didn’t have one before.

And then he meets Kon. Grown in a lab, chronologically like two years old Kon. Who came out of the test tube with a soul mark. The only one Luther’s attempts at cloning to have one. And the two really like each other, but Kon is cagey about whether or not he has one, and again, Tim doesn’t want to admit that his soulmate is apparently two years old, he’s going to keep that under wraps for the next thirty years until it’s even mildly appropriate, thank you very much.

Kon doesn’t understand the relevancy or context of soul marks (he honestly thinks it’s a Luther thing and doesn’t want to talk about it because of that,) and Tim is secretive because he thinks it kind of makes him predator adjacent. The two both have crushes on each other, but Kon is basically flirting at a brick will because Tim is like “no, clearly I am destined to be a bad romantic partner, so I must shove all my feelings into a corner and never acknowledge them so I can never be a creep.” But somehow, Kon sees Tim’s mark, and doesn’t tooooo think much of it. Shenanigans happen until Kon accidentally learns the relevance, puts two and two together and realizes he and Tim are soulmates.

He goes to Tim about it, but Tim is sensitive about the whole soul mate situation, and shuts Kon down. Eventually, Kon is able to show Tim his soul mark and Tim recognizes it, and happily ever after, the end

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I stopped being friends with someone over his boyfriend?

💀💀💀 << to find

For context, I(16M) am in a friend group of 5 people (all between the ages of 16 or 17) and there is this one guy in it who we will call O.

O is trans (FtM) and so am I. This is important for the story. Me and O have had very similar experiences when it comes to dating (specifically Cis men) and just recently O had issues with a cis guy using him for sexual favors because O hasn’t physically transitioned at all. This happened around October of 2023 and around November, O mentioned that he was talking to another guy who we will call B (18M) who is cis. At first, I warned O to not throw himself into situations again with dating because he had just lost a 5 year long friendship with this guy who he was practically in love with and was devastated over it. He told me that he was just friends with this guy, but after a week or so, O had informed me that B told him he had feelings for O, and said that he was in love with him.

I personally found this weird and I told O that this was a form of love bombing, but O had told me that it wasn’t like that, and the two started dating. This was just the first red flag for me and both me and my Bf got weird feelings about B. The few times we all hung out as a group and B was there, he was just an all around negative person to be around. Me and my bf would talk about a concert we were excited for and B would mention how he hated that band and people who liked that band have no taste. He and O also spent that ENTIRE hang out (which was about 8 hours bc it was a party) making out on the ONLY COUCH in the house and refusing to play games, have conversations, or even let anyone sit next to them. It made everyone plus my one friend’s parents so uncomfortable that we asked them multiple times if they could stop, which caused them to throw a huge fit at us.

Also,As time went on, I became friends with someone a year above me who we will call T(16M). When I mentioned O and B to T, he mentioned how he use to be really good friends with B the previous year, and how B use to make A LOT of “femboy” jokes and A LOT of trans boy jokes. Basically B has a record of fetishizing trans men and ONLY dating trans men and cis women. This immediately sent off alarm bells in my head and when I told O about this, he basically called me a liar and said that B didn’t have a “fetish” and he just liked to watch some videos about trans people.

At this point I was utterly defeated and I felt like i couldn’t do anything to help anymore, and I dropped it. I still set my own boundaries and said that O could no longer bring B to hang outs if I was there due to the trans boy fetishizing, but I’m not forcing them to break up. Also, O has canceled multiple plans with me and replaced those plans for B or just canceled them because he wanted to see B instead, which severely hurt my feelings.

I’m seriously thinking about telling O I no longer want to be friends because this whole situation makes me uncomfortable and it makes me upset that mine, T, and my bf’s voice isn’t being heard. I understand being in love and being young but this is a little much for me.

WIBTA?

[critter-genfic-events]

This week, we have eleven fics that feature everyone’s favorite leetol blue tiefling, Jester Lavorre!  Check them out beneath the cut, and as always, comment or kudos if you like them!

they said i could let this bridge wash out by lostsometime (1503,General) Warnings: Mentions of canon slave trade Pairings: Jester Lavorre & Beauregard Lionett, One-Sided Jester Lavorre/Beauregard Lionett, Jester Lavorre & The Traveler, The Gentleman | Babenon Dosal & Jester Lavorre, Jester Lavorre & Essek Thelyss

Beau checks in on Jester. Jester explains why she acts like she does.

Reccer says: This fic phrases the parts of Jester I adore the most: her flavors of compassion, stubbornness, and wisdom. She's not as naive as first impressions might indicate. She is a well of complexity. This fic demonstrates these aspects of her concisely and straightforwardly through Beau's POV.

pickup service available by renquise (2062,General) Warnings: None Pairings: Jester Lavorre & Essek Thelyss

Artagan picks up Essek for Jester

Reccer says: Hilarious, and Artagan and Essek interacting is just chef's kiss

where kindness shines by dawl_and_dapple (2703,General) Warnings: None Pairings: Jester Lavorre & Essek Thelyss

Jester and Essek have a conversation about jewellery in the frozen North.

Reccer says: pitch perfect Jester and Essek friendship talks

God is a Weasel (Or, How an Archfey Made a Friend) by bluehat (2881,General) Warnings: Pairings: Artagan & Jester Lavorre

Artagan's POV of why he became Jester's weasel

Reccer says: I liked it

midnight-dark, nightsky-blue by vietbluecoeur (vietbluefic) (4562,Teen) Warnings: Major Character Death, Attempted Murder, death in childbirth Pairings: Jester Lavorre & Essek Thelyss

A Snow White retelling of Kryn princess Jester and her begrudging friend the Shadowhand

Reccer says: This! Fic! Is! Gorgeous! Jester is adorable and witty and Essek is as sharp as ever.

may your princes understand you (may your wolves get out alive) by grayintogreen (6427,Teen) Warnings: mild dubcon Pairings: Artagan & Jester Lavorre

Jester's first trip to the Feywild does not go as planned.

Reccer says: Great fey trickery and friendship between Artagan and Jester

The Purest Priorities by wtgw (4133,Teen) Warnings: None Pairings: Artagan & Jester Lavorre

Lord Artagan of the Morncrown meets a delightful little creature and feels himself start to become something different.

Reccer says: Great Artagan voice and dealing with how Jester changes him

From the Mixed-Up Files of The J. Lavorre Catalogue Raisonné by renquise (2328,General) Warnings: None Pairings:

jester's art and life from the perspective of scholars, particularly art scholars, long after she lived!

Reccer says: this fic uses format in such a clever and playful way, and the feeling of knowing the context behind all the painting and art details that the scholars in the fic don't have makes you feel like you're in on something. the author pulls out really fun details that tell a story in their own right. i constantly come back to this!

Strange Happenings in the Waters of Bisaft by HurtComfortInSpace (2125,General) Warnings: None Pairings: Jester Lavorre & The Mighty Nein

This story immediately follows the end of episode 45: The Stowaway. Jester can't sleep after her narrow escape from the blue dragon and finds herself on deck. But even out of the Happy Fun Ball, it's far from safe to be alone.

Reccer says: A very interesting look into what Jester's headspace might have been like after episode 45, everything from worry to loneliness to panic. Plus, there's a mermaid for mermay! What could be better than that? :)

how many miles to babylon? by grayintogreen (5260,General) Warnings: AU - Canon Divergence Pairings: Jester & Artagan

Jester must complete the Moonweaver’s challenge before her candle burns out to save Artagan.

Reccer says: Fey shenanigans are always fun.

A Wisdom Without Face or Name by violettressed (17280,Teen) Warnings: Lifespan angst, major character death Pairings: Jester/Fjord, Jester & Essek, Jester & Caduceus, Jester & Artagan

Jester Lavorre spends a lifetime learning how to let go.

Reccer says: Beautiful and bittersweet

This is one of our weekly communally-generated gen rec lists. Every week we announce a new theme and allow anyone to submit a fic recommendation. Please note that the summary and content notes are provided by the reccer, and may be different than what the author has provided. Please assume good intentions all around. <3

And hey, anyone includes you!

Next week, we'll be featuring fics with Jester Lavorre!

Then, it'll be Cooking, Time/Dimension Travel, and then Storytelling!

Any fics coming to mind? Well, then use this form to submit!

Oh! Also! Critter Gen Week is happening! Prompts will be announced soon, and you might see some familiar themes ;)

And hey, if you're looking for some more good gen content, check out some fics written in the critter genfic bingo tag, or the older rec lists! Or you can request your own card and join in on the fun!